Day Sixty Three

Monday 9 May – Achriesgill to Durness

To get back on to my route, I had first to retrace my steps for a couple of miles, which I hate. At least I could call at a shop on my way, and buy my lunch. At Achriesgill, I took a side turning marked “Achriesgill East”. Although there is another turning leading to Achriesgill West, this should not be taken to imply that Achriesgill is some sort of metropolis; it might just count as a village, but spread-out hamlet is what it is really.

Anyway, the turn I took started as a tarmacked road, then became a track serving a few cottages, continuing into fields as a path, then winding its way round a hill above Achriesgill Water. By the time the path petered out, my course was clear, and all too soon I reached the road which would take me almost into Durness.

I had peered at the map in vain for alternatives. I had originally planned to walk to Cape Wrath, definitely an off-road experience. But that would have relied on meeting the tourist minibus at the lighthouse for the trip to the ferry at the Kyle of Durness, or a night at or around the Cape (unthinkable). This early in the season, the very helpful chap who runs the bus couldn't guarantee that it would run beyond mid-afternoon, and I couldn't count on getting there by early afternoon, so I was snookered.

Off-road walks to Durness, my alternative choice of ending to my length-of-the-island walk, were no doubt possible, but there was no path, and the going would be tough. So I would put up with the road which, like most roads in the North of Scotland, proved to be rather more congenial than walking a main road in the Home Counties. Traffic was light, and drivers went to elaborate lengths to avoid then loony tramping along the verge.

The road gradually gained height to about 500 feet. For several miles it was almost dead straight, while the scenery was as wiggly as ever. The origins of the road would be revealed a little later. Somewhat more remote than the middle of nowhere, there was a cottage, a b&b actually. I wonder if they do evening meals for passing walkers – a saunter to the nearest pub wouldn’t really be on the cards. Not much further along the road, behind the only trees for miles, lurked an unseen house. If it were a restaurant, it might make a good pair with the b&B, but it isn't. A clue as to quite why it was built here could be gained from reading a notice about fishing permits, giving reason to believe that the house is a nerve-centre for the local estate.

The road was now running down the very wide Strath Dionard. At the roadside stood a water trough, and above it a plaque: "1883. As a mark of respect to the inhabitants of Durness and Edrachillis for their hospitality, while projecting this road, this inscription is placed over this well by their humble servant Peter Lawson, Surveyor." Before the road, the principal highway serving the communities dotted around the coast was the sea.

By a nice stone bridge over the River Dionard, I tucked myself out of the wind and are my lunch. As in previous days, the wind took the edge off the temperature, but it was much stronger today; out of the wind, it was warm.

Crossing the bridge, I soon reached the estuary of the Dionard, aka the Kyle of Durness. I kept turning back to admire the classic Scottish estuary view, hills crowding in on either side of the water. I passed the turning for the Cape Wrath ferry, and for the former Cape Wrath Hotel. I had stayed there on my coast walk: I had been the only guest not there for the fishing. I guessed it was now closed – there were no signs up. I later learnt that it has been turned (back?) into a private house.

A signpost pointed half-left from the road to “The Old Manse Track” to Balnakeil. I took this, a lovely grassy affair, running after a while between stone walls. It joined a road at near Balnakeil Craft Village, a former army camp now colonised by artists and latterday hippies (not intended as an insult).

I carried on down the road to Balnakeil Bay, where the tide was half in (or half out), so I walked across firm sand to dip my boots in the sea. And that was it: the end of a 950-mile walk from Dungeness to Durness, completed in 63 days.

I went back towards the road, separated from the beach by a gate. A vehicle drove up to the gate, along a sandy track, from the direction of Faraid Head, where there is a military base. The driver got out and opened the gate, and I asked him whether he wanted me to close it after him; he gratefully accepted.

After coffee and something at the cafe-cum-bookshop at the Craft Village, I walked through Durness to my b&B at Smoo. The door was opened by the chap in the vehicle, so that got us off on the right foot. The b&B is called Hillside; lovely people, spanking new house, highly recommended, as is the Smoo Cave Hotel for supper – Loch Eriboll langoustines – yum!