Thoughts on Land's End to John o'Groats trail

Walking the length of the British Isles between its most distant points, from Land's End to John o'Groats, could require covering as little as 874 miles long (according to the signposts at each end). However this would involve walking beside long busy roads, an unpleasant experience. If walking this distance for pleasure the "End to End" trail as it is called, links up numerous national and local trails allowing the hiker to visit some of the best scenery in the UK. Andy Robinson has described a suitable route in his "End to End Trail" published by Cicerone. This follows such trails as the South West Coast Path, Offas Dyke, the Staffordshire Way, the Limestone Way, the Pennine Way, St Cuthbert's Way, the John Muir Way, and the West Highland Way, and then crosses the Northern Highlands on a route of his own devising. Andy's total route amounts to 1215 miles or 1956 kilometres. His recommended way through the Northern Highlands is quite different from the previous 1675 kilometres. It is not on a recognised path, with significant pathless stretches on very irregular land and is remote with no or few facilities, accommodation or shops for days on end, requiring wild camping and carrying significant amounts of food. For this reason most End to End walkers seem to go follow the Great Glen Way and John o'Groats Trail from Fort William. Going this route means that, if you wish, with a few long days and good planning ahead, you never need camp or carry camping gear.

I attempted Andy's guidebook route across the Northern Highlands but owing to knee problems had to retreat at Kinlochewe. Restarting at Fort William and following the well defined Great Glen Way and, in parts more difficult, John o'Groats Trail, on reaching the end I clocked up 1353 miles or 2165 kilometres.

If using Andy's guidebook, note that he is a super-human, covering great distances day after day. The rest of humanity should plan to complete the End to End trail in three months with many shorter daily stages than in the Cicerone guide. In general using the daily stages in the guides to the individual trails, the Pennine Way etc., is more realistic as a base for planning. 

Starting from Land's End, you begin on the South West Coast Path. Probably the best and most dramatic coast path in the UK, it is quite tough due to the amount of climbing and descending into and out of valleys. On the plus side the little villages and towns on route are picture postcard perfect with plenty of facilities (and people). Andy's route from Barnstaple is a good one which I would recommend crossing the hills of Exmoor, the Quantocks and the Mendips, although there is some not so great farmland to cross. After Avonmouth I would follow the Severn Way beside the river to the Old Severn Bridge, and then rejoin Andy's recommended route up Offa's Dyke path, which has some lovely paths up the Wye Valley and over the Black Mountains, through attractive towns like Hay-on-Wye. After Knighton the route branches off walking the length of Wenlock Edge to reach Ironbridge. Once the heart of the Industrial Revolution, it is now an interesting place to visit a few museums. Sections of the Monarch's Way and Staffordshire Way take you by small roads and canals, over Cannock Chase to the Derbyshire Dales, an area of beautiful if over popular limestone scenery. I deviated off Andy's route to follow the Limestone Way up to Edale, where the Pennine Way begins, Britain's oldest National Long Distance Trail, which I followed up the spine of England to its conclusion at Kirk Yetholm. I rejoined Andy's route across the Scottish Borders on a variety of trails including St Cuthbert's Way, Southern Uplands Way and the John Muir Way, taking in attractive border towns with ruined abbeys, more recent canals and the Falkirk Wheel. The West Highland Way takes you on a mainly easy route through the Highlands to Fort William, with views over Loch Lomond and Glencoe being a highlight. I then attempted Andy's route over the Northern Highlands, before knee problems led me up the easier Great Glen Way and John o'Groats Trail.

The blog of my trip starts here.

Signpost at John o'Groats.

Sign at John o'Groats.

Thoughts on the John o'Groats Trail

The 239 kilometre (149 mile) John o'Groats Trail falls into three very contrasting parts.  

From Inverness to Dornoch the route is through fields and forests, and apart from the occasional overgrown stretch, easy walking on paths, forest tracks and quiet roads. Each day you visit small towns and villages and there are no large climbs to tax you. 

From Dornoch to Helmsdale the trail follows the coast along sandy beaches, by golf courses with towns with accommodation, shops and cafés each day. While there was some difficult walking on pebbles or soft sand especially at high tide, it was pretty easy. 

After Helmsdale the character of the trail turns dark and challenging. Although a coastal route it was now on cliff tops, climbing up and down little valleys and walking around vertical sided inlets and little harbours. Not ideal for those with a fear of heights, the path is often between a fence or wall and the edge of a steep drop down to the sea, crashing on rocks below. Sometimes the strip of rough wet grass to walk on is narrow. Fortunately I was walking in early October when the vegetation was beginning to die back, even so there were some overgrown sections that were difficult to push through. Some barbed wire fences must be crossed. 

Octagonal black and white waymarks indicate the route. These are still being posted and in places are plentiful, in others they are still absent. The guidebook from the "Friends of the John o'Groats Trail" is necessary with its sketch maps and instructions. I also downloaded a gpx track for my GPS from the daily stages of the John o'Groats Trail on the "Walk Highlands" Website. For the first two parts I generally used the waymarks and my GPS, but north of Helmsdale the guidebook proved essential to ascertain which side of fences I should be walking on. Often in this difficult northern third I was not sure if I was on the trail, being misled by deer tracks through high bracken or finding the field boundaries did not quite seem to match what I was seeing on the ground. Facilities were also less common in this stretch, Wick being the only town of any size.

Particularly on the coastal sections there was plenty of history from iron age brochs, to medieval castle ruins to remnants of the Second World War. There was also beauty in forests of tall pines, long sandy beaches, and dramatic cliffs. Wildlife included deer, red squirrels and seals. In October there were not as many sea birds as I expected but earlier in the year during the nesting season I suspect there would have been many more. A less pleasant type of wild life are midges, tiny insects that can plague you in the highlands if you ever stand still, requiring a fine mesh head net and midge repellent for any comfort. Fortunately I walked in October, a time when the midges were not a problem. 

The John o'Groats Trail is an obvious candidate for walking if you are completing the End to End hike from Land's End, but as a stand alone trail I would have some misgivings. It is neither one thing nor another, much of it is easy walking but it also has challenging sections for the more committed hiker, much of it is a coastal route but not the first third of it. Nevertheless it is a great trail if you have never visited this part of Scotland, the key figure behind seems to be Jay Wilson, who deserves much praise.

Keiss to John o'Groats: LEJoG Day 85

The final day of my walk from Land's End, along cliffs to Duncansby Head, then by beaches to the tourist destination of John o'Groats.

After an early bowl of granola at my Bed &Breakfast, I made my way via a field of turnips back to the John o'Groats Trail. Another day on cliff tops admiring the dramatic scenery. Wind driven waves, pounding every hour, every day had found weak joints in the cliffs, creating straight edged walls of rock, right angles, box shaped geos and tall sided corridors of sea. Other times the cliffs were ragged, slabs of rock dipping into the sea, or overhanging the water, threatening to collapse. Layers of rock, hard and soft strata of sandstone, alternated to create long parallel lines etched into the cliff face. Sea stacks and skerries, rocks and reefs, bridges over surging water, tall needles seemingly about to topple, all edged with white foam, they were my views today as I walked across boggy ground, the thin grass leaves turning a shade of autumnal red, among low heather still showing a few small flowers.

As on previous days a castle ruin (Bucholly Castle) stood on a cliff edge. An eroded, stone monument called Mervyn's Tower was also on the path, built to commemorate Sir Frances Tress Barry, who excavated a nearby broch. In a pause between cliffs an old tower house, Freswick Castle, stood beside a seaweed strewn, sea smelling beach. A sign warned against entering its grounds, but it did not stop me looking at where a water wheel was once housed or crossing a raging burn on their stone bridge rather than getting my feet wet.

Seaweed washed up on the beach, as I child I disliked its slimy surfaces grabbing me as I swam over, worried it would somehow pull me down, drowning me.

Gulls and black sea birds, maybe shags, perched on rocks by the sea. I had been on the lookout for seals during my journey up the coast, and finally on some small pebble beaches at the base of the cliffs, only accessible by sea, I saw them stretched out. They were so far away, and their camouflage so good, it was only because they moved slightly that I was sure they were seals.

Stacks with Duncansby Head, the far north east of Scotland, in the background.

Duncansby Head and its lighthouse on the far north-east of Scotland is more correctly the furthest point on the British mainland from Land's End rather than John o'Groats, but as John o'Groats has firmly staked its claim in popular perception I turned west. After grassland, another geo, a bay with a burn and another beach where the sand was made of broken white shells I reached my final destination. 

End (or start) of John o'Groats Trail at the collection of gift shops known as John o'Groats.

At John o'Groats an iron work arch marked the end (and start) of the John o'Groats Trail. A collection of gift shops, coffee shops and a brewery served tourists visiting in their cars and motorhomes. At a small harbour a fishing boat was offloading. However the main attraction was a signpost with the distances to Land's End and other places which people were photographing themselves in front of. They included a cyclist in a yellow tee shirt who had just completed a sponsored cycle ride from Land's End in 12 days, a bit quicker than my 85, but in addition to a bicycle he had a van with a support team of two who supplied a bottle of champagne to celebrate his arrival. No-one was around to celebrate my arrival so I contented myself to a latte, a slice of quiche and a very nice blackcurrant and white chocolate cheesecake (the tartness of the blackcurrant nicely offsetting the sweetness of the crisp chocolate pieces).

I wandered up to the Seaview Hotel where a sign said you could join the Land's End to John o'Groats Association inside. However the barmaid said no, you had to apply on-line, although she could give me a stamp. It is unlikely I would be accepted into this august association as you have to complete the journey in one go. She did however assist by telling me the best place to catch the bus to Thurso was by the car park near the harbour outside John o'Groat's knitwear.

So after a wait with another coffee and slice of the excellent cheesecake I caught the 16:50 bus to Thurso. After checking into my Bed & Breakfast, in an old house with high ceilings, I walked up to the railway station to make sure I knew where to go in the morning. I booked an early train so did not want any last minute confusion. As dusk fell the street lights came on, reflected off the streets, wet from a recent shower. Despite their greyness Thurso's streets had a warm and cosy feel.

Streets of Thurso.

Despite having finished my trek from one end of the British mainland to the other I did not feel elated, despite the malt whisky I was enjoying to celebrate (only a small one due to my early start tomorrow) instead I worried about whether my knee would allow me to complete any more such expeditions. 

Next day I endured a tedious, 15 hour trip home on four trains, although a lot quicker than when I walked in the opposite direction, looking through rain streaked windows it somehow did not feel that way. 

So how was my poorly, left knee on reaching John o'Groats? Much the same as when I started this third chapter of my "End to End" Walk. Each day there was some low grade pain. Persistent fluid build up, stiffness and an inability to bend my knee too far meant I climbed over stiles, gates and barbed wire fences in a slow, cautious, and at times clumsy way reminding me of how an old man moves. But I took a dose of ibuprofen only on two occasions, it was not so bad although at times uncomfortable at night. I wore a compression sleeve over my knee on many days, which may or may not have helped. Whether my daily glucosamine and cod liver oil tablets improved things I doubt, but who knows? Trekking poles certainly helped on up and downhills, although I worried that maybe my body would loose some of its ability to balance, as the poles were taking over, helping to keep me upright. Although I kept to lower mileages for most of the trip, in the last week I twice doubled up on daily stages, the option of hanging around camping on wet cliff tops not inspiring me. This meant overall I walked an average of 18 kilometres a day since Fort William, compared with 28 kilometres a day for my preceding trips from Land's End. Quite a reduction. My Jetboil stove was however successful in forcing a long rest sometime most days as I brewed up a cup of real coffee, however due to its bulk and the issue of finding gas cannisters (and not being quite sure how long they would last) I doubt if I would take it on a longer trip again.

Wick to Keiss: LEJoG Day 84

A day which started wet but brightened up as a lighthouse came into view, fortifications old and new followed.

Rain made the streets of Wick seem grey as I began my walk through a pedestrianised area and a long road of houses, tightly sealed in my waterproofs against the weather. Later I realised I was on the wrong road, the wet weather did not encourage careful scrutiny of my guidebook. Contrary to what the gpx track I had downloaded claimed, the John o'Groats Trail actually takes a route closer to the water, so I missed seeing Wick's second outdoor swimming pool and its sewerage works.

Houses thinned out as I followed the road to Staxigoe and its little harbour. After that I walked safely between two fences on the cliff top for a while, then across an open area of rough grass aiming for a distant lighthouse. This morning's cliffs were lower than on recent days, and although less dramatic I did spot one natural arch with the waves pounding through. On the horizon the offshore wind turbines were very slowly turning in the fresh breeze, they just did not look like they were putting much effort into it. The lighthouse stood on a headland, and as I rounded it a wide, curving bay was revealed with Keiss, my destination for tonight, at the far end. Crossing fields of rough vegetation I reached Castle Sinclair Girnigoe, an  impressive ruin which like many in the area was built right on the edge of the cliffs on a little promontory, a good defensive position no doubt. Conservation work extending over a number of years was keeping the walls intact, but sometime in the future, erosion of the cliffs below will probably undermine such efforts. 

Castle Sinclair Girnigoe.

As I walked towards the bleak collection of houses called Ackergillshore I passed more recent World War Two fortifications. Concrete structures which were part of the defences for Wick Airport when it was used by the RAF. Today I could hear the sound of a helicopter at the airport, which is used for refuelling between Aberdeen and offshore oil facilities. From the length of time I heard the helicopter's rumbling I assume they were "hot" refuelling, i.e. with the rotors turning. After Ackergillshore there was a 16th century castle, or tower house, still in use but privately owned, so the path skirts around its walls, beside the beach. The route continues into dunes by another golf course. After climbing up and down dunes for a while I decided it was easier to walk up the long sandy beach.

Beach of Sinclair Bay.

My next challenge was crossing the River of Wester. After removing my trousers and tying my boots to my rucksack I began to cross near the sea as advised in the guidebook. It started well but I could see a deeper channel ahead of me, a darker blue with stones on the bottom. As water came up to the bottom of my underpants, I probed ahead with my trekking pole, this showed a water depth of over a metre, sloping down even deeper towards the middle of the channel. Too deep for me to cross without submerging my rucksack I tried a few other locations without any better success. I contemplated taking my clothes off and holding my rucksack above my head to wade through, but this would have left me without any free hands to probe and balance with my trekking poles. The tide was high, maybe at low tide I would have managed it, as it was I put my trousers back on, brewed a coffee and ate some lunch. Then I tried to find the alternative route given in the guidebook which went across the river on a road bridge. A water filled ditch, fences and thick undergrowth blocked my way on the route proposed in the guide, but eventually I worked my way around them. Fortunately no-one seeming to be playing as I crossed the neatly cut golf fairways before following the route through fields to the road bridge.

After the bridge over the river another bridge crosses a railway line, but not one built for trains! Bundles of pipes, kilometres long, were once welded together on the line (I assume on wheeled bogies) and then pushed into the sea where they floated, being air filled I suppose. From the beach a tug towed them many miles to where an oil or gas field was being developed. Once in the correct location, they were sunk. Having settled on the seabed a diver or an ROV (Remotely Operated Vehicle) connected them to oil or gas wells and production facilities. When I first heard about the idea of towing kilometres of pipe, floating behind a tug I was impressed by the imagination that had conceived it. I expected the railway line to go down the beach but instead there was a bank of rubble protecting the facility which would be removed and temporary tracks laid when they were floating out a bundle. All was quiet at the works, presumably with the decline in the oil industry and climate change concerns, nobody was developing new fields. 

Old Keiss Castle in the background, Second World War fortification in the foreground, different approaches to defense!

I continued up the beach to Keiss. On approaching the village I chose a path between concrete blocks, designed to stop invading tanks coming ashore in the last war. Keiss has a harbour, like every other coastal village in the area it seems, once used for herring fishing. I sat down there to work out how best to reach my Bed & Breakfast, which was a few kilometres north of the village. I decided to walk to Old Keiss Castle, yet another ruin on the cliff edge, then head inland by New Keiss Castle. All went well although as I walked out of the castle's driveway I noticed it said "Private, Keep Out". My Bed & Breakfast is on a hill looking down on these castles surrounded by fields, glowing green in a patch of evening sun.

Lybster to Wick: LEJoG Day 83

A long day on the cliff tops with stacks, natural arches and foaming waves on the rocks below.

All day was spent walking along the top of the cliffs. Sometimes in fields, more often between a fence and the edge of the cliff. At times the width of the slippery grass between the fence and the steep drop down to the sea was worryingly small, causing me some anxiety, at times I grabbed hold of the fence wires for added safety although I am not sure that if I slipped the fence would actually take my weight. At the stile into one field a sign said "Bulls, cows and calves in field, please walk outside fence". The path outside the fence thinned to about one foot above a steep drop (see photo). I assessed it was safer to risk the Bulls, Cows and Calves, rather than fall off the cliff. Of course there were neither bulls, cows nor calves in the field which I crossed and exited by another stile. Often I was not sure where the trail was meant to be. If not sure, I had a bias towards assuming it was on the field side of the cliff top fence, feeling safer that way. This did result in me climbing over barbed wire fences that would otherwise prevent me from continuing along the coast. Somewhere I had been advised to bring stout gloves to handle barbed wire, however when putting my leg over its hazardous spikes, it was not my hands that were at risk! At other times I found myself trying to walk through long, tussocky grass searching for a path, finding one only for it to disappear again. A tiring exercise.

I thought the path here above a vertical drop was rather too narrow, so I braved the (non existent) Bulls, Cows and Calves.

The hike was more lengthy than one might expect due to "geos". These are inlets of the sea, often box like in shape, bounded by high cliffs on all sides within which the sea crashed against the rocks in a fury of foam. Formed by the pounding of the sea rather than any river or burn, the trail would carefully follow the edge of the geos, the better to see any features such as a stream pouring over the edge of the rock walls to form a horse tail waterfall. 

The action of the sea on the cliffs also produced natural arches, sea stacks (isolated blocks of rock), caves and other grand, artistic effects. Big holes in the ground by the cliffs led to the sea, at the right state of the tides, they would act as "blow holes", spray shooting up as the waves crashed into them. More subtlety there were folds and faults in the stratified rocks. There were also valleys to cross, one with a series of waterfalls.

Sea stack.

Natural arch.

In addition to these cliff displays I also saw a deer bounding away on spotting me, a red fox escaping through a fence and a rabbit. A sign warned to keep your dogs on a leash, to illustrate the risk it showed a dog chasing a rabbit over a cliff into empty space. A broad beamed boat collecting lobster pots came into view around a promontory. There only appeared to be one man crewing it, fortunately the sea was relatively calm, otherwise his boat might have been washed onto the nearby reefs by the wind and waves while he lifted his pots. Later a "rib" (a rigid inflatable boat) full of orange suited people sped by heading south. Later it returned, a sight seeing boat maybe, looking for seals?

Fisherman collecting lobster pots.

On the horizon lines of white, wind turbines rose from the sea, although today their arms were still, contributing no power to National Grid and Britain's homes. A superannuated lighthouse stood on the cliff top, stripped red and white.

Today I covered two of the guidebook's stages as the end of the first stage was at Whaligoe where there was no accommodation or campsite. There was once a café, but it is now no longer in operation at this location. So I briefly sat on a bench and enjoyed a bar of Highland chocolate with some water before continuing onto Wick. The few remaining walls of Old Wick Castle, a 12th century edifice standing on a tongue of rock, showed I was nearing my destination. A road took my by the Trinkie pool (a 1930s open air lido) to enter Wick via a quarry and its extensive harbour. I walked over huge stone flags by the sea wall and then by lobster pots, fishing boats and yachts. Leaving the harbour I walked up the pedestrianised high street with more than one boarded up shop to find a hotel for the night. As I was not sure I would manage the two guidebook stages in one day, and I knew there was plenty of accommodation, I had not booked anything, and the hotel receptionist seemed somewhat surprised that I was a "walk in".

Dunbeath to Lybster: LEJoG Day 82

A tiring day struggling to find the trail in places, but with cliff scenery to admire.

As it was only 14 kilometres today I planned a leisurely day, not rushing out of my sleeping bag. It proved a bit more difficult than I imagined. At one point, after some lines of tumble down stones where houses once were, I lost where the trail was intended to go. The guidebook and the gpx track I downloaded for my GPS did not agree and the field boundaries in the guide did not seem to match those I was seeing on the ground. I walked up and down fields looking for a waymark, which I eventually found. I again got into trouble in an overgrown field. Although I failed to find the path, I knew from the guide it exited the field in the north east corner. To get there I pushed my way through shoulder high bracken, fortunately in the autumnal process of dying back, but I had to watch for unseen trip hazards, hidden dips and brambles.

On the plus side the sun was shining in the morning, highlighting stacks off the cliffs and waves crashing over reefs below me. At times the path, or the uneven ground where the path was meant to be, seemed rather too close to steep drops, squeezed between a fence or dry stone wall and a steep slope to the sea, and on occasions, discarded wire from the fencing work threatened to trip me.

Path between wall and slope to the sea, somewhat overgrown.

There were a few ruins, Forse Castle was one and an old fish processing factory another, the latter with more walls still standing. Also a couple of harbours, one at Lotheronwheel and a more active one at Lybster. Built for the herring trade at the start of the 19th century, there were a few vessels at Lybster harbour, maybe used for catching lobsters.

By the afternoon it was raining, fortunately the showers were not heavy, but after climbing up and down many steep little valleys I was glad to reach my hotel, an old building by the main road in Lybster.

Sea stack.

Helmsdale to Dunbeath: LEJoG Day 81

A tough day but a sunny one with interesting things to see.

I was in a quandary. My guidebook had a 14 kilometre stage to Berridale where there was no accommodation. Marked as challenging, another source suggested it would take several hours. People's blogs on the section wrote of overgrown paths and difficult terrain. The following stage to the village of Dunbeath was 10 kilometres and marked as moderate difficulty. Dunbeath also had a campsite where I had booked in assuming it would take two days to get there as per the guidebook, but as it was only 24 kilometres from Helmsdale to Dunbeath could I cover both stages today, avoiding the need for a wild camp in an area less than ideal?

I set out to do my best, swallowing a couple of Ibuprofen tablets knowing that the terrain would stress my knee. There was an easy start as the trail followed the coast above a pebbly beach, then it climbed up over the cliffs. It would stay a cliff top path for the rest of the day. The problem with such paths is that streams, or burns as they are called in Scotland, cut down into the cliffs as they flow down to the sea, creating ravines of various sizes that must be crossed. So there were several times when a steep climb down to a burn was followed by a steep climb up to return to cliff top level. My trekking poles were extremely useful for gaining some purchase on wet grass to avoid me slipping over, as well as allowing me to use my arms to help push me up steep slopes, and to take some weight off my knee going down slopes.

Another issue was the bracken and gorse which obscured the path. Fortunately being the start of October, the bracken was dying back turning an attractive reddish brown, in places it had been cut down, but elsewhere bracken made finding the path difficult. Frequently I went the wrong way on some line where sheep or deer had created a path, then I had to push through the bracken to recover the official trail. The waymarks, attached to small posts, helped enormously as they showed where I should be heading, however their density was variable, sometimes plenty, sometimes not. Nevertheless I managed to forge ahead, it was not all hard work there were areas through heather and cow pasture. I saw a few deer, they had less of a problem with the bracken, just leaping over it as they traversed steep slopes below me.

The path through bracken on ground sloping steeply towards the sea.

Of interest were the remains of long abandoned houses, crofts dating from the Highland Clearances, now often just heaps of stone in a rectangle. Older remains included the base of an iron age tower, called a broch in these parts. More modern relics included Second World War look out posts.

Ruins of abandoned croft at Badbea.

Despite the challenges I reached Berriedale around 1:00 pm, in time for a bowl of soup at the River Bothy Café. Being too early to stop for the day, after finishing off a slice of cake I began the next stage.

The stretch to Dunbeath was also along cliff tops, at times rather close to steep drops. I kept my eyes on the path and where to place my feet rather than looking down at the rocks and blue sea below. At times however the scenery forced me to stop and look around. In particular there was a graceful waterfall formed by a small stream shooting off the cliff, for some reason it had not yet cut a valley. A natural arch was a little later and an isolated stack. I could also see small fishing boats close to the cliffs, collecting lobster pots I expect. On the skyline I could see the bridge connected platforms of Beatrice Alpha, an oil production platform now being decommissioned as its productive life is over. Nearby was a satellite platform and a large offshore wind farm. A sign of our times, an old oil production facility being abandoned while renewable energy from a new wind farm is brought into production.

Allt na Buaidhe waterfall.

Leaving the cliff I walked through a dark pine wood to reach the old A9 road that lead me into Dunbeath on a tree lined Avenue. The community of Dunbeath seems quite spread out. I walked down towards the harbour before climbing up to join the new A9. A little way up was the Inver campsite. There was a little confusion as I had booked for tomorrow night. As no formal pitches were available, and as I was a walker, they let me camp on the front lawn of the house and even gave me a refund as I had booked on-line for a pitch that included a car.

By the by, on route today there was a book where the charity behind the John o'Groats Trail was asking for details of walkers. I doubt it is a comprehensive list as I did not see the name of the guy I met a two days ago walking the trail. However I did see Tessa and Andy Whittaker's names from back in July. I met them two times on my earlier trip, and was pleased to see that unlike me, they had reached this far without being stopped by injury.

Helmsdale rest day: LEJoG Day 80

With my poorly knee I had planned to take at least one rest day on this trip, and today seemed a good day as the guide promised difficult days ahead.

Helmsdale is not a large place to explore but I revisited the harbour, bought too much food at the small convenience store for my next few days and visited the museum. In the latter, I learnt that although there had been a castle here since the 15th century, its ruins demolished to make way for an upgrade of the A9, most of the town dated from the herring boom in the 19th century. This provided employment for people moved off the land by the "Highland Clearances", where to improve profits, people and their cattle were replaced by sheep. Many of those displaced emigrated to Canada, USA, Australia and New Zealand, and a memorial by the A9 remembers those who left. Another handsome memorial reminds us of those who died in the World Wars defending our democracy.

As I read the Sunday papers in the afternoon it started to rain heavily. Fortunately tomorrow's forecast is for good weather.

Over-large portions were my only complaint at the Mirage restaurant, where the owner told me of others who have made the journey from Land's End to John o'Groats, some on penny farthing bicycles, one carrying a piano, another a set of ladders (why?), various celebrities making the trip were also quoted, it made my endeavours seem fairly mundane. 

Helmsdale harbour.

Looking inland from Helmsdale at the old road bridge (now replaced by a faster ugly modern one behind me), the war memorial is above to the left and the hills of the Highlands are in the background.

Brora to Helmsdale: LEJoG Day 79

The start of more difficult days on the John o'Groats Trail, as I stumbled over rounded pebbles between the sea and the railway.

In the beginning the walking was easy. Crossing the golf course I regained the route, following it north on the dunes  by the beach. After the golf course there was a short stretch through a field, and then I became confined between the railway line or fenced fields, and the sea. The path above the beach, if it existed, was often rough, grass covering some hidden rocks. Where possible I walked along the beach, although the sand was soft taking energy from my steps. At times there was a strip of harder wet sand by the sea, although the tide was high so the strip was narrow. Elsewhere the beach was of slippery rocks, rounded pebbles and boulders or thick accumulations of black seaweed that squiged underfoot. Walking on the pebbles was arduous as they slid away as I stepped on them, stressing my damaged knee ad threatening my ankles.

Beach north of Brora.

In time the amount of land between the railway line and the beach widened and I arrived at the first serious fording of a river. Already I had crossed a few small burns on this trip where there were no footbridges either by jumping over them or on stepping stones, Loth burn was too wide for jumping, too deep for wading without getting water in my boots, and any possible rocks were too slippery to be used as stepping stones. My guidebook suggested crossing by the railway bridge but a point nearer the beach looked shallower to me. I did the full fording routine, removing my trousers, boots and socks and putting on my lightweight "hotel and river crossing" shoes. With my trekking poles to assist I waded to the other bank without difficulty. As I was drying my legs, another walker appeared, fording the river after me (twice as he left his phone behind). Like me he was walking the trail as part of a greater trip from Land's End to John o'Groats. Also like me he had initially walked north from Fort William following the route in the "End to End" guide and also like me he had to suspend his walk for several weeks due to an injury while walking the pathless expanses. His injury was to his ankle, mine to my knee. Like me he was now following the Great Glen Way and John o'Groats Trail.

A fellow end to end walker fording Loth Burn.

After Loth Burn there was an easy section through some caravan sites by a few concrete structures apparently from the Second World War. It was not to last, soon I was stumbling over pebbles again, or following intermittent paths on narrow strips of marram grass. With much relief I crossed the railway line at a "private" crossing and climbed up to the row or so of terraced cottages that are Portgower, and beyond that the A9. The large volumes of traffic on the A9 just after Inverness had now dissipated, and the traffic relatively light.

Although close to my destination of Helmsdale the Trail had one final obstacle to throw at me, a small road which went steeply uphill before curving around and dropping down into Helmsdale. On reaching the town I bought a crab salad for a late lunch from a stall at the harbour, although the wind increased in force as I sat down at a bench to eat it, trying to blow my salad leaves away.

Nearly there, the village of Helmsdale in the distance

At the hotel, the man who showed me to my room commented that although new, the John o'Groats Trail had become very popular in the last few years and they often had walkers on the Trail staying with them.

Embo to Brora: LEJoG Day 78

A morning walk around Loch Fleet, followed by an afternoon beside empty beaches.

While I was visiting the campsite toilets for my morning ablutions, heavy rain began to fall. Unfortunately I had not brought my rain gear and the tent was several hundred metres away. In the hope that the downpour would ease I waited a few minutes, but if anything it became heavier. I made a run for my tent, my knee reminding me it was poorly half way there, my warm jacket becoming distinctly wet. After grabbing my waterproofs it was then a matter of decamping in the rain, packing away a very wet tent.

Although the village of Golspie was not far away in a straight line, Loch Fleet is in the way. This inlet of the ocean or "sea loch", meant I spent all morning walking around it, although not without some enjoyment. The route was initially along a track. Although surrounded by hillocks of rough grass and vegetation, someone had helpful mown down the gorse where it had encroached onto the trail. After joining a single track road, an old ruined castle appeared on a hill between trees. With the grey clouds behind and the intermittent rain the remaining walls had a brooding, gloomy presence.

The road ran close to the loch's shore and as I walked along a heron rose into the air. Disturbed by my passing a gaggle of geese flew off honking in annoyance. Oyster catchers sounded the alarm at my approach. Notices promised seals but there seemed none around today.

Loch Fleet looking inland with rain in the distance.

At western end of the loch I joined the A9 road, which ran on a raised bank or causeway called "The Mound" over the far end of the water. Shortly after I turned off on tracks and paths through forestry and several fields beside the railway, at one I was warned about the risk of cattle but there were none in sight. Entering another field a white haired farmer farmer opened the gate for me, explaining it was held up only on one hinge. He helpfully pointed out where to head for next.

Entering a second forest I was impressed by the tall pines, the columns of trunks each side of the path and the "roof" of arching, needle coated branches reminding me of a cathedral in the "perpendicular" style. Beneath the arches, among the heather, blaeberry and soft, green moss there was a fine collection of fungi in off white, brown and orange, a sign of autumn.

Balblair woods.

Fungi.

I walked into Golspie, the rain having finally abated, and lunched at the "Coffee Bothy" before starting the next stage to Brora. I exchanged my waterproofs for some of the clothes that were damp from this morning's rain, so that they could dry out as I walked along. Shortly after Golspie I saw Dunrobin Castle appear above the trees. A fairy tale building with ridiculously, pointy spires. In my youth I had visited it with my parents on a holiday during which it rained every day, recalling some expensive "Old Masters" on the walls.

Dunrobin Castle.

After the castle I walked sometimes on the beach, sometimes behind it. In places the route was squashed between the pebbly beach and the old sea cliffs, clothed in trees or vegetation. 

At Brora I stocked up on food at the local Coop (after being told off for entering via the wrong door), before walking between the sandy beach and my second golf course of the day to reach my campsite. Tonight it was a quiet affair, the only entertainment being the flock of sheep moving up and down the golf course just beyond the campsite fence.