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.
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.
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.
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| 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.
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