North from the Black Isle

North-east of Inverness, The Black Isle is the peninsular which sticks out between the Moray Firth and the Cromarty Firth. It's a rich farming area with content-looking cows grazing on gently rolling fields, and some arable too. I drove along the south side of the Isle (peninsular) through Avoch, and a pretty fishing village called Rosemarkie with boats sitting in the sun on flat calm water of the Moray Firth. (A firth in lowland Scotland is an estuary or inlet.) At the end of the peninsular the village of Cromarty is quiet and sleepy with sandstone houses, tidy gardens, a couple of shops and a harbour.

Baa on board the Nigg ferry

I caught the ferry (four cars and a dozen passengers) the short distance across the mouth of the Cromarty Firth to Nigg. Oil platforms are brought in here, and further along at Invergordon, for decommissioning or for repairs. Like an upturned table, four redundant yellow columns rise out of the water - “The french rig,” I was told by some jolly ladies who were discussing different ways to wear a scarf, “they were meant to take it away, but they must have forgotten!”

I drove north and back on to the A9, over another stunning bridge, this time across The Dornoch Firth. I hung right to see the Royal Dornoch Golf Club which Nick said is supposed to be one of the most beautiful in the country. It certainly is a lovely course (though I am no expert) with the most beautiful coastal backdrop. I risked my neck (head) to go and take a picture beyond the 18^th which the pro said was the best view of the course.

The next landmark was Dunrobin Castle, home of the Dukes of Sutherland, which was closing as I arrived (6pm) so I only saw it from the outside. It sits in a fantastic position right by the sea. 

The A9 north

Then I thought I would drive up the A9 for an hour through Sutherland – and into Caithness – and see where I got to. I had been told that this was a dull part of north-east Scotland, but I didn't think so. Wonderful heather coloured hills to the left and sapphire blue dead calm sea to the right... sometimes the road runs frighteningly close to the cliff edge.

At Lybster the A9 isn't so close to the edge and I turned right to see the view. The road came to a stop one small field away from the cliff-top and next to a house where a man was watering his tubs. Brian Munro is a nuclear engineer, ex RAF, who worked on the fast reactor at Dounreay.

Brian at Lybster

He had quite a bit to say about the energy industry and the wretched and useless wind farms that the coalition government and Alex Salmond are so keen on.

I have been so lucky with the weather and was waxing lyrical about the view from his house. He laughed, and said such a calm sea was unusual and that I ought to come back and see it in the winter! He and his wife like to go cruising now he is retired. And when he's home and the sea is rough he likes to take a good book and a flask of tea down to the beach for a couple of hours, and settle in to a sheltered spot in a cleft at the bottom of the cliff.

Brief encounters at Fort William

I had a few days on the west coast with a friend, Susie Bagot. We stayed near Loch Morar which Susie knew as a child, and we went to Skye (I will record this later). We talked and laughed for four days, and stayed at some stunning places. But our location for Susie's last night was Best Western car park in Fort William. It was close to the station and she had an early train to catch.

There isn't much between you and the night when you sleep in a campervan and that night I lay in bed and overheard a man outside on his mobile arguing with his wife. He spoke with a lot of expletives while pacing up and down, not drunk but not entirely sober either. The gist of the conversation was that this was the first night he'd had out in months, and that he didn't like his job any more than she liked hers... but it went on, and on. I went from thinking I would open the door and deliver some expletives of my own, and feeling very sorry for them both. Eventually I went to sleep.

I felt sad to see Susie go. The reality of doing a trip like this - that I spend a lot of time on my own - is both good and bad. I meet more people on my own and I am a happy traveller, but at times it is lonely and I have no diversionary tactics, it's just me and Baa. But I met lots of people that morning.
It was wash day, and the lady at the Fort William station cafe told me there was a good launderette at a small village called Caol, just out of town. It didn't open until 9am, so I had breakfast in a cafe run by a very happy man from Birmingham. By 9.30 I had the washing on the go and was back in Fort William for fuel and provisions.

I met Bill Cottle in the Morrisons carpark, his VW Trident was parked next to Baa. He lives in his van at this time of year for for his work and was, I could tell, pretty envious of Baa's spacious interior. I won't explain the mechanics of campervan beds, for fear you might nod off, just say that he found his sleeping arrangement tiresome. But his van is fantastic (galley down one side, the bed/sofa at the back facing forward), the walls are lined with book-shelves and racks for his rods, and there's a pervading smell of pipe smoke. Bill, a professional ghillie, teaches people to salmon fish and was stocking up for a few days on the River Shiel, close to where Susie and I had just been.

When I was driving back through Caol my phone rang... and I picked it up. I saw the police car drive past, and I watched in my rear view mirror as it turned round and followed me to the launderette. Blue lights! Damn. The two policemen were very nice (the driver's mother has a van just like Baa) but I was cautioned in the back of their panda car. I will be hearing from the Procurator Fiscal. “Don't think about it, enjoy your trip!” Yes, but it's likely to be a £100 fine and three points... and I can only blame myself.

Onwards to Inverness, through classic highland scenery - (some) snow-capped mountains, vast lochs and miles of forestry. I was heading back to the east coast, to the mouth of the River Spey where I had left my anti-clockwise coastal tour.