It was autumn break time so we headed to the far north of Scotland for a week of walking days and relaxing evenings back at our base, the nights drawing in as they tend to do at this time of year.
Our home for the week was the aptly named Ben Loyal View on the west side of the Kyle of Tongue. It’s a comfortable holiday rental with plenty of space for me and mine, Toots travelling with me and Redhead and the Bearded One and his good lady joining us later, along with their ever enthusiastic Westie, Harris.
We took the scenic west coast route north, rather than the direct up-the-middle option, breaking the journey in Ullapool, checking the fish and chips were still up to scratch (they were) and sharing a little time with the ageing rockers* and younger hipsters who were in town for the last ever Loopallu festival. The atmosphere was predictably groovy (does anyone say ‘groovy’ anymore?).
* this is not an insulting term, indeed if Redhead and I fit any tribe at all it might well be the ageing rocker one
The remaining journey allowed me the indulgence of driving one of my favourite Scottish routes north through Assynt, sweeping across the iconic bridge at Kylesku (surely the best bridge in Scotland!) and onwards through Sutherland’s moonscape until the road turns east where it meets the north coast at Durness, and there eventually to our destination at Tongue.
The holiday house sat high above the Kyle of Tongue and we settled expectantly for a blissful week.
We were based on the west side of the Kyle, along the minor road to Melness, so the task for our first full day was to explore the immediately neighbourhood. There were enough houses to make it feel like the busy crofting community it was and our walk brought us stunning views and a destination of sorts at the beach in Talmine.
I say ‘of sorts’ because this was not a walk filled with purpose but more of a lengthy stroll to see what we found along the way and Talmine felt like the right distance to turn around and get back at a time that might justify an afternoon snifter and a chill at the house – we were on holiday after all.
The main sweep of sand was at Skinnet. When the tide receded the sandbanks virtually allowed you to walk across the Kyle, although as always it’s not quite as straightforward as that and we were level-headed enough to know that the rapidly departing tide might rapidly return at some point and we kept to the west shore.
Our favourite family member, Harris the Westie, joined us later that day along with his owners, Josh and Becca. Yes, OK, they’re alright too. Over dinner we debated a few objectives for our week, mostly involving good walks by day and good food in the evenings. And we had a family birthday to celebrate along the way.
The next day we walked through Tongue and up to the headland, where stands Castle Varrich. In truth it’s little more than a ruined watchtower but the walk is very rewarding and the views from the top are wonderful. The tower itself has been carefully maintained and a new metal spiral stair lets you take in the view from the battlements.
Legend has it a trove of French gold is submerged somewhere in the Kyle, the ship having brought the funds in support of Bonnie Prince Charlie’s rebellion, but never reaching the intended beneficiary as the English fleet chased it aground. Somewhere out there lay the solution for my pension planning. If only I knew where…
Afternoon saw us head for Borgie Forest a little further east. Our aim was another walk in the wilderness but our true target was The Unkown, an eight foot Kenny Hunter iron sculpture of a skeleton, which stands atop the hill. There is no hint of it as you climb the steep path up through the trees and then, above the treeline and in the middle of nowhere, you suddenly spot him (it could be either, but somehow I feel it’s a him). He’s magnificently unexpected and enigmatic but still approachable in a Halloween costume sort of way.
We knew he was there and went looking for him – the guide books help and there are signposts where you enter the woodland. However, there’s a part of me that can’t help but hope some wobbly local who has spent a dram or three too long at the inn decided to take a short cut across the hill to get home, unaware of the sculpture’s existence. Against a moonlit skyline at midnight, that would sober anyone up pretty damn quickly. Mind you, it would be some shortcut given The Unknown stands remote, miles from anywhere.
Becca had planned to climb Ben Hope, Scotland’s most northerly Munro, and it had been Josh’s intention to join her but his knee injury was not conducive with a steep mountain ascent. She ventured out on her own while the rest of us took a leisurely drive west, open to stops along the way as the fancy took us.
The stops included Ceannabeinne Beach, one of so many beautiful bays along this coast, viewed from high above where the road snakes around the towering coastline. The ground rises steeply from the beach and up at road level there is the landing platform for the even higher Golden Eagle Zip Wire and Free Fall Jump experience from the cliffs opposite, which had been one of our reasons to stop, Toots having expressed a desire to give them a try.
Of course we were all desperate to try them with her, it goes without saying, but unfortunately they were closed that day. What a pity. Phew, mops brow.
Approaching Durness we didn’t stop at Smoo Cave, as we had a different goal in mind, but having visited on previous occasions I can highly recommend the walks and boat trip in and around this impressive cavern. If you think it’s all solid ground beneath your feet on the surface, think again.
We did stop in Durness for a few supplies and to enjoy one of Redhead’s legendary picnics, which we indulged in on the cliff top above Sango Bay, just another gorgeous bay on this coast.
Our actual goal for the day was to walk the length of Balnakeil Beach, just west of Durness. The road there takes you past the famous craft village to park out by the ruined church and the imposing Balnakeil House, now offering self-catering options but mostly just an impressive and rugged Scottish mansion house at the south end of one of Scotland’s most glorious beaches.
A long finger of land points due north into the Atlantic from the house and churchyard and on its western side lies the infinite expanse of Balnakeil Beach, backed by high dunes and punctuated half way along its length by a bulky headland of rock, long since carved by the elements into intricate gullies and caves.
The beach is three or four or five kilometres long (who’s counting?) and when the tide is out, as it was at that hour, it presents acre upon acre of pristine sand with a backdrop of infinite beauty. This is what we came to see. We last walked on Balnakeil Beach more years ago than I care to remember but to visit it once again was as magical as it was then. Peace. Calm. Relaxation.
Of course one party member, Harris the Westie, was enjoying it as much as the rest of us, playing with his ball and smelling what has to be smelt along the way. However, the moment arrived when our Westie spotted a rabbit high in the dunes and he was off like… well, like a Westie who’s spotted a rabbit high in the dunes seems as good a description as any. Ten or fifteen minutes of crazy pursuit, reprimand, panic and eventual tail-gripping capture ensued, but normal service was finally resumed.
Our relaxing walk then restarted, albeit with a little more ‘on-lead’ walking for one of our number, Harris’s pecker still in the ascendancy! His antics could do little to diminish the other-worldly tranquillity of Balnakeil. It was a spiritual return for Redhead and me and our offspring seemed to tune into the same vibe.
Tuesday was Redhead’s birthday. We headed for Bettyhill and the Strathnaver Museum, based in the old church in the town, which is worth an hour or two of anyone’s time with its extensive displays and history of the area and the Highland Clearances. The information and audio visual presentations are well curated and, in the churchyard outside, stands the Farr Stone. It is a Class II Pictish Symbol Stone, decorated with elaborate panels and presumed to be the gravestone of an important political or religious person. It’s dated around 800 A.D.
Nearby is the Farr Bay Inn where we indulged in some excellent coffees, and a fifteen minute walk from there took us on to the sands of Farr Bay itself, another blast from the past for Redhead and myself and another beautiful stretch of sand. Just how many wonderful sandy bays are there around here?
We finished the day with a tootle further east to visit Strathy Point, for no other reason than that was the location of the first holiday house that Redhead and I stayed in this far north many years ago; suffice to say the Bearded One was not even born at the time. The house is still there, which pleased me more than is perhaps reasonable; memories are life’s greatest treasures.
We headed home for birthday cake and presents. Some things, and some people, never seem to age at all.
Josh, Becca and ‘The Rabbit Hunter’ had to head home the next day so we pottered and got some lunch with them before they set off. Later, some local walking across the causeway and back down to Skinnet Beach made for a relaxing afternoon, marred only slightly by our return route being blocked by the sizeable herd of cows which we had previously noticed wandering freely around the crofts. Regular readers will know I have a knack for encountering cattle and I tend to be sensibly cautious. People tell me if you walk calmly towards them and don’t stare any directly in the eye they will always casually part like the Red Sea did for Moses and let you through. Frankly, that is not true.
There were many highlights on this holiday, one being saved for our last full day. We visited the Forsinard National Nature Reserve, run by the Royal Society for the Protection of Birds.
Forsinard sits in the middle of the Flow Country, four thousand square kilometres of blanket bog that covers much of Sutherland and Caithness.
It is an astonishing place. Over thousands of years the bog has accumulated peat, up to ten metres deep in places, and although it looks as though there is nothing at all to see, closer inspection reveals an extraordinary array of flora and fauna. There are insects and rare birds, spiders, lizards, sphagnum mosses and carnivorous plants that catch flies for lunch. Fifteen percent of the entire world’s blanket bog is in Scotland, the vast majority of it in the Flow Country.
The railway line from Inverness to Thurso and Wick runs through Forsinard so it has a railway station. Given that the place comprises two houses, a closed hotel and some barking dogs a station seems a little extravagant, but it does serve the artery road which crosses here on its way north, which makes it a transport hub for the area.
The station has long been automated and is unmanned by Network Rail, but the fairly extensive station buildings have been reimagined as a fascinating museum and interactive facility to learn about the Flows, the environment and the work being undertaken to repair the harm inadvertently done in the previous decades.
The visitor experience continues outside. We walked across the level crossing to the start of a meandering board walk which has been created to allow you to wander far onto the peat bog. Along the way there is additional information and the mantra at the centre – the more you look the more you will see – is confirmed as you walk amongst the black pools and boggy plant and wildlife. The boardwalk leads to an excellent observation tower and the walk options continue with carefully paved paths to let you get up close to the blanket bog.
Peat traps carbon, which is good as it keeps it out of the atmosphere. However, in the 70’s and 80’s the government offered tax incentives to wealthy investors if they funded the planting of forests, potentially a good thing as the renewable resource of wood is always in demand. Unfortunately, too much of this planting was done in the Flow Country and some of the blanket bog was indiscriminately drained and overwhelmed with the planting of non-native trees. These in turn released the trapped carbon, adding to our climate issues, and the quality of the wood was very poor anyway; trees are not meant to grow in peatbogs.
A lengthy battle followed between the investors and the conservationists and eventually the folly of the scheme was acknowledged and the tax breaks ceased.
There is now extensive work to attempt to repair the damage. Trees are being removed in their thousands and the damaged areas of bog will ever so slowly return to their natural state. The carbon still trapped in the Flow Country is equivalent to the amount produced by all the fossil fuel emissions Scotland would produce in a hundred years. Reversing the damage is vital work.
OK, I’ll get off my soapbox now. If it has been made with wood from the sickly trees hauled from the Flow Country bog it probably won’t support my weight for long anyway. Suffice to say there is some magnificent and tireless work being done there, unheralded but making a far, far bigger difference than gluing yourself to a bus in Westminster ever will.
It’s probably time for me to stop.
The next day we headed home, our treasure chest replenished and our wonder at Scotland’s beauty revitalised. Let’s leave it at that.
Roghadal or bust 
Hi there! I was only thinking about you this week re a new blog. I have never been to the North Coast nor Caithness, but I have read of the NNR which must remain in its natural state. Great photos and it sounded like a great birthday break, belated happy birthday to Redhead. Nothing like a great trip with a Westie. Look forward to your next blog.
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Thanks, Janet. Glad you enjoyed the blog. The far north is a lovely part of Scotland – very mountainous to the west and then the Flow Country is almost featureless. An interesting place.
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