Well, thats its, my tour has come to a pleasant conclusion in the pretty compactness of Ullapool. I won’t be headin to the Outer Hebrides this time, Glenda is here with the car & I reckon two weeks of hiking & camping is quite enough. However, its been the best mission of its sort I have had for quite a number of years.
I met Glenda in Lochinver on Tuesday. She’d driven all the way from Edinburgh, accompanied by a wee, cute as fuck, gingerish mongrel-terrier thing called Sam. Our first night was spent on the wooded heights over Lochinver – I’d matress’d underneath the tent with wonderfully deep & spongey moss that lay around, ensuring m’lady had a comfy first night on the road. Below us lay Lochinver, clinging to the water, with arms of land veering off into the sea. We were close to the harbour, where a few fishing vessels too-ed & fro-ed, but nothing like the vast armadas of old. Also close by was a leisure centre, which had internet & showers & even a charity shop, which delighted Glenda. I’d actually spent most of Tuesday in said centre, catching up on Big Brother on Channel 4’s I-player – I guess everyone needs their hit of televisual crack cocaine from time to time.
The next day was spent cruising the roads – its amazing what these ‘car’ machines can do – much quicker than walking! We drove back the way I’d recently walk’d, to take Sam for a potter atop these hoary, 200 foot high cliffs. We observ’d with some delight the Old Man of Stoure – a rocky stack like the ones at Duncansby Head, pointing to the heavens. That night we made camp near Drumbeg, on a wee peninsula overlooking a delicate bay, cooking food, drinking wine (3 bottles) & strumming guitars to the sounds of the waves.
Yesterday we drove 20 miles or so south to a place near Achiltibue, finding ourselves at a prawn-fishing harbour. While Glenda wrapp’d herself in duvets & slept by the sea, me & Sam went exploring & discover’d, about a mile away, a wonderful spot. Above a smooth-rock’d beach there was a derelict crofters house, but ahead lay the Summer Isles, a fairy-tale archipelago back’d by a multitude of soaring peaks. The dog & I rush’d back to Glenda, hacking tracks thro’ forests of fern, & we were soon marching back to the spot, carrying firewood & cooking utensils, tents, sleeping bags & food – even Sam carried his tennis ball in his mouth.
We spent a lovely night in that cerebrally beautiful, a great way to complete the tour, & I awoke in fine, fine fettle, watching the boats pass in & out of Loch Broom, as they made tread the Ullapool-Stornaway seaway. But for once I bI felt a little tired of the scenery – there’s only so much chocolate you can eat remember… & I feel a good rave coming on…
Ullapool
10/7/09
The Scotiad 