Day Sixty One

Saturday 7 May - Little Assynt to Duartmore Bridge


From the Little Assynt car park, it was a short trot along the A837 (with Loch Assynt on my right) to the start of a path heading Northeast. Within a few yards of the road, the path appeared to be about to enter someone’s back garden, only to sheer away at the last moment, go round a newish deer fence, and set off across the moor.

The clear track climbed steadily towards today’s mountain, Quinag, another many-headed monster. Almost all the Assynt mountains fail the height test to be Munros (3,000 feet +), but what they lack in stature they make up for in sheer ruggedness. I was heading straight towards the foothills of the mountain itself, but the path swung around to head more or less due North, then Northwest, following the banks of a burn. Quinag often disappeared from view, its skirts billowing almost to my feet and obscuring the mountain itself.

Alongside Loch an Leothaid, there should have been a fork, one path continuing to head Northwest to reach Nedd, and the path I needed, heading Northeast. But things were far from clear, so I took a GPS reading, and headed in the direction my path would have taken had it been present. In fact it performed the usual tricks, reappearing and disappearing. Nothing daunted, I continued to navigate by direction and GPS fixes.

I gained height gently until, reaching a crest, I caught sight of the coastline – I was heading towards a sea loch – and its distinctive pattern confirmed that I was on course. As I started to descend, I expected the hillside to be wet – it had all the right visual characteristics – but it was actually very dry. Rain had been forecast again today, except in the far North, which was luckily where I was. Clouds blew over all day, some dark enough to contain a shower, but it never rained. The temperature was in the high teens, with a strong breeze from the South and later the East.

I hit the B869 road about 100 to 200 yards away from the “official” path end, so my navigation was pretty good. This road had formed part of my walk around the British coast, but today I was walking in the opposite direction. It’s a big dipper of a road, taking you up to thrilling heights, pausing on the brink, and suddenly plunging down to the depths. And if that gives you the impression that I really went up and down very quickly, you obviously don’t really know me. Seriously, the ups and downs are a bit brutal but always short – much better than long, relentless climbs.

To my left, I got terrific views across Loch a Chairn Bhain, the great sea loch which penetrates the coast North of the Stoer peninsula. To my right, Quinag at its Northern end presented itself as a generous bosom, Sail Ghorm and Sail Gharbh being the, er… constituent body parts. I tucked myself into a narrow valley, out of the wind, and ate my lunch by a babbling burn.

As I continued, near the road were some freshly-cut peats; a little further off, on the other side of the road, someone was cutting more peats. Peat tracks run from the roads round here, up on to the moorland, but if you can get your peat by the road, it saves a journey.

The road reached a T-junction with the A894 road, which links Ullapool and the North coast. I turned left (North) to walk alongside the road, which was not much busier than the B road. Loch Glencoul was away to the right, with wonderful views across it to the hills beyond. A nice American chap, standing by his car admiring the view, offered me a lift, which I courteously refused.

The childhood museum at Unapool, which is also a tea room, was open for business, but I pressed on. I also spurned the turning down to the Kylesku Hotel, an attractive place which I had visited before. It's at the waterside, by the Southern slipway for the former Kylesku Ferry. Started in the 19^th Century, it was a vital (if sometimes slow) link in the transport chain between Ullapool and the North coast. It was superseded in 1984 by the next item on my agenda, Kylesku Bridge.

This bridge is a thing of beauty, despite being constructed of grey concrete. It doesn't bow upwards, but it describes a gentle lateral curve, in line with the roads approaching from either side. Elegant legs support the main platform, which spans a modest 400-foot channel of water. To the right, the two fingers of Loch Glendhu and Loch Glencoul thrust into the hills; to the left, Loch a Chairn Bhain leads to the Atlantic.

North of the bridge, there is a car park, with monuments at either end. One marks the occasion of the opening of the bridge by the Queen. Facing it is a cairn commemorating submariners who, having trained in “these wild and beautiful waters”, lost their lives during the Second World War. There is a seat alongside, for quiet reflection, or just for a rest.

Further up the road, another car park has a viewpoint from which you can look across the bridge and the lochs, and admire the sheer scale of the beautiful landscape. Beautiful but never pretty - the only pretty things you can see are the flowers at your feet. After another mile or so I reached a side turning, leading to tomorrow's path.