Stac Pollaidh (Stac Polly)

This morning the river Kirkaig flowed angrily after the rain fell heavily most of the night. A group of fishermen and women arrived just after nine. Rods and flys at the ready. Angela, a little nervous about the forthcoming drive steeled herself once the rain stopped and steered Marge straight up a very steep hill. It became worse from then on. Narrow, blind bends, low walls, drops of the edge of the road, oncoming traffic, lorries, vans and our worst nightmare hire campervans. Back up. I can’t Marge. Get a grip girl. It’s all about the journey not the destination. One of your quotes isn’t it? Forget do something everyday that scares or even petrifies you. This was one step on. Do something today that may cause Angela to have a cardiac arrest.

Eventually the road widened, just a little bit. We had arrived at the Coignach peninsula. A beautiful landscape of far reaching views across moorland, lochs and mountains. The rain long gone, the sun out, and the wind light.

Warm enough not to really need a coat while we walked on Achnaird beach. A vast expanse of flat sand adorned with rocks and large specimens of seaweed. Todays forecast was an 88% of heavy rain. We were glad the forecast was wrong. Despite the mild weather we ate bowls of soup for lunch. Parked in front of Marge were a couple we’d spent Monday and Tuesday night next to. John had a catch up with them. It’s always good to share experiences and  find out where people are overnighting.

More careful driving this afternoon along the south of the peninsula. The views to the Summer Isles were fantastic. They looked dark and moody in the afternoon light. Turning back on ourselves we began looking for somewhere to spend the night, but couldn’t find anywhere suitable so decided to head to Ullapool just ten miles away. Stop Marge. Pull in to this parking area there’s another van here. It was the car park for the walk up to Stac Pollaidh, more commonly known as Stac Polly. The owners of the other van were staying for a second night, so we decided to join them.

Behind Marge Stac Pollaidh sits. You two going to climb up there? Yes Marge, weather permitting we’ll walk up in the morning.

Tonight Angela is tired. The stressful driving had taken its toll. Stress, what do you think it’s like for me, poor old Margery. Not only have I got drivers heading straight for me, I’ve got you at my wheel. Charming.

Inverkirkaig

After a band of heavy rain swept through yesterday evening we were blessed with a bright start to the day.

The green baize covered cliffs lit by early sunlight stretched along the coast.

A helicopter landed nearby on one of them. Why, we were not sure. Two seals played close to the shore. Enough watching the world go by, there were hot showers beckoning.  

Today we would drive the road from Durness to Lochinver. A vast landscape described as a truly wild place. A wild place that commanded photographing. We’d only travelled a few miles before stopping.

This was how the rest of the day would progress. Stop. Start. Photographs. Notes written. Can we just get on with the drive please? Sorry Marge, chill, and take in the beautiful views. At Scourie we topped up our fuel. How much? £1.44 a litre. O.K. You’re worth it Marge. We were in a remote area and knew it would be costly. 

More beautiful views along the road, rock bowls full of water and seams of rock five million years old. Yes, really. The sun shone and we enjoyed the warmth of this autumn day.

At Kylesku we stopped for lunch at the bridge. A magnificent piece of engineering, and a place to photograph your vehicle, either parked in front of it or driving over it. One man launched his drone to film his wife driving their van back and forth across. Honestly, we are in a beautiful spot above a loch in the highlands. We don’t want to hear your buzzing mosquito of a drone whilst we eat our lunch. You tell him Marge. Just one quick photo before we leave. Unbelievable!

Arriving at Lochinver the driving suddenly became serious. Let’s end the day with a buzz Marge. We didn’t realise what we had let ourselves in for. A couple we met weeks ago at Ardtoe suggested we visit this area which is why we’re here. The roads are not A, B but C. You get the picture? Narrow, winding, sharp inclines, a white knuckle ride and we’d only travelled a few miles. Stop Marge, there’s other vans, we’ve driven enough today. What we didn’t realise was this was the destination we were heading for, the Falls of Kirkaig. 

Marge parked by the raging river Kirkaig, a torrent of tumbling water bouncing over pebbles and rocks, we spoke to a couple who had just returned from the waterfall walk. How long would it take us to the falls. Depends on how fast you walk. Helpful. Best not to set off now the weathers closing in. Looked fine to us. At 4pm rucksacks stuffed with waterproofs, drinks, biscuits, nuts and packaged prunes we set off on the two and a quarter mile trek.

It all started well, a woodland path leading to an uneven path then on to a more uneven path then through the bog and over large rocks. Then the wind got up. We monitored the cloud that sat just on top of the nearby mountain known as Suilven, height 2,398 feet.  A few spots of rain fell, but nothing major.

Eventually we reached the waterfall. Angela sat out the last few steps sitting for a while. Once again the height panicked her a little. Just don’t look down. By the way, why did we bring the prunes?

Durness

This morning we were a little worried about Marge. She is dripping from her chassis, and our water tank level is slowly dropping. Where's it coming from Marge?  By the way, you're becoming more famous, we have told so many people on this trip about you that your fan base has increased. For Marge's new followers we must explain that Margery (Marge) our campervan is named after Angela's late mother who was good fun, cheeky, a little critical and sometimes risqué. The blog is written by Angela with comments by Marge that Angela thinks she would say. Hope that's clear, otherwise yes, it's a blog that sometimes doesn't make sense to people.

Before leaving this morning, we left a donation in the box. Thank you, East Strathy, for providing the toilet and washing up area in the lovely log cabin. We wish there were more places like this. 

Today we travelled further along Scotland's north coast. A winding undulating road across a moorland of ferns of russet and heather long gone over. We were heading for Ceannabeinne beach, home of the most northly zip wire in the U.K. You going on it? Not a chance Marge. The roads were busy with vans despite being late in the season.

On the road towards Tongue, we stopped on the hill to photograph Ard Neakie, a mound in Loch Eriboll connected to the land by an umbilical cord of sand. Ard Neakie is said to be one of the most photographed places in Scotland. Down below we could see many sheep blocking the road. Perhaps their demonstration was too many vehicles travelling the north coast 500 route.

Arriving at Ceannabeinne beach for a late lunch, the zip wire despite the weather being fine was closed. Lucky escape there. We had read on the internet that the parking area across the road from the beautiful sandy surfing beach was a perfect overnight stop.

Well not tonight. A young man in his thirties with a ratty old van, engine running and sounding like a bag of nails, with loud bassy music playing whilst high on ganja was not our chosen neighbour. John spoke to him and the engine was switched off, the owner explaining it was his own handywork, and atomic. when the engine later restarted we ate lunch, took a walk and left, as everybody did. We were a little annoyed that one person could be so inconsiderate, but then we also thought perhaps he had issues and we shouldn't judge.

We were close to Durness the most north westerly village in Scotland. But also, a bit of a destination on the NC500. So much so that the local people are fed up with so many vans stopping there. Passing Smoo caves which we visited last year we began looking for a free suitable stop. It soon became apparent that it was unlikely. To park alongside the nearby loch as we did last year is now fifteen pounds a night, the payment collected by a highland council ranger. So, Sango Sands Oasis it had to be. What is this strange place? A campsite Marge. Of course, it's been so long. Splashing out a bit, aren't you? Not out of choice Marge, but at least here we get to use a 'proper' shower, empty the toilet and waste and top up your water tank yet again all for twenty pounds, better value than a fifteen-pound lay-by. Plus, you get to live on the edge literally. What do you think of the view?

Leaving Marge to settle in (don't get used to such luxury Marge), we dodged the rain showers to explore the beach below. Do something every day that scares you. Well today Angela we're going to step it up a notch. Do something every day that petrifies you. Come on it's only a walk down a cliff. Bloody fools. We can hear you, Marge. The petrified box ticked we returned to the van.

The award-winning beach sands were soft beneath our feet. dramatic rocks of marble and red sandstone repelled the incoming tide and a rainbow appeared through the mist over towards the headland. Then back to Marge for a warm drink stopping to chat to our young neighbours' as they finished putting up their roof tent.   

Meanwhile did you check the wind direction? Yes, Marge it's blowing from the north, you may shudder a little.