Day 7, Fri 27. Clachtoll - Scourie 30 miles
Slept better. Found that if I wear my wooly hat I don't wake up halfway down my sleeping bag... A distinct absence of cuckoo this morning, for the first time since Ullapool. Tea in bed at 8, off at 10 - it consistently takes me 2 hours to get away in the mornings, and I haven't a clue where it all goes. Blue patches showing between the clouds, and very pleasant indeed to set off without an over-proof coat on: no rain, and a brisk SW wind is in just the right direction.
Twisty-turny, uppy-downy, lochans, inlets, beaches: same old same old, and just as delightful. Clashnessie:
Into Drumbeg after 8 miles. Better stop at the coffee shop, you never know how long it'll be until the next one. And a very nice one it is too, in a wee garden behind the pottery shop. The cuckoo put in its appearance here, and the woman in the coffee shop claimed it was the only one in Assynt. Well if it is, the bugger's followed me all the way from Ullapool!
Wildlife count so far: 1 butterwort, at least 1 cuckoo (heard but never seen). This sign gave me some hope of improving on that tally:
but I wasn't quite desperate enough to start including sheep just yet.
Continued along the Drumbeg roller-coaster, with this kind of thing continuously
for another 10 miles. I walked up the hill from where I took this pic, cos I was sure that if I rode up something would give - chain, freewheel pawls, spokes, tendon... Eventually arrived back on the main road (about 20 miles north of where I'd left it on Tuesday morning) at Kylesku. Seeing as it's dinnertime, a pint in the Kylesku Hotel followed by oatcakes and apple under the bridge. Was the plan, but the bar was so warm and welcoming, and the food smelled so good, and I have no willpower. Very nice place, can recommend it. Just outside, by the old ferry slipway:
Any bridge-lovers reading, if you don't want to know the score look away now. Round the corner is this concrete monstrosity:
I mean, OK, so they've given it a graceful curve. But it's still a concrete brutality on stilts, in an otherwise lovely spot where the sense of isolation was previously enhanced by having to cross by ferry. IMHO, obviously, and I have no doubt that the locals see it differently. Anyway, my map still has it as a ferry crossing (it was built in 1984, but I do like to get value for money from my maps), so I can pretend it isn't there.
Onward, with the wind now a crosswind and the rain (which started while I was in the hotel) getting heavier.
That bloody cuckoo took me by surprise by making that bloody cuckoo noise from a lone roadside tree right into my ear and nearly had me off. When the road turned upwards and the rain got even heavier, a rodside verge full of Early Purple orchids (I believe) made a good excuse to stop
and 10 miles of rain further on, the campsite at Scourie made an even better excuse to stop. Nice friendly bloke, not at all like the notices around the site might suggest. He didn't mind me dripping on his floor (there may be a theme developing here...), and suggested a good sheltered spot out of the worst of the wind.
Tent up, shower, faff, tea (beans & cheese on tattie scones - delicious, if I say so myself). Another wild and wet evening made me glad of the shelter from the wall.
