April 2022

15th

Pitched by the Sand dunes, about two miles east of Durness, locals claimed I was on MOD land, but there were civilian houses close by. The weather was quite mild for Durness, with only light sprinkles of rain. I always eat breakfast (this morning was lentil soup, which smells more pungent than French onion soup!) on the coastline between Durness and Thurso; this morning that is exactly what I did before leaving the shelter of my tent.

Populated by rabbits are these sand dunes and sheep poo was abundant everywhere on the ground, this unpleasant smell penetrated my tent and my clothes smelt of it for hours afterwards. After packing up my equipment I took a walk down to the beach to wash up my cooking pot, I also took some pictures with my phone camera.

The walk to Durness seemed to take forever and took more time to complete than I had anticipated. Although considerably expensive, the general store stocked a good supply of essentials, they also had a health food section. I have chosen three items with energy and limited budget in mind.

Walking past Durness village hall I noticed a John Lennon memorial garden, from talking to a roadside café van I was informed that Lennon used to have a holiday home in Durness. People think celebrities are great, but they are evil, they sell us all out, and are the last anybody should be looking to seek “wisdom” from.

I stopped off at a café van and had a small breakfast, I walked at least seven miles before a car stopped to give me a lift. An American / Asian man driving the NC500 stopped and gave me a lift to Tongue. The views along this part were spectacular and in many respects I wish (not regretted) I'd of walked it.

I walked out of Tongue and acquired a lift from a guy who worked for the NHS, he took me to Betty Hill and showed me a place to pitch my tent on the coastline, east of the village.

After scouting around I wasn't going to settle in the area so walked another two miles, this time gaining a lift from a van load of Italian peoples; after some pidgin English dialogue they agreed to take me to Thurso.

14th

Pitched by Loch Broom within a small public park, and yes, I was woken up by dog walkers.

Now knowing what I knew about Ullapool, I had little desire to remain in the town any longer.

Indifferent from the day before, I walked northwards, up a steep hill before I hitch-hiked a lift out of the town.

The first lift came from an elderly man who was on his way to a rock face, he mentioned that he had taken up rock climbing during the pandemic lock down. The second lift took me to Scourie and came from a man who had picked up building supplies (timber) for his house in Ullapool. On the way, he picked up his wife, she used to work for the Rock stop Geopark Café near Unapool.

I was stuck in Scourie at least two hours before a woman stopped and took me to the Kinlochbervie turning.

From here I walked over the hillside until I came to what I learned was a Hydro-station. The guy who built it was outside, I shouted him, and he came over to chat, he described, with some tension, living there all winter, through relentless wind and rain and the severity of loneliness he endured.

The strangest thing was not that we met during his last hydro-station project, or the isolation we'd both suffered; it was the very fact that he was from a mere few miles from where I was brought up as a child. He said the isolation had got so bad he gave in and stayed at Kinlochbervie hotel, only for it to be completely deserted because of the COVID-19 pandemic. How unreal, like the shining, I thought. The final lift of the day came from a Bohemian woman with black teeth. She described being on holiday in her van, and that she was from the Shetland Island where she would be returning to tomorrow morning. She claimed to work for a theatre company, and said the Shetlanders related more to Vikings culture than they did anything Scottish. Furthermore, she dropped me west of Durness just before the MOD land began. I had no interest in walking to Cape Wrath, so turned back the other way, pitching my tent on a cliff half a mile from an MOD lookout post.

13th

Risen this morning after a good night's sleep, my tent pitched overlooking Loch Garten. The student who gave me a lift out of Dulnain Bridge was here in sleeping in his Honda 4×4, this morning he is giving me a lift to Inverness.

Arriving in Inverness I found I had lost my Debit card whilst packing up my equipment at Loch Garden so visited my building society to report it missing and make a large deposit before continuing on my journey North; as there a no branches north of Inverness. It took a mere three minutes to hitch a lift to Ullapool off Longman roundabout, Inverness; from a van driver delivering art to the Isle of Lewis. His stereo was playing a medley of world music, and resting on his van dashboard was a pair of Spanish Bag pipes.

He dropped me off near the harbour by Loch Broom, I walked into the centre of Ullapool and visited Ceilidh Place for a drink and a bite to eat. Here in this establishment (visited once or twice before) I noticed a family seated a few tables away (donning Stewart tartan) that I recognised from countless over locations around the UK; how bizarre I thought.

I stopped to cook some bean soup by the loch, best restuarant view, right here.

In the evening I sat far west of the town and watched a partial sunset before I could no longer tollerate the midges biteing my thighs.

There was nothing in this town for me, no conversation, no friendship, not even an acquittance; I felt invisible. I sat on another bench alone until dark, of no concern to a group of six people laughing whilst burning an open fire twenty yards away, then walked east to pitch my tent.