the big effort 8 oct, 2018
Day 58 Land’s End to John O’Groats – Alltsigh to Beauly
Distance: 38km
Cumulative distance: 1514km
I had a massive feed of pasta for breakfast before departing this morning. Allow me to explain. I’d bought some yesterday to cook up at the hostel, but the friendly chap at reception told me they had pizzas for sale so I bought one of them for dinner instead. That meant I still had my pasta in the fridge, and I wasn’t about to let all of those carbohydrates go to waste. I got chatting to a couple of Kiwis over brekky – they’d quit their jobs about six months ago and were travelling around the world in a van. Now that’s the life right there. Anyway, I was headed for a place called Muir of Ord today which meant another long, long day on the road. I spoke to Steve last night and he said he’d be able to drive down to Muir of Ord when I arrived, take me to Invergordon to stay at his Mum’s house and then drop me back to MOD in the morning so I could resume. It would mean two nights staying with Steve and his Mum which sounded absolutely delightful after sloshing through the wet for the last few days. Muir of Ord isn’t exactly on the way to Inverness from Invergordon, but with a bit of creative detouring Steve was more than happy to make the plan work. Of course, as per normal, I’d severely underestimated the distance to Muir of Ord, and how long I would need to make it there in time.
One positive was my boots and clothes had dried overnight so I whacked them on and set off looking to reconnect with the Great Glen Way. It wasn’t raining! This was a glorious start to the day, although it wasn’t long before I was panting and cursing again – climbing away from the hostel meant a good couple of miles slogging uphill, with lengthy switchbacks forcing me to walk in the opposite direction to Muir of Ord at different stages. The great fear in these situations is that you’ve taken a wrong turn somewhere and burned several miles heading in the completely opposite direction but the Great Glen Way is very well signposted, and I kept finding periodic reminders that I was indeed still on track. By the time I came to the top of the hill again I had more delightful views of the Loch, and for the moment could enjoy a few flat miles towards the tremendously named Drumnadrochit. They came through a forest initially, then along a road and finally down a very steep, winding hill into town. When I made it successfully all the way down to the river I stopped for lunch on a wet bench, just as the sky’s patience expired and it started throwing down some more rain.
Drumnadrochit sits on the western edge of Loch Ness about halfway between Fort Augustus and Inverness. Much like Fort Augustus it’s a popular hive for tourists hoping to get a glimpse of Nessie. There’s a Loch Ness Centre in town but the highlight in this neck of the woods are the ruins of Urquhart Castle. It dates back to the 13th century and is one of the largest castles in Scotland in terms of area, but in the late 1600s it was partially destroyed and in the 300-plus years since it has slowly been wasting away. Unfortunately I didn’t have time to stop at the Loch Ness Centre or the castle given there were still almost 30km between me and Muir ot Ord. I crossed the bridge after a quick lunch, walked through the rest of town and strolled along the A82 for a couple of kilometres before the trail mercifully cut off into the adjacent forest. The Great Glen Way ran parallel to the A82 for a little while before finally careering off in a more northerly direction, where I was shunted sharply uphill for another one of those unexpected and seemingly never-ending climbs. Memories of the Offa’s Dyke Path came flooding back as I slogged my way up, and up and up for what felt like miles before I poked my head through the trees and ended up above the forest and into what looked like an extensive patch of forestry land. The trail took me further and further away from the loch and I ran into a group of Europeans who were trying to find a glamping site which didn’t seem to be marked on my map. I pressed further on through the drizzle across more ugly forestry land which felt like it was winding me around in circles at time before I finally hit an intersection where I was going to leave the Great Glen Way and head north towards Muir Of Ord.
Now I was on a lengthy country road which was peaceful enough, made all the better by a herd of beautiful highland cows to my right. Further down to my left I saw a stack of deer on the other side of a fence between the road and more forestry land. There were problems starting to pile up at this point though, which I realised when I whipped my phone out to take a quick picture. I was running at least two hours behind schedule, my phone’s battery was just about dead and the whole thing was soaking wet anyway from the weather so I couldn’t even manage to press any buttons and give Steve a quick call. On top of that I still needed to cover at least 12km to hit Muir Of Ord, and this rain clearly had no interest in buggering off or at the very least, easing back a few notches. I pressed on along the country road which took me gently downhill past farm after farm, then across a bridge and to the A833. I’d spied the little village of Kitarlity on my map and decided I’d head in that direction to try and find a pub and an alternate place to stay. I’d punched over 100km in three days by this stage and was starting to feel a bit leg weary. About 400m up the road I bumped into a farmer who told me there was a pub nearby, but it was back up the A road. All I’d need to do was walk up the length of four fields and it would be on my left. I can assure you it sounded a lot closer than it actually was. And there was no footpath on the A road, so I spent the next mile or so dodging traffic, and trying to avoid puddle spray. Each field was about 400m long, but the farmer was spot on – after four fields I walked into a place called Brockies, and the bartender generously brought me a cup of tea. He also broke the news that there were no beds in his fine establishment.
I had to charge my phone and get onto Steve, and that proved an operation in itself given my hands had long since given up being able to perform even the simplest of motor skills. I warmed them up on my cup of tea and eventually they fired up, so I plugged in the phone and it started sucking in electricity which allowed me to phone Steve. It was well after 6pm now, and he was long since back in Invergordon having not heard from me at all after he and Bart had finished up in Inverness for the day. I was still seven miles from Muir Of Ord, and a good 25 miles from Invergordon. That would mean a significant detour for Steve on the way to Inverness in the morning, not to mention a 50-mile round trip just to come and pick me up that night and whisk me away to a home-cooked feed and a warm, dry, comfy place to sleep. I told him to stay put and that I would find some accommodation elsewhere for the evening, before meeting him late in the afternoon tomorrow in Invergordon. Unfortunately the closest accommodation was about two miles back the way I came and there was no way I was backtracking down an A road. That meant my soaking wet and painfully aching body would need to head for Beauly, a relatively large town for these parts about four miles further north.
The bartender would only accept a pound for my cup of tea so I squared up, and was off again back into the rain and swiftly fading late of this never-ending day. The next two miles before me were along the footpath-less A833 and I don’t think I’d ever been more focused. I walked on the left, with the traffic, given there was slightly more wiggle room on that side if I needed to get out of the way of a truck. Every 10 seconds I tossed my head back over my shoulder to make sure there was nothing coming up behind me and the system seemed to work for the most part. The problem was I didn’t have any brightly coloured clothes to put on so it was up to me to see the passing traffic before it saw me. I proceeded like this for a couple of miles making incredibly good time given the lateness of the hour and the state of my over-worked feet and knees. That road eventually bumped into the A862 and soon after turning left, a footpath appeared. Have I ever told you how much I love footpaths? They’re up there with stiles and running water. Anyway, I was able to follow this thing over the River Beauly, and then up into town where I stayed at a (fairly expensive) pub which put on a pretty decent feed. All’s well that ends well.
