Cuil

A cold start to this morning. But for the Scottish it was tropical. If the sun's out, the shorts are on.

As we left our 5-star campsite heading for Fort William, we were lured into stopping only a few miles down the road at The Bridge of Oich.

Across the river towards the weir, three herons danced around each other in the thin mist that hung just above the water. The scene was so beautiful, it was Scotland at its best.

Just pass Spean Bridge, we stopped at the Commando Memorial. It overlooks the training areas of the Commando Training Depot of the second world war, and towards Ben Nevis. After viewing the monument, we took time to read all the tributes in the remembrance area. It was very poignant.

Then on to the Steps of Neptune at Banavie, a flight of eight locks. We watched for a while as a small sailing boat made the descent. In the car park there was some dubious activity going on in a motorhome in the corner. Is it appropriate to be wearing a pink dressing gown with sheer black nylons at twenty to two on a Sunday afternoon in a public car park? More concerning, was the pair of discarded men's cycling shorts nearby! As we passed through Fort William, we thought it to be a rather drab town. It's only saving grace being Ben Nevis which presides over it. From Fort William the drive was pretty, and before we knew it, we had arrived at a little place recommended on the internet. Cuil beach on the edge of Loch Linnhe.

As soon as Marge was settled with a 'postcard of a view', we walked out on the recommendation of some locals, who admired Marge, (here we go again), around to the next two small bays. Then back to starstruck Marge, and down to the other end of the pebbled beach, stopping to take a look at the abandoned boats, anchors and driftwood.

Because there was so much driftwood, the beach was a popular place for open fires, which was fine on the pebbles, but not on the grass.

A local person had placed large stones written with a message, asking people not to light fires on the grass on each of the black scars amongst the green.

Early evening, as the light began to fade, the gentle waves tickled the shore and the sun dipped, casting a light of pastel blue, pink and purple across the sky, the reflection catching the greying mountains.

Before the light of the sun disappeared altogether, there was one last blaze of glory as a pool of gold lit a cleft between two mountains. This really is a magical place.

Fort Augustus

A beautiful start to the morning, the sun giving light, but little warmth. Out in the loch we could see the heads of the seals popping up above the surface of the water. One young seal climbed onto a nearby rock, causing great excitement, and a flurry of photography. Just before we left this morning a gaggle of geese congregated in the shallows, emitting a cacophony of noise. Marge thought the word was out that she was in the area. No, Marge, they meet here every day for their elevenses.

Next stop Inverness. As we travelled the last few miles of the north coast 500, we passed near the Cromarty Firth where we saw lots of redundant oil rigs.

An eyesore of giant twisted metal. Not exactly 'a room with a view' as far as the nearby homes were concerned. Back at Inverness, we stopped at Tesco for a 'big shop', then visited a campsite where we paid £2.50 to sort out Marge's ablutions. With no guide book showing us our route and pointing out sights we should see, we were now on our own to plan our onward journey.

Fancy seeing the Loch Ness Monster Marge?

As we drove alongside the loch Angela spotted an AA Sentry Box, the second we'd seen whilst we've been away. A blast from the past. She remembered it was featured in her Michelin I Spy Book of The Road. Loch Ness did not really do it for us. It is a large expanse of water, with mountains to one side and no monster. You'd think by now they would have a model of the cryptozoological monster bobbing about. But no, not a Nessie in sight. It soon became quite apparent that we would find nowhere suitable to stop for the night, as the illusive monster had given the area celebrity status, and wild camping motorhomes were not considered a suitable backdrop.

So, when we reached Fort Augustus we booked on to a campsite. Marge is a little confused. Money has been spent on her overnight accommodation.

As for us, we're living the dream, long hot showers, fish and chip supper, what's not to like?

The site is right in the centre of Fort Augustus, near to the Caledonian Canal and a spectacular flight of locks. Our neighbours here have today returned by ferry from the Outer Hebrides. We had already thought next year we might like to return to Scotland at some point to travel between the islands. At the moment we are eighty-three miles from the Isle of Skye, we could feel Marge pulling us in its direction when she saw the road sign, as we arrived in Fort Augustus.

Tomorrow we will head towards Harry Potter land, Fort William and the Jacobite steam train known also so as The Hogwarts Express.

Skelbo

Yesterday evening the fishing boats returned to the harbour with their catch, trays and trays of crabs. The frantic crustaceans were sorted, then loaded in to waiting vans, and whisked away to ensure their freshness for a waiting customer. During the night the rain pitter pattered on Marge, but the covering of cloud it brought with it made for a warmer night.

This morning the dark clouds cast shadows over the water. On the outer harbour wall, the cormorants stood to attention, awaiting their morning inspection from the seagulls who wheeled and screeched around them. Soon a blue sky split the clouds. Before we left Helmsdale, we walked to the library to donate a read book to their for-sale section. Then we stopped again at the outdoor shop where John purchased some fishing bait. In conversation with the owners we discussed the desperate need for more facilities for the vans in towns. They agreed, saying that the town council wanted to provide facilities, but the Highland Council would not help with funding. We had spent over thirty pounds in this shop whilst there, they could see how much it would improve the lively hood of the businesses in the town. We'd enjoyed our stay at Helmsdale, and told them so.

Once again, we had no plans to travel far today. We stopped at Dunrobin Castle, overlooking Dornoch Firth.

Walked around the outside and down to the water, where we saw yet more amazing coloured pebbles and stones.

Sat on one enjoying the sunshine was a Red Admiral butterfly. The tide was slipping away, leaving the footprints of walkers and dogs who'd passed this way before us. We decided to have our lunch before departing. Marge looked so settled under the trees, their leaves russet, red and golden, showing autumn was on the way.

Then a short drive to Loch Fleet National Nature Reserve at Skelbo, our night will be spent by the ruins of Skelbo Castle.

When we arrived, around a hundred seals were basking in the sun on various sandbanks, not moving until the incoming tide saw them slip in to the water. At the entrance to the loch we could see cotton threads of breaking waves, and in the shallow's geese, gulls, curlews and other seabirds waded. The wind was strong, and flattened the grass. We spent over three hours watching the wildlife, along with some other van owners, all of us mesmerised. Who knew wildlife could be so relaxing?

After dinner, the wind having lessened we took a short walk out down the lane. Behind Marge are the ruins of Skelbo castle.

In the darkening sky a half cheese of a moon was pinned.

We are now less than fifty miles from Inverness where we departed from thirteen days ago.

Tomorrow we plan to head to Loch Ness.