The longest downhill

I have woken this morning with a very timely reminder that I have been extremely fortunate with regards the weather. The sound of rain on the tent heralds the distinct possibility of a days cycling in the wet. I do at least hold one more card up my sleeve.

Since I have earnt the right to stay put for awhile by getting ahead of myself, I have the option of going back to sleep to see wether or not things change in an hour or two. That said, the rain doesn't bother me particularly. I am able to pack up entirely in the dry, with only the flysheet to put in a plastic bag once it's packed away. After that it's just a case of getting your head down until the next coffee shop.

There is ofcourse situation C. I have pitched my tent in a hollow, which though sheltered from the wind, could also become a lake if a wait too long and it rains too hard. Now that would not be fun.

So, yesterday I left my second castle after a provided youth hostel breakfast. Nothing on the full fried that we had in Snowdonia, but good enough. I have never yet quite understood the continental equivelant that marries cold ham, cheese and a croissant, but I ate it anyway.

It is now throwing it down. I'm getting the flippers ready. Infact I am going to pack so that I am ready to vacate if I have to. Back soon. I'll leave you with a picture of the statue room in this hostel.
After leaving the hostel I took to the back roads again, heading for the Falls of Shin. Given the tourist attraction of these places, it is no surprise to find a huge bus coming around the corner on these tiny roads. Yet it is always a surprise and a cause for evasive action. Your mind tends to wander in places like this and there have been many roads when I haven't seen a car for twenty minutes or so.


From Shin to Lairg, (now there's a good Scottish name.) The road from here climbs gently upwards following the Strath Tirry watercourse. There was no obvious sense that I was climbing hard, nor even that up was the predominant movement. Indeed at about mid-day I stopped by a small river that passed beneath the road and relaxed over porridge.

For the doubters I even prove here that all things are possible in an emergency. My little survival kit and box of trout flies being given a stern test by this whopper! (Panic not he grows on.

Up here in the vast expanse of the Sutherland uplands I felt briefly that I could have stayed. Of course I couldn't really, but this was countryside like no other I had been through. The size and expanse of the views were breathtaking, the quiet soothing and the beauty inspirational.

There will always be those who do live out that dream and the owner of the Crask Inn, high up here in the hills is one. A one time shepherd and farm manager in Aberdeenshire, he and his wife now own the grazing rights to the surrounding fields where he keeps 300 or so ewes and 30 - 40 beef cattle. He is also a slightly reluctant pub landlord, for which I was very grateful.

There a couple of guys sat outside reading and having lunch. Previous cycling tourers, one now debilitated by motor neuron disease, they came back here so that he could give his wife a break and he could recharge on scenery.

The Carbisdale three pitched up as I finished my drink and we caught up again before I hit the road. My appetite wetted by the thought of a 9 mile downhill.




The longest downhill required just the slightest pedal to boost you across the odd flat section, but nothing more. In no time I was in Altnaharra and diverting right along the north shore of Loch Naver. The pictures are of the views that I took in as I coasted down the hill.

From Altnaharra I took the road fork in the road that followed the north shore of Loch Naver. This was predominantly downhill too so I continued to enjoy the view. There is a downside to coasting though. Believe it or not, your legs seize up incredibly quickly when you stop using them and even the slightest uphill can appear unusually difficult for the first little while.

The bottom of the Loch is the beginning of the River Naver, reputed to be one of the premier salmon rivers in Scotland. It certainly looks like it. There were relatively few people fishing, which is either testament to its isolation or exorbitant cost. I'd like to think that it was the former. For me as I meandered alongside its gentle decent to the sea, it proved a perfect accompaniment to a relaxing day......so far.


As I reached the rivers final turns I started to look for a place to set up camp but was surprised to find that wild camping is hard to come by up here. Every spare piece of flat ground is farmed with sheep or cattle. I was suffering from a misguided image of Scotland as a wild and inhospitable land. It is ofcourse in places, but as with anywhere else in the island, someone owns it and if it can be farmed, it will be.


At about 6pm I reached the north Scottish coastline. At Bettyhill I raided the village department store, promptly consuming my purchases in a few minutes. The only thing left now was to find a bed for the night.


Two hours later I finally stumbled across a campsite in Melvich. Was I grateful. 75 miles to the good, I was ready for supper and bed.