Part 37 – Scotland’s North Coast 500
Isabelle and I rode north from Edinburgh, stopping
to camp near the northwest corner of Cairngorms National Park. Wind and rain
were our constant companions. Isabelle had finally come to the decision to
throw away her favorite blue jacket.
She said, “It’s been with me in Labrador, Mt.
Washington, Scotland and the West Highland Way, James Bay and elsewhere on
canoe trips and throughout South America. I love that jacket but I just can’t
get the zipper to work anymore.” Her face showed real emotion. She was sad
about throwing away an old friend that had comforted her in so many places.
It’s funny about the contrast, when you travel your
world becomes larger. You move comfortably over huge distances and adapt to new
cultures. You meet countless people and learn about their ways. When you travel
your world also becomes smaller.
Possessions chosen for the trip are few and
multi-functional. You become familiar to the point of intimate with each item.
You know the location of every sock, sweater and Band-Aid in the first aid kit.
The sewing kit is used to repair a torn bike cover rather than buy a new one.
The thought of forgetting something or being robbed puts your stomach in knots.
Rationally, you know you are only ever a moment away from an easy purchase,
wherever you are, “but it just wouldn’t be the same, I know this works.”
Click on any photo to enlarge it.
Cairngorm's National Park
"It's windy near the top."
Later that day we found a camping store. It was
huge, easily as large as “Sail” was back home. We walked out with a great new
jacket for Isabelle that had even more features than her old one. Buying it
helped her emotionally but she would compare it to her old jacket and point out
its shortcomings for weeks.
Cairngorm's Park
Different Shades of Heather
We hiked the “Meall a Bhuachaille (pronounced, meal
a’ voo-cal) route in Cairngorm’s National Park. The trail was rugged, the
weather was foul and the views were fantastic. Scottish weather changed by the
minute. Even when there was a deluge, one could count on a quick moment of
clearing to take a photo.
Inside the Bothie
Bothie, Seen from Outside
“It’s rather windy near the top”, the weathered
gentleman in the visitor centre had warned us. He wasn’t kidding. After the
summit, on the trail down the far side of the hill, we passed by a “Bothie” or
shelter. They were common on Highland walking routes. That one was originally
built as a shelter for shepherds but in modern times, hikers used it to warm up
or to dry off, even to spend the night. The lower trail also passed through old
growth forest. We were treated with a walk among 400 year old pine trees.
An Old Gentleman
Overlooking Old Growth Forest
We stopped in Inverness for groceries then rode 30
km along pencil-thin Loch Ness. The campground we had chosen was an open pitch
shaped like a race track. Tents were pitched on the central grassy area and
caravans were parked around the outsides of the “track”. Sheep on the hill
behind us provided the sound of pleasant animal conversation. We signed in for three days.
Sheep on the Hillside
"It's a little boggy toward the top."
Northeast End of Lengthy Loch Ness
Campground advice got us going on a 5 ½ hour hike up
the nearest hill and back for great views of the loch and possibly a sighting
of Nessie. There would be an elevation gain of about 500 meters. The warning
for this one was, “It’s quite boggy toward the top”. Boggy was an accurate word but the woman forgot to
mention the flies. They were both plentiful and bothersome. The weather was
horrible again but we loved the hike. The views really were extensive; we saw
the whole of lengthy Loch Ness at once. We encountered a few others who made
their way through the weather, the bog and the flies to climb to the top. We
shared a special, silent bond with them when taking in the view at the top.
Mixed Bog and Bedrock Polished by Glaciers
The Lower Trail
Inverness was a small city but it was the last truly
sophisticated centre we would see for a while. We parked at Morrison’s grocery
store again and walked throughout town. We looked inside St. Andrew’s Cathedral
but we couldn’t go inside Inverness Castle. That was because, although it was
on the highest hill in town and it looked like a castle, it wasn’t a castle. It
was the law courts and had been built for that purpose. There used to be a real
castle there but Bonnie Prince Charlie burned it down after driving out the
government troops during the Jacobite Uprising.
St Andrew's Cathedral
Castle That Isn't a Castle
After lunch Isa and I rode out of town to the very
informative displays at the site of the Battle of Culloden. We learned much
about the Jacobite uprising that supported Bonnie Prince Charlie’s claim to the
throne of the United Kingdom. His claim was based on a continuation of the
Stuart line, down from Mary. Prince Charlie’s army made it a long way south,
almost reaching London. The French promised to back him but unfortunate timing
and poor weather at sea meant the troops never showed up. Charlie retreated
back to Scotland and was defeated near Inverness at the Battle of Culloden.
Bonnie Prince Charlie went into exile and a certain amount of Scottish pride
went with him.
Dunrobin Castle
We began the North Coast 500 Route on the 22nd
of August by riding from Inverness up to the most northerly point in Scotland,
John o’ Groats. We enjoyed tail winds and sunny skies for parts of the way
through rural scenery that was full of vibrant mauve hills and architectural
character. The NC500 was promoted to be Scotland’s version of the US Route 66,
a series of roads (none called 66) said to give the traveler a typical sampling
of rural American culture. NC500 consisted of many roads that linked together to
circumnavigate the upper portion of Scotland. Much of it was remote feeling on
single track roads. Trees disappeared entirely as we rode further north. The
closer we got to John O’ Groats the more the open landscape reminded us of
northern Newfoundland near L’Ance aux Meadows.
Neighbors at John O' Groats
The barren John O’ Groats Campground was windswept
and rainy when we set up camp. We visited the tiny village but the shops and
restaurant were closed. We each felt a little discouraged but I boiled the
kettle using the new adapter I had bought to hook up to campground style
electrical outlets. Some hot food at 6 pm improved our outlook. It had been a
long time since breakfast.
Most Northerly Point in Scotland
Along a Northern Road
The white beaches at Durness were the first things
we saw as we rode along the cliffs toward the next day’s camp. The extreme
north coast had been picturesque all the way. I could tell Isabelle was losing
patience with me for constantly stopping to take photographs. Throughout the
day the wind was pushy. It was most noticeable when one tried to stop on the uneven,
oddly slanted surfaces of the single track roads. A couple of times I was
almost pushed over by the wind when stopping; although not the same as the
airstreams in Patagonia, Scotland’s winds commanded respect. It wasn’t
surprising Isa was reluctant to stop. She often putted slowly ahead and waited
for me to catch up. Pull-outs, where one could stop to allow passing, were
frequent and we picked up the required etiquette that kept the sparse traffic
flowing.
Mey Castle
Highland Beauties
Water Everywhere
Break Time During A Clear Sky Moment
Highland Moor
There were many moto-travelers on the NC500. Our day
of riding was filled with more Newfoundland like views. There were multiple
shades of green, rocky cliffs, wind and rain. THere were also some cold but beautiful beaches. We learned that at one point in
time Scotland and Newfoundland had indeed been connected.
North Coast Beach 1
North Coast Beach 2
North Coast Beach 3
North Coast Beach 4
Heather
Life in the Glen
Break-time at a Tea Room
The campground at Gairloch, on the west coast, was
large and hilly. The hills were grassed over dunes. We set up in a place that
was well protected from the wind coming inland from the sea. We set up in the
rain, each of us feeling a little edgy and discouraged. The sky cleared and
there was a beautiful sunset over the beach before rain returned. The day’s
ride had been almost entirely on single track roads. It was slow going because
of road conditions, periods of rain and having to often use passing places. The
123 miles we covered went through some remote places. We both liked our new
road tires.
Protected by the Dunes
From Gairloch we moved south, stopping for coffee in
Kinlochewe and passing through places named Shiedaig and Lochcarron. They were
all fun words to try saying. The road and the scenery were even more rugged and
remote than those of the previous day. The moors possessed a harsh beauty. How
difficult it must have been for early humans to live amide the rocks and the
rain, the cold bogs and the blustery wind.
North Coast Sunset
There were piles of peat stacked to dry. Patches of
straight edged depressions in the bogs gave away locations where the fuel had
been shovelled out. There is a song called, “Over the Sea to Skye”. The tune
played in my head as we crossed the new Skye Bridge that linked the island with
mainland Scotland. We camped in Staffin on a treeless site. I used every peg point
and guy rope our little tent possessed to secure it to the ground against the
wind and the rain. The tent wobbled and bent inward at the strongest of gusts
but it held all night.
On the Open Moor
Isa and I went for a walk on the open moor after
supper, eventually coming to a cliff overlooking the North Sea. There were some
faint trails made by humans and animals for us to follow. At first glance,
there was nothing of interest on the moor except a few sheep picking away at
the grasses. The only solid parts of the moor were rocks scattered throughout
the peat and the mud. Sometimes we pushed over long grass ahead of each
footstep to stop our boots from sinking into the moor. Drizzly mist was whipped
around by wind gusts. Sometimes the rain stopped entirely only to return a few
minutes later.
Sunny Moment
There was life on the moor. Straw coloured and green
grasses complemented the darker shades of green and browns of peat. Still different shades of green, some almost
brilliant, were given off by mosses and the lichens had greens that were nearly
white. Mauve coloured heather and yellow asters added even more variation. At
first they were difficult to spot; overgrown ruins of straight stone fences
formed grid patterns on the open moor. Smaller rectangles gave away the
locations of long gone animal pens and dwellings.
10,000 years of Human Activity
During one of the clearer spells we spotted a long
high rock face that dominated the centre of the island. It posed a dramatic
sight. A fellow camper later described his hike along that ridge and where the
trailhead and parking were. Isabelle and I resolved to make hiking that ridge
the focus of our next day on Isle of Skye.
Wall and Dwelling Foundation Ruins
The parking lot at the Quiraing Cliffs trailhead was
busy but we found a spot for our two motos. Isabelle spoke with an Indian/English
rider for a long time while I locked, chained and covered our motos. Rupish’s
Triumph Tiger was parked next to our bikes. He talked about the beauty of the
Himalayas and how a Royal Enfield was the perfect bike for visiting the
mountains. We wished Rupish happy travels and added another place to our list
of future visits.
Quiraing 1
Quiraing 2
Quiraing 3
Fascinating views began with our first steps on the trail.
Differential erosion had created columns and table features in the cliff face
of a ridge that was several hundred meters high. Hidden valleys were abundant
and local lore told of the Picts hiding cattle from the Vikings inside them.
Some rock enclosures were otherworldly in appearance; in fact, we were strongly
reminded of the film series, The Lord of the Rings.
Quiraing 4
Quiraing 5
The trail was well worn and easy for the first half.
Families with small children and hikers of all ages enjoyed the rugged terrain
from the point of view of the easy path. Then we got to the windy part.
Isabelle and I took the optional longer loop that weaved along the outer cliff
face. A couple of times we needed to get small by crouching low to the ground
to avoid being swept off the mountain. Hiking in Torres del Paine Park in
Patagonia had taught us the technique. When we rejoined the main trail the wind
and much tougher footings remained; however, the crowds were gone. The summit
of the hike was a huge table mountain the size of a soccer pitch. We saw just a
few other hikers in their twenties and thirties at the summit. Mist turned to
rain half way back along the trail but we still began to see older couples and
families with young children on the trail again. They hadn’t made the decision
to turn back yet.
Quiraing 6
Quiraing 7
Quiraing 8
Isabelle had seen a sign advertising hot soup on the
ride to the trailhead. We followed it on our bikes for over 15 kilometers,
north along the coastal road in the pouring rain. The place had just closed
when we arrived. It was late Sunday afternoon on a long weekend. Everything was
closed. We returned to our windswept campsite and huddled inside its tiny concrete
shelter to drink hot tea and eat Raman noodles packs. The hike had given us five
hours of spectacular scenery and exciting activity. We spent the evening
reminded how unglamorous most of overland travelling is.
Quiraing 9
Quiraing 10
On the Table Top
Sorry, no photos for after that because of continuous rain.
There was a fine mist falling at 7 the next morning.
The sun was up but you could barely tell. It was cold and everything the mist
touched became soaked through in seconds. We transferred our gear from tent to
motorcycle paniers using a small umbrella; the technique was only partially
successful. Tiny droplets of the thick misting drizzle collected almost
instantly on our visors. It didn’t blow away and permit acceptable vision the
way regular rain did. We were stressed and tired when we reached Skye Bridge.
When we re-crossed the Skye Bridge the thick misting
drizzle had changed to regular rain and the air seemed warmer. We stopped for
petrol. After filling up my bike wouldn’t re-start. I had been covering the
ignition box with a zip-lock bag when not riding since returning to the UK. The technique had prevented
starter troubles that first surfaced in Wales, two months earlier. This time, the
fine mist must have worked its way into my ignition while riding. I did a
battery re-set, disconnecting then reconnecting the negative terminal. This
fools the computer into starting fresh and not compensating for what it
perceives to be an electrical problem by refusing to start.
The bike complained but eventually started. Past
experience with this mysterious ignition problem told me that my motorcycle
would probably continue to run normally until I switched it off. I vowed to
keep it running until we reached safe parking in a campground. We stopped at a grocery
store in Fort William in glorious sunshine. My moto was bone dry. I risked
shutting it off. Nervously I hit the starter button and it sprang back to life!
I stayed with the bikes while Isabelle shopped. I opened all the paniers,
spreading things out to dry in the sun. I had the paniers re-packed with dry
gear by the time Isa returned. It was still sunny. We decided to camp just
outside Fort William. That night we enjoyed the warmth of our sleeping bags
under a starry sky in our dry little tent.
We hiked up part of the West Highland Way, Fort
William is the route’s terminus, to the stone ruins of a Pictish fort built
high on a hill. Following the route in a guide map, we gained about 400 meters elevation
before reaching the ancient ruins. The same mist we had encountered on the Isle
of Skye visited us again as we walked back down from the hills. We changed our
minds about the second half of our planned walk, a lookout point high above the town of
Fort William. Fog and drizzle made an overlook hike pointless. Instead we
walked along the Glen Nevis road into town for lunch. We became drenched right through
our rain suits. The mist had burrowed into us just like it had into my bike’s
ignition. The walk home to our tent saw clearing skies and brought our mileage
for the day to 17 kilometers.
We packed up the next morning using our
umbrella/teamwork method of transferring gear to the paniers. The mist was
back. We rode for hours at slow speeds on narrow and twisting roads, barely able
to see. I used elastic bands to keep a zip-lock bag around my ignition box,
even when riding. It worked. We arrived at Walled Garden Campground and got the
tent up during a brief break in the rain. There was no internet at the
campground but the price was right at 18 pounds. We had hoped to check ferry
times for the transfer to Belfast; instead, we would just show up at the dock and
trust in luck.
