Turn Left at Bognor Pier

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2011-09-15T15:13:00.010+01:00

Hello to all my regular readers! I know there are a number of you out there.

Thank you for your interest.

We have just returned from another trip to Scotland where we continued our Round-Britain-Walk. This time we walked from Largs to Ballantrae, all in Ayrshire. We had intended walking much further but the weather decided otherwise. We will walk in most weathers, but we draw the line at hurricanes! It was as if the tail-end of hurricane 'Katya' was seeking us out on the Ayrshire coast. By the time we had skulked in our caravan for several days waiting for the wind to abate, we had lost all our momentum and only wanted to go home.
We haven't had much luck this year, what with blisters the size of biscuits, a pulled muscle, my bad back and now a hurricane. We have only managed to cover half the distance we had intended. But it'll all be there next year, and we'll return in the Spring to continue.
Highlights of this year's trekking have been seeing an otter eat a fish quite close to us on the Kintyre Peninsula, and taking a short cruise on the 'Waverley', the only sea-going paddle steamer still in service -- a wonderful ship!
I shall spend the Winter months attempting to catch up with writing up this blog, but real life in retirement is so exciting it keeps getting in the way!

Once again, thank you for your interest in our venture.

Rosemary

Walk 233 -- Little Gruinard beach to Poolewe

2010-04-07T16:37:00.067+01:00

Ages: Colin was 67 years and 334 days. Rosemary was 65 years and 111 days.
Weather: A lot of sun. There was a cool wind, but it remained dry.
Location: Little Gruinard Beach to Poolewe.
Distance: 13½ miles.
Total distance: 2149½ miles.
Terrain: All road walking.
Tide: In, going out.
Rivers: No.220, Inverianvie River. No.221, Little Gruinard River. No.222, Allt Bad an Ling. No.224, River Ewe.
Ferries: None.
Piers: None.
Kissing gates: Nos.199 & 200 at Little Gruinard Beach. Nos. 201 & 202 in Poolewe.
Pubs: None.
‘Historic Scotland’ properties: None.
Ferris wheels: None.
Diversions: None.
How we got there and back: We towed our caravan to Gairloch, all the way from Malvern taking two full days to do so. We set up last night on a caravan site in the village. This morning we drove to Poolewe where we parked the car near a bus stop. Then we caught the bus, which only runs four times a week, to Little Gruinard Beach.
At the end, we ended the Walk at our car. We had our caramel shortbread, but saved the tea until we got back to the caravan as it wasn’t far.

At the beginning of this Walk we could have marched a few yards along Little Gruinard Beach before reaching the first of two rivers. Colin did so, but I didn’t because of my leg. Until this morning there was nothing whatever the matter with either of my legs. But as I came out of the caravan this morning to walk over to the shower block, my left leg suddenly gave way! It was extremely painful, and I couldn’t walk on it at all. Naturally we were both very worried and upset. We just couldn’t understand what had happened. Perhaps I had laid on it wrong in my bed last night, but my caravan bunk is quite comfortable and I slept well. I had been sitting in the car for two days as Colin drove the 600 miles to get up here, but we had frequent stops when I always got out and walked up and down for a stretch.
I massaged the leg and rubbed ‘Powergel’ into the muscles. I took painkillers and tried walking up and down. But it just kept giving way sending painful shocks up and down the sciatic nerve. I was determined to do the Walk. We hadn’t driven all the way up here for nothing, and our accommodation at the lighthouse (in a couple of days) was already booked so it was essential to keep to our schedule. So I picked up my trekking sticks and we drove to Poolewe to catch the bus as planned.
I used the trekking sticks as crutches at first and walking was quite painful. That is why I didn’t go down on to the beach, it was too uneven and getting down the wooden steps would have been difficult. I knew today’s Walk was entirely on roads, and I thought I could cope with that kind of surface. As the day progressed, and I had stretched the muscles and got the blood flowing, the pain eased and I ended the day with just a dull ache. I didn’t have to take any more painkillers after this morning. There was little traffic on the road but it did increase a bit this afternoon.
Two rivers exit on to Little Gruinard Beach, and we crossed both of them on the road bridges. We noticed that the trees up here are still bare of any foliage, whereas at home, six hundred miles further south, everything is beginning to look quite green. But the sun was shining and the wind wasn’t really all that cold, so we didn’t really mind.
On some of the conifer trees we saw what looked like pink flowers appearing — though conifers don’t have flowers — but whatever they were, they were very pretty. (I don’t know much about botany, I expect you can guess!)
Through gaps in the trees we could see the mountains we had bypassed on previous Walks. This is wild country up here! We saw some red deer, but we didn’t manage to photograph them because they were a long way away and were well camouflaged. They wouldn’t have made a good picture.
We had been concerned about the weather in Scotland before we came up, wondering if we may have to cancel the trip. Only a week ago this part of Scotland was labouring under ice, snow and gale force winds! But fortunately things have calmed down and warmed up a bit over the past few days. We were reminded of this by the salt/grit piles at frequent intervals by the side of the road. I expect they needed to make constant use of them during the winter season.
The rocks are very interesting in this part of the British Isles. Observing some of them from a distance, they actually look like the flowing lava they once were — beautiful! Glancing back we could still see Gruinard Island, and shuddered at its grisly past.
Colin doesn’t like walking on roads, so he took a different path whenever he had the chance. I stuck to the tarmac, though the pain in my leg was already easing. The trekking sticks were a great help, I relied on them heavily today.

We were puzzled when we passed a place-name sign reading “Second Coast”. What an odd name? And there wasn’t even a hamlet there, we hadn’t passed any buildings since we had started the Walk. Where was First Coast anyhow?
That question was soon answered about a quarter of a mile down the road when we came to the “First Coast” sign which was equally without any hint of habitation around it.
The only thing we did notice about the area between the two signs was a patch of pink polyanthus on a bank — not wild primroses, you understand, but garden flowers. Now somebody had planted those, but that’s not a village warranting a place-name.

And then we saw the seals! That did cheer me up and helped me forget about how difficult I was finding the walking today. The seals were basking on rocks below us.
Their problem was that the tide was coming in and covering the rocks where they had made themselves so comfortable. They seemed very reluctant to give in, perhaps they knew that the tide was almost at its highest and were hoping it wouldn’t quite swamp them if they sat tight.
We came to a wooden post which told us there was a cave down below — this cave was also marked on the map. But I was in no fit state to clamber down over rocks, and Colin couldn’t be bothered. (He had been counting caterpillars since we left Little Gruinard Beach, that was the extent of his boredom.) However, on the ‘cave’ post he noticed the most gorgeous golden beetle. Neither of us have ever seen one like it before, we thought it must be the ‘golden eagle’ of beetles!
As we neared the hamlet of Laide we met our first human being since leaving the bus, so we stopped for a chat. He was local, an old man of 85, and he had a lovely dog with him. He was very friendly, and told us chattily all about his ‘rescue’ dog. When we left him we crossed a little bridge to where there was an electric meter, and sat on a rock to eat our pasties. Then we went to the village shop — and discovered it had a bench outside where we would have been much more comfortable! We bought some sweets which had the immediate effect of raising my blood sugar level. I began to feel a lot better, and much more that I could cope with the Walk. We also went to the butcher’s shop where we bought some pies for tomorrow, and some meat which we carried in our rucksacks until we got back to the caravan.
We followed the main road straight towards Aultbea, cutting off the next peninsula because there is no path round it.
About a mile out of Laide we passed an open gateway. A notice told us it was Laide Wood, a community project, and we were invited to visit and say what we thought about it. So we looked inside, and found what looked more like a wasteland than a wood. We assumed this was part of an initiative to clear Scotland of non-native conifer plantations which had been planted for their timber, and replace them with a mixture of native broadleaves, Scots pine and juniper in the interests of biodiversity. But there was nothing to explain that in Laide Wood, and we couldn’t make out whether they were going to plant the native trees once all the ground was cleared or let them self-seed.
Another mile further on we came to a viewpoint. It was slightly off-road, and even I struggled up the short path on my ‘crutches’ to look at the view. That was magnificent, but despite a fancy stone plinth the map which was supposed to explain to us what we were looking at was missing.
We found some frogspawn in a roadside ditch and felt it was a sign of early Spring.
As we trudged on we both began thinking the same thing — that we hoped there would be some public loos in Aultbea. I was confident because ‘PC’ was clearly marked on the map. The road on which we were walking was very open, the occasional vehicle was too frequent to be ‘safe’, and the surrounding countryside was fenced in making it difficult to hide behind a rock.
Colin saw something ahead, and became convinced it was a pair of “portaloos”, probably because he wanted it to be so. The more I pooh-poohed his fantasy the more he became convinced that it was two black “portaloos” — until we got near enough to see that it was, in fact, two large black drums, containing we knew not what, sitting on palettes behind a fence! We both laughed then, and I teased him about his “portaloos” for a long time afterwards.
On reaching Aultbea we turned into the village because we could walk round a triangle of roads nearer the sea. A car parked outside one of the houses had the inscription “Powered by fairy dust” emblazoned across its boot! (This is probably a reflection of the fact that petrol prices are rising daily at the moment, and on top of that there has been a hike in the tax on fuels.)
We got to the public loos, only to find them locked! A notice apologised for the inconvenience (I’ll say!) but the pipes burst during the recent icy weather so they were temporarily out of order. “We’ll just have to go to the pub!” said I, making for the hotel opposite. “I don’t want to go in there!” replied Colin, “they don’t sell real ale, only keg!” Well, I wanted a drink, the loo and a sit-down, so I strode in and ordered myself a glass of cider. “You can do what you like!” I’d thrown back at my grumpy husband, “but I’m going in here!” He meekly followed me and ordered a glass of ‘keg’! (Sssh! Don’t tell his CAMRA friends!)
We both felt a lot better after that, I was distinctly more comfortable and Colin was distinctly less disgruntled. Afterwards we sat on the beach at the bottom of the hotel steps, in glorious sunshine and out of the wind, to eat our lunch. We left Laide and returned to the main road past a chapel. The road took us uphill from where we had a glorious view across the loch and of the island in the middle.
We were now walking along the shores of Loch Ewe. This loch was of great strategic importance during the Second World War, for it is a natural deep-water sea loch that links to the Atlantic Ocean. So it was used as a naval base for refuelling ships. It was said that so many ships docked in Loch Ewe it was possible to walk from one side of the loch to the other without getting your feet wet! (Well, we’re planning on doing that over the next two days, but we’re going to walk round.)
During the War, military personnel outnumbered the local population by 3 to 1. Altogether 481 merchant ships and over 100 naval escort vessels left Loch Ewe for Russia in a total of 19 Arctic convoys to provide vital supplies to Murmansk and Archangel. Many of them never came back, and there is a memorial to those who lost their lives at Cove — near the entrance to Loch Ewe. We remembered seeing this memorial on a previous holiday some years back, but unfortunately we shall miss it out on our next Walk on that side of the loch because Cove is at a dead end.
We passed the entrance to the oil refuelling depot, which looks as if it is still used although there were no ships in the loch. A notice told us bluntly to “keep out”! As we climbed higher we noticed that the oil tanks had been housed within an ancient fort — perhaps they thought the stoutly built walls would afford them extra protection.
Higher still, we had wonderful views of the Torridon range of mountains ahead of us. That is probably the most mountainous region through which we will have to walk on the whole Trek, and we are approaching it fast! The road took us down low again, and we came across another old fort. No “keep out” notices here, so Colin wandered across a muddy field to have a closer look. I stayed on the road because I didn’t want to upset my leg which had calmed down to a dull and bearable ache. He didn’t find any notices about its history, which was a bit disappointing.
We passed a stream in which there were some lovely bright yellow flowers which were not quite open. We were not sure what they were, but they looked good. A little further on we passed the gateway of a garden shop which advertised ‘coastal plants’ for sale. Since we were right by the coast, we couldn’t see the sense in paying for something we could collect ourselves for free! I suppose it’s the same mind-set as in Malvern where you can buy bottled ‘Malvern Water’ at more than £1 a bottle in a supermarket situated less than fifty yards from a spring where you can collect as much as you like for free!
It was taking longer than we had anticipated to walk from Aultbea to Poolewe. Perhaps it was because I was slow with my gammy leg, though that was almost back to normal by mid-afternoon. We passed a couple of small lochs. Then we found a rock in the roadside grass where we were sheltered from the wind by trees, so we sat on it to eat our chocolate.
Later we passed Inverewe Gardens, a National Trust property which houses a lot of interesting plants, some sub-tropical! It is a very protected area tucked into the corner of Loch Ewe, and the Gulf Stream helps to keep the ice and snow away. We have visited it on a previous holiday and found it interesting, but expensive to get in.
At last! We started to descend a hill, and there were the houses of Poolewe peeping at us from between the trees! We were at the end of the loch. We walked a little along the top of the beach, and then crossed the River Ewe which seemed to be in full spate emptying itself into the loch. There was a tiny garden on our right with kissing gates at either end. It was a little short cut to the bus stop where our car was parked. That seemed a fitting end to our first Walk this season!

That ended Walk no.233, we shall pick up Walk no.234 next time by the bus stop in Poolewe. It was six o’clock, so the Walk had taken nine hours — much longer than it should have, but then this morning we were wondering whether we would be able to do it at all. We had our caramel shortbread, but saved the tea until we got back to the caravan as it wasn’t far.

Walk 232 -- Dundonnell to Little Gruinard Beach

2009-09-20T17:10:00.040+01:00

Ages: Colin was 67 years and 135 days. Rosemary was 64 years and 277 days.
Weather: There was a cold wind. Sometimes it was sunny and sometimes it was grey. Occasional drizzle.
Location: Dundonnell to Little Gruinard Beach.
Distance: 11 miles.
Total distance: 2136 miles.
Terrain: We walked beside a main road all day, with occasional but fast traffic. There was a greensward most of the way. Undulating.
Tide: Going out.
Rivers: No.218, Allt Airdeasaidh at Ardessie where there was a rather nice waterfall. No.219, Gruinard River at Gruinard.
Ferries: None.
Piers: None.
Kissing gates: None.
Pubs: None.
‘Historic Scotland’ properties: None.
Ferris wheels: None.
Diversions: None.
How we got there and back: We were staying in our caravan in Ardmair, and we had hired a car locally so we had two. This morning we drove both cars to Little Gruinard Beach where we parked our own car opposite the beach. Then we drove the hire-car back to the layby at Dundonnell where we ended the walk yesterday.
At the end, we ended the Walk at our own car. After tea and biscuits, we drove back to Dundonnell to pick up the hire-car. We drove both cars back to Ullapool where we returned the hire-car because our week was up. After visiting the Morefield Hotel, we drove back to our caravan at Ardmair.
The weather deteriorated during the night, and it turned extremely windy. The caravan was bouncing about so much it was frightening. So we decided enough was enough, and headed for home the next day. We made an overnight stop in Callander, near Stirling.

We had stunning views all the way on today’s Walk! This really is a lovely part of Scotland. But there was a cold wind, so we walked in full wind-proof gear, which really is our waterproof gear with thermals underneath.
Very early into the Walk we came to a stone shed and discovered we could get completely out of the wind if we crouched behind it. So we sat there and ate our slices of quiche (no pies today). We idly watched a flock of sheep on a mountain path the other side of the loch — they were all in a line, that’s what caught the eye. We wondered if they were on the path to Scoraig, but then realised we weren’t far enough along the loch. They weren’t on any real path at all but they seemed to be coping with the rough terrain OK. Probably a lot more easily than I would have coped with it!
The sky looked grim, so we put on our overtrousers before we left the shelter of the stone shed. Soon we had to take them off again because it got too hot to wear them. We wished the weather would make up its mind! But we weren’t really fussed because everywhere we looked it was all so magnificent. If it wasn’t for the fact we were walking along a main road, everything would have been perfect! But even then we had a greensward most of the way so we didn’t have to do much traffic-dodging, and it was soft underfoot.
Further along we passed a brewery, and Colin got very excited. He wanted to know all about it, but there were no notices announcing it was there — obviously a private concern. All we could see were beer casks tantalising behind the gorse bushes.
We passed a B&B, and discovered we could once more get out of the wind if we crouched by their side fence. So we sat there and ate our lunch.

Opposite, on the other side of the loch, we could see the road over the top from Altnaharrie, and the tiny settlement of Badrallach along the loch-shore. That is as far as the road goes on the northern shore of the loch.

We passed a waterfall which we hadn’t noticed when driving past earlier to set up the Walk. It was really very nice. People walk miles and/or pay good money to see falls as good as these, but no one seems to notice these ones. Cars shoot past, as we did, and fail to look from side to side. We appreciated them, anyway!
We passed a fish farm, probably salmon, and then came to a caravan site which said it was closed. However there were two vans parked up in there — I wonder if they had electric hookup!
At Badcaul we passed a lane which continued along the loch-shore to Badluarach. That is the hamlet opposite the isolated community of Scoraig, and from where the inhabitants of Scoraig board a boat to cross the loch and get home. Do they have the usual services over there — electricity, running water and a phone? How are these things connected when they are so cut off?
The road to Badluarach is a dead end, so we didn’t take it. Our road climbed the hill and short-cutted the headland. As we ascended we had wonderful views of the mountains all around, and also of Scoraig. I did wonder about the people who live over there, they must like isolation. I don’t like crowds or cities, but I couldn’t live cut off like that either.
We slowly climbed, and the wind got colder the higher we got. We started down the other side and could see the sea ahead. We could now see Gruinard Island which has a grisly history which (thank goodness!) we didn’t find out about until later. During the Second World War, experiments in biological warfare were carried out on Gruinard Island. The British wanted to know what the effects would be if they blew anthrax spores about amongst the enemy! (The fact that they even considered such a terrible deed makes me feel sick to the core! I’m ashamed to be British when I read about such things!) So they tethered some sheep to a post on Gruinard Island, and let off anthrax ‘bombs’ at measured distances from them. The sheep dutifully died — horribly! — and their contaminated bodies were later burned on the island to avoid the risk of spreading the disease further afield. It was concluded that anthrax could thoroughly pollute German cities, rendering them uninhabitable for decades. The only measure of common sense in this whole sordid affair, which was TOP SECRET, was that it was subsequently decided not to use this type of weapon on humans even if they were our enemy.
But it was realised that the soil on the island was now highly toxic. The island and the sea surrounding it was put strictly off-limits. Nothing was done for the next forty years during which time the War was long since over and nearly two new generations had grown up. It was 1981 before newspapers started talking about Gruinard Island and people began to call for its decontamination. As a protest, sealed packets of soil — reputed to have come from the island — were left in public places; but only the one left at Porton Down contained anthrax bacilli. In 1986, bowing to public pressure, the authorities officially began a decontamination process by spraying the island with formaldehyde diluted with seawater. This continued for four years, and a flock of sheep (yes, poor old sheep again!) were left to graze on the island to see if any of them died. In 1990, the island was declared officially “safe” though many professors doubt whether it will ever be so. As of October 2007, there have been no cases of anthrax among the island flock — but that is only two years!!
I wouldn’t walk there. The island is less than a mile offshore — that’s close enough for me!
I began to feel very tired, so much so I wondered if I would make it to the car. We still had a few miles to go. I put it down to the fact that we had been walking on four consecutive days, I didn’t know then that I had a medical condition which made me feel ‘sluggish’. We had been doing concentrated walking because we were paying for the hire-car by the day, and it seemed such a waste of money if we didn’t use it. When we get to more populated areas we can revert to using public transport again, or even have half a chance of traffic passing us if we need to hitch a lift. Colin made valiant efforts to boost my spirits, but I just wanted to lie down and sleep!
We got down to beach level, and there was a beautiful sandy beach — the first we have seen for ages! But it was behind a barbed wire fence and we couldn’t get to it — frustration! It was still very windy even down there, the wind was coming in from the sea. We found a gateway where we stopped, intending to eat our apples. But I couldn’t find my lunch bag in my rucksack, and realised I must have left it in the undergrowth when we stopped for lunch. That really was the final straw! I had no apple nor chocolate. Colin kindly shared his apple with me, but I felt very low.We carried on, walking through a wood and then through a magnificent gorge. If only I didn’t feel so tired! It was spectacular, as was the fast-flowing river with huge boulders in it.
We were in the Gruinard Estate and there were a lot of notices stuck to trees and fences. There was to be “no fishing”, though nailed to the same tree was a notice telling us there was parking for fishermen! There was to be “no camping”, and another notice told us “the enclosed area has been fenced with the assistance of a Forestry Commission grant for the purpose of allowing the natural regeneration of the many different seedlings in the area”. I wonder if that had anything to do with the miserable history of Gruinard Island, less than a mile away.
We stopped again in the wood and Colin shared his chocolate with me — isn’t he kind? After that I felt a lot better, it boosted my energy levels temporarily.
It kept raining, but we kept going.
We crossed the Gruinard River, passed some more amazing rocks, and eventually came out above a lovely sandy beach — Little Gruinard Beach. Our car was parked in the little car park opposite.
Despite my weariness, I just had to go down on to the sands and feel the grains between my fingers!
That ended Walk no.232, we shall pick up Walk no.233 in the little car park opposite Little Gruinard Beach. It was five o’clock, so the Walk had taken six hours. We had our tea and biscuits, then drove back to Dundonnell to pick up the hire-car. On the way we stopped at the spot where we’d had lunch. I scrabbled about in the undergrowth where I’d been sitting and found my lunch bag, apple and soggy bar of chocolate complete! We drove both cars back to Ullapool where we returned the hire-car because our week’s hire was up. After visiting the Morefield Hotel for a snifter, we returned to our caravan at Ardmair.
We had been planning to move on to Gairloch the next day and do a couple more Walks, but the weather deteriorated during the night and it turned extremely windy. The caravan was bouncing about so much it was frightening. So we decided enough was enough, and headed for home instead. We made an overnight stop in Callander, near Stirling, driving on to Malvern the day after.

Walk 231 -- Ullapool to Dundonnell

2009-09-19T17:15:00.029+01:00

Ages: Colin was 67 years and 134 days. Rosemary was 64 years and 276 days.
Weather: Bright at first, but windy when up high. Then showers developed which became increasingly ferocious.
Location: Ullapool to Dundonnell.
Distance: 9½ miles.
Total distance: 2125 miles.
Terrain: We pretended to catch a ferry across Loch Broom. We climbed a steep stony track and sat in our hire-car to eat pasties because it was raining by then. We continued down a narrow road with virtually no traffic, then along a main road where we were able to walk along a greensward.
Tide: Going out.
Rivers: No.217, Dundonnell River near Dundonnell House — we couldn’t take a short cut over a footbridge because it was in someone’s private garden.
Ferries: No.17 across Loch Broom from Ullapool to Altnaharrie — which we pretended to take because it closed “a couple of years ago”.
Piers: None.
Kissing gates: None.
Pubs: None.
‘Historic Scotland’ properties: None.
Ferris wheels: None.
Diversions: None.
How we got there and back: We were staying in our caravan in Ardmair, and we had hired a car locally so we had two. This morning we drove both cars to Dundonnell where we parked our own car in a layby. Then we drove the hire-car to the nearest point we could to Altnaharrie and parked it just off this very narrow road. We walked down a steep and stony track to the jetty just across the loch from Ullapool.
At the end, we ended the Walk at the car parked in a layby in Dundonnell. After tea and biscuits, we drove up the narrow road to fetch the hire-car. Then we drove both cars back to our caravan in Ardmair.

The half-mile ferry across Loch Broom from Ullapool to Altnaharrie closed ‘a couple of years ago’. So we pretended to take it, and started our Walk on the jetty at Altnaharrie. Ullapool looked beautiful across the loch from where we were standing — except for the big blue tent and the sound of thumping drums. Yes, the music festival was still in full swing! The noise was even quite loud from where we stood, and completely incongruous to the magnificent vistas we were enjoying.
At Altnaharrie there is a little wooden jetty, and a big white house which, we assumed, used to be the Ferry House. Somebody must live there now for there were three cars on its driveway. At the jetty itself were several boats and a stone shed with a grass roof. The track leading away was very steep and stony, and it seemed to take us a long time to get up to the top. The views improved as we ascended, but the repetitive thumping of the ‘musik’ didn’t seem to get any less. I felt a wave of sympathy for all the inhabitants of Ullapool — apparently this was due to continue for four days!
As we neared the top of the hill we came across a big green caterpillar. Colin hadn’t brought his camera today, so I took three photos of it. He was very scathing of my efforts, declaring they were ‘out of focus’! But they were all crystal clear, I chose this one as the best of the three. I don’t know why he was like that today, he seems to think, sometimes, that I’m incapable of wildlife photography — just because I haven’t got an SLR camera.
As we went over the brow of the hill we lost the sound of thumping drums, and were both heartily relieved. I photographed some recent peat cutting, which still goes on in these rural parts of Scotland. Then it started to rain, which was a bit nasty in the wind. We had left our rucksacks in the car because we were about to walk back past it, so I had nothing to protect my camera from the rain except my hands. But they sufficed for the short distance involved.
We went through a gate on to a tarmacked lane. A notice on the gate told us, in six languages, that there was no ferry at Altnaharrie — just so’s you know! Another notice nearby told us that CCTV was in operation due to sheep rustling! We saw this same notice in at least two other places. Apparently the stealing of whole flocks of sheep is an increasing problem in our modern age, and obviously the local farmer had suffered here. They used to hang people for stealing sheep, didn’t they?
The wind and rain weren’t very pleasant, so when we reached the hire-car which we had parked just up the road, we sat inside and ate our pasties. By that time it had stopped raining and it turned quite nice — except for the wind. We took our rucksacks when we left this time.
At the gate behind us we had the choice of turning right or left. If we had turned right, it would have taken us nearer the sea. BUT — the lane goes downhill for three miles to the settlement of Badrallach. Beyond there the lane turns into a track for about a mile, followed by four miles of mountain footpath which seems to get more and more faint on the map. The contours are very close together for most of the way, and we have experienced such a footpath between Achiltibuie and Ardmair. We suspected that the going would be far from easy! It ends up in the settlement of Scoraig which is a completely isolated community. The only way to get there by land is along the footpath just described. However, there is a jetty, and it is possible to get there by boat from Badluarach across the loch, though no regular ferry. We would have had to negotiate with a local fisherman.
But we decided that there was a limit to how far we would interpret “nearest safe path to the coast” and called the path to Scoraig a dead end, which it is. So we turned left. This took us inland, but only until we had crossed the Dundonnell River. Then we would turn towards the coast once again. To illustrate just how isolated these communities are, the only traffic we encountered along the lane the entire time we were walking it was a Post van making its way towards Badrallach. Later the same Post van came back.
As we walked down the hill, we were more sheltered from the wind and it was quite pleasant, for a short while. We had sweeping views across the next loch to Dundonnell, and we could see our car from quite early on. We came to some trees which completely sheltered us from the wind, bliss! It was the wind that was making us cold, here we were quite warm. So we sat on big stones and ate our lunch.
As we were finishing our repast, it started to rain hard. That was the pattern of the day — prolonged heavy showers interspersed by bright periods. I put my camera away and we both donned overtrousers. I didn’t take that many photos after that because I had to stop, heave my rucksack off my back, get my camera out of its waterproof bag and then be very careful not to let the rain get on it every time I wanted to take a picture! I daren’t leave it out as the rain would start again very suddenly. We were both mighty glad of our new kags — the water just rolled off and there was absolutely no condensation, so we were quite comfortable.
We got down to the bottom of the hill near the river, but we still had to walk for over a mile in the wrong direction before we came to the first bridge. We passed some majestic-looking trees which looked as if they had been there a long time. We wondered if it was some kind of avenue planted several centuries ago. Some of the trees were missing, just a stump left. One of these was covered in toadstools.
The first bridge marked on the map is a footbridge, but we couldn’t use it because it is enclosed in a private garden behind high fences. So we had to walk further upstream to where the lane crossed the river on an old stone bridge which is quite beautiful. This added an extra half-mile to our hike. We sat on a stone near the bridge and ate our chocolate as it had stopped raining momentarily.
Soon we were out on the main road, and walked back the way we had just come except we were now on the other side of the river. This main road bit proved to be a lot longer than we had anticipated. There was little traffic, but what there was came fast — much too fast. Fortunately there was a greensward we could walk on which wasn’t too lumpy, so we didn’t have to walk on the actual road much.
Most of the traffic seemed to be speciality cars. No less than three Lotuses came towards us and sped past while we were tramping that stretch of road. Lots of Classic cars came from behind and sped ahead of us. All going fast, and many quite noisily. The wind got up and it rained really hard, it was most unpleasant especially when we got away from the shelter of the trees. We were so glad of our new wet-weather gear which was fantastic — really kept us dry!
We reached the Dundonnell Hotel, and there were the Lotuses and Classic cars lined up in the car park. Colin spoke to one of the drivers who told him they were part of a weekend rally based there. While he was talking another car came in and conked out! Several of them pushed it into a parking space — I think they wanted to get out of the rain quickly and into the bar!
The petrol station at Dundonnell was closed, but their toilet was open which was a relief! Our car was parked about a hundred yards up the road.
That ended Walk no.231, we shall pick up Walk no.232 at the layby just beyond the Dundonnell Hotel. It was twenty to five, so the Walk had taken five hours ten minutes. We had our tea and biscuits before we drove up almost to Altnaharrie to fetch the hire-car. From there we each drove a car back to our caravan in Ardmair.

Walk 230 -- Ardmair Point to Ullapool

2009-09-18T21:30:00.052+01:00

Ages: Colin was 67 years and 133 days. Rosemary was 64 years and 275 days.
Weather: Hot and sunny at first. Then some cloud and a cool wind.
Location: Ardmair to Ullapool.
Distance: 7 miles.
Total distance: 2115½ miles.
Terrain: Nearly all road. Near the end we crossed a golf course, went along a little beach (where the tide was practically covering the path) until we crossed a river via a footbridge, and then took a grassy path round a small Head. Finally we walked through ‘tent city’ set up for a music festival, and along the waterfront to the main jetty in Ullapool.
Tide: Coming in.
Rivers: No.215, Allt an´t-Strathain at Rhue. No. 216, Ullapool River in Ullapool.
Ferries: None.
Piers: None.
Kissing gates: None.
Pubs: The Ferry Boat Inn in Ullapool where we drank Caledonian beers. I had Deuchar’s IPA and Colin had 80/-. Morefield Hotel, also in Ullapool, where I drank Thatcher’s Gold Cider and Colin had Atlas ‘Equinox’ and Cairngorm ‘Stag’. (We did go to these pubs on different days, and neither of them today because we were still too tired after yesterday’s Walk.)
‘Historic Scotland’ properties: None.
Ferris wheels: None.
Diversions: None.
How we got there and back: We were staying in our caravan in Ardmair, and we had hired a car locally so we had two. Yesterday we had left the hire-car in Achiltibuie because we were too tired to fetch it after our Walk. So we drove our own car to Achiltibuie this morning, then took both cars straight to Ullapool. We left the hire-car parked on the waterfront, and came back to the caravan in our own car.
At the end, we ended the Walk very near where we had parked the hire-car. So we got in it and drove straight back to our caravan at Ardmair.

We started today’s Walk after lunch which we had in the caravan after collecting the hire-car from Achiltibuie and parking it in Ullapool. While eating, we looked again across Loch Kinaird to the mountain we had walked down yesterday, and still found it difficult to pick out the route we had come. We felt a certain sense of amazement at what we had done!
We walked round the perimeter of the caravan site, which is on a small promontory, and before we left the site we could see a seal in the water. It was some distance away, so I did not get a very good picture of it (Colin didn’t bring his camera today). We also saw two canoeists and Colin was envious! I think he would have preferred to canoe round the coast of Britain rather than walk.
We exited the site and walked down the road as far as the turning to Rhue. We passed a shingle beach, and then ascended a hill to cut off a headland. We decided there was to be no walking across rough country today because our knees were still too tender after our marathon yesterday. It was a bit of a drag, walking along the main road, but there wasn’t too much traffic.
We chose to walk part way down the lane to Rhue even though it was a dead end. (I think we still felt a little bit ‘guilty’ about making up excuses to take a short-cut on Walk 228 when we were coming down to Achiltibuie!) We were rewarded with lovely views across Loch Broom.
We came across some weird chickens, they must have been a rare breed because neither of us had seen chickens quite like that before. Each bird had a crown of feathers which looked like a wig! They were running quite free across the lane, I hope they laid good eggs.
We walked to the end of the tarmacked lane where we could see the lighthouse, but we didn’t go down to it. Then we retraced our steps to the main road, we had to in order to cross the river.
We watched a ferry from the Outer Hebrides ploughing its way along Loch Broom to Ullapool. One day we’ll go on it and explore those magical islands! Next to the main road we came across a shrine with candles and flowers. It seemed to be round a rock, but we couldn’t work out what it was all about. The flowers looked untidy and the candles had, of course, blown out. It looked as if it had not been tended for several days.
We walked alongside the road for about two miles, until we came to the golf course. We had fantastic views of Ullapool as we walked down the hill. We noted that there was a big blue tent on the edge of the loch, and speculated as to whether there was a circus in town as it did look very like a Big Top. We were to learn, later, that we are far too old-fashioned in our thinking!
We heard some snorting in the undergrowth behind a fence to our right. It sounded very like pigs, and sure enough it was — saddle-back type. We thought our little grandchildren, Natalie and Frank (now both approaching their second birthdays) would have been very amused with the ‘piggy’ noise!
We turned in at the golf club and walked down to the waterfront. The tide was almost in, and we wondered if we would be able to get round to the footbridge over the river. We asked some dog-walkers that we met if there was a path round above high water mark, and they told us to go through a gate further on which is labelled “Private Fishing”. Before we did that, we stopped and ate our chocolate. (Today was only a short Walk, but we felt we still needed the extra energy boost after our efforts yesterday — that was our excuse, anyway!)
The water was right up to the path, and over it in some places. But we were always able to get past without getting wet. As we approached a house, a lady came out and said we could walk through her garden if the path was under water. We thought that was very kind of her, but we didn’t need to as we just about made it on the other side of her wall. I wonder if she ever gets flooded, I wouldn’t like to live there despite the amazing views!
There was a painting of a forest fire on a big board by the loch-edge, but it was a bit abstract. It reminded me of my days at College forty-five years ago, when some of my friends did an Art course. Ann could paint, and went to a lot of trouble to produce beautiful landscapes. I always thought her pictures were fantastic. Joan, a much more flamboyant character, couldn’t do anything like that. One afternoon they were given two hours to go away and paint a picture to be brought back for criticism after tea. Ann worked hard, and produced a lovely picture in her usual style. Joan frittered away the afternoon doing anything but painting. I was studying a different subject, and only met up with them at tea. There Joan asked me if she could borrow a postcard I had of a picture of Vesuvius. I had to fetch it from my room, and this left Joan a mere five minutes to paint her picture of an erupting volcano. The Art lecturer went into ecstasies about it, praising Joan to the hilt. Ann’s picture got a glance and a grunt. To this day, I still feel sorry for Ann, I just don’t believe in all this modern art rubbish!
Getting back to the present, I forgot to look on the back of this painting where, apparently, there was another painting. Something distracted me and we walked on, Colin is not interested in Art at all.
Further on we met a lady coming through the bushes with her dog. “I hope you haven’t come for a quiet weekend in Ullapool!” she said. She then told us that the big blue tent had been put up for a ‘Music’ festival and they were just about to get going. Again this is not real music, but what passes for ‘music’ in this day and age — an unholy row! She told us that everyone living within earshot — and that must be the whole of Ullapool for it is only a small town — had been given free tickets worth £150!! But most, like her, didn’t want to go, they just want peace and quiet. How glad we were that our caravan is four miles away and behind a hill at Ardmair!

We crossed the footbridge, then walked round a grassy patch on a bank next to the water. We came across another painting, supposedly of waves on the sea but it wasn’t very good. On the back was a picture of a bird in the hand — it looked as if a child had done it!

By now we were approaching the big blue tent. A loud thumping noise was coming from inside, and every time it stopped girls screamed and cheered. It seemed a bit incongruous with the scene we were experiencing outside, sunset over the loch.What is our world coming to? Most young people seem to have completely lost touch with nature and the natural world, particularly natural sounds.
We had to walk on the shingle beach to get past because the grassy sward had been fenced off and there were ‘bouncers’ everywhere. Then we came to the caravan/camping site — and to think I very nearly booked us in to this site because of its proximity to the town! Horror of horrors!! At every site we have stayed at so far in Scotland, we have been told to leave a set distance between caravans for safety reasons. Then if one caravan catches fire, it doesn’t spread to the next, it’s as simple as that. But here the caravans were parked cheek by jowl, in many cases you couldn’t have even walked between them.
When we got to the tents it was the same story. Pitched right up against each other with guy ropes crossed over, we could hardly get through. The site was already jam-packed, and still they were arriving! They had to carry all their stuff in from the road outside because there was hardly room for their tents, let alone their cars. It was chaos!
We picked our way over guy ropes to get on to the sea wall, and thence round the end of a row of fishermen’s cottages. It was relatively peaceful round there, though the ‘music’ could still be heard, particularly that awful beating of the drums. We sat on a seat for a while to look at the view down Loch Broom and take stock. Ullapool is a beautiful place, but it doesn’t sound a beautiful place during a music festival!
We tried to work out which cottage was the B&B we stayed in when we were up here about ten years ago. It was one of the best, and I remember being able to lie in bed in the morning and look right down the loch. We thought it must be “Point Cottage” and we wondered if the same people were running it. They came from Winchester, I seem to remember, not Scottish at all!
It certainly wasn’t the derelict cottage a few doors up. We walked along to the jetty where the ferry no longer runs to Altnaharrie, but it used to so we are going to pretend again! Although it was a beautiful evening, there was a cold wind blowing along the loch. Colin felt particularly cold, I’m sure it was because he was tired though he’ll never admit it.
That ended Walk no.230, we shall pick up Walk no.231 officially at the jetty on which we were now standing, but in reality on the jetty at Altnaharrie on the other side of Loch Broom. It was seven o’clock, so the Walk had taken four hours. Our hire-car was parked nearby, so we got into it and drove straight back to our caravan at Ardmair — over the hill and out of earshot of any drumbeats, rock music or screams!

Walk 229 -- Achiltibuie to Ardmair Point

2009-09-17T17:29:00.061+01:00

Ages: Colin was 67 years and 132 days. Rosemary was 64 years and 274 days.
Weather: ‘Fair-weather’ cloud with a light breeze. It was quite warm.
Location: Achiltibuie to Ardmair.
Distance: 13½ miles.
Total distance: 2108½ miles.
Terrain: The first five miles was a quiet road. Then it was really rough walking along a mountainside — up and down, over streams, minor rock-scrambling, bogs, etc. (It was not a walk for the faint-hearted, nor for those suffering from vertigo!) It was really tough, but the views were stunning! Three miles from the end, having descended an almost vertical slope, we got down to river-level. We crossed a moor, descended a steep ferny slope by traversing, walked upstream to a wooden bridge, then walked downstream the other side. The track then led away from Ardmair, but (according to our map) there was supposed to be a footpath link to the main road. It seemed to go out of someone’s back garden, and while we were looking for it the owner of the house came out. During a long conversation, he apologised that he had obscured the path by neglect and by putting his ‘stuff’ in the way. He told us where it was (it was almost dark by then) and we scrabbled up a steep slope through bracken. The last mile was alongside a main road.
Tide: Out, coming in later.
Rivers: No.212, Allt Ath´a´Bhraight near Badenscallie. No.213, Allt a´Choire Mhòir causing a big loop on the mountain path. No.214, River Canaird after we had got down from the mountain.
Ferries: None.
Piers: None.
Kissing gates: No.197 to get on to the moor after we had got down from the mountain. No.198, at the top of the hidden path where we emerged on to the road.
Pubs: None.
‘Historic Scotland’ properties: None.
Ferris wheels: None.
Diversions: None.
How we got there and back: We were caravanning in NW Scotland, and we had hired a car locally so we had two. Yesterday we moved the caravan and both cars from Achmelvich to Ardmair. This morning we drove the hire-car to Achiltibuie and parked it next to the public loo.
At the end, we ended the Walk at the caravan. We were too tired to collect the hire-car, so we left it until the morning.

We started this Walk by strolling through the string villages of Achiltibuie, Polglass and Badenscallie. These settlements are more than twenty miles from Ullapool by road, a road that was only tarmacked in the 1960s. For a hundred years before that, the postman walked a nine mile mountain path along the coast twice a week to deliver letters and other supplies to these outlying communities. Hence the path we were about to embark on is known as “The Postie’s Path”, and we had been warned by various locals that it was not easy! You have to take your hat off to these Scottish postmen of yesteryear, their lives must have been very tough.
There was a surprising amount of traffic for a dead-end road in such an outlying place, we had to leap on to the grass verge a number of times. We had wonderful views of the Summer Isles which lie just off the shore at this point. Only one of the Isles, Tannara Mòr, is inhabited and it can be accessed by boat from the pier we walked on two days ago. In the distance we could see a ferry ploughing past on its way from the Outer Hebrides to Ullapool.
The illegal tent which was pitched on the greensward a couple of days ago had gone, but another tent was pitched on some wilder grass just at the start of the Walk. We were both very glad we were sleeping in a caravan these nights because the wind can be quite nippy up in these northern parts in September. We felt cold as we set out on today’s trek, but we warmed up later.
We soon came to a War Memorial — the two World Wars touched even remote communities like these. Nearby was a lovely dolphin sculpture advertising a B&B. Further on we passed the school, at least we heard it rather than saw it. The building was behind some fir trees, and we overheard a teacher giving a lesson on football skills. We wondered why they weren’t on the newly opened playing field which had been lottery funded, so a notice told us. The primary school has about thirty pupils, the over-elevens get taken to Ullapool each day by bus.
We noticed some tiny toadstools in the grass by the side of the road. Just before the river was a notice pointing to a youth hostel, one of the most remote in the system. It is only accessible by a half-mile footpath, hence the other arm of the signpost was pointing the opposite way to its car park. We didn’t go down to see it, but a bit further on we passed a building called “Bella’s Bothy” which looked freshly painted but was locked up. We wondered who people were supposed to contact if they wanted to use it.
The river had some interesting geology — the bedrocks were red and sloped somewhat. It looked like a fault line to me, possibly an unconformity? But we had a long and difficult walk ahead of us so didn’t have time to investigate further. Just past the river there were some caravans overgrown by bushes next to a stream. We wondered how the owners managed to get them there, they looked quite neglected. Did the bushes and trees grow round them after they were pushed aside? It looked an impossible task to get them out!
We took a lane off to the right which led down to Achduart. By now we were quite warm, and the wind seemed to have abated. There were stunning views from that spot, so we found a rock to sit on and stopped to eat our pies. Colin also got through a bag of crisps, but ever since I read (years ago!) that even “low-fat” crisps contain so much fat it takes more energy to digest them than is given back to the body in nutrition, I haven’t touched the things. Complete waste of money! Colin doesn’t agree — he likes them, and that’s all there is to it as far as he is concerned.
We came to the entrance to the old school, and a notice telling us we’d come to the end of the road — that can be interpreted in many ways, especially at our age! We had also walked two thousand one hundred miles exactly at this point, so we set my camera up on a rock and took a photo of the two of us using the delayed timer. It worked rather well, we thought.
The schoolhouse, now a holiday cottage, was built in Victorian times to educate the local children, some of whom had to walk miles in all weathers to get there. The path we followed after the “End of Road” notice was built particularly for the children who lived in Culnacraig, about a mile further on. So the path was quite easy for this first mile, as it has been well maintained.
We had mountains to our left, the Summer Isles to our right, the weather seemed to have remembered it was still Summer and we set off in good heart. After a mile, a path led off to the left to Culnacraig, and our path immediately narrowed. Still it wasn’t too bad, and we weren’t put off.
We came to a sign telling us we were eight miles from Strathcanaird — we were really on the “Postie’s Path” now! Lower down the post was an additional notice; it warned: “You are entering remote, sparsely populated, potentially dangerous mountain country. Please ensure that you are adequately experienced and equipped to complete your journey without assistance.” (Bet they didn’t have such warnings when this really was the Postie’s path!) We were confident that we were adequately experienced and equipped, but also mighty glad that the weather was so benign today. We walked on, really rather enjoying ourselves.
Almost immediately there was a division of the ways. We thought the upper path looked more used, but after only a few yards we weren’t so sure. So we went back and took the lower path, which did prove to be the right one. For the first mile or so the path was a bit rough, but OK. We passed a pretty waterfall, and then the way opened out on to the mountainside. The heather was lovely, and a nearby rock in the sea was covered with resting cormorants. It was good!
Then the slope got a bit steep and the path became very narrow. Sometimes it was difficult to see where it actually went.
We were high up, and decided this path was definitely not for vertigo sufferers! But that didn’t bother either of us much, we just went more slowly and took more care.
What bothered us more was that the sun came out and it got very hot. There was no wind, and neither of us like the heat.
We came to a little copse of birch trees which were practically obliterating the path — underneath them was a tiny bit of blissful shade! We decided it was lunchtime, and sat down to eat our sandwiches.
Reluctantly we moved on, we still had a lot of miles to cover and we were progressing extremely slowly because we were having to be so careful. There was a steep slope down to a stony beach, but it would be no good going down there because cliffs rose up very quickly at the end of it. It seemed as if we were walking along halfway up a cliff — we hadn’t expected the path to be so tricky.
All the literature we had read about it talked about a “glorious path” and things like that, but hadn’t emphasised it’s difficulty. Afterwards we both agreed that this trail was more demanding than the yomp across the pathless moors from Cape Wrath to Sandwood Bay! Thank goodness the weather was balmy today.
We came to a deep gully which was impossible to cross at that point. We had been expecting that, for it was marked on the map with the footpath going several hundred yards inland to a ford. We had to do a bit of minor rock-scrambling to get up there, pass several little waterfalls, and at last we came to some stepping stones which allowed us to cross the burn safely.
The path led down the other side next to a fence. When we got over the lip of a hill we discovered that there had been a landslip, and several yards of the path were no more! So we hung on to the fence monkey-style (not barbed wire, thank goodness!) and picked our way across. Then we decided to climb over the fence as it was easier despite there being no path that side. Further down we climbed back, where a vestige of a real path appeared. We saw a couple behind us, up near the stepping stones. They seemed to appear from nowhere, we don’t know how they approached that spot without us seeing them. We thought they were following us and would soon catch up, but then they turned back and disappeared again. They were the only people we saw for the whole length of the Postie’s Path.
On we went, mile after difficult mile. Slowly but surely. The path twisted and turned, went up and down with minor rock-scrambling — it seemed to go on forever. But it was well way-marked, and for that we were deeply thankful to whoever built those cairns and put those posts in. We would have gone wrong a hundred times without them! When we looked back, we had great difficulty in making out the path on which we had come. We seemed to be climbing all the time, we were very high.
AT LAST we topped a hill and were rewarded with a glorious view down to Ardmair Point — and we could see our caravan! (through the binoculars, that is!) Our spirits surged — for we knew we were beyond the point of no return and it would be quicker to go on than to go back.
But our troubles were not over yet, we were still climbing.
We couldn’t understand it — we could see the River Canaird far below, which we knew we would have to cross before we got to the road.
But the path continued up and up — and up and up, we thought it would never end.
When sitting in our caravan at Ardmair Point the day before, we had tried to work out where the path came down on the mountain opposite.
We had got it completely wrong, we never thought the path would actually be down from the top!
But it was. It was five-thirty before we got to the final descent, and it was steep! There were the way-markers zigzagging down an almost vertical cliff! I haven’t been very good on descents since my skiing accident ten years ago (pins, plates and screws still doing fine in my legs, thank you, and no trouble — I wouldn’t even know they were there) as I lost my confidence then. Colin had to help me down nearly every step. My knees kept giving out, it was very hard on them. Colin’s knees were suffering too, but he didn’t make a fuss. I think he was too worried that I would break an ankle, or something stupid like that. But my past accidents have only occurred when I wasn’t paying full attention to what I was doing, so I concentrated on every step and was OK. It took us a whole hour to get down to river level, much later than we had envisaged.
We were beginning to lose the light by then, and I didn’t take any more photographs. I had put my camera away in my rucksack for the descent, then we were anxious to get back to the caravan before it got dark. At least we hadn’t got caught on the mountain in the dark, that would have been a nightmare! As we came out on to the path at the bottom of the descent there was a warning notice about “remote, sparsely populated, potentially dangerous mountain country” for hikers going the other way. So we knew we were out of that kind of terrain. But we didn’t want to go to Strathcanaird because it was more than two miles in the wrong direction. We wanted to take a short cut across Blàr Mòr, which was in front of us, to reach the river bank so we could walk along it to a bridge. The problem was — there was a deer-proof fence in the way! Colin had a look along the fence in the opposite direction to Strathcanaird, and found a kissing gate into the enclosure. Phew! I didn’t fancy climbing that high fence!
The track we had intended taking round the edge of Blàr Mòr was completely waterlogged, we couldn’t have walked along it without sinking into mud well above our ankles. So we decided to walk straight across the moor, which was little more than a field, to pick up the track the other side. Using the compass, we went east rather than south in order to avoid coming to another swamp. The going was OK despite the lack of path, but when we got to the other side the path marked on the map just didn’t exist — typical Scotland! We were on top of a steep bank, and we wanted to be down there, not up here. So we zigzagged down through the ferns (scratchy! ow!) which were already changing colour as if it was autumn — not for another four or five days! We emerged on to a wide, flat, dry track (bliss!) which was very easy walking, and very soon joined the riverside track where we wanted to be.
We had to walk upstream for about three hundred yards before we came to a wooden bridge where we were able to cross the river. Then we walked downstream for nearly two miles as the daylight continued to fade. We passed a big white house that looked furnished but unoccupied. The track, almost a road by now, swept away to the left to join the main Ullapool road about half a mile hence. But there was a footpath marked on the map which went straight up a bank to the road, and that was a whole mile shorter.
We looked and looked in the increasing gloom, but we couldn’t find this wretched path. It seemed to go out from the garden behind a cottage, but we couldn’t see it. There was a light on in the cottage, and eventually a man came out to see what we were doing. He admitted he had “hidden” the entrance to the path behind some rubbish, but said he would show us where it was. We had a long conversation. He told us he was just back from Mongolia, having driven an old car there with his son in a rally. They did this for a charity, and he gave us the name of the website. I did remember this although I didn’t write it down, and a week or so later I did look it up on the internet — and was impressed with their achievement. But I’ve since lost the link, sorry.
He offered us a cup of tea, and said he would drive us back to the caravan site afterwards as it would be pitch dark very soon. That was very tempting especially as he was the first person we had met since Achiltibuie, but we had to explain to him that we had to walk it tonight, otherwise we would have to come back tomorrow and start our next Walk from there. We can’t have any gaps! He obviously wanted to talk, but it was getting darker by the minute and the midges were beginning to bite! At last he showed us where the footpath was — it was very overgrown, quite steep but thankfully also quite short. He promised he would clear it and that it would be “better when you come next year”! We didn’t point out to him that by this time next year we hope to be at least two hundred miles further south!
We scrambled up to the road and walked the last mile in semi-darkness, leaping into the grass every time a pair of headlights appeared. We entered the caravan site at the north end, past the chalets and the jetty. We thought the youths on the jetty were fishing, but when we got close we realised they were not, just drinking lager. No wonder they were making such a noise!

That ended Walk no.229, we shall pick up Walk no.230 at our caravan parked on the site at Ardmair Point. It was eight o’clock, so the Walk had taken eleven hours. We were both utterly exhausted, so I scrambled together a meal as quickly as I could, then we went to bed. We left the hire car in Achiltibuie, and collected it the next day.

Walk 228 -- Polly More to Achiltibuie

2009-09-15T20:31:00.051+01:00

Ages: Colin was 67 years and 130 days. Rosemary was 64 years and 272 days.

Weather: Cloudy, brightening up. Then it turned to a constant drizzle which eventually stopped after a couple of hours.
Location: Polly More to Achiltibuie.
Distance: 11 miles.
Total distance: 2095 miles.
Terrain: All road-walking, since the path over the rocks which is marked on the map didn’t exist!
Tide: Out.
Rivers: No.210, River Polly at the smelly fish farm. No.211, the outlet of Loch Osgaig.
Ferries: None.
Piers: No.27, Achiltibuie.
Kissing gates: No.196 to get into the loo at the very end of the Walk.
Pubs: None.
‘Historic Scotland’ properties: None.
Ferris wheels: None.
Diversions: No.56 at the beginning of the Walk. Colin managed to get across the stepping stones with difficulty, but could find no vestige of the two-mile footpath which, according to our up-to-date OS map, leads from there to Strath Polly. The ground was too rough to make our way through without a path to follow, so he slipped his way back across the stones and we walked the five miles by road.
How we got there and back: We were staying in our caravan at Achmelvich, and we have hired a car so we have two for a week. This morning we drove both cars to Achiltibuie where we left our own car parked next to the public loo. Then we drove the hire-car back to Polly More and managed to find a space to park it just off this very narrow road.
At the end, we had our tea and biscuits (and went through the kissing gate to use the loo!). Then we drove back to Polly More, picked up the hire-car and drove both cars back to our caravan at Achmelvich.

Yesterday’s amazing weather was a one-day wonder — it was drizzling this morning when we got up and this continued off and on all day. Terrible light for photography!
The tide was further out when we got to Polly More this morning, revealing a lot more rocks that could have been a stepping-stones crossing once upon a time. But it had been washed away (or deliberately vandalised) and didn’t look as if it had been used for years. Colin was determined to get across, and he managed it with difficulty.
He then took himself up the opposite bank and into the adjoining woods to look for the footpath which is so clearly marked on the OS map. He couldn’t find any vestige of it! Then he had to get himself back across the river, and very nearly slid off the slippery stones in doing so. I would never have got myself across there without getting a bootful of water at least, so in a way I was secretly a little bit glad that he couldn’t find the path.
The going is far too inhospitable in these parts to attempt to walk over rough ground, so we resigned ourselves to walking the long way round by road.
While Colin was exploring the nether bank, I was watching a seal on a far rock, flexing its head and tail. It looked like an overgrown jelly-bean!
Before we started walking, we sat on a rock and ate our pies. We wondered if the Inverpolly Estate had anything to do with the vandalising of the stepping stones so that the footpath would fall into disuse and become overgrown. They own most of the land in this area, and with the liberal open access laws in Scotland they can’t stop people walking where they like — unless they make it impossible for them to do so. Their fishing permit notices were everywhere, there is no way you can catch a fish around here without paying for the privilege.
The sun came out while we were sitting there and we thought it was going to get hot like yesterday. But it didn’t, in fact that bit of sunshine lasted all of two minutes before it became dull and cold again. We set off, following the road next to the river we couldn’t cross. And we never did actually cross it, for the road looped round following the valley until we passed the source, then it looped back again towards the fish farm — that it why we had to walk five miles as opposed to two if we could have gone in a straight line.

We gradually climbed all the while. It was picturesque walking along next to the river, especially where the rowan trees were showing off their bright red berries.

After the turn in the road, we found we were following another drainage system — consisting of rivers, streams, cliffs and lochs — which was far below us.
Eventually it all drained into Loch Osgaig, and so to the sea. This whole area of Scotland is just one big bog!
We sat on a rock high above a loch, with magnificent views, to eat our lunch. We wanted to enjoy our food before we reached the fish farm because we knew it would be smelly there. It started to drizzle just as we finished, so it was a bit miserable walking down.
A “Private Road” came out from Inverpolly Lodge at the fish farm — that is the way we would have come down and rejoined the road, had we been able to use the path. There were notices about fishing permits pointing up towards the Lodge, that is where you have to go to buy them.
We put on our overtrousers because the drizzle was getting more intense. Colin was wearing his complete new hiking gear — boots, kag and overtrousers. He looked really smart, but above all he was dry without being overheated. He is pleased, now, that he spent out on the quality gear!
We climbed a very steep hill and out on to the open moor, which wasn’t very nice in the rain. We sheltered in the lee of a rock to eat our apples — we could hardly believe that only yesterday we were in a heatwave! We descended to the ‘main’ road between Ullapool and Achiltibuie — a narrow road with passing places, but the only road to Achiltibuie and other isolated communities.

After that it got a bit boring. The road was straight, so was the adjoining loch. “Even the trees are in a straight line!” observed Colin. At least the drizzle stopped for a while, though it remained quite overcast. The tedium was relieved a little by the find of a big and unusual toadstool growing by the side of the road.

We came to a bridge over the short river which drains Loch Osgaig into the sea about half a mile away. A number of other lochs, rivers and burns drain into Loch Osgaig, so there is a huge amount of water there which has finally found its way into the ocean. This end of Loch Osgaig is very shallow.
We crossed another bit of open moor, and after mile or so came to the top end of an estuary which drains another set of lochs into the sea. This whole area is very open and wild, bet it is often windy. I wouldn’t like to live in such a place.
We stopped at a road junction, and ate our chocolate whilst hiding behind a stone information block in an effort to get out of the cold wind. We soon moved on. We should really have turned right and taken the road round the headland, but we didn’t want to. The left turn was a much more direct route to our car parked three miles away. So we took this option because we were fed up and tired.
We discussed, as we were walking along, all sorts of ‘excuses’ for not taking the longer, more coastal route. We even thought of making up a new rule, but we didn’t in the end because we couldn’t even be bothered to do that. We thought a combination of additional rules 11, 14 and 15 would suffice. This morning we had driven the longer route, and satisfied ourselves that the road was mostly inland and barely touched the coast — additional rule no.11. The weather wasn’t good (rule 14) and we were tired (rule 15) so there you are!
The road we were on was boring too, wild and lonely. I thought the grassy reeds growing in a nearby loch made a good picture, and the heather on the moor was nice — though past its best for this season. I was trying to be positive, but the sky got duller and darker as we progressed. We were a mere quarter of a mile from the car when it started to drizzle again. Why couldn’t it have waited?
We had a cup of tea, and the drizzle stopped. We felt a lot more refreshed, so we salved our consciences a little by walking half a mile down the road we should have come up because this bit was along the shore.
There is a greensward along the top of the beach, with a notice prohibiting camping. Nevertheless, a couple were pitching their tent right in the middle of it. So much for Council notices!

Further along were some simple fishing boats hauled up, and then a row of rusty anchors. The road then went uphill away from the shore, but we went down a dead-end road to a little wooden pier. From there we saw cormorants on a rock drying their wings, and a couple of fishermen on the jetty.
The wood was pretty rotten, but they still run cruises from here to the Summer Isles which are just offshore to the south-west.

We then retraced our steps to the car, looking South towards Ardmair Point and Ullapool — our next couple of Walks.
That ended Walk no.228, we shall pick up Walk no.229 next time by the public loo at Achiltibuie. It was six o’clock, so the Walk had taken seven hours and ten minutes. We had another cup of tea, then we drove back to Polly More where Colin transferred to the hire car. We then drove both cars back to our caravan at Achmelvich.
The next day we moved both cars and the caravan to a site at Ardmair Point.

Walk 227 -- Achmelvich to Polly More

2009-09-14T21:26:00.049+01:00

Ages: Colin was 67 years and 129 days. Rosemary was 64 years and 271 days.

Weather: Brilliant sunshine and very warm. There was no wind whatsoever.
Location: Achmelvich to Polly More.
Distance: 11 miles.
Total distance: 2084 miles.
Terrain: A rough path over moorland, and an even rougher path through woodland. But mostly quiet road-walking. Very undulating.
Tide: Coming in.
Rivers: No.206, Allt Loch an Tuirc near Achmelvich. No.207, River Inver as we entered Lochinver. No.208, Culag River as we left Lochinver. No.209, River Kirkaig near Inverkirkaig.
Ferries: None.
Piers: None.
Kissing gates: No.195 near the beginning of the Walk.
Pubs: None.
‘Historic Scotland’ properties: None.
Ferris wheels: None.
Diversions: None.
How we got there and back: We were staying in our caravan at Achmelvich. This morning we drove to Ullapool where we picked up a second car which we had hired for a week. We drove both cars to Strath Polly where we had intended finishing today’s Walk, and left our own car parked there by the river. Then we drove back to the caravan in the hire car.
At the end, we got as far as Polly More, but couldn’t find our way across some stepping stones because they had been partially washed away. Time was getting on and we were tired. It was five miles by road to our car, it would have been two miles by footpath if we could have got across the river. So we decided to call it a day, and thumb a lift to Strath Polly. Very few cars, but eventually a pleasant young lady stopped — she had a van with only one passenger seat, so Colin had to sit on the floor in the back with two dogs! We had one cup of tea at Strath Polly, but it was a bit smelly there because of the fish farm. So we drove along to a picnic site we had passed on our Walk before we poured a second cup. There we were under trees, and found we were being eaten alive by the infamous Scottish midges! (The first time we have encountered them since we have been coastal walking in Scotland.) So we were very prompt in removing ourselves back to the caravan.

It is amazing weather! Two days ago we were wearing gloves and woolly hats for our Walk — today it was shirtsleeves and sunhats. It is hot like high summer, and the sun is very bright in a cloudless sky. Being September the sun is quite low, and too bright when it shines in our eyes. But otherwise, this sort of weather is great!
We left the caravan site and walked along the road for about a mile. We were alongside Loch Roe, and the views of the mountains all around us were magnificent. We turned down a side road which soon became a track.
We crossed over the river feeding into Loch Roe on a fairly substantial bridge.
We were glad we didn’t have to use an adjacent footbridge because the boards in it were all saggy — it reminded us of our experiences on a trek in Bolivia that we did back in 1993.
The track climbed the other side. I was still admiring the fantastic scenery on this beautiful day, and didn’t notice a tiny white arrow on a post showing the footpath leading off to the side. I was partway up the track leading to a property further up when I noticed Colin had stopped — he was waiting for me to come back and go the right way! So I made him take the lead. Then I saw a shrew dart across in front of my feet, but behind Colin so he didn’t see it before it had disappeared into the undergrowth. Quits!
A bit higher up we sat on a rock and ate our pies. It was lovely in the sunshine, we didn’t have to shelter from the wind. The path took us round in a big semi-circle, climbing all the time.
We went up a hill, beyond it was another to climb, and beyond that yet another. It seemed to go on and on like this.
It is a popular route, we met a number of hikers coming the other way. All remarked on the brilliant weather in their greeting.

At last we topped a hill and there wasn’t another one — instead we could see Lochinver below. We descended to Baddidarach, passing a few cottages and a tree house on the way. We weren’t sure whether we could walk along the loch-shore into Lochinver, it was only when we got down from the hills that we discovered that we couldn’t. We had to stick to the tarmacked lane which ran behind some buildings for about half a mile until it reached the main road.
We could see traffic crossing the river on a modern bridge, but we crossed on the old stone bridge which was just before it. We walked through Lochinver, past the “Best Pie Shop in the World” — so they told us — where we had bought our pies as we passed this morning when setting up this Walk. Well, we thought that was a bit of an over-statement. Nice enough pies, but nothing to write home about and very expensive!

We sat on a seafront bench near the war memorial to eat our lunch. Nice and warm, but we were directly facing the sun which shone very brightly into our eyes. We didn’t like that, and couldn’t find a bench facing a different way.

We walked round the harbour, but it looked very industrial. We were trying to find out if there was a footpath from there up into the woods behind — we were hoping for a bit of a shortcut, and to avoid using the road as much as possible. It was so difficult because we were blinded by the sun which seemed to be in our eyes all the time. The air must have been unusually clear today, because it is rare for us to be so troubled by the sun’s rays. We were both developing a headache because of it.
Then Colin found a broken footpath sign, which wasn’t much use, but at least we knew there was supposed to be a path off there. We climbed up behind the harbour sheds into the woods on what we were kidding ourselves was a real footpath — but ‘Scotland’ style (which means it isn’t really a path at all!)
It was lovely in the woods — it was cool and we were out of the sun. But it was very hilly and the ‘path’ was extremely uneven. We got totally lost! We crossed a footbridge, and a sign directed us to “pigglety….(something)” so we decided to go the other way. Wrong! That path disappeared on to a beach. So we turned round and followed “pigglety” steeply uphill until we came to a mainer path. There a sign pointing the way we had come said “higglety….(something)”! At that point we wondered if we would see a white rabbit next, or a little girl called Alice!
Right or left? We guessed at right, and passed several uprooted trees before coming to a ‘natural’ children’s playground. And there, on a board, was a map! So we got out on to the road at last. It hadn’t really been a short cut and we had wasted a lot of time.

The road south of Lochinver is a very minor affair, it is narrow and hilly. Mostly it was deserted, but we had to dodge the occasional vehicle which often came round those bends much too fast. We climbed to the hamlet of Strathan where we saw deer sitting nonchalantly in someone’s front garden.

On another mile to Inverkirkaig where the road took us back down to the seashore again. There we sat on a bench to eat our apples, but we had the same problem as at Lochinver — the relentless sun really hurt our eyes.
We saw a seal on the other side of the bay, but it was too far away and the light was all wrong to take any photos of it. We hadn’t been much by the sea up until now because this part of the shore is rocky and mostly inaccessible. But the scenery is stunning, especially on such a clear day as today.
We followed the river along to a picnic site. How we wished our car was parked there! (We were both beginning to feel we’d had enough for today.) But it wasn’t, so we crossed the bridge into the county of Ross & Cromarty — we were now officially out of the ‘Highland’ region!

We plodded on steeply up over the hills and steeply down again to the waterfront. Just to show that not all wildlife is beautiful, I photographed a big black slug we found on the road. Ugh!!

It seemed an age before we got to the stepping stones that are clearly marked in words on our brand new OS ‘Explorer’ map. On the other side of the river is clearly marked two miles of footpath leading to the fish farm where we parked our car earlier.
I was not happy. We were definitely in the right place, lots of natural features told us so. But there were no clear stepping stones across the river. The few stones that were there were too far apart and very slippery. Colin was having trouble, I would never have managed it. And that wretched sun was still in our eyes! (On a skiing holiday, once, I suffered temporarily from ‘snow-blindness’ and we did wonder if the reflection of the sun off the sea was having the same effect on us today.)
It was me who made the decision to curtail our Walk there and then. And it took another ten minutes to persuade Colin that we were both too tired to carry on today. We can’t get over the river — perhaps the tide is in too far covering the vital stepping stones. Can you see the path leading off the other side? I’ve looked through my telescope and I can’t see it at all. Does it exist? The ground is too rough to walk two miles over if it doesn’t. Time is getting on, and it’s five miles by road to our car. At last he conceded, he doesn’t give in easily!

That ended Walk no.227, we shall pick up Walk no.228 next time by the non-existent stepping stones at Polly More. It was twenty past five, so the Walk had taken six hours. We were still five miles (by road) short of where we had parked the car, so we decided to thumb a lift. It was twenty minutes before a vehicle came our way! It was a van driven by a very pleasant young lady who apologised that she only had one passenger seat. The back of the van seemed to be full of dogs, and that is where Colin sat! He was quite happy because he loves dogs, so we got back to our car at last.
We had a cup of tea as soon as we got there, but the air was a bit smelly because of the fish farm nearby. So we decided to go back to the pleasant riverside picnic site next to the county boundary notice for our second cup. That was a mistake, as it was now quite definitely evening and the midges had moved in under the trees! It was our first encounter with the infamous Scottish midges on the Round-Britain Walk, though we have experienced them before and know how unbearable they can be. We made a quick exit and fled back to the caravan at Achmelvich!

Walk 226 -- The Point of Stoer

2009-09-12T21:06:00.054+01:00

Ages: Colin was 67 years and 127 days. Rosemary was 64 years and 269 days.

Weather: Dull, a little light rain. Cold wind.
Location: A geological walk round the Point of Stoer.
Distance: 12 miles.
Total distance: 2073 miles.
Terrain: A lot of quiet road-walking, a short sandy beach, and a lot of moorland walking on a ‘sort-of’ path which was a bit boggy in places. Undulating, sometimes very undulating.
Tide: Coming in.
Rivers: None.
Ferries: None.
Piers: None.
Kissing gates: None.
Pubs: None.
‘Historic Scotland’ properties: None.
Ferris wheels: None.
Diversions: None.
How we got there and back: We were staying in our caravan at Achmelvich. This morning we drove to Stoer Village Hall where we left the car to do a circular Walk.
At the end, we finished back at the car. We drove immediately back to Achmelvich where we had tea and biscuits in the caravan.

We had no difficulty in setting up today’s Walk because it was a circular. In fact, we needn’t have done this Walk at all because it was, in effect, a dead end — but we wanted to walk past the rock stack called “The Old Man of Stoer”. Since that involved a twelve mile detour, we decided to devote a whole Walk to it. So we changed our minds about starting Walk 226 from the caravan, that will be Walk 227.
Today we started from Stoer Village Hall, where they held the ceileidh last night. We took the lane opposite and walked up past a school. We commented, “What a fantastic location for a school!” It is up high overlooking a small loch, and we thought it looked wonderful.
We followed the lane all the way to the Bay of Culkein. We passed a house with a pile of cut peat outside — no prizes for guessing how they heat their residence. We found a beautiful toadstool in the verge, very delicate. There were green hills away to our right, and ahead we could see a rock arch at the end of a bluff.
It was all very remote — I think more sheep than people live on this headland.
We descended to the Bay of Culkein where we went down on to the beach. There we met a couple from Manchester who had just arrived — I think they said they had driven all night — to stay for a week in a static caravan. We got the impression that they wondered where on earth they had got to — lovely views from their caravan, but very empty and remote. They asked us what there was to do in the area. We replied, “Walking?” but that idea didn’t seem to go down very well! The woman said she wanted to go on a boat trip, so we suggested they drove themselves down to Ullapool and made enquiries there.
There was a roofless building behind their caravan giving the bay an abandoned look. I think they were already regretting their choice of holiday destination — they didn’t quite seem the type to be comfortable out there in the sticks.

A group of oystercatchers were congregating on the rocks nearby.
At the end of the beach we passed a jetty, then we followed a path up to the headland with a natural arch at its end. The way was easy-going on short grass nicely clipped by the local sheep, both black and white. There is no racial discrimination here!

The rocks in the sea are black — basalt at a guess.
Looking at the geology map I discovered that the whole of the peninsula is Torridonian sandstone (much the same as the Cape Wrath peninsula) but there is a bar of basalt — a lava flow from a long-dead volcano — along this section of coast from the Bay of Culkein to the Point of Stoer.
That explains the black rocks in the sea, but paler rocks make up the cliffs.
A group of cormorants were making good use of one of the black rocks, in fact they had made such a habit of resting there they had turned it white!
There is no path marked on the OS ‘Explorer’ map, so we were hoping the walking wouldn’t be too difficult. We were delighted to find that there was a faint path all the way round the Point of Stoer from Culkein to the lighthouse where we picked up the tarmacked lane again.
The one barrier marked on the map, which could have been a barbed wire fence, turned out to be a wall with a gate in it. We sat by this wall out of the wind to eat our lunch (no pies today).
We passed spectacular scenery all the way round to the Point of Stoer — caves, waves, etc. I took a number of videos of the waves, I just love watching the movement. It makes me feel very calm, even when the sea is rough.
We also past a host of the flowers I call ‘cottontops’ which looked very pretty in the grass.
At the Point we climbed over a low fence (not barbed wire) to get all the way down to the true Point. (Well, not quite all the way down as the last bit looked a bit dodgy.)
Then we came back up the western side (over the non-barbed wire fence again) to see the geological feature which was the real reason we did this circular Walk — the spectacular rock stack called “The Old Man of Stoer”.
We had seen it in the distance from as far back as Tarbet, north of Scourie, and now we were here! It sticks out like a giant thumb (or another piece of male anatomy if you like!!) detached from the cliff and standing alone.
It was quite windy where we were walking, so much so that we had been wondering if we were safe walking as close to the cliff edge as we were. Imagine our amazement, therefore, to find that climbers were attempting to scale the Old Man’s lofty heights!!
How did they get across there, for a start? We could only see a single line across a very rough sea. Admittedly they were on the side of the stack away from the wind, but even so! There were four bods climbing up and four at the bottom. We never did see if any of them got to the top because it was too cold to stand and watch for long, but I don’t think any of them did. I don’t think it was actually possible to stand on the very top in that wind without being blown off.
We walked on, and met a man from Stirling who agreed with us that the climbers must be absolutely mad!
Looking back we could see the Point with the Old Man rising at its side. Looking forward we could soon see the lighthouse which is sited on the westernmost bluff of the peninsula.
At the top of the hill we came across a rusty pole that we thought might once have been a winch. Nearby were the remains of a building which could have been a pillbox, we didn’t know. It was all so long ago, time has taken its toll — but a little scary to think these were in use during our lifetime! (Colin and I were both War Babies. Thankfully we have lived in peace and freedom all our adult lives, unlike our parents and grandparents.)
We came to a deep cleft, and failed to see the path which led round it, So we descended to the bottom, and it was only when we were climbing out of the other side that we saw the path which led round. From that direction it was so obvious we couldn’t understand why we hadn’t seen it — Ah well!
We sat on a seat near the lighthouse to eat our chocolate. We didn’t walk right up to the lighthouse as it was a dead end, and we were a bit tired. Colin said his knee hurt and he was hungry, he blamed the latter on the fact that we’d had no pies. He was very quiet, and admitted he’d had enough. Up until then it had been a cracking Walk, very enjoyable. But we still had several miles of lanes, plus a bit of track which cut a corner, to get back to the car.
It seemed to take forever! We were tired, and there was nothing more to look at really — except the sheep and the cows. The cattle were mostly hairy with ferocious-looking horns. Fortunately they were all fenced in their fields, and looked at us lugubriously as we passed by. The sheep were all over the place, and nervous as we passed although we tried to be as quiet and calm as possible. One group scattered before us. Most of them got through a hole in the fence, two squeezed underneath and one tried to jump but merely bounced off the wires. Not renowned for their intelligence, I think.
At last we reached the lane to the school, and walked down to the village hall where our car was parked.

That ended Walk no.226, we shall pick up Walk no.227 next time at our caravan parked at Achmelvich. It was twenty to six, so the Walk had taken seven and a half hours. We drove immediately back to Achmelvich where we had tea and biscuits in the caravan.

Walk 225 -- Drumbeg to Achmelvich

2009-09-11T20:43:00.093+01:00

Ages: Colin was 67 years and 126 days. Rosemary was 64 years and 268 days.

Weather: Dull, turning fractionally brighter later. Cold in the wind, much warmer when sheltered.
Location: Drumbeg to Achmelvich.
Distance: 11 miles.
Total distance: 2061 miles.
Terrain: Mostly a quiet narrow road. Rocky footpath for the last mile. Undulating.
Tide: Coming in.
Rivers: No.204, Oldany River, which we crossed three times because we followed the valley for about a mile. No.205, Abhainn Clais an Eas at Clashnessie.
Ferries: None.
Piers: None.
Kissing gates: No.194 to get into the caravan site at the end of the Walk.
Pubs: None.
‘Historic Scotland’ properties: None.
Ferris wheels: None.
Diversions: None.
How we got there and back: We towed our caravan to Achmelvich, all the way from Malvern taking two full days to do so. We set up last night on this remote caravan site overlooking a small rocky bay. This morning we drove to Drumbeg and left our car at the viewpoint where we finished the last Walk.
At the end, we finished the Walk at the caravan. After tea, biscuits and a short rest, Colin got out his bike and cycled to Drumbeg — he only had to walk up three of the hills! He put the bike in the back of the car and drove back to Achmelvich.

Here we are, eleven weeks later, back in Drumbeg. Despite the same viewpoint as at the end of the last Walk, the scene looked very different. Then it was the end of a hot and sunny day, today the sky was a dull grey and it was quite nippy in the wind. At least the rain held off, and later the weather did brighten up a fraction. The view of the thirty-five islands didn’t look nearly so spectacular because of the flat light.
Today there were only us and the sheep looking at it. As we began our hike along the road, the sheep ran in front as if we were herding them. One by one they panicked, looped behind us and then continued to follow. If we stopped and glanced round, they returned our look with a forlorn stare. At the cattle grid they could go no further, so we waved “Bye-bye!” to them as we left. Attached to the gate of the cattle grid were two notices advertising shops in the village.
Now, a minor miracle occurred during the Summer holidays. We went down to Sussex for a week to visit relatives and old friends. While we were there, I persuaded Colin to enter our favourite ‘outdoors’ shop (Peglers, of Arundel) to buy some decent gear. I am so fed up with him moaning that his boots leak, that he is hot in his waterproof gear (which also leaks), and as for that flaming umbrella….! We spent over £600 in Peglers! But it was worth every penny. Colin now has quality boots which are ultra-comfortable and 100% waterproof, a lightweight kagoule which is guaranteed waterproof under all conditions — even Scottish rain! — and ‘breathes’ so he doesn’t get overheated, and similar overtrousers with zips up the sides so he can pull them on or off without removing his boots.
And doesn’t he look smart? (He says he flippin’ well ought to because he paid more for this outfit than he did for his ‘wedding/funeral’ suit!) I also treated myself to a new kagoule, but my overtrousers and boots are OK for the moment. We bought some hiking socks (which ‘wick’) and a few other odds and ends.
We couldn’t believe the bill at the end. But we need this kind of stuff if we’re going to continue to do the kind of walking that is necessary to finish this Trek round the entire coastline of Britain. Now we have passed Cape Wrath we are determined that we will complete it all the way back to Bognor Regis.
At last, after eleven years, Colin is decently clad for hiking in all weathers!
We followed the road past numerous lochans and rocky hills. Quite beautiful, but the dull grey skies did it no favours. However we were happy because it didn’t rain.
The road was narrow and very undulating, a bit like a roller-coaster. There was not much traffic, but we always seemed to meet it at the narrowest points, never the ‘passing places’.
It was quite cold in the wind, OK when we were moving but we wanted to stop and eat our slices of quiche (gone off pies). We came across an ‘egg machine’, and found that if we huddled behind it we were quite cosy. It reminded us of an ‘egg machine’ which used to be at the beginning of the track to Halnaker Hill in West Sussex.
Many moons ago (about thirty-five years I think) we bought some eggs from it for 10p a half dozen. I remember giving the children the coin to put in the machine and get the eggs out. In later years it was vandalised, but the ruined remains were still there in the brambles until recently. We thought of buying half a dozen eggs from this machine, but didn’t want to carry them in our rucksacks. Anyway there was no price quoted (think it may have gone up a tad from 10p) just an honesty box. We said we’d come back later for them, but we never did because we forgot.
For a while we followed a river valley, in fact we crossed the same river three times. Then the road took us for miles up and over the moors — rocks and lochs again. There were not so many flowers this time of year — we were past the orchid season — but we found a few. The heather was lovely!

We came across a lot of large fungus — huge fly agarics, the spotted red toadstool. One looked as if it had another toadstool growing out of its top!

And some yellow stuff in amongst the blades of grass — we couldn’t make out whether it was some kind of fungus or the eggs of an invertebrate. It was weird, we’ve never seen anything like it before.
There were lots of berries on bushes, food for all sorts of creatures.
We came across a row of saplings which had been planted with guards around them up to a height of about five feet. But deer are generally taller than that, so all the tops had been bitten off! Instead of a row of trees, the landowner will end up with a row of stunted bushes.
The road seemed to go on, up and down forever.
But eventually we descended to the beach at Clashnessie. It is a beautiful sandy beach, ideal for building sandcastles.
And we were amused to see a group of people, dressed in winter coats and woolly hats, doing just that — but they were all adults, not a child in sight!
As we left the hamlet we met a couple walking towards us. They too were on holiday, and they asked us where we were walking from and to. They were suitably impressed when we told them about our project. The woman, in a posh voice, declared that she had been to the waterfall and back, and that was enough for her. We didn’t go to the waterfall, which was about a quarter of a mile up the river, because we could see it from where we stood. Colin used his zoom lens to take a photo of it.
It was about a mile further on to Stoer Village Hall. We wanted to walk round the peninsula to the Point of Stoer and view the rockstack called “The Old Man of Stoer”, but it was too far to do it today. We decided to do it as a circular from and to the hall as our next Walk, so today we bypassed the turning. We noticed that there was a ceileidh on tonight, and there were people going in and out getting the hall ready. A man tried to persuade us to come to it — we would have loved to but we knew we would be too tired, and that by the time we had finished the Walk, collected the car from Drumbeg, cooked and eaten our supper it would be far too late to go out dancing. So I cheekily asked him if I could use the toilet (there had simply been no bushes anywhere that I could hide behind) and with thanks and apologies we walked on.
A bit further down the road we found ourselves a sheltered spot out of the wind but overlooking a lochan, and there we sat to eat our lunch.
Stoer Free Church is housed in an ordinary semi-detached bungalow, so ordinary we wouldn’t have known it was a church if it wasn’t for the lettering on the gate. A bit further down we saw the reason why — we passed a building that was obviously a church, but it had no roof. I wonder when and how it lost it.
A short distance away is the cemetery.
We could see an interesting rock down in the Bay of Stoer, it looked as if it had been split in half vertically. But it was nowhere near the road so we decided not to go over and have a closer look at it.
We continued down towards the beach where there was a wide greensward between the road and the sands. A notice pleaded with us, “HELP US to control erosion. NO VEHICLES PLEASE! NO CAMPING.” We could understand the feelings of the local people — to all intents and purposes this is their village green, and they don’t want tourists churning up the grass or pitching tents all over it.
A bit further on we did pass an official campsite. Then we ascended into the hills where it was all rocks and lochans again.

There was a large puffball in the grass by the side of the road, but we didn’t burst it any more than it was broken already.

We turned off the road on to a path labelled, “To the mill”. It was a rocky path that led alongside a stream which it crossed several times on stepping stones, sometimes made out of old millstones, and thence to a ruined stone building with no roof.
We sat inside it out of the wind to eat our chocolate.
I was just considering going to the loo again in this remote place when — a large walking group appeared!! (This reminded me of my friend, Cecilia, who often needs to hide behind a bush on our walks together. There are many tales of her adventures, including one where a helicopter flew overhead when she was crouched behind some gorse bushes!) This afternoon I just felt grateful that I hadn’t put my thoughts into actions.
The group was led by a young woman called Angela, and I think the others had all paid to be taken on a guided walk. Angela started explaining the history of the mill, and since we were there we listened in. But we had already read the board, which was very wordy, and it all got a bit technical — so we moved on. This was a ‘clack’ mill named after the noise it made because it had horizontal grinding stones. It was in use from the 17^th to 19^th centuries, and every time it was upgraded to larger millstones, the old ones were thrown aside. That is why there were a lot of rocks that looked like millstones scattered about. There are the usual tales of corruption about how the mill was run — all politics! The rich get richer and do less, the poor get poorer and become virtual slaves, etc.
The group followed us on the rocky path up a hill, so we stepped aside and allowed them to pass.
Then Angela led them off at a tangent, and we were tempted to follow because she looked as if she knew what she was doing, and she was taking them nearer the sea. But we were tired and the path we were on was good. It is marked on the map and actually exists, which is unusual for Scotland! We could see the caravan site ahead, so we decided to stick to plan A and continue along the path.
Further on we noticed that Angela was completely off path, was having to help her group down an almost vertical slope, and then they had to pick their way across a bog. Some of them were struggling, perhaps she didn’t know what she was doing after all! When they regained the path they were well behind us, but they soon caught us up because we don’t walk very fast. It was a bit like the hare and the tortoise! So I gave out my blog cards to all and sundry, and this generated enormous interest. (Are any of you still reading my blog? If so, please let me know by leaving a comment on this Walk.)
Angela said she’d like to walk with us on one or two of our subsequent Walks, and bring her dog along too. We said OK, she was welcome, and we exchanged mobile phone numbers. I texted her several times, inviting her to join us, but she always had some reason why she couldn’t. Eventually, when we had walked well out of her region, I stopped contacting her and we never saw nor heard from her again.
We soon reached the beach at Achmelvich next to our caravan park, and went through the gate into the site. Angela’s group finished their walk there too. We asked if any of them were driving back Drumbeg way so Colin could cadge a lift to collect our car. But no, they were all going South.

That ended Walk no.225, we shall pick up Walk no.226 next time at our caravan parked at Achmelvich. It was quarter past three, so the Walk had taken six hours fifteen minutes. We went into the caravan, made ourselves a pot of tea and got out the biscuits. After a short rest, Colin got on his bike and cycled back to Drumbeg to collect the car. He only had to walk up three of the hills, but he did say he really enjoyed the cycle ride.
This evening we were treated to a beautiful sunset.

Walk 224 -- Kylesku to Drumbeg

2009-06-26T22:10:00.052+01:00

Ages: Colin was 67 years and 49 days. Rosemary was 64 years and 191 days.

Weather: Very hot and sunny. Cooling breeze in exposed places, but mostly too hot to be comfortable.
Location: Kylesku to Drumbeg.
Distance: 11 miles.
Total distance: 2050 miles.
Terrain: A main road uphill for two miles — not much traffic but what there was came fast. The next nine miles were on a narrow road with ‘passing places’. There was even less traffic but it appeared unexpectedly. It was very undulating. There was not much shade, but stunning scenery!
Tide: Going out.
Rivers: No.200, Allt à Ghamhna at the first dip in the road. No. 201, Allt Ardbhair at the next dip. No. 202, Allt na Claise at the next. No.203, the outlet to Loch Nedd near Nedd.
Ferries: None.
Piers: None.
Kissing gates: None.
Pubs: None.
‘Historic Scotland’ properties: None.
Ferris wheels: None.
Diversions: None.
How we got there and back: We were staying in our caravan in Scourie. There are no buses south of Scourie, not even a school bus, so we had no choice but to thumb a lift. This morning we drove to the picnic area where we finished yesterday’s Walk, and Colin dropped me there with my puzzle book. Then he drove on to Drumbeg and parked in the car park with an absolutely stunning view of 35 islands, all bird sanctuaries. Very little traffic uses that road, and he was beginning to despair of ever getting a lift. But in the end the owner of Drumbeg village shop picked him up and took him as far as the main road. Then he got a lift in a motor-caravan for the last two miles. He had taken an hour and a half, and I was beginning to get a little worried.
At the end, we had our tea and caramel squares, then returned to our caravan in Scourie.
The next day we began the long two-day journey back home to Malvern — tired but very happy!

So far all our Walks this session have gone to plan, but today it nearly didn’t. I felt so tired when I woke this morning I really didn’t want to walk at all. So we were a little late getting going. I was absolutely determined not to give in. We drove to Kylesku where we went down into the hamlet by the old ferry slipway to see what it was like. Stunningly beautiful in the sunshine, and we noticed a pair of antlers on the wall above the Post Office.
Colin left me at the picnic site under the bridge, and drove on to Drumbeg. His problem was getting a lift back — he was gone an hour and a half and we were both beginning to despair. The road to Drumbeg is so QUIET, it was three quarters of an hour before a vehicle passed him! It was the local shopkeeper who took him all but the last two miles. Then he was on the main road, and soon got a lift in a motor-caravan.
He wasn’t very happy when he arrived because he was flustered and it was a hot day, hotter even than yesterday. So we sat in the shade and ate our slices of quiche before we started — this gave him time to cool down a little.
The first two miles took us south along the main road next to Loch Glencoul. It was steadily uphill, and would have been unpleasant in the heat if it wasn’t for the magnificent views.

We noticed ‘cotton-top’ flowers in a dried up ditch and a large green caterpillar by our feet. We were surrounded by mountains, and across the loch we could see a waterfall far in the distance.

We reached the turning for Drumbeg, and from then on we were on an extremely quiet road. We were now on the Assynt Peninsula. The scenery was stunning — past mountains and lochs, up and down. One loch had what looked like grass growing in it, close up it was a work of Art!
It was very very hot, too hot to fully appreciate the magnificent panorama we were passing through. We found a place in the shade to sit down and eat our lunch. When we got going again, Colin used his umbrella as a sunshade. But we were up high, and it kept turning inside out in the wind. Muttered curses were the order of the day! (He was tired too, and he doesn’t take kindly to the heat.) The way he was behaving, I said he ought to be a character in the popular TV comedy series “Last of the Summer Wine”!
The road took us downhill to cross a stream. There was shade down there — blissful! Trouble was, immediately we had to trudge uphill back into the sun. That was hard going. More amazing views, we have read somewhere that the Duke of Westminster (one of the richest people in Britain) owns property overlooking these fantastic vistas.
We plodded on, uphill and uphill in the sun — then it was steeply downhill again to another wooded stream. It was hard to find shade to stop and eat our cereal bars, and later on our chocolate. Steeply uphill again and round several twists and bends, then down again into a little dip to cross yet another stream.
The next uphill was a long one, we had seen the road stretching way, way ahead. We tramped, we trudged and we plodded, barely talking to each other so as not to waste what little energy we had left. We complain about the wet Walks, but this heat was just too much!
Across the open moors we went, and at last the road started to go down again.
By the time we had descended to sea-level to cross the stream feeding Loch Nedd, we were a tad cooler because the sun was beginning to drop in the western sky. Also it was heavily wooded in that area, and we began to feel a little more human.
We thought the redundant fishing boats at the end of Loch Nedd were a sad sight.
We had to climb up to the hamlet of Nedd, and then up a lot more before we got to Drumbeg. But we were kind of numb by then, and didn’t mind so much. We passed a small loch covered in water lilies — beautiful!
We were amused by a road sign which had the picture of a pig in a warning triangle. It said, “Beware, pigs, piglets, lambs, sheep on road”! As signs go it must be unique, unless you know of one somewhere else? It reminded us of a taxi we once got into in the country of Bolivia — a notice inside said, “No smoking. No pigs”! Another notice on a cattle grid gate at the entrance to Drumbeg told us that they had won the ‘Best Village Shop in Scotland’ award in 2006. But the shop was shut by the time we passed, so we couldn’t use it.
The toilets were open, we were relieved to find, and we went on to the car park which is at a fine viewpoint. To the south is a loch with mountains behind. To the north is the best view we had seen all day — thirty five islands in the sea!
That ended Walk no.224, we shall pick up Walk no.225 next at the viewpoint car park in Drumbeg. It was half past six, so the Walk had taken six hours twenty minutes. While we were drinking our tea and eating scrumptious caramel squares, we watched a German couple set up a sumptuous picnic on one of the tables and open a bottle of wine. Overlooking those thirty-five islands, it seemed like Paradise and we were a little envious. But we wondered how long they stayed for the wind had turned a trifle nippy now the sun was lower in the sky.
As we drove back along the road towards Kylesku we came across a herd of red deer up on the moor. There were some magnificent stags, but their antlers were covered in velvet still as it is not the rutting season yet. We stopped for quite a while watching them, before returning to our caravan in Scourie.The next day we began the two-day journey home to Malvern. We were very satisfied that meticulous planning had paid off and all the Walks had been successful this time — especially the Cape Wrath one. We are extremely proud of that achievement!

Walk 223 -- Scourie to Kylesku

2009-06-25T15:45:00.079+01:00

Ages: Colin was 67 years and 48 days. Rosemary was 64 years and 190 days.
Weather: Sunny and very hot, but a cooling wind in exposed places. ‘Fair-weather’ cloud later.
Location: Scourie to Kylesku.
Distance: 13 miles.
Total distance: 2039 miles.
Terrain: Rough path round a headland for the first three miles — very undulating and boggy in places. A lot of road — not much traffic but what there was came fast. Two miles of ‘old road’ in the middle — it was a trifle further but it has been turned into a very pleasant walking track. We missed out a hill by going that way!
Tide: In, going out.
Rivers: No.197, Allt an t-Srathain where the old road joined up to the main road again. No. 198, Duartmore Burn further down. No.199, Caolas Cumhann at Kylesku which we crossed on a spectacular bridge.
Ferries: None.
Piers: None.
Kissing gates: No.193 on the ‘old road’ track.
Pubs: None.
‘Historic Scotland’ properties: None.
Ferris wheels: None.
Diversions: None.
How we got there and back: We were staying in our caravan in Scourie. There are no buses south of Scourie, not even a school bus, so we had no choice but to thumb a lift. This morning Colin took the car down to Kylesku and parked it at a picnic area just beyond the bridge. There was not much traffic, but eventually a lady stopped and took him as far as a salmon farm where she worked. He soon got a second lift — it was the wife of the teacher who had given us a lift on Monday! We started the Walk at the caravan.
At the end, we got straight into the car again and drove back to the caravan to have a proper pot of tea — far tastier than tea bags!

Scourie is a small hamlet with a beach, an hotel, a shop and a camping/caravan site. We had been staying on the caravan site for three days when I drew Colin’s attention to a notice outside the hotel which read “Real Ales”. He was adamant that it wasn’t in the “Good Beer Guide”, but then he looked it up and found that it was! He was even more pleased to find that it sold several local beers which he liked. He muttered some excuse for his folly — that he hadn’t been in a CAMRA pub since Thurso and wasn’t expecting to find one until we got to Ullapool, etc. Even in this wild and remote part of the country, people like their ales!
We also found two memorials in Scourie. One was the ubiquitous War Memorial where, as always, we read evidence that whole families were wiped out in useless fighting amongst nations. What was it all for? Two Elliots, two MacKays, three Morrisons and three Rosses — apart from a Macleod, MacRae, Munro, Sinclair and Thomson — all from this tiny village in the First World War. Did anybody come back? What a waste of young lives!
The other memorial was to honour General Hugh MacKay, third chieftain of the Scowry branch of MacKay, and Commander-in-Chief of the British Forces in Scotland, 1689 – 1690. Only a year — he was killed in 1692 — and this memorial stone was not put up until 2000, more than three hundred years later!
We started today’s Walk from the caravan on the site. We walked along a dodgy path at the top of the beach, where Colin photographed some oystercatchers, until we came to a cemetery at the far end. We bypassed this and strode out towards the headland. We had wonderful views in all directions, especially of Handa Island which was now more or less behind us.
We were not on an official path, but the going was in better shape than the Tarbet to Scourie path we had negotiated two days ago. There was a sketch map on the wall in the caravan site office showing a path around this bit of coast, but nothing is marked on the OS map so we were taking a bit of a gamble.
We had short grass under our feet, the sun was shining and it was warm. We walked uphill and down, uphill and down, following the coast but avoiding rock outcrops and bogs. Colin found lots of wading birds to photograph on the small stony beaches.

There were rocky islands offshore, and small lochans inland — we had to steer an uneven path between them.
One lochan was covered with water lilies in flower, very pretty!
In the distance we could see the rock stack called “The Old Man of Stoer” — we hope to get there when we return to Scotland in September.
The path became more difficult, well it wasn’t really a path at all. The hills became steeper and higher, the ‘path’ less obvious.
We noted that there was a lot of rubbish on the rocky beaches. Mostly it was fishing nets, but there was also a lot of plastic, car tyres and even a hard hat!
Eventually we sat on a knoll overlooking yet another rocky beach, and took stock whilst eating a slice of quiche each. We decided not to go round the next headland as it was taking too long, the way was getting too steep and we were running out of “umph”! So we turned up a valley, which proved to be quite boggy, to get back on to the road. We passed a profusion of wild flowers on the way, many of which were orchids of different types and colours. They were quite small, but looked absolutely exquisite when we studied them up close. I spent some time photographing them in the sunshine, making full use of my macro-lens.
There was a school at the top, we waved to the kids in the playground.
It was somewhat surreal that we felt we had been walking in the middle of nowhere for the last three hours, yet here was a SCHOOL full of excited children!
We crossed a bog below the school, which wasn’t easy, then scrambled up a very steep bank to the road.
There we sat on a bench to eat our sarnies.
We felt disheartened because we had been walking for three and a half hours, and although we had actually walked three miles over difficult ground we hadn’t even progressed a mile along the road from Scourie!
That was obviously not good enough, we were going to have to get a move on.
There followed about four miles of road-walking. We tried to keep up a pace, but it was difficult because it was so HOT! (Not a comment you expect to make about north-west Scotland!) The wind had died, the sun beat down and we had to keep pausing in the shade to cool off. At least we had both brought extra water today, and weren’t in danger of running out.
There was no habitation and the scenery was fantastic — all rocks, lochs and flowers. Traffic was sparse, but when it did come it was FAST. We had to be alert all the time. We passed a side road which led off to a place called Badcall — looking at the map I think there are only a couple of dwellings there — but we didn’t take it because it didn’t actually reach the sea (additional rule no.11).
There seemed to be a lot of uphill and not much downhill — I’m sure that was our imagination, but we did spend a lot more time walking uphill because we were hot.

We came to a nature reserve which we accessed by turning on to a narrow road which wasn’t signposted. It was a relief to get away from the main road! We had visited this nature reserve yesterday on our day off because Colin thought we might see otters there.
I had sat on a rock overlooking a magnificent view while Colin hacked his way down over mega-rough ground to investigate movement he had seen in the loch below. He had so been hoping it was otters, but it turned out to be seals — we have become quite blasé about seals, we have seen so many.
Today we both sat on the rock to eat our cereal bars. We couldn’t see any movement in the water at all, then we realised that the rock islands in the loch were covered in seals basking in the sun!

We followed the lane further down, and began to realise that it was a remnant of the ‘old road’. It must have been a good many years ago that the main road was diverted on to a shorter route cutting through the rock because this section of ‘old road’ had become overgrown and hence was quite narrow.
There were still rusty old ‘passing place’ notices poking out of the undergrowth, and a speed limit notice. The lane took us along by a loch where there was a low wall. It was very pleasant, and cooler than the main road. It was “away-from-it-all” and it saved us climbing a hill too.

We almost reached the sea when we had to turn back up a hill and rejoin the main road. We could see the huge bank of rubble on which it was built. That detour was the most pleasant part of the whole Walk.

We plodded on, we still had a number of miles to do. It began to cloud over very thinly which gave us welcome relief from the beating sun. A couple of miles of boring road amongst stunning scenery brought us to the Duartmore Bridge.
We saw two fishermen in a boat on the river, and seals in the water under the bridge. (As we approached Colin was hoping they would be otters, but they weren’t.) We crossed the bridge and went up into the forest.
We stopped in a layby further on to eat our chocolate, but we didn’t stay long. Under the trees were dozens of horse-flies which drove us out! Neither of us got stung, though they liked Colin better than me.
We walked on quickly to shake them off. It was a few more miles yet — we were getting weary. More rocks, more lochs, more orchids — this Walk certainly had scenery to die for!

Then we topped a rise, came to a viewpoint and there was the Kylesku Bridge below. We couldn’t see our car yet, but we knew it was there just beyond the bridge.
We still had a couple of miles of twisty road over rocky islands to cover.
Boats in the water, that looks a bit more like civilisation!
Just before the bridge is a cairn with a plaque set into it. On it was written:

THIS CAIRN WAS ERECTED TO

COMMEMORATE THE 50^TH ANNIVERSARY OF

THE XIITH SUBMARINE FLOTILLA

10^TH APRIL 1993

The security of these top secret operations was

guarded by the local people of this district who

knew so much and talked so little

Underneath was an etching of the submarines in the river, followed by the names of all those who had trained in this area and subsequently perished.
Kylesku Bridge is spectacular, it is built as a curve between two rock islands. It was constructed in 1984, and replaced a ferry which had been there since the 19^th century. We crossed this magnificent piece of engineering.
Colin wanted to see otters in the river — Oh! How he wanted to see otters! But they were seals again.
That ended Walk no.223, we shall pick up Walk no.224 next time just south of the Kylesku Bridge. It was quarter to seven, so the Walk had taken eight and three quarter hours. Our car was parked at a viewpoint just below the bridge, so we got straight into it and drove back to the caravan to have a proper pot of tea — far tastier than tea bags!

Walk 222 -- Laxford Bridge to Scourie

2009-06-23T22:21:00.083+01:00

Ages: Colin was 67 years and 46 days. Rosemary was 64 years and 188 days.

Weather: Started dull and breezy, but turned sunny and became too hot as the breeze abated.
Location: Laxford Bridge to Scourie.
Distance: 11½ miles.
Total distance: 2026 miles.
Terrain: The first part was roads which were a little undulating. The second part was lanes which were quite undulating. The third part was a rocky, boggy, uneven path which was very undulating. But there were views to blow our minds all the way.
Tide: Going out.
Rivers: None.
Ferries: None.
Piers: None.
Kissing gates: None.
Pubs: The Scourie Hotel where Colin enjoyed ‘Yellow-hammer’ and ‘Red Kite’, both from the Black Isle Brewery — when he eventually realised the pub was there. We had been staying within walking distance of it for three days before he found it, even though it was in the Good Beer Guide!! (Should I be worried about him?)
‘Historic Scotland’ properties: None.
Ferris wheels: None.
Diversions: None.
How we got there and back: We were staying in our caravan in Scourie. This morning we did actually catch the school bus from Scourie village to Laxford Bridge. The driver refused to accept any money for a fare “for all sorts of reasons” which he didn’t specify. (Perhaps he was horrified at the paperwork this would involve!) We didn’t mind.
At the end, we finished the Walk at the caravan. We didn’t use the car at all.

The first four miles of today’s Walk were along the road. There was not much traffic, but when it did come it was FAST! We had to be very aware all the time. The road has been upgraded fairly recently, and we were able to walk away from the speeding cars on a bit of ‘old road’ occasionally. But we usually ended up in a gorse bush after a promising few yards, so it wasn’t actually much help.
We amused ourselves by photographing the flowers we passed, which were prolific and beautiful. I especially liked the ‘cotton-tops’ (don’t know their real name) which we have only seen in Iceland before we came to the far north of Scotland. They were growing in a wet ditch, and looked lovely — at least I thought so! I consider them to be a true Arctic flower.
Just to show that it wasn’t all pretty, I photographed a slug. Ugh! I hate slugs!
We came to a small lochan with a layby next to it. A car pulled into it and three people spilled out, a man and two women. They started raving about a ‘thrift’ they could see in the loch. I thought they meant a fish, but in fact they were talking about a flowering plant! (I looked this up later on the internet, and it turns out to be a drought-tolerant plant which needs a well-drained soil to prevent root-rot — in north-west Scotland?)
These people told us that they had recently retired and had moved up to this area from the Isle of Wight. Quite a change of lifestyle, I should imagine.
This is a wild and beautiful place, we only passed one house in that first four miles. We saw evidence of peat-cutting, but it seemed to be on a very small scale. Probably only the locals cut enough for their own needs.

Colin concentrated on getting pictures of birds, but he was unable to name them. The scenery was mind-blowing — rocks and lochs would describe it best, I think.

We were interested to see how the bedding planes had been tipped and twisted in a road cutting.
We were puzzled by a digger up on a bank, couldn’t think what it was doing. The land around here is so untamed, I shouldn’t think there is much you can do with it anyway. But the butterflies like it, we saw quite a few.

As we turned into the lane to Tarbet, the sun came out. That’s better! We immediately felt cheerful, and the scenery instantly became even more startlingly magnificent.
Added to that, there was hardly any traffic on the lane, so we could really relax and enjoy our Walk. We passed a small lochan where water lilies were growing. It was very pretty so we sat down to eat our elevenses there.

Everything was so wonderful we couldn’t stop taking photographs — me of the rocks and the lochs, the mountains and the islands, in fact the sheer beauty of the scenery. It was mind-boggling. Colin took the flowers and the birds, also the butterflies. We were in heaven!

We didn’t take the lane which led directly to Tarbet, instead we followed the other lane which was a longer way round because it was nearer the sea. It was very much an up-and-down route, a bit like a roller-coaster, but we didn’t mind at all because the sun continued to shine and the scenery got better, if anything.
We came to the hamlet of Foindle. Colin, in jocular mood, covered up the ‘i’ in the place name and tried to put on his ‘Mr Bean’ face. But I thought the landscape was far more stunning to look at. I continued to take picture after picture.

On our map, a footpath is marked leading down to a place called Fanagmore Bay. But when we got to the place where it was supposed to lead off the lane there was no sign of it. (I won’t rant about the shortcomings of our expensive OS maps again because we were too happy in the middle of this wonderful panorama to spoil the mood.)
We could only see fences across, so we very quickly decided we didn’t have to go down there as there wasn’t a path. After soaking in the view of what seemed like dozens of rock islands, we turned the corner and made towards Tarbet.
We passed yet another lochan. Colin took a picture of a sheep that I thought was a goat. (Perhaps it was a geep — or a shoat!) In fact we didn’t see any other sheep about in this area, perhaps it is too rocky. As a result, the undergrowth is not nibbled down to nothing.Colin photographed a dragonfly which had settled on a granite rock, but I was more interested in the granite itself. Some of it was pink and some of it white — with the black crystals in it, of course. A beautiful rock!
It was an abrupt descent into Tarbet, and we could see the other lane rising steeply out of the further side. Colin saw swallows flying out of a derelict cottage, so he went inside to see if he could find their nest. He found it on top of the electricity meter! He said there was still furniture in the dwelling, including books on the shelves, even though the house was quite derelict. I wonder what the story is behind it.
Tarbet was a popular place that warm afternoon, both car parks were full. There were lots of bikers, many being foreign nationals on holiday. Colin was in his element! He got talking to an elderly (well, about our age!) biker who was a widower. Ever since he lost his wife he has been touring round on his motorbike, unable to settle anywhere.
We sat on the beach to eat our lunch. Tarbet seemed a laid-back sort of place and we ended up staying there for one and a half hours. We watched a group of Germans faffing about with canoes — eventually they launched them and went out for a paddle. Some people were sitting about waiting for the ferry to Handa Island which is just offshore. The island is no longer inhabited, but is a seabird sanctuary managed by the Scottish Wildlife Trust. In the distance to the south we could see the rock stack called ‘The Old Man of Stoer’, looking like some ghostly figure standing out from the cliff.
But we had a Walk to finish, we had dallied long enough. The last part of today’s Trek was to follow a footpath across the rocky landscape to Scourie. This is an official footpath which is signposted and waymarked, so we felt confident (well, sort of) that it wouldn’t let us down. We found it to be steep, rocky, boggy and beautiful — it was certainly more challenging than we had anticipated.
We had a steep ascent to start with, but we were rewarded with glorious views across to Handa Island, and lots of other rocky islands.
It got very hot as there was no wind, even high up. We were caught out because neither of us had brought enough water to drink. Yesterday’s Walk had been so wet, and today had started out very grey and dull. We couldn’t believe how the weather had changed so quickly! We started to ration what little water we had left.
Sometimes the path was rocky, and sometimes it was so boggy our boots sank in — but never too deep. It was very uneven, our pace was slow. Colin photographed a sundew plant which looked fantastic in the sunshine.
We came across a rusty gate stuck in a rock. It was all by itself, no fences attached to it on either side. It did look odd. We dutifully opened it and walked through, carefully closing it behind us!
We continued walking uphill, but never did get to the top. The path led us into a hollow where it was baking hot, and that is where we ran out of water. We sat on a rock overlooking the lochan that was there and ate chocolate to give us the energy to continue. Small plants were growing in the water, reflected in the surface making them look twice as tall.
We thought we would soon start to go down, but every time we topped a rise there was another one ahead. I seem to remember we had that same experience when we were walking from Cape Wrath to Sandwood Bay — we were finding this last part of today’s Walk equally challenging. Perhaps it was because we were beginning to get dehydrated.
We followed the cairns which waymarked the route, and passed several lochans. We sank in the bog and clambered over rocks. Up and down, up and down. Amazing views but we were really feeling the heat. Colin photographed another dragonfly, another sundew plant and ‘The Old Man of Stoer’ again.
At last! We topped a rise, and there was our caravan site below! It looked an awful long way down.
It proved to be very steep, not at all easy. Lower down we had to battle our way through gorse bushes (ow!) which closed above our heads. We soldiered on, and eventually spilled out on to a track near a farm. It was quite an easy walk down to the beach from there.
A man sitting on a bench asked me if I was a bird-watcher — I was near to collapse with dehydration. I could hardly answer him, my throat was so dry. I left him talking to Colin, and hurried to the caravan where I drank a whole bottle of water in one go. Never again will I walk with only one bottle of water!
That ended Walk no.222, we shall pick up Walk no.223 next time at the caravan site in Scourie. It was six o’clock, so the Walk had taken nine and a half hours. I slept for an hour on my bed, then I felt quite human again. The next day we had a real rest day. I remarked that the local pub had a notice about real ales. Colin was adamant that it wasn’t in the Good Beer Guide, but it was and it had some good ales on tap. Colin had been staying next to one of his CAMRA pubs for three days without realising it! Should I be worried about him?

Walk 221 -- Kinlochbervie to Laxford Bridge

2009-06-22T22:42:00.033+01:00

Ages: Colin was 67 years and 45 days. Rosemary was 64 years and 187 days.

Weather: Wet and breezy with poor visibility. It was unpleasant, but not really cold. The rain stopped for the last couple of miles.
Location: Kinlochbervie to Laxford Bridge.
Distance: 9 miles.
Total distance: 2014½ miles.
Terrain: Undulating roads.
Tide: In.
Rivers: No.194, Achriesgill Water on the road from Kinlochbervie. No. 195, Rhiconich River at Rhiconich. No. 196, River Laxford at Laxford Bridge.
Ferries: None.
Piers: None.
Kissing gates: None.
Pubs: None.
‘Historic Scotland’ properties: None.
Ferris wheels: None.
Diversions: None.
How we got there and back: We were staying in our caravan in Scourie. This morning we drove to Laxford Bridge, parked the car and intended catching the school bus to Kinlochbervie. Because it was so unpleasant standing in the wind and rain waiting for it, we started thumbing. Very soon a car pulled up — it was a teacher from the school. He told us it was an INSET day, so the bus probably wasn’t running! He was very interested in our trek, and took us to the exact spot at Kinlochbervie War Memorial where we needed to be.
At the end, we got straight into the car and drove back to the caravan to have a proper pot of tea — much better than tea bags!

It was not a very good day for walking, thank goodness we have done and finished with Cape Wrath. I wouldn’t have liked to have walked it in today’s misty rain. I kept putting my camera away to stop it getting wet, then missing photo opportunities. Colin didn’t even bring his camera. There would have been lovely views if it hadn’t been so misty.
There were lots of flowers out, particularly the ubiquitous wild orchid which looked especially lovely in the rain. We passed a few scattered cottages, but generally the landscape is wild and untamed. Very beautiful, but we could have done without the rain.

Yet at the road junction there was a toilet block which was clean, open and free! If they can do it out here in the wilds, why can’t other local authorities? This was the halfway point of today’s walk, where we met up with the road from Durness.
There was a small field opposite the toilets where we sat in the lee of a wall to eat our slices of quiche. That is when Colin discovered he had left his quiche in the fridge in the caravan, so he ate his sandwiches instead! The resident sheep made a quick exit through a hole in the wall opposite us, but they returned soon after and ignored us as they continued munching grass.

We crossed the Rhiconich River and carried on southwards along the road. We were really in wild country now, mountains and rocks — absolutely no habitation. We passed a fence post that was wearing a mossy wig!
There was not much traffic, but when it came it was fast because the road is fairly straight and has been upgraded. The rain became more intense, and it was most unpleasant.
We turned off on a loop which led to a side road, and it turned out to be the ‘old’ road. We saw a pond with water lilies in bud. They looked very pretty, but it was honking down by then so I didn’t photograph it. We walked round several little lochans, and then back to the straightened main road.
Further on this road led through a cutting. The rock was gneiss (at a guess) and it was spectacular. Swirls in the rock showed us that it had been through a lot of movement in the geological past.

After that it was just boring old road. I think we will have a lot of this kind of road-walking down the west coast as there is a dearth of footpaths marked on the map.
We passed a gorse bush with bright flowers on it, an attempt to brighten the day I suppose.
The rain stopped at last though it remained drippy and grey. We both removed our over-trousers because it was too hot to continue to wear them. It may have been a wet day, but it certainly wasn’t cold.
The road narrowed at the bottom of the hill. It became a ‘narrow road with passing places’, and the tarmac was old too. It scrunched under our boots! This bit of the road hadn’t been upgraded. We came to Laxford Bridge, where our car was parked. Bit of a bum Walk really, with the rain and poor visibility.
That ended Walk no.221, we shall pick up Walk no.222 next time at Laxford Bridge. It was twenty past one, so the Walk had taken four and three quarter hours. We were wet and miserable, so we got in the car and drove straight back to the caravan. There we finished our lunch and had a proper cup of tea — made with leaf tea in a teapot!

Walk 220 -- Blairmore to Kinlochbervie

2009-06-20T22:54:00.023+01:00

Ages: Colin was 67 years and 43 days. Rosemary was 64 years and 185 days.
Weather: Sunny with a cool breeze — perfect!
Location: Blairmore to Kinlochbervie.
Distance: 4 miles.
Total distance: 2005½ miles.
Terrain: Quiet road with a lot of sheep about. Undulating.
Tide: Coming in.
Rivers: No.193, Amhainn Aisir Mhór.
Ferries: None.
Piers: None.
Kissing gates: None.
Pubs: None.
‘Historic Scotland’ properties: None.
Ferris wheels: None.
Diversions: None.
How we got there and back: We were staying in our caravan in Durness. We had a sleep-in after our efforts of yesterday, and didn’t start today’s Walk until about tea-time. We still had the hire-car, so we drove both cars to Kinlochbervie, parked our own car by the war memorial and went on to Blairmore in the hire-car.
At the end, we had our tea. Then we drove once again to Blairmore to pick up the hire-car, and drove both cars back to the caravan in Durness. The next day we returned the hire-car to Thurso. Later we moved the caravan to Scourie.

We didn’t have much to write about for this Walk. We were merely linking up the end of the last Walk with a bus stop at Kinlochbervie four miles further along the road. We were still on a ‘high’ after our achievement yesterday, the weather was balmy and we simply meandered along accompanied by lots of sheep.
We were talking excitedly about the last Walk and what it meant to us. Up until Cape Wrath we never really believed that we would complete the whole coast of mainland Britain. But now it seems possible, because nothing could be so difficult as the Walk we had just done, surely? (We were to learn in later Walks that this was not quite true!) As our friends kept reminding us over the next few weeks, “Now it’s downhill all the way!” (That was not true either!) But today we stepped out positively, happy in our hearts.
We left the car park with sheep grazing around it, and followed the road to Kinlochbervie. Almost opposite the car park was the kissing gate we had come through last night just after midnight. Because it was dark we hadn’t noticed that there was a notice on it which read “Walkers Welcome” in big letters. That really made us feel good!
We looked at the amazing views, the lovely flowers — there were orchids everywhere — and spoke to the sheep. We looked at the mountains ahead, glad that we won’t have to climb any of them.
We crossed several streams, but no problem today because we were on a road. We didn’t even feel tired! We didn’t turn in to any of the side roads because they were all dead ends which we don’t have to go down if we don’t want to. We strolled, incapable of walking any faster, so happy after completing yesterday’s marathon.
A group of sheep were ahead of us, walking along the road. I joked that they were doing the “Round-Britain-Walk” too — I felt quite jocular. They kept ahead of us, and suddenly they spooked. They dashed past us and returned the way they had come, looking back at us as if they had escaped from great danger. In their panic, one even jumped a fence which was at least four feet high — we were quite impressed!
As we approached Kinlochbervie we could see a loch and beyond it the school, the first secondary school since Bettyhill. This area is so thinly populated, children have to travel long distances to get to school.
Before we ever came to this area, we imagined Kinlochbervie to be a pretty little fishing village like so many we have passed on our way round Scotland. But we discovered it has a very ugly harbour like a great sore in the middle of a wild and beautiful area.
The harbour area is huge and commercial — when we drove through last night at about half past midnight, it was lit with a myriad of garish lights. Ah well, I suppose it provides jobs locally, and that is important. It was just that it was not what we were expecting, that’s all.

We soon came to the war memorial where our Walk finished. A memorial bench nearby was dedicated to an eighteen-year-old youth who died five years ago. The fence in front of the bench was festooned with teddy bears and bunches of flowers, though it was not the anniversary of either his birth or death. Then we looked at the war memorial, and they were mere boys too who died in those terrible wars. Whole families were wiped out, the name ‘Morrison’ appears on that simple stone cross no less than ten times! It is always so sad when young people die, for whatever reason.
That ended Walk no.220, we shall pick up Walk no.221 next time by the war memorial in Kinlochbervie. It was quarter past seven, so the Walk had taken one hour, fifty minutes. We had our tea and drove to Blairmore to pick up the hire-car. We drove both cars back to the caravan in Durness where I cooked our evening meal. The next day we returned the hire-car to Thurso, came back to Durness in our own car, then towed the caravan to Scourie. We are well and truly on our way South!