I can’t tell you how nice it is to be home. Everything in its place, and to hand. Everything clean and folded and laundered. We have only been away a week, but by the end we were both a little rumpled and the car was strewn with sleeping bags, wash bags, various jackets and boots and Co-op bags full of Victoria plums and bananas that were just a little too ripe. But… we loved it all and would go again in a flash. We were blessed with clear sunny days, and views that come back in a blink of the eye. Scotland’s right to ROAM allowed us to sleep under an oak tree and wander down across the ‘machair’ to impossibly white sandy beaches on the most northern coast where breakers come in at terrifying heights.

We had heard of this new trend to drive/cycle/walk the NC500, the 500 miles from Inverness around the north coast, and had heard that we might see trendy Maseratis or Jaguars, but in truth it was mostly campervans and more modest makes that we encountered, although we did see four Porsches.

We drove to Kingussie and visited my mother’s, granny’s and great granny’s graves, then set off down the road to Kincraig where we erected our new fancy tent, which boasted two bedrooms and a sitting area!

It was just such a select spot, surrounded by fir trees and only a hundred yards from the wash area. We cooked a curry, nibbled poppadums, drank our evening sundowners and played backgammon… so civilized.

In the morning we celebrated John’s birthday, and little birds came down to enjoy the crumbs. We were blown up with self-confidence – it was as though we had been camping for years.

So we drove north, through Aviemore, bustling with tourists, all sanitised and masked. John got a T shirt celebrating his new roaming interests!

We arrived in Inverness along with the dark ominous clouds and our planned visit to Culloden Moor ended up with a torrential downpour.

It was disheartening as we looked across the wet swathes of soggy moorland and tried to imagine the fearful battle and defeat that took place in 1745, when the English army defeated Bonnie Prince Charlie’s army of highland chiefs and clansmen and effectively rang the death knell for the highlands as it had been. It is still visited today by throngs of displaced Scots who fled in the Clearances that followed to the New World. I stood under a rowan tree, red with berries. Does this foretell a severe winter? No doubt there are sage warnings of berries coming so early in the season?

We drove on, leaving the rain behind us as we came to Dunrobin Castle near Golspie, home of the Dukes of Sutherland.

These same dukes have a dark history of displacement and clearing of people to make way for sheep, but of course there were no references of that in the castle itself. Instead we admired the ancient fire engine, an impressive collection of firemen’s hats (!)

and the fabulous gardens that bloom in carefully thought out formations with the sea as a backdrop.

We watched a falcon display in which the star, Amigo, dutifully flew from tree to man and swooped terrifyingly on to a pretend rabbit. It was great to see how men got their food before the age of the gun.

Inside the castle I was in the presence of Canaletto and Joshua Reynolds and priceless wonders, but was ushered through quickly in case the virus got the chance to leap on to us from other unsuspecting visitors. Horrible times we are living through.

That night we stayed in Lybster, and dressed up and had dinner to celebrate John’s birthday.

He opened a bottle of champagne in our room before dinner, took the wire off and got distracted and BOOM the cork went flying and the champagne went everywhere except down our throats! He valiantly tried to mop it up with his towel, which he then decided to wash in the shower. Oh dear me, what a soggy mess. There was no way it was going to dry.  We shamefully carried it out in a Co-op bag the next morning, and laid it out in the car to dry. We zoomed up to John O’Groats and along the top past the Queen Mother’s estate, the Castle of Mey, and reached Scrabster where we boarded the North Link Ferry to Orkney as foot passengers.

We passed the Old Man of Hoy, and sailed into Stromness, a deep anchorage sheltered from everything except a SE gale. Lucky for us, it was grey and calm.

George Mackay Brown described Stromness like this:

‘The Street uncoiled like a sailor’s rope from North to South

And closes swarmed up the side of the hill

Among gardens and clouds,

And closes stepped down to the harbour

And the nets and whitemaas’.

From the history of the  Dukes of Sutherland we were suddenly plunged into the history of World War tragedies. We read of the scuttling of the German ships in Scapa Flow in 1919 then about the sinking of the Royal Oak in 1939 by a German U-boat and the consequent building of the Churchhill Barriers. We did visit all of this, and saw the amazing beauty of the Italian Chapel built by Italian prisoners of war.

I remember the song:

‘We saw them anchored proudly as the sun went down,

And heard a lonesome bugle from the old Renown.

And o’er the gleaming ocean like a brand new town,

10,000 port lights winked on Scapa Flow.’

We found a hotel that was happy to take us down by the harbour in Kirkwall. It was lovely, and the sea and sky were blue, and we set out to explore. The lady in the tourist information place gave us a print-out listing all the sites that were closed owing to Corona Virus. In other words, we would not see the amazing Neolithic sites of Skara Brae, the Ring of Brodgar nor the Standing Stones of Stenness. We had hoped to see the Tomb of the Eagles, but instead we walked through the old streets of Kirkwall, admired the red stoned St Magnus Cathedral, and ate the best haddock fish supper I have ever tasted.

It made up for the dreadful seafood platter we treated ourselves to in St Margaret’s Hope. The lobster, prawns and mackerel were as dry as cardboard, the platter was taken up with chips, only the scallops were worth mentioning. They actually were fresh and delicious.

The whole NC500 was coloured by the dreadful food we encountered. After watching Rick Stein’s road trip through the south of France a few months ago, and drooling at  truckers’ menus of delicious freshly made omelettes with scintillating salads, and where fruit and vegetables were vibrant and tantalising on plates, the Scottish menu seems to consist of unimaginative burgers, macaroni cheese and tasteless toasted sandwiches – why is this?

Thank goodness for Victoria plums.

We left Orkney with its lush green fields, beautiful cows and amazing history (that we may have to revisit) and re-joined our car in Scrabster. John’s towel was vaguely dry.

We stored up with provisions in Thurso and drove west, over the undulating land of Caithness, and came into the heather and wildness of Sutherland. It was just beautiful. The colours were vibrant and swirled over the land – no photograph could capture it as it would diminish the sheer vastness and emptiness.

We passed through Bettyhill and wound our way towards the Kyle of Tongue. The drizzle had started but there ahead of us was a campsite. This was where we would camp,  if they let us.

We got two dodgy options, one near the road, and one near some trees, where the owner  thought that ‘given the wind tonight you might be ok with the midges’.

We struggled with the gusts of wind as we threaded the poles into our fancy blue tent, but it was a struggle indeed, and as the tent danced and John and I leapt about, two campervan gents arrived to give us a hand.  Somehow we got it up and stable, but suddenly a pole broke and the elbow-bend looked ominous. Would it survive the night? The wind and rain was now upon us, and we decided to risk it. There was a lot of muttering about getting a hotel or B&B, but instead we got the barbecue on the go, and drank some brandy and whisky and suddenly everything seemed just fine!

Later we did meet a lovely lady from Cardiff who gave me a hot water bottle, just from the kindness of her heart, as I had been complaining how cold my feet got in the sleeping bag.

We cooked Orkney lamb chops and Irn-Bru sausages. We grilled courgettes and mushrooms. I cannot tell you how delicious it all was. We laughed and drank some more and with the light now gone, we decided to play backgammon.  With only the travel torch swinging precariously from the hook in the tent roof it was a struggle to see which men were whose, but honestly I don’t think we cared who won. I had already won £2.70 on the Euro millions lottery, so I was maybe lucked out.

The next morning we woke up to clear skies and I could see the looming form of Ben Loyal in the distance. I decided to have a good hot shower in the pristine block and start the day fresh. It was wonderful until I reached for my towel. Imagine the horror of it unfolding and casting all the bracken and leaves from the previous place all over the super-clean shower cubicle. The stupid towel had been lying on the ground sheet. I was black-affronted, not to mention mortified and it took me a good while to clean everything up. I scurried out of the shower block and raced for our car before anyone could see me! John’s towel still carried a vague smell of champagne.

The rest of the morning was surreal. Mountains and sea inlets flirting with heavy cloud. We stopped to buy fresh eggs. Imagine my surprise being told to wait whilst the owner ferreted about for six and went to wash them, and all the fluffy brown hens clucked around my legs, when suddenly seven alpacas came to join in, as well as a goat and several guinea fowls (very good for the ticks apparently). I went back to the car quite rejuvenated and tried to persuade John to move up to the north coast and rear mad animals!

The road towards Durness has the most amazing white beaches.

It is also host to the magnificent Smoo cave.

Excavations have shown signs of human life going back 7,000 years. Incredible. Walking around it, I doubt that it has changed at all. We lunched by a little river and were amazed at the geology that is just lying around, boulders and rocks that have fused in the ice age and great stones that were left in the earth’s dramatic movements. There are fossils here that are the same as in North America, showing how we were joined to that continent once, and not joined to England or Wales at all.

We drove on, looking at Ben Hope, but sadly missing the opportunity to go to Cape Wrath, then on to Scourie.

We took the detour at Kylestrome to Drumbeg, following a wiggly but beautiful road that eventually took us to Clachan Sands in Assynt. Here was a camping site in full swing, with a very holiday feel to it all. At reception, the host Andy took pity on us, and allowed us to camp in the ‘biker’s spot’ kept for late comers, or those with no bookings. It was just perfect and we got our little 2-person tent, which we had packed for emergencies, erected in no time.

The barbecue went on and I made Jamie Oliver’s chicken burgers with pineapple and beetroot, so delicious.

We wandered down to the sea and up over the cliffs; the sun was setting over the Assynt mountains and we saw a whooshing in the waves and suddenly two massive great minke whales surfaced spraying spume, and threw themselves down. Dolphins gracefully joined in the sea dance along with about a million birds. Then we heard the plaintive sound of the bagpipes. We were told later that the local piper has been playing every night at 8 pm since lockdown.

The whole effect was just magical.

The journey continued next day down to Lochinver, where we visited the Highland Stoneware workshop. Surrounding the shop are amazing art works made from broken pottery, and we had a good laugh at the artists’ ingenuity.  I bought a mug (so expensive).

We called into Ullapool, ate a socially distanced lunch and left quickly. It was very, very busy.

The drive down saw us passing Stac Pollaidh and Suileven, massive mountains filling the sky.  We saw Beinn Alligin and Beinn Eighe, the ‘big beasts’ of the Torridon skyline. Dramatic and awe-inspiring and unforgiving. Then amidst all this grandeur we came to the lush, sub-tropical oasis of Inverewe Gardens set amidst this rugged scenery.

We read how it had started on bare rock and scrub in 1862 and now is owned by the National Trust. Because of its proximity to the Gulf Stream fabulous exotic plants are able to thrive. For a time and surrounded by palms, I actually thought I was in New Zealand. We came across the Wollemi pines,  thought to have died out two million years ago, until the species was discovered in NSW in Australia in the 1990s.  We saw flowers and trees snaking through hedges, bamboo and rhododendrons and a peace garden with willow sculptures representing staff and locals returning to the garden at the end of the War.

Then the fun began. The day was almost at an end, and we had nowhere to sleep, nowhere booked and everywhere was full. We became a little tense and started looking at lay-bys and forestry tracks where we might wild camp, but there was nothing. We drove to Gairloch then to Kinlochewe. ‘No Vacancy’ signs everywhere. Campsites didn’t even have a ‘biker’s site’ for us to lay our heads. The light was going. We drove on to Lochcarron, along by the pretty village towards North Strome where the ferry used to cross to Stromeferry once upon a time. We suddenly spied a huge oak tree set back from the road. The earth was soft with just light grasses waving about. Down through the bracken was the loch, with lapping water and the sounds of ducks.  We pitched our little tent as fast as possible and dived in. The midges were fierce. The night was quiet, only two cars passed, and suddenly it was morning. John heard an owl hooting and we boiled water for tea.

I washed with a wet wipe and put on my make-up. He did not shave. And on we went, leaving not one trace of our night under the oak tree.

We drove to my old home village of Glenelg.

The Five Sisters of Kintail rose up dramatically amidst the heather and grasses, the road wound down through the glen and suddenly I was hugging Catriona and chattering as though it were just yesterday that we had been together. John munched toast and watched on, quite bemused. It was good to hear her news of long ago neighbours and friends, and then we left and drove past my old house towards Mary’s on the Ferry Road. It was so good to see her, and although she is suffering from sore legs, she still had the sharp wit and quick laugh that I loved about her. ‘Can she knit, John? Don’t believe her, she couldn’t knit for toffee, always over here saying “Mary help me, what do I do now?”’ All true, but I was a good pupil, and learnt a lot from her! She had just finished an intricate Shetland beanie, which I was looking at most lustfully, and just yesterday sent away for wool and a pattern to see if I can make one! ‘Mary, will you help?!’

And we are home, the laundry is done, the evil tent taken back to the shop where we were fully reimbursed (thank the Lord) and all the camping gear packed away for a while. Who knew that I would like it so much? Midges, cold feet, wobbly tents, rain, wind and wild places. Looking back at the pictures, you don’t see any of those negative things, only the positive happy memories remain.

Fabulous trip, and now it is the 1^st September and time for the brambles and apples… Oh yes!