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.

Tain to Embo: LEJoG Day 77

A day when my trek up the John o'Groats Trail changed from forests, fields and Firths to a coastal walk by sandy beaches.

I began with a brief "nosy" around the centre of Tain, its stone buildings with their spiky turrets and gables. On the road out there were tempting signs for the Glenmorangie distillery. Last night I enjoyed a glass of this smooth, easy to enjoy, malt whisky.

Bridge over the Dornoch Firth.

The trail sadly turned off before I reached the source of this drink, onto a side road and eventually into forestry. It led me to the final large bridge of my trip, across the Dornoch Firth. It was a low bridge held up by many concrete piers, only completed in 1991. After walking across with mountains to my left and the grey sea, grey clouds and distant views of Dornoch to my right, I descended down an embankment to a track that followed an old, abandoned railway line. Beside me the beach of rounded pebbles had a line of blackened seaweed at the high tide mark and yellowish seaweed beside the water.

A road took me into a forest. Panels claimed that ancient people had a prosperous community here as evidence by hut circles. I climbed up a hill on which signs claimed there was one such hut circle. While there was a depression at the top, anything else was hidden by tall ferns which were trying to transfer their wetness onto me as I walked by.

Dornoch has an attractive town centre in red sandstone with a castle (now a hotel), old church and a green with some horse chestnut trees just starting to turn autumnal yellow. A finger post informed me that I still had 163 kilometres to walk on the John o'Groats Trail. After looking at different options, peering through windows were possible to judge the number of empty tables, I settled on a café for a lunch of a roast beef bagel with leaves, gherkins and a peppercorn sauce.

Beach north of Dornoch.

The Royal Dornoch Golf Course is the number one golf course in Scotland, or so a sign claimed. I walked by it as I headed up the coast, beside the sea, to the village of Embo and my campsite for the night. "Grannie's Heilan Hame" is a holiday resort with entertainment. Later in the evening, after pitching my tent by the dunes and making a meal of couscous, sultanas and tuna, I looked in at the "Showbar" to see what was happening. Too late to buy a bingo card, instead I listened to the numbers being called out over a creamy pint of keg beer. In the old days they would say things like "two fat ladies 88", or "legs 11" but this evening the numbers were announced by computer as "eight and eight, 88" or "one and one, 11". To my mind it took out the showmanship and much of the fun, maybe it is now more politically correct or maybe nobody was born when "77 Sunset Strip" was around. Bingo was followed by one of the "Troupers" singing. He was trying hard but after a few songs I wisely decided against another pint and headed to my tent. Before slipping into my sleeping bag I climbed the dune behind my tent, away from the campsite lights and looked at the stars over the sea, the faint line of the milky way visible, and distant lights on some far shore.

Alness to Tain: LEJoG Day 76

A sunny day of fields and forests as I walked on quiet roads and forestry trails.

Leaving Alness high street behind with its Victorian stone buildings, I took a road inland. This went by fields, some with golden stubble and bales of hay, others with cows and sheep. The single track road was quiet. I moved onto the grass between tarmac and walls as the occasional car past, receiving a raised hand or finger from the driver in acknowledgment. A few local cyclists went by, it is on National Cycle Route number one, so I might have expected more. 

Fields after harvest.

Turning off onto another lane I missed a turning into woods, waymarking seems less frequent today. Seeing me looking around a kind man let me walk through his garden to regain the John o'Groats Trail. There was a long stretch of track through forestry, in places the trail was flooded, a few stones had been placed to help the ramblers avoid getting wet boots. Beneath the coniferous trees there was plenty of vegetation today: moss, lichen, heather and blueberry bushes (not in fruit), sometimes ferns now starting to die back as we enter autumn. No birdsong today. 

Forest track.

Close up of lichen on the forest floor.

I joined another single track road. The cottages were of a type called "but and ben", single storey (although often with rooms in the roof), stone walls, slate roofs (or something designed to look like slate) and chimneys at each end of the roof ridge. Nostalgic thoughts filled my mind as I recalled a cottage of this type that we once owned.

Semisubmersible rig on the Cromarty Firth.

Climbing up a hill on a path into another area of forestry, I was followed by a Jack Russell dog. Thankfully he lost interest in walking with me to John o'Groats after I said "shoo" a few times and waved my arms in I hope a threatening manner. In Europe I found throwing things at dogs discouraged them from following me, but he seemed to think this was a game and searched for the pine cones I had thrown, maybe he thought they were treats.

There were a variety of trees in the forest, pines, larch, fir and spruce, and sometimes a few birch trees in a gap. After midday I noticed I was heading slightly downhill, then dog walkers started to appear, a sure sign I was approaching civilisation. There was a final stretch of road before I reached houses at the edge of the town of Tain. One of the buildings was once a workhouse where poor people were sent, others were more modern. Soon I was in my hotel planning where I would stay over the next few days.

Culbokie to Alness: LEJoG Day 75

A walk along roads lined with trees of beech, oak, ash and sycamore. Bobbins of hay in nearby fields were periodically illuminated by the passage of sunlight as the clouds drifted by.

One of my fellow guests at the Bed & Breakfast was much disturbed this morning. Confused by a sign about the new E10 petrol, and not being from an English speaking country, she accidentally filled up her hire car with the wrong pump, and now no longer had use of it. The hire company was not sympathetic, telling her it was negligence and not covered by all the insurance she had signed up to. It confirmed my low opinion of hire car companies and the value of insurance. As the hire company refused to replace the car she was rather stuck with no easy means of reaching her next holiday destination. As I had no car I was of little help and left her thinking of her options.

Bridge over the Cromarty Firth.

The first stage of my walk was over the Cromarty Firth on a long, low bridge carrying the busy A9 traffic. It is a road going the same way as myself, a sign stated that John o'Groats was 109 miles away. Reaching the far side, a track took me over the main railway line to the north, onto a more minor road. This I followed for several kilometres to Evanton, the road lined with trees beyond which there were either arable fields or woods. Crops had been harvested leaving stubble, with rolls of hay waiting to be taken away, or newly ploughed earth. Beyond there was higher ground but today I was staying nearer the waters of the Firth. The woods were of mature trees, in places luminous, green moss carpeting the ground contrasted with the dull, dark tree trunks. Whereas yesterday rowan berries that caught my attention, today it was the bright red rose hips on the roadside. A few months earlier on my walk from Land's End the roses in the Scottish Borders had been in flower, and I sadly thought that of the decline in my knee in the short time since then. Rare daisies reminded me that the best part of the year was not quite over.

Red rose hips on the roadside.

Tree lined roads.

At Evanton I stopped at the community café for a latte and slice of apple pie. Run by older volunteers who were willing in spirit, but not so good with the till or delivering the right food to the customer who ordered it. Such issues did not prevent the friendly chit chat, many of the people knowing each other, whether serving or being served.

I left the village on a cycle track that swooped from one side of the road to the other. As I neared Alness, in the distance I could see offshore drilling rigs "stacked" on the waters of the Cromarty Firth, lacking work. At least three semi-submersibles and two jack-ups. An effect of the decline in the oil industry which has put many out of work, yet there is little sympathy from government with all the talk of climate change and the need to move away from fossil fuels, even as we rely on them to power our cars and heat our homes. Many years ago I visited a semi-submersible rig stacked here. The boat that took me to it also offered trips to see the local dolphins. Intrigued, some time later I took my parents, who were visiting, on such a boat trip. The dolphins swam close by the boat, leaping out of the water close to the bow. Our guide said they were not so nice as they appeared, having been seen attacking the local harbour porpoises.

With such reminisces in my mind, I walked along the last more open stretch of road into Alness, entering by a cemetery with what looked like a ruined church. Arriving at my hotel at midday I wondered whether to go for a walk down to the water's edge,  however it would be a five kilometre round trip and I need to rest my knee if I am to have the best chance of reaching John o'Groats. It is looking depressingly large with accumulated fluid..

Inverness to Culbokie: LEJoG Day 74

A varied day crossing the "Black Isle", much of it in rain.

Rain was forecast for much of the day and so it proved. In full waterproofs I followed the John o'Groats Trail through an urban landscape along the side of the River Ness to the Beauly Firth. Cranes were unloading what looked like gravel at Inverness' port near the mouth of the river. I walked by various industrial premises to the Kessock Bridge. This was a substantial cable stayed bridge dating from 1982 which I crossed on the narrow pedestrian and cycle path as cars and heavy vehicles thundered north on the A9 (a road I will meet repeatedly on my walk north).

After following the dual carriageway a short distance the John o'Groats trail crosses the road. Although an official cycle crossing, I had to patiently wait for a gap in the traffic and then hurry across each carriageway. I was surprised a pedestrian route under the bridge had not been created to avoid such a busy crossing. Reaching the other side, the overgrown trail headed up a steep bank beside the road before turning into trees to join a forestry track. There were a few junctions, and although an octagonal John o'Groats Trail waymark pointed out changes of direction they were easy to miss especially where vegetation, which had no doubt grown since the waymarks were installed, hid the arrows. I had foolishly not encased the relevant pages of the guidebook in clear plastic, so the paper of the book soon became soggy when I tried to spot where I missed a turning. As it threatened to disintegrate I decided to rely on the trail loaded on my GPS when I was unsure if I was on the right track.

On a long initial stretch through coniferous forest there were a few views down to the Beauly Firth and the Moray Firth beyond (these first few days cross or pass a number of "Firths", which are wide estuaries). I exchanged greetings with equally rain drenched dog walkers and their wet dogs. Then it was across farmland and a lengthy walk, often between two wire fences with trees on my left and fields of cows and sheep on my right. The cows seemed particularly offended by my presence, bellowing a great deal. A road led me down to Munlochy Bay, a tidal inlet with orange seaweed and reddish rushes that would make a good painting. Various birds patrolled the waterline, shortly after there was a car park for wildfowlers (i.e. people who shoot birds). To reach it there was a rather difficult path, rough and uneven, on a slope, designed it seemed to avoid a water filled track.

In the village of Munlochy, the Inn, a possible lunch stop, was closed, so I continued through attractive woodland, with ferns, mosses and plenty of paths. I was led to the main tourist site of the day the "Clootie Well". Apparently if you dip a piece of cloth in the spring and tie it to a tree whatever ailment you have well be cured. As a result the surrounding trees are covered with an unattractive selection of rotting rags. While I wished to cure my knee I decided against adding more detritus.

Rotting pieces of cloth around the Clootie Well (actually a small spring).

The good news was that the rain had eased off apart from occasional light showers so I sat on a log and had a cup of coffee and a few things to eat. Afterwards it was on a series of straight tracks, roads and paths, over farmland and through forestry. Throughout today I admired the many red berries on the rowan trees. Many had fallen to the ground and randomly spread, brilliant red against muted greens and browns, as if a necklace had broken and the bright beads had been scattered. 

A section of the Great Glen Way on a quiet road in the Black Isle.

Other parts were on forestry tracks.

A rowan tree loaded with brilliant red berries.

The village of Culbokie was more spread out than I expected. My Bed & Breakfast was a little further beyond and my room has a view over the Cromarty Forth which I will cross tomorrow leaving the Black Isle. There is even a little sunshine.

Note for pendants, the Black Isle is not an island but a peninsula.