Day Fifty Nine

Thursday 5 May – Ullapool to Elphin

The British Fisheries Society commissioned Thomas Telford to design them a herring fishing port on the shore of Loch Broom, and Ullapool was established in the late 18^th Century. A railway gained parliamentary approval in the 1890s, which would have connected to the national network at Garve, but they couldn’t find the cash. The harbour remains the focus of the town, despite the decline of deep sea fishing. Inshore fishing accounts for some of the harbour traffic, along with boats tending to the needs of fish farms, and the car ferry to Stornoway on Lewis.

Ullapool is a shopping centre for a large area of North West Sutherland, and also an important tourist and cultural centre. There are several music festivals throughout the lighter months of the year, and a well-established book festival in early May (this year’s was just after I left).

There are also geological conferences, for the good reason that many of the crucial discoveries about geology, especially concerning tectonic plates, have been made in this part of Scotland. Victorian geologists made many advances in this field, based on observations of rock formations in Sutherland, and the discovery in 1907 of the Moine Thrust, which stretches from Loch Eriboll on the North coast of the mainland to the Sleat peninsula on Skye, was a major step forward.
What, you cry, is so exciting about the Moine Thrust? If (I say if) I understand it, the big thing was that they found older, harder rock on top of younger, softer rock, because the former had been shoved up across the latter when the tectonic plates moved and collided – like a sort of car crash, only with rocks.

Rain was promised, and clouds were in the sky. After four days of warm. Sunny weather, did this herald a change in the weather? I left Ullapool by crossing the river, then following its bank up to the main road. Scottish Hill Tracks recommends a path starting just over half a mile up the road, but clever clogs had spotted another path starting nearer. It looked straightforward, but it soon disappeared on a soggy hillside, just like yesterday’s paths. I needed to pass just beneath some crags, but I chose the wrong crags, ending up about half a mile off course – careless. After a GPS fix, I was soon able to correct my course, finding the path (again on stonier ground), and crossed into the next valley without further faffing.

Once over the hill, I could see the well-made track I needed to follow, and headed straight for it. This track rose steeply, then dipped again to Loch Dubh. This loch has been dammed to provide hydro-electric power, which has had the effect of flooding the line of the former track. But it was less trouble than usual to find my way around the edge – like the others, Loch Dubh was well down, with plenty of rocky shoreline to walk along. When I reached the dam, I crossed it and picked up the track again, now tarmacked to provide a service road for a network of dammed lochs.
As the road went downhill, it twice crossed the pipeline carrying water to the power station on the valley floor. Eventually the track reached the main road from Ullapool to the North. This was to be my walking route for the rest of the day – I had not been able to spot any alternative. But it turned out to be OK to walk; after Ullapool, traffic is much reduced, and there was usually plenty of verge to retreat to if necessary. And the scenery is often just as good from Highlands roads as it is from paths and tracks.
There had been a few drops of rain; now it started to fall steadily but not heavily. I looked out for a lunch stop, but there was little cover. Beyond Strathcanaird, the ground fell away on the right hand side of the road – the side the wind was blowing from, so I pressed on in a roughly Northeasterly direction.

Eventually the ground on my right levelled and rose until it formed a cliff, while on the left the ground was lower and uneven, littered with lochans and framed by the first of this region’s eccentrically-shaped mountains.
Knockan Crag is a very agreeable sort of visitor attraction. There is a car park and toilets and, just up the hill, tucked beneath the crag itself, there is an interpretation centre. There is a lot to interpret round here. It was very close by that geology came of age (as described at the top of this post). I was a bit miffed to find that, although you can do the geology under cover, the seats are all in the open. But I had on my waterproofs, so I sat in the still-light rain and ate my lunch.
Just along the road from the visitor centre, there is a strong fence alongside the road to catch falling rocks. Its necessity was proved by a large boulder, 2 to 3 feet across, resting against and causing a pronounced bulge in the fence. I was glad it hadn’t fallen while I was around. Soon I reached Elphin, which looks in many ways like a typical crofting township, a loose collection of houses and farm buildings strung out along the road and on side roads and tracks.

It was to places like this that tenants of the big landowners were banished during the Highland Clearances. While sheep replaced people in the glens and straths, the displaced had to scratch out a living as best they could on poor soil, with perhaps the possibility of some fishing to supplement the meagre diets. Except in Elphin – no fishing here, as it is the only croffting township which is not on the coast.
It’s a pleasant enough place to walk through, with a few tourist resources, including a b&b and some tearooms. Just beyond Elphin was what Scottish Hill Tracks describes as “one of the best long-distance paths in Assynt” (the district I had now entered). Tomorrow I would test this for myself, but first I had an assignation with a lady.

 For the next three days and nights, I was to be picked up, entertained royally, and dropped off again by T and S, friends of long-standing, who spend an increasing proportion of the year at their superb cottage North of Lochinver. I will have more to say about their magnificent hospitality in future posts.