travel

NC500 Day 7 – Shieldaig to Slough

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The last day of the holiday dawns.

The plan for today is as follows: Bealach na Ba, Eilean Donan Castle, Kyle of Lochalsh (possibly), Culloden, Inverness, train home, hysterical weeping.

I sit down for breakfast with a marvellous view outside. 

This means that I can see that it’s raining.  Wait, no it’s stopped.  Wait, no, it’s pissing down. Wait, no, it’s stopped again.  I think this is what is meant when they refer to the weather as “changeable”.

I pack for the last time and make some plans for my time in Inverness.  Oh no, a second hand bookshop…

The road from Shieldaig to the Bealach na Ba is single track and huge fun to drive.  Then I get to the Balach na Ba.  This is also a single track road with some very tight hairpin bends and gradients of up to 20%.  It boasts the greatest road ascent in the UK, gaining over 2000ft in under 4 miles.  It is one of the things I have been looking forward to on this trip – and so I am praying that the weather stays reasonable. 

It does.

There are some things in this world where the expectation exceeds the reality and you walk away disappointed.  There are remarkably few experiences that live up to the expectation, and they include:

  • The pyramids at Giza
  • Standing right by the main waterfall of Dettifoss in Iceland
  • Seeing Gemma Collins fall over on stage
  • Driving the Bealach na Ba

Having just been down a single track road, I didn’t think it could narrower – but it seems that it can.  Add in hairpin bends and a vertiginous drop on one side and it gets the adrenaline pumping.  I follow two motorbikes up it and get very confused when they stop on what seems to be a blind bend to take some pictures. 

I then realise that there is a parking place here, so I stop and do the same.  We then proceed.  All goes well as we head up past a parked motor-home and even when we meet another motor-home gingerly driving down.

By the time, I get to the top, I am almost shaking from pure adrenaline.  It’s when I get out that I realise how windy it is – and how much colder it is than yesterday.  But that does nothing to detract from the moment.  I am so glad that I did this and that the weather held off.

Pretty much the definition of the “road less travelled”.

I then head south to Eilean Donan Castle.  The road on the way alternates between single and double track – often without warning.  The unsigned single track tunnel is massive fun as I nervously peer through it and then drive on as fast as possible – as does everyone else!

Eilean Donan is a massive culture shock.  I’ve gone from barely seeing anyone to this crowded site that is clearly on the main tourist track.  The car park is packed and staffed by burly people who are VERY proscriptive about where you park and how much room you leave between vehicles.  As a result, we are all doing that thing where you have to convince yourself that you are much slimmer than you are as you try to slide out without damaging the car next door.

It is swarming with Chinese and American tourists.  I decide very quickly not to go inside, despite the allure of getting a reduction due to my advanced years and decrepitude.  Outside is littered with people taking the same shots: several are the “oh so original” shots where “if you stand there with your hand out flat, it looks as though you’re holding the castle”.  Oh my, how mother and I laughed at that one!

One Chinese woman, in a sort of variation, is exhorted to jump with both hands in the air and yell “HEY”.  She does so, and her friend misses the shot.  She repeats this – and it gets missed again.  And again.  And again.  By the fifth iteration, I am the only person finding it amusing.

I head for the gift shop which looks like Harrods five minutes after the start of the January sales.  People are acting that way as well, and after having been unceremoniously prodded, poked and shoved, I decide to move on with my pocket only lightened by the cost of the car park. I ruefully realise that has constituted more physical contact than I’ve had from my doctor over the last 5 years.

I start to head back to Inverness.  The weather has decided to stop lurking and it starts tipping down with rain.  The temperature also plummets and the car cheerfully warns me that it is 4 degrees and there is a risk of ice and frost.  As with earlier in the day, the rain stops and starts – but the periods of rain are longer than the gaps in between.

I stop at Tarvie services for coffee, chips and their signature burger (which includes haggis).  While waiting, I queue for the loo.  The guy inside takes so long that I almost call for help.  The rain is just spitting now but it’s still uncomfortable standing here as there is little shelter.  While I’m waiting, a Chinese girl turns up and walks straight past me and tries the door.  I give her my usual “No, I’m just stood here for my health” comment and she scurries off.  Luckily the guy inside isn’t dead.  By the time I return, by lunch is ready and I stand outside to eat it…where it is now sunny!

The sun lasts until I finish my lunch, when the rain starts again.  I head on down to Rogie Falls, where I sit in the car looking at the rain.  I decide to give it 15 minutes before giving up.  Alas, the rain keeps coming down, so I head back onto the long road to Inverness.

I have one last place to try, so I drive through Inverness and head for Culloden.  Like Eilean Donan it is packed with cars and coach parties, so I swing the car around and head back to Arnold Clark.  (I’ve since been told that it’s quite disappointing, as it’s just a field). 

I hand the keys back and it’s a bit of a wrench.  I’m trying to convince myself that the holiday isn’t over, but realistically I’ve got a 4 hour wait for my train, a 1 ½ hour transfer at Edinburgh and the Caledonian Sleeper home.  I should be home by 09:00 tomorrow.

At the train station I put my case and bag of “stuff” (including Hamish the Coo) into left luggage while I head to Leakeys – a renowned second-hand book store.  On the way, the heavens open and I put my jacket on for the first time this week.  On arrival, I shuck my jacket as it is baking inside.  Leakey’s is huge – by the time I get to the third set of shelves, I have an armful of books. 

Heaven will look something like Leakeys.

It is packed with American tourists who think they are in a library and are communicating in whispers.  Some are trying to ask intelligent questions, and I particularly enjoyed the following exchange:

  • “Do you sell Jane Austen here?”
  • “Austen? It seems unlikely, but if we have any she will over there…under A”

I always enjoy that level of withering sarcasm.

I exit the shop £60 worse off – but it’s a bargain as it includes a tote bag!  Halfway back to the station, the rain starts again.  As I haven’t put my jacket on, I take shelter in a series of doorways.

The rain stops me exploring Inverness further, so I head back to the station where I have nearly three hours to go.  Recalling my journey up here, I get some provisions from WH Smiths.  (By the way, it is just me who finds it odd that a shop in Inverness stocks Buxtons rather than Highland Spring?)  I then settle myself in the Ness & Thistle with a pint of Tennants. 

I don’t know why I photographed it, but I did

With a couple of hours before boarding, I read some more of Bloodring.  It has improved, though the main character has a bad habit of delivering exposition.  I’m also concerned that there is a lot of reference to her being “on heat” and I have a horrible feeling the book might descend into fantasy sex territory.

Scottish Rail then confuses me when I see a second Caledonian Sleeper which is due to leave at 20:45.  Surely, this means that I will be joining that train at Edinburgh?  If that’s the case, why don’t I just get on here?  I then confuse one of the ticket inspectors by asking him – and the two of his colleagues that he then discusses the matter with.  In the end, I have a chat with the lady in the ticket office who explains that it’s a different Caledonian Sleeper.

Finally, I get onto the original train with case, rucksack, tote bag, Coo and sundry other items.  As I struggle to a seat, the rucksack makes a bid for freedom and slides down, trapping my arms.  Before I can put my bags down, a generous fellow passenger helps the decrepit old man out.  And that really makes me feel like that.  I settle into my seat having divested myself of my luggage and we head off to Edinburgh.

I keep looking up from my book at a guy sat diagonally in front of me.  He is facing me, so I can see the way he is carefully cradling his bag – in much the same way that the guy in Basket Case cradles the bag containing his mutant twin.  My fellow passenger has the look of a feverish accountant about him, so I’m more than willing to believe the worst.  He then starts talking to his bag – which worries me until I realise he’s talking into his phone.  He clearly wants to end the conversation as he keeps saying “Chow chow chow” and trying to end the call.  Unless he was just identifying dogs for someone.

At Edinburgh, I head off to try and work out where to go.  The man who helped me with my rucksack turns out to be looking for the sleeper to London as well.  There are no signs anywhere for it, so I go to the ticket office and ask and then lead my fellow traveller over to platform 11.

At platform 11 there is a cluster of Scottish Rail employees, a line of ticket barriers (all of which are open) and, past the ticket barriers, one of those sinuous queues that they use at theme parks.  I disturb the staff by asking where to go and am told to go and stand in the queue.  We both do this and I get to observe the odd approach that the staff take to dealing with their customers.  They let people walk through the barrier, past the queue and up to the train.  Only at that point do they shout to them, sometimes having to run up to stop them getting on the train.  They then lead them to the back of the slowly growing queue.  Interestingly, virtually no-one thinks it odd that there is a queue or that it might have any relevance to them as they sashay past.

Eventually, they let us on and I head on to stake my claim to my reserved seat.  My fellow passenger is now walking up and down in a state of confusion – on a service where you have to book a seat, he doesn’t have a reservation.  This is confusing everyone.  I hope they can get him sorted out as he is (understandably) getting quite frustrated.  When you consider that it’s gone 23:00, it’s not surprising.  He walks past 10 minutes later, looking much more relaxed as the staff have found his seat.

The three seats ahead of me are taken by a family.  They are difficult to ignore as the three of them seem to have enough luggage for about twenty people and the father manages to slam most of it into my leg as he repeatedly walks past.  I note that he does not pause to apologise.  They then spend about 10 minutes stowing their luggage in as inconvenient a manner as possible.  I should point out that they are in the seats closest to the luggage racks, so their frenetic activity blocks the aisle completely and is mainly made up of the father stood with his arse in my face while he and his wife loudly complain about everything. What excellent travelling companions they are going to be – I just hope they go to sleep quickly.

Just as I think that, they demonstrate their excellent parenting skills by giving their son an iPad and then ignoring him.  They adjust the volume so that it is just audible to the rest of the carriage.  I idly check the windows to see if defenestration is a workable solution.  I feel quite sorry for their son.  He tries to talk to his mother, but she is far too busy looking at something on her phone.

We are then joined by two guys who are so concerned about making noise that they communicate in stage whispers while simultaneously throwing their luggage around which results in them making far more noise than if they had spoken normally.  They then have a long discussion about how much alcohol they should order and have problems deciding whether they should have 3 or 4 cans each.  Fuck me, it’s turning into the Voyage of the Damned.

They are joined by a third guy whose ticket is behind me, but decides he would rather sit in someone else’s seat across the aisle from me.  What a shame that the two Americans who have those seats choose that moment to turn up.  Unfortunately, I now have all three professional drinkers behind me.

The newcomers are very keen to show each other things on their phones.  They do this while playing music at full volume.  The one closest to me looks up, sees me glaring at them and the volume gets turned right down.  It’s good to know that the glare still works.

The mother in front of me decides that she cannot risk one of her bags in the luggage rack – despite the fact that it is literally 6ft from her.  She jams the bag in between her and her son, guaranteeing that both of them will be uncomfortable all night.

Ironically, by 02:30 I am the only one in the carriage who is still awake.

I doze fitfully, and get as much sleep as I did on the way up.  The silver lining is that I get some great views over the countryside on what looks to be a glorious day.  As time passes, it becomes clear that we are doing quite a lot of waiting around.  Initially, I think that this might be to ensure that we don’t get to London too early.  However, as we remain stationary I check Trainline which says that the train is going to be delayed at Euston – but gives no idea of an ETA.  At 06:30 we are stationary at some benighted hole north of Watford Junction.  (This later turns out to be Milton Keynes, so the description was pretty accurate).  If this carries on much longer, we will arrive right in the middle of rush hour.  My fellow passenger from Inverness stops to tell me that the delay is due to a body on the line ahead.  This is shortly followed by the internal display referring to a “police incident”, so he’s probably right.  For the moment, we just sit here. 

After an hour, we are told that the line ahead of us is closed and they have no idea how long we will have to wait.  The staff bring around water and cereal bars.  The three guys behind me interrogate the staff, while making it clear that they are very important people.  They have an extended discussion on what to do and finally decide to disembark and get a taxi.  As they aren’t worried about the £160 they have been quoted, they may indeed be very important people.  Just as they decide to get going, the train starts moving.  I resist the temptation to chuckle.  I always like travelling with people who are getting stressed and angry, because it always seems to make me much calmer.

We finally arrive 2 hours late and Euston Station is swarming with people.  I experiment with various configurations of my four bags, eventually landing on one that allows reasonable movement and I stagger to the Northern Line.  As I get to the bottom of the stairs, the train is at the platform.  I struggle on and the doors snap shut, trapping my rucksack in an iron grip.  I’m pinned.  My fellow travellers look at me with all of the empathy and concern of a dead goldfish.  Luckily, the automatic systems open the door and I am released to collapse into a seat.  I refrain from sarcastically thanking everyone.  At Tottenham Court Road, I head for the Elizabeth Line, forgetting that the journey is about three miles.  My back is by now complaining and I am not looking forward to the walk home from Slough station.

At Slough, I cross the footbridge and realise that I’m not going to make the walk home.  So I get a taxi.  I apologise that it’s such a short trip, but the driver is great about it.  He complains that it’s windy and cold and I chuckle as it’s far warmer than Scotland was yesterday.  And finally, I’m home.

This has been a truly amazing week.  There have been some ups and downs, but it has been an incredible experience.  The high points are:

  • Old Pulteney Distillery
  • Duncansby Stacks
  • Borgie Lodge Hotel
  • Smoo Cave
  • The driving!!! (Especially the western roads)
  • Ardbeg Guest House
  • Tigh an Eilean
  • Bealach na Ba

It was bloody expensive: but SO worth it. The question now is what I do next. 

NC 500 Day 6 – Ullapool to Shieldaig

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It’s not a great nights sleep. There is a ton of noise outside and because the window doesn’t close properly, I can’t block it out. I’m damn glad it’s not cold, because otherwise it would have been bitter here. At least I now know how Raskolnikov felt like in his draughty garret. My back is feeling better this morning, which is a relief.

The room gives me another joyful surprise when I go to use the shower. The last person who used it decided to turn it off at the wall rather than on the shower unit. As a result, when I turn the power on, it springs to life with the water aimed directly out the shower door and onto my towel. I rectify the situation and then begin the Ullapool Shower War. It goes as follows:

· Press button – water comes out, then stops

· Press button again – same result

· Hold the button in – works briefly, then water stops (The shower, by the way, is amusing itself by alternating between scalding and freezing)

· Jam the button in place to get a constant stream of water

· Move the shower head to a position above me. Shower head comes off in my hand

· Replace shower head, which now faces the wall

· Attempt to adjust shower head and shower fitting comes off in my hand as it was clearly not secured properly

· Finally shower one handed. No wonder the last person just turned it off at the wall

Having survived the USW, I head down for the wonder that will be my “Continental Breakfast”. (By the way, have you ever wondered which continent this is from?). The FBI continues to impress with its’ commitment to service as the waitress wanders around with an expression on her face that implies she has been sucking lemons all morning. I look past her unresponsive form to see what is laughingly called a “breakfast buffet” strewn over the bar of the pub. She doesn’t speak to me but grudgingly confirms that I can sit anywhere when I force her to engage me in conversation. I deliberately sit at the only table with a Reserved sign on it. I impatiently await anything resembling service.

(To give you an idea of the quality of the buffet, the bread is a sliced loaf which is elegantly served in the plastic bag.)

I decided not to pay for anything but I am lured away from this position by something described as Ullapool Smoked Salmon. This turns out to be scrambled eggs with a couple of slices of salmon and one slice of toast. Taste nice, but not worth the £12 they are charging.

Breakfast is accompanied by a new book – Bloodring by Faith Hunter. So far, it does not seem to be terribly well written.

Outside is glorious with a much better view of the loch and mountains.

Today I’m off to Shieldaig. Should be some waterfalls and a falconry en route. Showers were predicted today but it’s currently sunny with clear skies. As I head off I pass a line of motor-homes waiting to get into the petrol station. I’d seen something about this on FB a couple of days ago. I head off, glad that I don’t have to refuel.

My first stop is at CorrieShalloch Gorge. I’m there too early for the main car park, so I head up the hill slightly to the overflow car park, where I am treated to the lovely sight of a man from a motor-home taking an indiscreet piss in the hedge. There is a path here with a circular walk, so I head off down it. It is sheltered amid trees for the most part, but there are some fantastic views down thegorge and over the mountains opposite. Part way round, I come across a footbridge to the other side, which is another one like Smoo Cave and it shakes alarmingly as you step on it. As the gorge below disappears to unseen depths, this is a much more alarming prospect.

I meet up with a Scottish Couple who are completing the same circular path. The lady is disappointed and says there isn’t much to see. Granted, it’s missing a troupe of dancing elephants, but it is a satisfyingly deep hole in the ground and I really enjoy my walk around.

I head back up towards the car, my back twinging enough to make me decide not to progress up to the main area of the Falls. Instead I open the gate to surprise a coachload of German tourists who are clustered around it, clearly nervous about daring to open it. They look first surprised, then sheepish as I amble past them.

There are a lot more motor-homes on this section and I follow one out of the gorge as it plods along at 35 mph. I spot an opportunity and I and 2 motorbikes tank down the next spectacular stretch of road. Which of course, has nowhere I can stop and take a bloody photo!

I head down to Dundonnell where I stop to take some pictures at the side of the loch, and then proceed to an amazing beach at Gruinard Bay.

The road from Aultbea to Poolewe is a really fun road, spoiled by the number of motor-homes which are a serious pain along here. I get stuck behind one who is blithely ignorant of the queue he is causing behind him. He doesn’t need somewhere to pull over to take a photo – he just stops in the middle of the road! I find somewhere to stop and let him get a decent distance ahead. Just as I’m getting ready to go a coach goes past and I gloomily predict I will now be stuck behind him. Not so – he pulls over as soon as he can to let us past. What a class act!

As I head down to Badachro along a very exciting single track road, I can see that it’s slowly getting cloudier. But it’s still sunny when I get to Victoria Falls. Surprisingly, there is a signpost indicating the wall to the Falls. Just the one, though. This is a lovely little walk, especially as the sun refuses to give up and is making it really pleasant. The falls are very photogenic, but it’s not quite the same as the mighty Zambezi.

I head along Loch Maree and stop several times to take some more pictures.

Then to Beinn Eighe, which is another wasted opportunity. There is a visitors centre here – but it’s completely unstaffed and no retail opportunities at all. There are 4 walks of differing lengths and difficulties, but no signage to tell you where they start. The hides for observing the bird life are great, but the rest of this place (and the entirety of Scotland) needs some bloody signs!

I then head down to Torridon which is at the end of a very exciting single track road. I go into the Torridon General Stores for a late lunch: cappuccino, black pudding & egg roll and a slice of salted caramel sponge. Eaten sat at a table while the locals doing their shopping peer at you and furtively make signs against the Evil Eye.

I then drive down to Shieldaig and my overnight accommodation at the Tigh an Eilean hotel. It is beautifully situated at the water’s edge and is really attractive. I ask the receptionist how to pronounce the name of the hotel and she shrugs and makes something up. She politely explains that she doesn’t really know as she is foreign – indeed, she has the sort of accent that appears about 23 of the way through Eurovision. I head upstairs. The stair are a death trap as the ceiling is only about 5ft9” in height. The room is very nice, though I change my mind about opening a window as I am directly above the bin storage area.

I’ve booked dinner for 18:00. This is my last night in Scotland, so I mean to make the most of it. Beforehand, I head down to what is rather grandly referred to as the Residents Bar. This is basically a room with comfortable seating and a drinks fridge at hotel minibar prices. But it’s my last night, so I splurge £2.50 on a can of Diet Coke. This must be what the Romans felt like during the worst excesses of Nero!

They have a seafood platter on the menu. I’ve never had one, although I’ve seen a friend of mine demolish one. It has langoustines on it, which I have never had, so I decide to give it a go. I match it with a glass of Chardonnay and decide to order the Scottish cheese plate for dessert. The waitress recommends the pannacotta, so I change to that.

The seafood platter arrives and I’m glad that I ordered the small one. Quite quickly there is an issue – it’s all stone cold. I had never actually realised that a seafood platter would be served cold. Eating it becomes quite challenging and I discover that I really hate the taste of cold shellfish. (The exception is the smoked salmon on the plate, which is about 4 times the amount that I had for breakfast). I give up about halfway through, much to the consternation of the waitress who is sure that she warned me it would be cold. I am equally sure that she didn’t, but I let it go.

At least I made the effort – the person on the table next to me doesn’t and I overhear them ordering a Chicken Pakora and a Meat Feat Pizza!

The meal is finished with a lime pannacotta and orange sorbet. The pannacotta doesn’t wobble, but both taste delicious.

I finish the day with a wonder along the water’s edge, enjoying the quiet and the view – and then enjoying a sign I find on the community noticeboard.

I slowly head back to my room. It’s nearly over. Last day tomorrow – and rain is forecast.

NC 500 Day 5 – Riconich to Ullapool

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I stay up for a while, but the Northern Lights do not put in an appearance.

I have a very good night’s sleep. During the morning ablutions, I note that the windows in the bath are half frosted so that I can see out while my more personal regions are covered by the frosting. While wondering how this works for women, I turn around to see a full length mirror opposite me, so someone stood outside can get a full view anyway! However, we are in the middle of nowhere, so the chances of a random passer-by are remote – much like this location!

The view from the bathroom

Yesterday’s clear skies have been replaced with a grey miasma that looks as though someone has forgotten to turn the sky on. I check the weather report and it says that it’s going to be cloudy all day with some rain this evening – that sounds pretty good to me. The journey to Ullapool has several potential stopping points along the way: Kylesku Bridge, Weeding Widow Falls, Clashnessie, Clachtoll, Lochinver (which an apparently amazing pie shop), Loch Assynt, Knockan Crag and Rhue Lighthouse. Or whatever I feel like stopping at!

The lady I was talking to yesterday (Caitlin) has kindly left out some books so I can re-check where I’m going today. They also show me how much I’ve missed. The area I’ve just travelled through is referred to as the Lonely Lands – which is an excellent description.

Breakfast is amazing. Susan keeps offering more food, which I steadfastly resist. The homemade bread is particularly good and I’m genuinely surprised when she tells me it came from a bread-maker.

All things considered, my first trip to an AirBnB has been very good indeed.

Although it’s not actually raining, there is a lot of water in the air. As a result, it feels as though I’m driving through rain. I stop off at Kylesku bridge, which is suitable impressive. I reckon the views here would be excellent normally, but today the clouds are very low. Despite the lack of rain, I’m distinctly moist after I’ve checked out the War Memorial and returned to the car.

As I drive on, the weather decides it’s bored and starts to actually rain. As a result, I decide not to make the trek to the Wailing Widow Waterfall. As I drive past, I chuckle at the sight of a line of bedraggled people in waterproofs who are heading up to it and look suitably miserable.

The road down to Drumbeg is a single track road which is sign-posted as unsuitable for coaches, caravans and (the implication is) motor-homes. The driving is all the excitement of yesterday, but with shorter sight lines and much steeper roads. Part of the time the road is halfway up a cliff, so it’s very important that everyone drives sensibly. I’m following a car through and keeping it 2 passing places ahead as previously. It’s all going very smoothly until we meet three motor homes driving in convoy. They completely block the road and drive along with the sort of vacuous expression usually reserved for deer staring into the headlights of an oncoming car.

There are a surprisingly large amount of cyclists around today and I keep stopping to let them by. Most are extremely polite despite clearly being both wet and knackered. Several swan past as though this is their right and can’t be bothered to even nod. I lump them in the same box as the motor-home drivers.

The road continues, one particularly steep ascent with a warning “Slow. Blind Summit.” Wait a second, I’ve had loads of summits with no view. This one is more like the peak of a rollercoaster and as there is nothing coming up the road towards me, I can descend appropriately. WAHOO!

The roads on the approach to Clashnessie beach seem even narrower as there is a rockwall on the sea side and a cliff on the other. Luckily, I only meet one motorbike and a single cyclist who manfully pedals up the hill as I wait. The beach is very windswept, so I don’t pause here for very long.

The situation is similar at Clachtoll beach where the amount of water in the air encourages me to drive on to Lochinver. I clearly manage to get to the next level of the NC500 Driving Game as the normal hazards of the road are now joined by dozens of sheep. They act exactly as expected – slow to wander off the road, but fast to suddenly decide they want to plunge across the road 6” in front of the car. I pass the Sheep Level and end up on a steep descent following two cyclists. I’m actually quite happy to slowly follow them down, but one spots me and they very politely pull in to a passing space and let me go by. As I get clear of them, I come across a stream of motorbikes from the south. I pull in and they all wave politely as they pass – except the last one. Maybe they feel that I’ve been thanked enough.

I head into Lochinver and go to the renowned Lochinver Larder – which is closed because it’s a Sunday (which goes some way to explain the horde of cyclists out and about today). It’s probably just as well, as I’m not exactly hungry yet. There is a bookshop next door which is rather pathetically stocked, although I pick up a book on rural walking.

I press on to Loch Assynt and Ardvreck Castle. It is still very moist, though still just short of raining. I tramp down to the castle and make a highly sarcastic video, narrated in a comedy Scottish accent. This raises a few eyebrows and I hurry back to the car. Then my eyebrows are raised as I encounter a woman struggling to get a pushchair down this narrow earth path. I don’t rush to assist her as the pushchair contains two corgis – clearly she is making her own cross to bear.

Today, Susan recommended two places to eat to me: the Lochinver Larder and the Elphim Tea Rooms. The Elphim Tea Rooms are sat on the side of a narrow valley and by the time I get there, the weather has closed in and it is decidedly chilly. I tell the staff that Susan recommended them and once I confirm who she is, they nod sagely. Hopefully she will get good things back from them.

The tea rooms are quite crowded and I briefly feel guilty at taking up a 4 person table. Not sufficiently for me to offer to share as half the people here are from motor-homes, so they could always go and sit in them.

I order Bacon and Lentil Soup with bread and Lime and Polenta Cake. The soup is a bit bland, but hot and hearty. The cake is lovely.

I head on to Ullapool, making a single stop at the Rhue Lighthouse. It’s a nice (if blustery) walk down to the lighthouse but as the weather seems to have improved, it’s worth doing. There are very few other people doing the same and it really gives a sense of how quiet and lonely this place can be.

In Ullapool, I am staying at the Ferry Boat Inn, which is on the seafront. I manage to snag a parking space virtually directly outside and prepare to use my parallel parking skills in the sight of a large audience. To my relief, I slide the car straight in on the first attempt and mentally I congratulate myself (“Well done, Reginald Molehusband”. For those of you who do not understand the reference, he was the subject of a public information film in the 1970s on how to parallel park. And, for some reason, it has stayed with me.)

The view is amazing and, to my relief, the parking is free because it’s a Sunday.

I head into the Ferry Boat Inn (or FBI as they cleverly call it) and I sit down while the somewhat harassed staff serve other people. I’m sat not far from a man that the staff refer to as The Gerbil

(and do so sufficiently loudly that I and several other patrons pick up on it). He is a type of person that I recognise from other pubs. He inhabits a stool by the bar, knows everything and “helps” the staff out. One of the staff hides every time she is alone with him, the other has a fake smile on her face normally only seen in selfies of those women who have made their faces look like plastic. By the time I finish my pint of cider, his help has included:

· Giving people menus when the kitchens are already closed;

· Loudly discussing the fact that the pub has increased prices by 20p per pint – and there wasn’t even a budget!

The staff look extremely relieved when he wanders off, as do several tables of confused foreign tourists (which includes the German couple that I met at the distillery in Wick).

Food is served here and, despite the somewhat dishevelled appearance of the FBI, it comes with a good dose of pretension: a twice baked oyster soufflé and a cranachan terrine are both on offer at ridiculous prices. I decide to avoid it and eagerly await my continental breakfast in the morning.

I climb the narrow stairs and find my meagre room.

The window is stuck ajar – so it’s a good job that it isn’t too cold. My back is really acting up, so when I go to make a coffee and find there is no milk, rather then heading downstairs to the lugubrious staff, I decide to make do. I prop myself up, take some painkillers and wait for it to wear off. It’s happened pretty much the same every evening – it seems fine, then when I relax at the end of the day it decides to have a fit. If it goes as usual, I should be fine in a couple of hours. Until then – black coffee 😦

To add insult to injury, there’s only one pillow. Good grief! It’s like living in the Dark Ages. I blame people in little boats…

NC 500 Day Four – Tongue to Riconich

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I drop off quite quickly but wake up again at around 23:00.  I can now hear someone in the next room as my head is right by the adjoining wall and they are snoring.  This isn’t normal snoring though, it’s a bizarre noise which is a repetition of something like ooo – OOOOOOOO – waaaaa.  The “waaa” tends to vary in length and it is simultaneously funny and annoying.

Despite this entertaining backing noise, I drop off and have a good nights’ sleep and wake up bright and early.  Today is a relatively short day and I’m heading to Lochinver via Durness and Smoo Cave.  I’d like to get to Cape Wrath but there aren’t any roads, so I might have to make do with getting as close as possible.  I also need to go shopping at Durness as this evening is self-catering.

Breakfast is amazing – 10/10.  It’s a really good start to the day. 

While I’m working my way slowly through it, I chat with a young couple from Cornwall who are doing the NC500 clockwise.  They’re doing it in the same time that I’m taking and doing it on bicycles!  Well, that makes me feel pathetic, although the husband admits that it’s taking quite a toll on his posterior.  There is also a terribly polite Dutch couple here who are going round anti-clockwise like me.  They also hated Wick, which just goes to show what sensible people they are.

Much though I’d like to hang around here for a while longer, I do have to get going and so I start navigating through the narrow roads surrounding the hotel.  My first stop is at the Kyle of Tongue.  The road here goes across the Kyle in a spectacular curve and the aerial view of this was what encouraged me to do the NC 500 in the first place.  Unfortunately, there doesn’t seem to be anywhere to park up to get a similar view.  However, the view from the roadside is still amazing and I get out and take some photos.  It’s definitely brisk today, but well worth it.

Just so you understand why this place inspired me to do the NC500, here is the view from above.

I then drive off, out of the Kyle and head across the Moine.  The Moine is bleak and windswept.  Again, there are very few places to stop, and when I eventually I find one I pull over.  When there are no cars, there is absolutely no noise here apart from the wind.  I stand in a flat area with excellent views of several Bens: Hope, Loyal, Tongue, Breac and Hutig.

From the Moine, the road heads back towards the coast and as I leave this flat, central area, the landscape changes.  There is only one thing to say about this section of the NC 500: What a road!

What

A

Road!

It’s single track all the way and the scenery is absolutely spectacular.  The further I go, the closer I get to the crags of the western ranges and they are amazing.  However, there is nowhere to stop, so I have little chance to stop and take photos.  I could do what some people have done and park in one of the passing places, but I refuse to do that so that I don’t become one of the people that I am currently swearing at.  After a while, I find myself behind another car, so I slip back into the standard approach that I’ve been taking and it works really well.  Until I come across some muppet who’s using a passing space to park up and take photos.

I get to Ceannabeinne Beach which has the Golden Eagle Zipline across it and I get there in time to watch someone fly across the bay.  It’s a fantastic beach and an amazing view.  The car park is halfway up the cliff and I head down to ground level.  When I get back up, a biker pulls over and stands in the middle of the road on a blind bend so that he can take a photo.  Seriously, do you want to get knocked over?

On the way to my next stop at Smoo Cave, I get a demonstration of what happens when you drive like a dick.  I pick up someone behind me who, rather than the sensible 2 passing places tactic, decides to tailgate me.  This causes huge fun (for me) when I pull into a passing place that only has enough room for one car.  When last seen, he was reversing back to the previous passing place and making a right pig’s ear of it!

Smoo Cave has a tiny car park and I’m lucky that a couple in a van pull out just as I arrive, so I snag their space.  The descent to the cave is down a switchback series of steps and then across a wooden bridge.  For a moment, I think I’m having a heart attack as the bridge seems to be moving under my feet.  It turns out that the bridge is, in fact, moving as it is not fixed at both ends.  I comfort myself by watching other people who react to it even worse than I do.

Smoo cave is a large entrance and a relatively small interior. You can access the waterfall chamber without paying – but unfortunately, the last couple of days have been too dry and the waterfall isn’t flowing.  The tour starts off in an inflatable boat and I watch a group being paddled across.  I then head back outside and pay for the tour.  The guys running the tour (Fraser and Callum) are excellent.  Both are part of a caving group that works to explore the caves and are very keen about what they do.  The money for the tour goes to funding the continued exploration of the caves.  It is short, but interesting and I would recommend it to anyone.  Which I almost immediately do, as on the way back up the steps I encounter the lady I was speaking to last night and I convince her and her sister to take the tour as well.

On to Durness now and lunch at Cheese n Toasted because they are award winning toastie makers.  I opt for the Highlander: 3 cheeses with haggis and peppercorn sauce.  Add a bottle of water and a hot chocolate and I’m golden.  Cheese n Toasted is right beside Durness beach, and although it’s windy, it’s a marvellous view over lunch.

I’m not going to be able to get to Cape Wrath.  The closest I can get is Balnakiel Beach, so I stop off there and have a little wander around.  I then grab some provisions for the evening and take a slow drive to Riconich.  The scenery is amazing and the driving is great fun.  I’m getting used to the roads now and am taking on some of the challenges with more confidence – this includes a convoy of cars and, later on, a long group of motorbikes.  All are very sensible – and very polite as I wait in passing places for them to get by.  I mention this, because some people seem to think that the road is wide enough for a car and a motorbike – believe me, it isn’t.

At Riconich, I head for the Ardbeg Guest House (Ardbeg House B&B in beautiful area NC500 (Room 2) – Bed and breakfasts for Rent in Rhiconich, Scotland, United Kingdom – Airbnb).  This is my first AirBNB and is a bit of a surprise.  It’s a lonely building, sited at the entrance to a side road to the main route.  Anywhere else, this would mean that there would be constant traffic noise – not so here, when the traffic is extremely rare.  I’ve got my instructions for getting in and am a little nervous as I’ve heard some horror stories about them.

The somewhat lonely Ardbeg Guest House

I didn’t need to worry.  Susan, the owner, is incredibly friendly and she shows me to my room and then to the guest lounge.  She then insists on giving me Lemon Drizzle cake which is homemade and tastes absolutely excellent.  I spend the next couple of hours drinking coffee and chatting with another resident and we put the world to rights.

They are dining elsewhere, so the evening is left to me and my array of unhealthy snacks.  I have been warned that there may be a borealis tonight, so I will try to stay awake.

NC 500 Day Three – Wick to Tongue

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At about 02:00, the people upstairs decide to have a pogo party.  Or they go to the loo.  Whichever one it is, the resultant creaking and groaning wakes me up.  Surprisingly, I drop off to sleep very quickly (I suspect the positive influence of good Scottish air helps and it is nothing to do with the whisky).  The rest of the night passes pretty smoothly and I wake up to find that I’ve been bitten … weirdly, only on one arm.  Cursing quietly, I navigate the rather unimpressive shower and get ready for the day.

My plan is to get some breakfast on the way out of Wick but I need to get going as I have a lot to take in today: John O’Groats, the Duncansby Stacks, Dunnet Head, Thurso and Tongue.  As I head north, I discover what Wick is really good at: potholes.  The road heading north is strewn with massive holes that cause you to lurch across the road to avoid plunging into Stygian depths.  The locals are clearly familiar with them, and you can see vehicles ahead of you suddenly moving into the wrong carriageway to avoid disappearing into the Lost World.  I split my concentration between avoiding the holes and looking for somewhere to get breakfast.  I don’t see anywhere suitable for a stop, so give up and head for John O’Groats.

The sat nav in the car decides to join in with the Scottish aversion to signposts in failing to recognise anywhere known as “John O’Groats”.  Despite my finding that very hard to believe, I head for Duncansby Stacks instead, and the sat nav picks that up.  Access to the stacks is on the road approaching John O’Groats – just showing that the sat nav has no idea what it’s talking about.  The road I turn onto is a tiny single-track road, clearly suitable for nothing larger than a car.  Of course, at the end in the small car park, 3 huge motor-homes are parked in an area clearly marked “Coaches Only”.  I’m very glad to have met neither motor-home nor coach on the way up here.

The car park is by a lighthouse and is perched on a headland with amazing views of the sea on three sides.  The Orkneys are dimly visible to the north. 

Luckily the weather is good today or this would be a horrible place to visit.  As it is, it’s extremely windy and I can imagine what it would be like in a storm.  The Duncansby Stacks are a short walk from the car park, over a low hill which does a great job of hiding them from initial view.  The stacks are amazing and as I walk down the low field towards them, I get a great view.  There are a few people here already and as I approach one of them, sporting a much more impressive camera than me, tells me that they have just spotted a Minkie Whale.  Naturally, it doesn’t return while I’m there. 

But that doesn’t matter because the stacks are incredible and are the first “wow moment” of the holiday. 

I head back and at the car park have a quick chat with two American tourists who are in search of puffins.  I can’t help them with that, but tell them about the Minkie whale and they get very excited and hurry off towards the stacks.

I then head off for John O’Groats which seems to be a large car park with some retail opportunities surrounding it.  The sign is very similar to the one at Land’s End and you can tell how early I am, because I manage to get several shots of it without having to fight a crowd of people off.

I recall being vaguely disappointed when I went to Lands End – and John O’Groats has much the same effect.  I’m too early for the cafes to have opened, so I head into the souvenir shops (pretty much the only ones that I find on the NC500) and get a load of stuff for people at work (the usual: chocolate, fudge, shortbread).  I also collect my travelling companion for the remainder of the journey: Hamish, the Highland Coo. 

Hamish would like it to be known that he picked me and that the holiday from now on is his idea rather than mine.  That’s good, because I can blame him for what comes next.

While online yesterday evening, someone asked if I was going to visit the Castle of Mey.  I hadn’t planned to but as it’s not far along the coast, I decide to give it a try.  The sat nav unerringly directs me off the main road and at a sharp right hand bend, sends me down a small track that goes off to the left.  It quickly becomes apparent that this is a farm track and is heading steeply downwards.  I look behind me and realise that the angle of descent makes reversing an unwise decision, so I have to plough onwards.  As I go down, the track becomes two deep ruts with a massive raised section in the middle, so I’m driving along at an angle with the left wheels on the central section, and the right wheels on the far side of the trench. 

Just as I’m about to give up, I come to a farm gate with an area beyond that is big enough to turn around.  From here I can see the Castle of Mey, but I have a horrible feeling that the road will either become undrivable or I’ll encounter a locked gate.  So I turn around and edge back up the hill to the road – where the sat nav still encourages me to take the farm track. 

The farm track as seen from the Castle of Mey.

Heading back to the main road, I find a much more sensible turning about a mile further on and I drive down to the car park.  It’s just gone 10:00 when I get there and the castle doesn’t open until 11:00.  I take some photos from the outside (including one showing the other end of my exciting farm track) and wonder whether it’s worth waiting for it to open.  My decision gets swiftly made when 2 coaches full of elderly women arrive – time to move on.

Next stop: Dunnet Head.  This is the most northerly point in the mainland UK and the approach is along yet another single track road.  There are more vehicles around now, and I get used to using the passing spaces – a skill that will become increasingly valuable as the holiday progresses.  Just as we’re on the final approach, I pass a car parked near a small loch (at what point does it become a mere?) and see a man clad only in a pair of swimming trunks walking back to his car.  Shivering in sympathy, I head on up to Dunnet Head which is bleak, windswept and slightly rainy.  Top of the world, ma!  (Well, top of the country, at least).  Getting out for a wander round and the door of the car nearly gets pulled out of my hand.  Ironically, this is the first place that I see a guy in a kilt (tick!) and he’s looking less than confident as the wind billows around him. 

On the way back, the swimmer is sat in his car.  Ironically he is now wearing a huge sweater and big woolly hat and looks colder than he did earlier.

My journey now takes me to Thurso where I will grab some lunch – and, actually, breakfast.  I have a wander around the main street and have a chat with a police officer about a good place to eat.  He has no idea as he is based out of Wick.  I commiserate with him, but before wandering off he directs me to the Y Not Café.  I get there at about 11:45 and settle down with the menus.  Multiple.  You see, they serve breakfast until mid-day, then there is a menu that runs until 17:30 and a third menu that has no time limits on it.  I’m really not sure which one I can use. 

The waitress removes my confusion by saying that I can order from whichever menu I want – which then raises the question as to why they have three menus!  I make my selection and announce that I will go for the Cheesecake of the Day for dessert – which, unfortunately, has not yet been made and so is unavailable.

I go for their signature burger (the Y Not burger) which is excellent – though it’s a shame they can’t follow basic instructions and as a result it comes with both tomato and coleslaw.

The ambience of the place is really nice, but somewhat marred by the couple sat near me with their delightfully noisy baby, who emits a variety of ear piercing shrieks that are guaranteed to remind you of a particularly gruesome slasher film.  Despite this, it’s a good lunch and the staff have been very pleasant – so when I realise they have under-charged me, I point it out, rather than cackling with joy as I head for the hills.

Heading firmly west now, I stop off at St Mary’s Chapel.  Navigating here has annoyed the sat nav system no end and it has taken multiple opportunities to steer me back onto the main road.  Ignoring it, I park up in somewhere that looks like a widened entrance to a nearby farm and look around for the path to the Chapel. There is at least a sign here, though it’s not near a path and there are no visible marker poles

It’s a pleasant walk in the sun and wind and I head down the path, until I finally find a signpost – conveniently placed so that it is just out of sight of the car park.  It again directs the walker to follow the marker posts – and there still aren’t any.  At the bottom of the valley I can see a footbridge, and so I hopefully head in that vague direction as one was mentioned on the original sign.  The path meanders down the hill and into the valley, where the footbridge crosses a scenic little river.  Then it’s up the other side, presumably in the right direction because once again there are no signs.

Working my way up to a stile, I still haven’t seen anything that looks a chapel.  Finally, I see a building surrounded by a wall and head towards it, wondering if this is what I’m looking for.  It is – but I can’t get inside as the gate is too narrow for me to get in!  Grumbling at this weightist entry way, I take a few pictures. 

This is a wonderfully remote location with no sounds but the birds and the waves – and the insects, which encourages me to reapply the jungle formula.  I then head back up to the car.

So far, the driving around the NC500 has been pretty standard, with the occasional foray off the main track and onto some single track roads.  As I go past Bettyhill, this all changes.  With no signage to warn you (no surprise there!) the road suddenly narrows and the central markings disappear.  The driving suddenly gets far more interesting and I start to get used to looking ahead for the passing places, which almost immediately become necessary.

I have read lots of people who have complained about the narrow roads, the inconsiderate drivers and the “bloody tourists slowing down the local traffic”.  There are a few comments I would like to make about this:
1) Driving on a single track road is actually pretty easy as long as you (and the other drovers are sensible).  You don’t look at the passing place ahead of you, you look two ahead.  That gives you plenty of time to react and to get into that next passing place.  You also need to assume that everyone approaching you is the width of a car – you might think you can safely get past that motorbike, but they won’t think so as you push them towards the edge of the road.

2) The vast majority of drivers I came across were sensible and considerate.  Most made sure to use the passing places properly (i.e. not use them as places to stop and take photographs from) which is important as many are only big enough for one vehicle at a time.  There is always the occasional idiot, but as long as it’s just one, they are manageable.

3) The basic rule here is that if someone is coming up fast behind you, get out of their way and allow them to pass you.  They may be a local who is more used to the road than you are or they may be an idiot.  To be blunt, it’s very difficult to tell!  I only had a couple of times where someone else caused a problem, and I never worked out to which group they belonged.

I have to admit something here – driving on single track roads is FUN!  I had to be so much more alert than on “normal roads” but the roads themselves were more interesting.  As this section progressed, there are sharp bends, roads with steep drops on one side, walled roads, roads along the side of cliffs, roads with limited visibility and sudden peaks and troughs – in short, roads that are fun to drive.  I’m more glad than ever that I’ve driven anti-clockwise because I’ve got my confidence back before heading into these roads, so I can really enjoy myself.

The increase in interest in roads is matched by the scenery.  The further west I go, the better the scenery.  Today is impressive, but over the next few days I get to drive through some truly majestic scenery.  And the worst of it is that I capture so little of it as there are very few places to stop.  I’m afraid you’re just going to have to imagine it.  While I’ve seen some good things so far, the road west of Bettyhill gives me my first taste of why so many people enjoy driving the NC500.  This holiday is now officially worth it.

However, I’m getting ahead of myself.  Just outside Bettyhill is one of the well-known landmarks of the NC500: the Crumbs Cake Cupboard which stands out from afar as it is painted a garish shade of pink (probably cerise, actually).  There is little left there when I arrive, but I buy a bottle of water and a slice of Mint Aero Brownie that I consume later on (and is very tasty).

I then head off to my overnight stay at the Borgie Lodge Hotel (Borgie Lodge Hotel).  I’ll say now that this place is more expensive than anywhere else I stayed on my holiday and the only reason I booked here was that there was nowhere else available locally.  But, I’m incredibly glad I stayed here and would recommend it to anyone.  The Hotel is stately and with some great views across the valley.  The staff are incredibly friendly and while the food isn’t the cheapest (the main course special was £30), it’s very good quality.

As I drove up to park, I for a moment wondered if I’d come to the right place.  It was clearly not the place to take a coo, so I left Hamish locked in the boot of the car.  (He moaned about that all the next day).  I’m soon settled in a comfortable room, which isn’t en-suite – but just down the corridor is my personal bathroom.  The room has two single beds as well as some comfortable armchairs and I settle into one with a view across the valley to keep an eye out for the deer that I’m assured sometimes come up the hotel. 

None turn up, unfortunately, so I head down to the bar and start the evening off with a pint of Thistle Cross – a 6.2% cider which is surprisingly light and worryingly quaffable.  Rather than my usual tactic of sitting down with a book, I have a long chat with the barman, who is one of the co-managers of the hotel.  We discuss the various types of whisky in his remarkable selection and he regales me with some of his stories.  He’s lived here all his life and talks about swimming in the sea (which just makes me shiver) and soon I’ve been told about swimming with seals, the island of inbred sheep and nearly swimming with orcas.

He then gets away from his clearly annoying customer and I end up talking to someone who is doing the NC500 with her sister and we spend a happy half hour comparing and contrasting where we have been.  Eventually, I head into the restaurant where I’m not sure how hungry I am, so I opt for a starter and dessert.  As a result, I have mushrooms Alfredo and cranachan (tick). 

The manager serves me and rather apologetically comments on the crispy leeks on top of the mushrooms Alfredo.  It seems that the chef likes to experiment – but judging from the taste his experimentation is worth it.

I consider heading back into the bar and grabbing some more cider, but fatigue wins out and I slump back to my room.

NC 500 Day 2 – Dornoch to Wick

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After a disappointing first day, I am temporarily entertained by the bedside lights which operate by touch.  I spend a happy half hour going Dim/Bright/Off/Dim/Bright/Off before finally getting the hang of them.  I then settled down for a really good 6 ½ hours sleep.

I’m woken by an insanely loud dawn chorus – which is the only sound from the outside.  The weather has cleared up and so I can now make use of my external decking and get some photos across to Loch Fleet  It’s beautiful out here and I keep my fingers crossed that this is a sign of better things. 

The first test is the shower and as the first one of the holiday, it does pretty well.  It’s easier to use than the lamp and the temperature is perfect – 10/10.  The soap is in a pump dispenser and is not so good.  Initially I can’t get more than a pathetic dribble out of it.  The problem is solved with brute force and ignorance.

After my ablutions, I check my boots – which are still damp after yesterdays unanticipated stream crossing.  Luckily I have trainers and I’ll just have to be careful about any unwise short cuts.

Before breakfast, it’s time to make an experiment.  I’d seen a lot of videos on Facebook which were clearly shot by passengers and which showed some spectacular scenery.  As I was on my own, I wouldn’t be able to rely on someone else and I knew that there would be a limited amount of places that I could stop.  So I bought myself a Go-Pro with the thought that I could set it up, fire it off to capture some scenery and then when I was able to stop, I could download it to my phone.  A very cunning plan.  My cunning plan is foiled when I attempt to plug the camera into the cars cigarette lighter – only to find that it doesn’t have one.  I might be able to use a USB cable – except that all the car has is a tiny USB port.  Dammit.  Another cunning plan foiled.

I head back in for breakfast, as my stomach reminds me that I haven’t eaten anything since a Mars Bar about 17 hours ago.  I head in, confident that the order I put in last night will give me an unhindered breakfast.  I hadn’t taken into account the fiendish coffee machine which I manage to get to deliver hot water instead of my desired beverage.  The man who met me yesterday managed not to look superior as he deftly sorts it out and I’m soon tucking into an excellent breakfast.  It’s a definite 8/10 – and the only reason it doesn’t get full marks is I get better ones later in the holiday.

I am now replete and I review the plan for the day: Dunrobin Castle, Helmsdale, the Hill O’ Many Staines, Whaligoe Steps and the Pulteney Distillery Tour.  Let’s see how this plays out.  I’ve seen a lot of things online asking how much people should plan.  Some favour the “free spirit” approach, while others rigidly plan everything they are going to do.  I’m taking the middle ground – I have an idea of what I want to do each day, but I’m open to heading off to look at something that seems interesting, or amending the list as I go on.  The main problem with the NC500 is that there is so much to see and do, that any attempt to do everything will lead to nothing more than insanity.

I bid farewell to the excellent Strathview Lodge and drive off down the overly steep drive.  As I do, Greatest Hits radio gives me a good start as they play “Don’t Stop Thinking About Tomorrow”.  The lyric “Yesterday’s Gone” seems particularly appropriate and I take it as a good sign.  And talking of a good sign, as I drive past Loch Fleet, I see something that I hadn’t registered yesterday – a sign warning me about otters.  Presumably they cross here, or they have particular issues with Steve the Otter.  Whatever the reason, I don’t see any and I head towards Dunrobin Castle.

I arrive at the castle at 09:00 and park up in the completely empty car park – mainly because the castle doesn’t open until 10:00.  I decide not to wait – I have a lot to see before the Distillery Tour, so I get some photos around the outside and jump back in the car.

I head up the coast until I get to the village of Helmsdale.  This is a fishing village with a harbour, but I couldn’t park anywhere near it as the available spaces were all crammed full of motor homes.  Instead I park right back on the main road near the bridge which, I discover with some delight, is a Thomas Telford bridge.  I head across and up to the War memorial.  It’s sunny today but very windy – which I was assured this morning is a good thing as midges can’t cope with winds of over 8 miles per hour. 

I wander down into Helmsdale and find a very pretentious little history centre, which I decide not to look around.  I grab a few photos and head back to the car. 

I should point out that I’m worried that I’m going to lose anything that I take with the SLR.  But I want to take the opportunity to use it, so I’m doubling everything up, taking photos with both the SLR and the iPhone.  This results in some odd looks from people as they watch me taking photos with my iPhone while I have the SLR slung over my shoulder.  As I go on, I develop a strategy – SLR as I’m walking one way, iPhone while heading back.  I don’t want to risk losing the SLR pictures, so I’m just hoping the single memory card I have left will have enough capacity.  A friend has already said they may be able to recover my pictures from the first day, so I don’t want to play with the original memory card. 

When I get back to the car, it occurs to me that it’s actually very sunny and the wind has given me a false sense of solar security.  I put on some sun screen and then head off to Badbea…. And almost immediately have to pull over as sun screen gets into both eyes and it bloody hurts!  Having sorted it out, I head off.

Badbea is a clearance village.  This dates from the time when landowners (predominantly English) took crofters that were living on their lands and moved them all to villages on the coast.  This allowed greater grazing land for their sheep and the crofters were encouraged to take up exciting new careers in fishing and clinging to the side of cliffs.  I am expecting a good dose of English guilt and as I head down the tiny path to the memorial, I get a good look at a place that you can find in the dictionary under the word “bleak”. 

There is very little of the village left which clings on scrubland at the top of a cliff.  The sea dominates 180 degrees of the view and it’s clear there would be absolutely no shelter from any storms coming in.  It’s horrendous to think about people being forced to live here and completely understandable why most of these clearance villages no longer exist.

Off to something more fun – the Hill O’ Many Stanes.  I read several things about this saying how disappointed people where when they found it.  Finding it is a bit challenging as the layby bears all the hallmarks of being an entrance to a field and has room for 2 cars.  The hill is reached by a short walk and is exactly as described – it has a lot of stones on it.  These aren’t huge sarsens or dolmens, no, they are about a foot high at the most.  It looks as though someone saw one of the great Neolithic compounds and decided to reproduce it in miniature.  I stay there for longer than really needed out of sheer bloody-mindedness and then head on to what should be one of the highlights of the week.

The guidebook that I left in Slough waxed lyrical about the Whaligoe Steps.  These are (as the name suggests) a long set of steps that goes from the clifftop to the waters edge.  I am somewhat concerned about my fitness to get back up, but dammit, I’m going to give it a try!

Or I would have.

I find myself defeated by a combination of two things: (1) the satnav in the car; (2) the Scottish aversion to signs.  Firstly, the satnav doesn’t have the Whaligoe Steps on it.  It does have Whaligoe though, so I head that way confident that such a renowned tourist spot will be signposted.  Which brings us to secondly and the fact that the Scottish people don’t seem to like signs.  I drive down the main road and come to Whaligoe.  Here there is a crossroads with a very small road inland and what looks like a wider than normal drive towards the sea.  The way inland is signposted for a hillfort of some kind.  The other way has no sign at all.  All this I register as I sweep majestically past and the Satnav rather smugly tells me that I need to turn around.  The opportunity to do this doesn’t come for about a mile, but I head back, hoping to see the entrance that I have missed.  And again, I sweep majestically past.  On the third attempt, I turn inland, hoping to find somewhere to park up or a local person to speak to.  I find neither – and nor do I find the hillfort.  Finally, cursing the Scottish lack of signage I head off towards Wick.  Of course, I later find out that I should have driven down the unsigned driveway.

After that disappointment, surely it’s all uphill from here.  Sadly no, because my next stop is Wick.  There are various ways to describe Wick, and the one I’m going to select is “festering dung-hole”.  It has the problem that a lot of places have – everywhere on the High Street is closed.  But Wick has taken it to the level that makes it an art form.  Those places that remain have that “come in here so that we can slit your throat and turn you into pies” vibe about them.  Despite this I have a wander around and find that even Christ doesn’t want to come to Wick.  There is a Thomas Telford trail – which I don’t follow.  The best thing about Wick is that it’s easy to spell. 

Wick’s main claim to fame is that it has the shortest street in the world – which is significantly smaller than Mackay’s bistro where I’m having lunch. 

Ideally, I would move on – but I have a Distillery Tour booked and I’m over-nighting here, so I’m just going to have to put up with it.  I settle down in Mackay’s and wait for my soup and a sandwich – a cheese and chutney sandwich with Cullen Skink.  While I text a friend of mine about my Go-Pro issues, lunch arrives.  The Cullen Skink is excellent. 

This is a good time, to introduce my checklist of things that I want to see while I’m in Scotland:

  • Haggis (tick – had some with breakfast)
  • Whisky (tour later)
  • Scotch pancakes
  • Cullen Skink (tick)
  • Kilt
  • Highland coo (I had a potential sighting earlier, but I was driving too fast to be sure)
  • Tam o’ Shanter
  • Someone tossing a caber
  • Someone called Morag
  • Someone saying “och aye the noo”
  • Cranachan
  • A Capercaillie

Lunch is pretty good and is finished off with a strawberry and almond cake.  Is it enough to redeem Wick…no.

My friend has advised me that there is a phone shop on the benighted Wick High Street that has a good reputation.  So I head over there to see if I can get the cable I need.  I fight my way into the shop – literally, the door is stuck and I have to force it open.  I am then unable to shut it behind me.  I explain my problem and the assistant provides me with a suitable cable.  I then head out of the now insecure shop and back to the car to test the cable.  Immediately there is a problem.  The cable doesn’t fit in the same way that the other one did, so it’s impossible to mount the camera properly.  Despite this, I manage to get it plugged in and drive around Wick to see if I can make it work.  I successfully record some footage and then park up near my overnight accommodation to see if I can transfer it to my iPhone.  Which does exactly the same as it did to the SLRs memory card.  I later find out that this is a “feature” of Apple products.  But basically, the Go Pro experiment is over.

I head into the En-suite Rooms – which sound suitably impressive.  They aren’t.  The outside looks like a complete shit-hole – which fits very well into the general Wick ambience.  My instructions tell me to look for a numbered door – none of the doors have numbers.  The upside to this is that while I’m looking for the right door, I find a list of flat number and one of them is for someone called Morag (tick!)

Inside, the rooms are actually quite nice and well looked after.  This is some form of half board though and downstairs is a large communal area where they have provided tea and coffee – but no milk.  If I’d been expecting self-catering it wouldn’t have been too bad.  As it is, by the time I realise (which is much later) it’s too late.  The floors are all bare wood that creaks alarmingly as I walk across it.  I really hope that fact won’t become relevant later ….

Meanwhile, time to head off for the Pulteney Distillery Tour.  There are 5 of us on the tour – I am joined by two French guys and a German couple.  Jackie, our guide, gives us a great introduction to whisky making and then takes us on the tour.  She is informative and funny and the tour is superb.  Walking into the storage areas is amazing as the air is just filled with the smell of whisky. 

She takes us through the whole process, including introducing us to Mr and Mrs Fraser, the flying cats.  (Ok they’re seagulls, but they perform the same function as cats should – they keep the vermin under control).  Finally, Jackie takes us into the tasting room where she presents us with our complimentary whisky glass and a sample of two of the whiskies.  Then, into the retain opportunity where she plies us with several tiny samples.  Tiny – but potent!  She starts with the cask strength and works down from there.  As a result, my resolve to buy a £20 bottle is chipped away until I leave, weaving slightly, and clutching a bag with a £75 bottle of whisky in it.  Easily the best thing about Wick.

I stagger back to my room and then discover the lack of milk.  I consider going out to get some or even calling in a delivery, but the alcohol wins the battle and I drift happily off to sleep.  Until about 11:15, when the people on the floor above come home.  It would appear that they too have bare wooden floors which creak as though a pair of hippos was having a romantic entanglement in the room above.  Don’t worry, I’m sure they won’t be up in the middle of the night …

NC 500 – Days Zero and One

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As both of the people who follow this blog will be aware, I have a habit of visiting multiple places on my holidays. This year will be different. Not in that I won’t be visiting multiple places, but this time I’m doing it by car rather than by public transport. So, not that different at all, really. Anyway, on with the show.

Since I last darkened your door with my rambling drivel, it’s been a bit of an odd year. My back has still been bad and made me cancel my original plan, which was to do the Cotswold Way. I’ve had an officer take me to an Employment Tribunal because apparently I’m a bad man and she should be allowed to turn up to work drunk. I’ve been put on a project at work for three months which has been huge fun and has given me the chance to practice driving – which is useful for this holiday.

The NC500 was something that wasn’t really on my radar. I’d seen the name, but what got me interested was a picture of the Kyle of Tongue.

I took one look at that and wanted to go there. So I started doing some research. I did all the sensible stuff and bought the Robbie Roams book and made the decision to use a car rather than something larger. I also joined several Facebook groups about the NC500 and that’s where the problems started. What was immediately clear is that a lot of people on these groups really hated the NC500. There were a lot of people complaining about roads being clogged up, a lot of hate about caravans and “wild camping” and (on a group called “NC500 The Dirty Truth) a load of vitriol being hurled about tourists generally.

It actually got bad enough that a couple of months before my trip, I considered cancelling it. If you find yourself in the same situation, here is my advice: DON’T. I had an amazing time.

One of the decisions I had to make was how long to spend on the NC500. In the end, I went for 7 days – this was solely limited by finance. Since going, I’ve been asked several times how long people should take. I honestly don’t know – I have the feeling that if I’d spent 30 days there, I would still have come away with more to see.

Anyway, having done my research, I decide to hire a car in Inverness and do the NC500 anti-clockwise. I also decide to get to and from Inverness by using the Caledonian Sleeper – then I don’t have to worry too much about luggage and I avoid the extra time required for checking in at airports. I’m not getting a cabin as I have a well-documented ability to fall asleep on any moving vehicle. By the way, there are a lot of views on which way you should do the NC500 – I would always go for anti-clockwise. The east coast is attractive, but the west coast is spectacular. Going clockwise makes the east coast a bit of a disappointment.

There are clearly some concerns when approaching the NC 500. The main ones seem to be:

  • Midges
  • Ticks
  • Bad drivers
  • Motorhomes
  • Crappy weather
  • Pot Holes

As a result, I made sure to stock up on Jungle Formula and purchased a Tick Comb. I’d already bought the excellent Robbie Roams book, and I supplemented this with a map of the NC500. I then used both of them to sort out a rough itinerary – I’d recommend everyone to do this as there is so much to see and do. I’d been speaking to a friend at work about going and made the mistake of telling him that I was going to be taking pictures on my iPhone. He would have none of this, so insisted on lending me his spare digital SLR. I’d also realised that there was a lot of scenery that I’d be unable to capture while I was driving, so I bought a little Go-Pro that would run off of the cigarette lighter in the car.

I think you’ll agree, that I was ready.

The day dawned for me to head off and, as usual, I left all my packing to the last minute. The Caledonian Sleeper doesn’t leave until 21:15, so I don’t leave the house until after 19:00. Which feels weird – there’s something not right about starting a holiday in the evening! Anyway, I grabbed my rucksack and my little suitcase and headed for the railway station.

Since my last trip from Slough, they have remodelled the station. This has involved putting a fence on the main platform to stop people rushing out of the booking office and straight under a train. They have also moved the barrier into the booking office. So I wander straight in to get my pre-booked ticket from the automated ticket machines. Which are not here any more. I have, of course, walked straight past them as they are now outside the station which makes it convenient for the homeless people to bother you – which is exactly what happens.”

“I’m not homeless, but I’ve been trying all day to get £5 to get my electricity turned back on.” The gaping holes in her story pale into insignificance as I have previously dealt with her at work, so I politely decline, collect my tickets and head through the barrier, leaving her to find some other mug kind Samaritan.

I head up and over the bridge to the platform where the Elizabeth Line waits. There is a rush of people panicking to get to it but I stroll casually across, seemingly unconcerned. This is for two reasons: (1) I am, as usual, nearly an hour ahead of schedule; (2) I know there’s another train in 20 minutes. I can understand running for a train if you have to wait for an hour – but 20 minutes? Not worth the effort. My refusal to walk faster than an amble does mean that a child runs full tilt into me as his mother manhandles an unfeasibly large wheely bag across the footbridge.

Having found a place to wait for the next train, I get out the first book of the holiday: Ben Hur by Lew Wallace. I’m almost immediately surprised by how religious it us … I don’t remember that from the film!

The Elizabeth Line turns up as predicted and my fellow travellers on the platform show a serious lack of commuting etiquette as they try and surge on without letting people get off first. I get a thank you from a harassed-looking lady as I let her off as a family of approximately 20 people swarm on. I mutter darkly at them – damn, it’s a bit early in the holiday for dark mutterings!

As I settle into my seat I look up to see the opposite platform absolutely packed with commuters heading home. By the time I get into central London to change to the Northern Line, the trains and stations are full of people talking slightly too loudly – a sure sign that they have been in the pub. Most are clearly off for a night out, which makes me feel even more disconnected.

I arrive at Euston an hour early and head down to the platform, which is tucked away in a corner of the station. To my surprise, there is already a queue of about 20 people which includes a loud American family who are having a “spirited discussion” with a lady at the barrier. As they step away, it appears that “spirited discussion” is their default and so I sincerely hope that I’m sat in a different carriage from them. As I settle down to Ben Hur, I realise that when I packed, I forgot a few things – Robbie Roams, the map and my itinerary. And probably my tick comb. Bugger.

They let us in about 15 minutes after I arrive (clearly recognising the impact of my blog HAH!) and I head down to find my seat. Not too bad – though I do envy all the people with cabins.

I settle down and explore my complimentary sleep kit for the “Journey of a Night Time”. (I bet someone was ridiculously proud of THAT one!). There is a decent menu though, so I shall grab something before I settle down for the night and look forward to a decent breakfast in the morning.

My near neighbours are a very polite little boy and his Dad and by the time we leave the carriage is about half full. Weirdly, all the seats seem to be facing backwards – I later find out that they swap halfway down the carriage. But it’s comfortable enough and I’m sure I shall be able to get some sleep.

I decide to avail myself of the menu and ask for a toasted sandwich. The guy who speaks to me is unsure as to whether hot food is available. Which seems odd – this is a reasonable menu, most of which is hot. Are they just taunting us with it? Eventually my toasted sandwich and coffee arrives.

Sleep has proved elusive when we get to our first stop at Crewe at 11:45. I wouldn’t have thought anyone would be catching a train at this time of night, but by the time we pull away, the carriage is now full.

An hour later, we arrive at Preston. My infamous and much-vaunted ability to sleep has so far eluded me and I’ve done little more than doze. Ah well, still 8 hours to go. Even if I don’t get much sleep, I deliberately planned for a short journey by car today, so I should be able to cope.

During the night, one of the problems of trying to sleep in a carriage likes this comes to light. At some point, some muppet will knock over their rubbish and send cup, milk sachets and stirrers flying into the aisle and wake everybody up. Mumbling an apology, I sheepishly pick everything up and pretend to go back to sleep.

By the time 6am rolls around, I have had very little sleep. Most people are starting to wake up and I’m starting to think about breakfast. Almost immediately a little sign goes up saying that there is no hot food. Which I think is a bit crap. I decide to head down to the toilet, at which point I’m very glad that I’m sat at the other end of the carriage as some bright spark has decided that it’s a good idea for the toilet to announce everything that it is doing – and to do so very loudly:

  • “Toilet door is opening”
  • “Toilet door is closing”
  • “Toilet door is locked”
  • “Some prat is getting water everywhere while washing their hands”
  • “Oh dear, I see Madame isn’t wearing her car crash underwear.”
  • Etc

I head back to my seat and order a coffee and ask about the hot food. Apparently is is unavailable due to “high demand”. Seriously, they know how many people have booked seats, so surely they can correctly estimate the amount of food needed? Or, as seems more likely, do they have a limited time to make it and therefore give priority to the people with cabins? Bastards!

The scenery outside, by the way, is amazing. It’s been sunny since dawn and we’ve been travelling through mountains and hills. It’s all very bucolic with livestock everywhere and bodes well for the holiday.

This starts to go downhill at 07:45 when the first dickhead takes a loud work call. Why is it that these are always taken by people who have no volume control and feel the need to shout? He really shouldn’t have bothered, as he clearly isn’t awake yet and his conversation includes the scintillating line “No, yeah, well, yeah, no.”

We arrive at Inverness 20 minutes early, Bloody typical – I have 2 hours to wait to get my hire car, so this is one journey that I really didn’t want to be early for. Never mind – gives me time to get breakfast, a tick comb and a map (not necessarily in that order).

I head into the town centre, snapping a few shots on the way with the iPhone.

After a short journey, I find the Good Craic Cafe https://www.facebook.com/GoodCraicCafe/ where I astound the waiter with my ability to make a quick decision. Well, it wasn’t difficult, and I settle down to await my Full Scottish Breakfast. I take it as a good sign when one of my fellow passengers walks in. As he has travelled up here with his bicycle, I assume he has some local knowledge. The breakfast does not disappoint – damn, it’s good to be somewhere where black pudding comes as a standard!

The service is fast and the waiter is friendly – although he has as many problems with my accent as I have with his! The food is pretty good and by the time I leave, the place is packed. It’s noticeable that there are as many locals as there are tourists, which speaks well for anywhere. (I could claim that it’s my status as a trendsetter, but even I might be pushing that one!)

I head to some local shops to pick up a tick comb and a map. The map involves going downstairs in WH Smith to the room “where staff never go”. I got directed down here by a lugubrious assistant who seemed surprised that anyone would want to go down stairs to “where the books are”. I find a suitable map and while I am there am accosted by a little old lady who is looking for a book on Scottish birds. We both have a hunt around but can’t find one. As I’m heading upstairs I see a staff member disappearing around a corner in the same way that small ghost children skip out of sight in horror films. I track her down and direct her to her customer downstairs. She looks at me in the same way as her colleague and grudgingly heads down to stare at the unfamiliar presence. I pay for the map and get the hell out of there.

I decide to head for the car hire place and take Google’s advice on the way to walk. This takes me through an area that can best be described as “sketchy”. There are several tour drop off and meeting points along the road which I’m sure must attract the more unsavoury elements of the town. Luckily, they’re not around today. I arrive at Arnold Clark, with my back giving me some serious gyp and sit down to sort out the car. It appears that my booking of a manual Vauxhall Insignia has changed to an automatic Skoda Octavia. It is quickly swapped for a manual by the very helpful assistant. He then asks me for my National Insurance number for a DVLA check. Now some people may know theirs, I haven’t got a clue. However, he gets it sorted, is very helpful and soon am introduced to my mighty steed and the NC500 officially begins.

Now, I would usually include a ton of photos that I’ve taken, but for this particular entry I’m going to have to rely on pictures I’ve grabbed from the internet. The reason for this will come clear later on.

My first destination is Chanonry Point which is known to be a good place for dolphin and whale spotting (though mostly dolphins). It’s approached by a single-track road with passing places that goes across a golf course and it’s immediately very clear that some people just don’t understand how to drive on these roads. However, I successfully get to the small car park, snag one of the few remaining places and have a stroll around. I am now deploying the digital SLR, so I start learning how to use it.

There are quite a few people here – and seem to be a lot of Germans. There are, however, no dolphins. But it’s a good walk around the pebbled beach and I take some artistic shots of a beached boat. There’s not much to see here if the marine wildlife isn’t co-operating, so I’m fairly quickly back in the car and off to the Fairy Glen.

The Fairy Glen is a 1 1/2 mile glen leading to some small waterfalls. It’s also an RSPB area. I find it’s tiny car park, where manoeuvring is made far more difficult by the motorhome driver who has decided to park in the entrance. But I find a space and head up the path. Now, I should say that so far the day has been warm and sunny. So I’m wearing a T-shirt and jeans. Apart from the camera, that’s all I have with me.

I head down the path and under a road bridge alongside a stream. As I do, there is a group walking down the path on the other side who tell me that my path has been wiped out by a land slip, but that I can cross to this path over the road. Thanking them, I do so and negotiate a steep, muddy scramble to get back down to the path. The fairy glen is very pretty and, despite the number of people using it, very quiet. The trees keep all sound to a minimum and it’s a very attractive walk. Everything is going fine until I get to the first waterfall.

There are a couple of people here that I’ve caught up with and I can see the steep path heading on to the second waterfall. As I take some photos, I feel the first drips of rain. Damn – well from what I can see of the sky, it’s likely to clear up pretty quickly … isn’t it?

Sadly, I am wrong and the shower turns into a torrential downpour. I head back to the car, initially going from tree to tree and trying to shelter briefly each time – but the downpour is so intense that rain is still getting through. The path gets slippery very quickly – I’m glad I’m wearing boots. I start to get worried about the camera – it’s not mine and I don’t want it to get water-damaged. So I keep putting it under my T-shirt. By the time I’m halfway back, the effectiveness of this is somewhat dubious as my T-shirt is soaked. There are still a couple of people heading into the glen and I refrain from responding to the smug git whose comment is “Is it a bit wet then?“

By the time I get back to the bridge, I am cold, soaked and miserable. I look at what was a muddy scramble before and realise that there is no way I can get back up it. Well that stream isn’t THAT deep is it? I manage to successfully get 2/3rds of the way across it before it gets deep enough to get inside my boots. I squelch the way back to the car park. The rain persists which hasn’t stopped a huge family who are letting their children run around in front of moving vehicles. I ignore them and head around to the boot of the car where I can change my shirt and boots. The jeans will have to stay on 😦 The Age-Appropriate Hoodie gets pressed into service as a towel to dry me and the camera off. I get back into the car, turn the heating on and curse at myself. I have ignored the most basic advice about the Scottish weather – always expect the worst!

My plan was then to head for the Mermaid of the North, but as I drive through the monsoon, I decide to avoid another soaking and head straight for Dornoch in the hope that the rain will stop. On the way, I cross the truly impressive Cromarty Firth Bridge – if it wasn’t tipping with rain, I’d have stopped to get some photos.

As I approach Dornoch, the rain persists, so I head for my overnight stay at the Strathview Lodge https://strathview-dornoch.co.uk/. The entrance is right on a sharp bend, so I sail past and have to drive half a mile before I can find somewhere to turn around. I then navigate the steep and winding driveway to the Lodge. It’s a nice little place, with some spectacular views over Loch Fleet – or they would be if it wasn’t tipping down. My initial impression isn’t that good. An older gentleman (i.e. probably my age) opens the door and when I say I have a room booked, his reply is “Oh, do you?” However, he brings me inside and shows me to my room where his wife has just finished getting it ready. They are both incredibly friendly, make recommendations for somewhere to eat and then give me an unbelievably comprehensive checklist for breakfast tomorrow … which includes haggis 🙂

I settle down, put my boots under the radiator and sort myself out. I’ve got an SD reader to allow me to transfer my pictures from the camera to my iPhone (so that I can post them on Facebook), so I dig that out, insert the SD card and… the phone tells me that there are no pictures on the card. Oh. I then put the card back into the camera, and it tells me the SD card is blank. I’ve basically lost all the photos that I took today. (I’ve since learned that this is a “feature” of Apple products in that they insensitively assume that everything is in Apple format and aggressively re-format it for your convenience).

This really is the last straw. I can’t be bothered to go out and eat, so day one finishes with me sat in my room, drinking coffee.