24^th Aug 2014

The next morning I woke from my slumber, the sun was shining although occasionally partially blocked by light fluffy clouds as they passed overhead. Checking the replacement kit from power traveller I realised that they'd not only sent a replacement lead and second panel but they'd also sent a special splitter cable that allowed me to double up the panels for a more effective charge, especially handy in cloudy weather. While having my porridge and strawberry breakfast and packing up camp I decided to try it all out. Sure as day time us light and night time was dark the panels connected and began recharging the battery unit. This was truly a magnificent product that I'm sure would prove itself later on especially during the winter months ahead. After packing my gear away I looked along the beach, I could see a blanket of clouds forming way off in the distance. I really hoped it wouldn't rain especially considering I'd now managed to dry my boots and socks. Setting off along the beach I kept an eye firmly on the weather, looking for changes such as wind speed and monitoring for rainbows. So what was the significance of a rainbow. Its simple the wind was blowing the clouds towards me which meant that if i saw a rainbow ahead then rain would surely follow. It may only be a light shower but if the horizon looked hazy or misty it would mean a heavy downpour.

I made my way onto the firm shores if the beach inches from the small, calm waves lapping the white sands. Passing an unusual improvised beach sculpture of washed up gloves attached to twisted rust covered wire and metal forming what can only be described as a glove tree I chuckled and for no apparent reason shouted "thats handy!". With no one around to respond I felt kind of odd and pretending it hadn't happened and to convince myself I wasn't going mad I began to hum. On reflection I'm not sure how that helped but thinking back I can't help myself from chuckling. Further along the beach I came across a small but at the same time significantly large enough river flowing from behind the dunes and out to sea. Further along the beach on the other side I could see an obstruction that caused me to reconsider my usual options of walk round or pack raft. It was an enormous pipeline. I had been made aware of the pipeline during my visit to the lifeboat station, heading for norway this 7km pipe was being constructed on land and shipped from the Scottish shores. There was going to be no feasible way to go round or over the pipe other than to head inland to the A99 road that lead to John o'groats. Without spending too much yime assessing the situation I followed the river back to a the wick golf course, big dark clouds forming over the hills and heading towards me. After crossing the golf course I then had the task of climbing fences and stone walls to get back to the road and head for the bridge that would take me over not only the river but also the pipeline. Just as I reached the bridge I felt the temperature drop suddenly, the wind picked up and my hands went numb. Then from nowhere I began getting pelted by small hail stones. It only took seconds before I was soaked to the skin and without enough time to put my waterproof trousers on I decided to just keep walking. The short down pour soon passed but for the next few miles it kept returning and every time I thought it had passed and I'd began to dry out it came back to give me another soaking. Arriving at Keiss I decided to nip into the local pub for an orange juice and lemonade and duck out of the rain to let it pass.

Thankfully the sun finally broke through and the clouds began to disperse so I seized the opportunity to make a dash to try and get to duncansby head, the most north easterly point of Scotland. I crossed the road and headed for the harbour. Once download at the harbour I had no choice but to turn left and make my way along the cliffs, into a field to an old ruined castle. As I approached it I wondered if I'd be able to get a closer look. The answer was quite simply, no. A barricade and huge boulder with the words "danger do not enter" cut into it stopped me in my tracks. Glancing in through the side I could see that over the years the stone walls had become unstable so I decided to take the advice of the giant boulder and kept the safe side of the huge barricade. I then continued across the field to a high, double strung barbed wire fence, behind it was a rather old dry stone wall. The combination did not look safe at all and for an instant I could see myself impaled on the barbed wire covered in loose stones cut to shreds. Maybe in this case I would walk round. I followed the fence to a precarious looking gate and carefully climbed over. Health and safety would love this, they could spend a couple of days here filling out forms and completing risk assessments, I thought.

Now out of the danger zone I followed the road a short way to fesswick. The road to the village running right alongside the clifftop and down towards the coast, as I hiked I began to notice a pain in my left ankle, somehow I'd managed to twist or sprain it. It was only a short nagging pain so I ignored it and hoped it wouldn't get any worse. My plan now was now to leave civilisation and head into the baron landscape between there and duncansby head. At the very end of the road was a farm house that backed onto the heather and grassy hills. The wind was picking up once again and rain spitting slightly. I was now entering into unknown territory, I wasn't sure how far I would be able to get and looking at the satellite images the landscape looked fairly rocky and dangerous. Not feeling overly confident I knocked on the door of the farmhouse but there was no reply. I walked back to the road to see if I could find someone, luckily a man in a silver car happened to be driving towards me so I waved my arms and flagged him down. Asking the question whether he knew if it was possible to get over to duncansby head he shook his head and said. "I think you can get over" but added "the winds picking up, it'll be wet and slippery I wouldn't, it looks like an easy walk over there but it really isn't". Thanking the man I stepped back on my heel and turned around to take another look. I must admit it did look bleak and boggy in places and the strong winds could probably push me over the side, casting my mind back to badbea I imagined the clifftop would be very similar and if they had to tie the animals and their children to stakes what could I expect once I made it passed the brow of the first hill.

Having doubts about the safety of the proposed hike, especially doing it alone, I decided that if the weather was perfect I'd give it a go, but the weather was far from perfect, in fact it was damn right horrendous. I made a quick risk assessment as I would when crossing in hoolley and decided that in this instance it was just too risky to attempt. My options were to either wait for good weather, and that could be days, or backtrack along the road to the A99 follow it along to the outskirts of john o'groats and take the road away from the village out to the head. On the other side it might then be possible to cut across the land to rejoin the coast a couple of miles. Sure it was a much longer route and sure I would miss out maybe a mile of the coastline but it would at least be safer.

Reluctantly I headed back along the road to rejoin the A99 to john o'groats. As it wound its way through the hills I wondered how much further I would have to walk. It wasn't as if it was going in a straight line or along level ground. After a couple of miles i passed a sign at a junction it indicated that john o'groats was a mere three more miles, ironically almost the dame distance now that I would have haf to hiked if I'd gone the more direct clifftop path. It was cold, and constantly threatening to rain so I put my head down and determined to get somewhere close to duncansby head that night marched on. About two miles later I started to see signs of civilisation, one suggesting a B and B at a bargain price of £25 per night. It was tempting so I put it out of my mind. From the top if the hill the horizon had clear skies and the sun shobe down over the Orkney Islands, it was quite a view and my first glance of the top of great Britain. Ahead of me now a welcoming building "the john o'groats guesthouse" another temptation. As I got closer to the guest house I passed a sign "welcome to john o'groats 'the end of the road'". Yeah right! I thought, for others maybe! Walking passed the sign I contemplated stopping to take an ironic photo but decided that the irony would probably be overlooked by most of those following the trek and mis understood by the rest thinking I'd completed the challenge. This challenge was after all like a good story, it had a beginning, a middle and an end. This was still only the beginning of the trek, the Middle was yet to come as I passed through the remote areas of the north and west coasts of Scotland and the end of the story starting in wales and finishing back at Southampton with a sparkler extravaganza organised by sally and mike with joanne standing there, her arms crossed with a big cheeky smile happy in the fact she'd managed to make sure I got round alive wondering when I was going to repay her for the outstanding postage fees and sharon alongside with a handful of friends and followers clapping as I walked up the bridge almost getting knocked over by the local bus.

The guesthouse was now close and as I went to pass it a woman in an apron came out followed by her husband, walking over to the road side they began clapping. "Well done" they cried. "I'm not finished yet" I replied smiling back. "it's only a mile" the husband said. With a little chuckle I replied "four thousand eight hundred and one miles for me". With a little confusion creeping across their faces I explained that I wasn't stopping in john o'groats but that I was continuing on across the Northern coast and then heading back down the west coast home to Southampton. Mark and mary owned the lovely john o'groats guesthouse that looked so inviting as I'd been walking along the road towards the village. Mary had been clutching a small bottle of water to give a wiery traveller as he passed but hearing the extent of this particular travellers travel plans mark asked if maybe I'd prefer a beer. Although it was tempting I turned to mary and said "I don't suppose you've got coffee?". Leading the way I was welcomed into the guest house and told to take a seat while mary introduced me to the other guests sat in the dining room ready for their evening meal. It was lovely taking the weight off my feet and chatting to everyone, reeling off short story after short story, answering questions and explaining the rules of the challenge. Mary then prepared a shower with towels, shampoo and soap for me. Returning to the dining room feeling refreshed and looking more presentable, my beard removed and wearing clean underwear, I sat back down and was offered a bowl of soup, a plate of cottage pie followed by the most delicious homemade sticky toffee pudding and ice cream all washed down with a cool bottle of beer. The atmosphere was absolutely lovely and particularly homely. It was now dark outside and although any sane person would have instantly checked in I had to leave and seek out less luxurious accommodation somewhere along the road and nearer to duncansby head.

I put my pack on and we all grouped together for a couple of photos and I set off into the night, head torch lighting the way as I hiked along. Reaching the junction towards the head I turned and began searching fir somewhere slightly sheltered and out of the wind. Finding a tree was quite simply out of the question as there are no trees in john o'groats so a small building or wall would be the best I would be able to manage. I'd walked about another half a mile when I spotted the local football field and children's play park, a small building situated on the edge of the field in front of the play area serving as a good wind break. It was better than I could have hoped for so I set up camp next to the childrens play park and settled in for the night.

25^th Aug 2014

Being so close to john o'groats but resisting the urge to skip the most north eastern corner of Scotland would prove difficult to most but I was dead set about covering as much as the coastline as I possibly could. The fact I'd had to come inland the day before played heavily on my mind and although I hadn't cheated and stayed with in the boundaries of the rules I still felt personally defeated. It couldn't be helped but on a journey of this magnitude and dealing with all the obstacles and challenges in the back of my mind I couldn't help but wonder if I'd maybe taken the easy route instead of at least trying to overcome that which a stranger in a car wouldn't dare. It was too late now and I was a mere three or so miles from my goal for the previous day and then a short hike from quite an important location geographically on the trek. Through the canvas it didn't appear to be very light and my body was telling me it was still early. I checked the time on my phone and was surprised to find out it was nearly 10am. I'd had a lie in although to be fair I'm not entirely sure what time it was when I eventually fell asleep. I peered out from the confines of my tent to take a look at the sky hoping that the day would be drier than the last few. It was extremely overcast the sun failing to break through. I decided it was time to kick myself into action and hydrate a breakfast ration whilst still laying snuggly in my sleeping bag. After satisfying my stomachs needs I got dressed and crawled out into the open, unable to resist the temptation I climbed to the top of the children's slide just behind the tent and slud down remembering a line from one of the tunes on my ipod. It was chilly but at least it was dry. Well that didn't last very long just as I was putting my boots on I began to feel water hitting my neck and then without warning it rained hard. I dived in the tent and pulled the outer fly over protecting my kit. I couldn't believe it. I grabbed my waterproof trousers and put them on still couped up in the tent. Just as I got my boots tied up the rain stopped. Without a second thought I climbed out of the tent and hastily packed everything away. Slinging my pack on I set off up the road towards duncansby head. Making my way over the hill away from the village I could just make out the tips of the stacks, an unusual rock formation that I was looking forward to seeing up close. At the top of the hill I could see the road bending left down the other side and winding its way up to the lighthouse at the very edge of the most north easterly point of Scotland. To my right though I could make out various sheep tracks leading diagonally across the wasteland towards the stacks. The off road route far more appealing to me than the tarmac roadway. Immediately I set off through the grass following the trails bringing me up to the stacks. The sun was now shining bright and the view was stunning. Not only were the stack standing proud from the sea below the cliffs but I could also see the clifftops I had intended to hike across the day before. The weather today was perfect for crossing the clifftop from Keswick and the landscape looked far less intimidating than the day before. I took my pack off and sat down. I was niw feeling mixed emotions about what I saw in front of me. Once again wondering if I could have safely navigated this short stretch of coastline. There and then I promised myself if I ever came back I would give it a go. Deep inside a longing to master the entire British coast, no matter what perils were in store. The more I dwelled on my emotions I considered the possibility that if I had walked the clifftop in front of me then I would not have walked down the road into john o'groats and I wouldn't have met mark and mary or any of their guests the night before. Happy with the happenstance that had occured and the intervention of fate I grabbed my pack and set of towards the lighthouse. It was turning into a lovely day and I hoped it would continue for the rest of the days short hike. Reaching the lighthouse it then occured to me that from this point on I would no longer be walking along the east coast but instead I'd have the satisfaction of hiking along Britain's north coast heading west. Granted I'd only begin heading south once I'd passed Dunnet head and not John o'groats as most people would believe. 
From the lighthouse and officially for the first time I began to head west following the coast. It was pretty much all down hill and quite easy, John o'groats ahead a mere two miles or so away. Along the way I noticed sheep herding themselves one in particular bleating as if to say "come on you lot its time to go home". I put my pack down and took a short breather intrigued by what I was seeing. Sure enough the sheep all came down from the hills where they had been grazing and entered the field I was sat in. It was quite a spectacle, some of the larger, older sheep quite savagely head butting the younger ones into line. One by one they formed a line and headed off across the field towards another gate. Once they'd passed me by I got up and set off again following the north coast towards the village. I was now looking forward to getting that all important photo stood by the famous sign post. Arriving at the village via the countries most northern campsite I headed directly for the signpost. In fact there were two. One claiming to be the original which I found hard to believe as the top if the post had "john o'groats 2014" printed on it and a place where you could specify a place and the mileage for a small fee. It was also roped off. A little further along though there was another almost identical signpost, the difference being you didn't have to pay to have your photo taken there. I walked over and asked a lady if she would kindly do the honours and take the snap for me. After I explained what I was doing she asked me if I could pose for a picture in front of the sign so she could tell her friends. I happily obliged.

With my trekking for the day complete I headed to the only bar in the village and the only place with free wifi, the sea view hotel. Ordering an orange juice and lemonade I made myself comfortable and began to catch up with my blogs which once again I had fallen behind on.

Later that evening a couple of guests from mark and marys guesthouse spotted me sat alone at a table and came over for a chat. It was nice to relax and having a reasonably easy hike I was feeling ready although apprehensive about the next part of the trek. I was about to leave the bar when I met a member of an rnl station in Ireland. He'd spotted the cap I was wearing and intrigued by the challenge began chatting. Eventually the barman informed us that he was now closing and politely asked us to finish our drinks. As I left the bar Alan said I was interesting, now I've been called all sorts over the years but this is the first time I'd been called "interesting". He also offered me the use of the spare bunk him and his companion had but naturally I declined politely referring to the rules I'd laid down. I then headed back to the harbour and found a nice little secluded spot behind an empty shop to rest for the night.

As I was getting settled in I noticed a nagging pain in my left knee which gradually got worse. It felt quite uncomfortable and made it difficult to get settled in ready for a hike the following day. As I lay there thinking about it I decided that maybe a day of rest was required so the following morning and for the first time on the trek I left the tent standing and went to the nearest cafe for a cheap breakfast and spent the day sipping hot chocolate and writing up the remainder of my blogs trying to finally get back up to date ready fir the next part of the adventure. Trekking the north coast.

25^th Aug 2014

It was extremely cold that night and I found it hard to sleep often waking, my feet feeling the chill. In the morning the sun was out and there was a light breeze in the air. I headed over to the cafe to get a good breakfast inside me leaving the solar panels on the tent to get a sneaky charge while I slowly came to life.

Getting back to camp I set about packing away my things and evicting the new tenants, various slugs and worms. It was then time to head to the john o'groats sign post and begin tackling the north coast. I left the village westward along a path on the low cliffs. Eventually that lead me down to the rocky shores. I felt strangely happy as I negotiated the rocks and large stones. It was about half a mile before my shore ran out and I had to ascend to the fields above. I crossed the fields and soon found my way back down to the coast below.

Stepping onto the white sands I gazed at Dunnet head, a formidable looking baron landscape covered with heather, in my head I plotted a route that would get me round the cliffs to the very top of Britain. hiking along the sands it occurred to me that the composition of this beach was very different to the ones I'd encountered so far in Scotland. This beautiful beach was made up from crushed seashells and that was why it was white. I carried on along the beach and the sand ended being replaced by stones, I passed under a ramp that lead from what looked like a boat shed and continued to follow the shore line the stones now replaced by large boulders. I'd had my head down and eyes fixated on where I was placing my feet, it wasn't until I heard a couple of large splashes I looked up and noticed a small family of seals hastily entering the sea. I stopped and tried not to look too intimidating, which is hard to do when you have an enormous pack strapped to your back. I made my way closer to the grass bank separating the beach from the farmland and began to move along more slowly.

Now passed the seals, who's curious nature meant they had to follow me from the safety of the waters, the grassy bank had risen forming solid stone cliffs. I now heard a different, yet familiar noise, it was water cascading down a waterfall. Being a lover of natural wonders i stopped to watch as the water flowed over the cliff edge plummeting down onto the rocks below and eventually finding its way to the sea. Shortly after this self indulgent experience I came across a small port. The Orkney Cat, a twin hulled catamaran ferry was just leaving taking its passengers from the mainland to the islands a mere 8 miles away. Figuring I'd be able to find a tap nearby I decided to take a break and make a quick coffee. After my short break I headed over to the ticket office and asked them if they could top my water bottle up. I had plenty of water with me having filled up in john o'groats but felt it couldn't hurt making sure I had a full 3 litres with me especially as I didn't know when I would next have the opportunity to get fresh water. Dunnet head was at least 30 miles away and Castletown, the nearest town was beyond that. Whilst chatting to the ladies in the office I asked if they knew how far I would be able to get if I followed the beach along from the port. They said the road would be quicker and that only someone who was out of their mind would attempt to make it over the rocks and boulders. At that a huge smile appeared on my face and the words "you never know unless you try" came out of my mouth. Before I left they wished me luck, to which I replied "what could possibly go wrong!".

I left the ticket office and headed across the port to a small gangway that took me over a small stream and onto the stony shore the other side. Hopping and skipping over thr boulders abd onto plateaus of stone I gradually made my way along the shore in front of the intimidating cliffs and grassy slopes till I reached the headland at the far end. This was to be yet another gamble, would the rocks and boulders lead me round the headland to the bay around the corner or would I find myself cut off, having to about face and find another route up the grassy banks to the clifftops. I set off, adventure on my mind. Thankfully the coast had been kind to me and I appeared round the corner faced with a unique view of a place known as Scotlands Haven. Scotlands Haven is a tidal pool which meant that at low tide the natural formations of rocks at the the bays entrance formed a barrier enclosing the water and forming a pool. At high tide the rocks are submerged and the pool becomes and inlet into the bay. It was an area of outstanding beauty and stood on the rocks looking into the bay and across the pool I felt uniquely privileged to have seen it, especially on such a perfect sunny day.

Continuing to hop and skip across the rocks and boulders I headed for the sandy beach which formed along the far end of the bay. As I did I kept an eye on the surrounding cliffs trying to locate a route up to the top so I could proceed with the trek. Thinking I'd be alone in the bay I was surprised to see a family appear at the top of the cliffs and begin thr climb down via an old sheep trail that had been trodden in amongst the heathers. Only a person with a keen eye or someone with local knowledge would have been able to find the track. I'd spotted it as I was making my way along the shore but judging by the way the family was descending one of them must have been shown it by family or relatives. I headed over to where I was to begin my ascent and waited for the family to walk down, clearing the way for me to head up. It wad clear to see that it would have been difficult and dangerous to attempt to pass each other whilst on the cliff banks. While I waited I noticed a small group of seals playing in the pool and by the looks of it they'd spotted me, a couple of them swimming close to the shore to check me out.

When the family finally reached the beach I introduced myself and said hello. Micheal was the father, a local who'd grown up in the area, although until this year, had never visited the Orkney Islands. He'd moved to Spain 15 years earlier and had come back every year for his holidays with his wife and two children. This year they'd also brought friends over with their children and had swam in the north sea that morning, which I thought was brave especially after such a cold night. Michael also told me that the seals often sought refuge in the pool as orcas (killer whales) frequented the area and often fed on the seals. Within the confines of the pool the seals were safe as the natural defences of the submerged rocks and shallow waters prevented the whales from coming into the bay and feasting. 
I was just about to leave the bay when Michael invited me to join them for lunch. They'd brought a couple of bbq's with them and had more than enough burgers and sausages to feed everyone, and then some. I simply can't resist a good bbq and especially not on such a nice day in such a unique location. While we sat on the beach chomping on the locally produced meaty delights we chatted about the trek and the walk I'd completed a few years earlier across the northern provinces of spain. I explained how the camino de santiago had inspired my decision to see the British coast and how I'd met several people along the way who'd suggested that I should also add the Isle of skye to the trip, being a mere 200 miles extra to walk. Michael grinned, "its not 200 miles" he said "more like 700 miles". I can only imagine what my face must have looked like as it dawned on me that my 6600 mile challenge had now grown to 7300 miles. Doing a few quick sums in my head I realised that I probably wouldn't finish the trek until November 2015 and I now had absolutely no idea where I would be during this years winter months. Michael added "its going to get cold soon, it dropped to -2 °C last night" which explained why I was so cold.

After filling my belly with food and drinking the can of beer I'd been given I decided it was probably time to set off once more. Thanking Michael and his wife I set off to reclaim my bag which was still by the cliff trail and made my ascent the way they'd cone down to the bay. At the top I turned and waved and set off over the heathers following the cliffs round to the headland, peering over the edge to get one last look at Scotlands Haven before continuing towards Dunnet head. A little further along I looked out towards the sea, the tidal pool now out of sight. I was looking across a very special and formidable stretch of sea at the Orkney Islands. What made this section of the coast particularly interesting was the fact that here the Atlantic ocean collides with the north sea and that makes it one of the most dangerous stretches of sea along the British coast. Usually the waters boil and crash forming small whirlpools and causing strong currents. Today however, looking out from the clifftop, the seas looked calm buy tge previous day while at john o'groats I witnessed the unusual patterns on the surface and here I was able to visualise what it would probably look like during tge winter and in bad weather.

I followed the clifftops in a wild no mans land between the fields and the cliff edge until I could go no further. Moving away from the cliffs onto a partially tarmaced track which passed in front of the castle of Mey I met Fred walking towards me. Fred was an unusual individual, he had English accent and grey dreadlocks. I stopped and we began to chat, I was looking for a shop to get some more sweets to help boost my energy having demolished an entire packet of eclairs that day. Fred informed me that I had two choices either Castletown, which was a good couple of days away or I could walk with him back towards tge castle and head inland to a nearby village some 20 minutes away. Obviously Castletown was too far so the village shop seemed like a reasonable diversion. As we walked along Fred told me a little about the previous resident of the castle. It was her royal highness the queen mum. I'd been told I would come across it at some point and had mistakenly thought the tower I'd seen a few days earlier was it. Now this castle did look royal. Apparently the sinclairs were going to demolish it but the Queen Mother bought the property off them and often stayed there. Now heading inland towards the small village I had a much better view. It was quite a building with odd turrets at the top. The architecture really was amazing and to be honest hard to describe. Leaving Fred to his walk I set off to find the village shop which I was told would be attached to a small hotel somewhere along the single street that ran through the village. Sure enough it wasn't hard to find. I went behind the hotel and found the shop entrance. I entered inside. It was incredibly small and there was very little on the shelves. I rang the bell on the counter and a young lady appeared dressed in chef whites. I paid for my sweets and explained about the trek after she'd commented on the size of my pack. She called through to her mum who also found my story of much interest. The sun was now going down and I was running out of light, I was told that it wouldn't be long before the sun begins to set as early as 3pm and rises as late as 8am. It was now 8:30pm and only had about another 30 minutes before night fell. The mother of the young lady asked if I was going to be walking much further that evening and said that if I fancied it I could wild camp amongst the trees in the woods at the back of their hotel for the night. It seemed like as good a spot as any so gratefully I accepted and set off for the woods. Finding a nice sheltered place I pitched up. Sure enough the sun sank below the horizon extremely quickly and before I knew it I was engulfed in darkness. Remembering my experience the night before and finding out how cold it had been from Michael I decided to sleep wearing all my clothes and hoped I wouldn't be too cold.

28^th Aug 2014

It turned out to be a very mild night. Around 2am I found myself removing layers of clothing because I was too hot and uncomfortable. The more I travel Scotland the less I understand the weather. The following morning I woke late, around 9:30am, the sun was out and there were very few clouds in the sky. I'd had the last breakfast ration whilst staying at john o'groats so would have to start the day on an empty stomach. I did however have coffee and plenty of it so I boiled some water and made up a mug before packing up and setting off back to the coast. I rejoined the road I'd met fred on the day before and set off westward wondering how far Dunnet head would be and whether I'd make it there that day or have to find somewhere to camp amongst the bleak hills of heather I could see on the horizon. While hiking the road looking for a way to get back to the cliffs I decided to have a short break, a small cottage being renovated ahead of me seemed like a good spot so when I arrived outside it I put my bag down, pulled out a chocolate bar and sat myself down. A few minutes later a lady walking towards me stopped for a chat. Anne and her husband had recently moved there from Inverness and had moved in next door to the Queen Mothers castle, you could say they were neighbours. Anne was out exploring the area by foot taking a different road each day to see what she could find. On that day she found me. We had a lovely chat about the area and after giving her the details for the uk coastal trek website we said goodbye and I set off in search of a way to follow the cliffs, the homes and gardens of the local residents backing directly onto the coastline and although hikers have the right in Scotland to wander where ever they fancied it didn't seem right to just traipse across someones garden. It wasn't long though that I found a tarmac track leading towards a house overlooking a small harbour, seizing the opportunity I started down it but was met by an oncoming car. I stepped up onto the grass verge to let the car passed. As it approached it slowed to a stop and the driver wound down her window. "Have you been here before" she said. Instantly the accent sounded familiar and it wasn't Scottish. I leaned in through the window to see a jo brand look alike, it may even have been her, I explained that I wanted to walk the coast and was given directions to get onto a clifftop path although she did warn me that it was a little overgrown. I wanted to ask if she was the celebrity miss brand but couldn't be sure so thanked her and set off following the instructions I'd been given. At the bottom of the road there was a white house, I waa told to go ib front of the house and follow the gravel track to the end where I would find an overgrown trail. From there it was a case of climbing down to the rocky plateaux below. I did what I was told and sure enough found myself staring at the coastline once again. It was simply an amazing sight. The ancient rocks tilted and broken, I tried to imagine the forces that must have been involved in order to create this wonderful coastline, giant icebergs sliding through the area during the ice age compressing the once Mediterranean landscapes into the rugged Scottish coastline and leaving behind a rugged and solid basin that later filled with the waters from the Atlantic ocean. I'd never seen anything like it and while walking over the ancient sea bed found myself mesmerised by it beauty.

Along my journey quite literally through the ages solidified into the rocky shelves and rugged cliff faces I came across a small inlet. It looked like a tiny natural harbour. Fantastic but at the same time impassable. Deciding that traversing the harbour was shear madness I decided to climb the cliff face and began walking across the clifftop peering down in wonder at the natural beauty below. The waters where turquoise blue and the clarity amazing, revealing large submerged rocks and cracks in the rocks. I continued to follow the trail clearly visible along the cliffs and spotted a way back down to the rock shelves, I wanted to spend more time on them in fact I really didn't want the experience to end but eventually it did. Walking on the ancient plateaus was quite simply magical and also fascinating. At the end I had to cross a shell covered beach and head back to the trail at the top of the cliffs. Following the trail I couldn't stop myself gazing back at what I'd just hiked across wondering if dinosaurs had also done the same. After a short while the trail became harder to follow, vegetation growing thick and high obscuring my view ahead. Now shoulder high I had a tough time keeping track of the old sheep tracks and game trails, trampling the fauna as it grew as high as my shoulders. After a while though I came across a dry stone wall with two flagstones inset to climb over. On the other side the plants had been cleared and the grass mown. Heading towards the road and bridge below I passed two stone columns that I presume used to be the entrance to something. Further down the slope I passed an old wood mill. I'd seen it from the cliffs an hour earlier but stood beside it the building towered three stories high and although looked solid on the outside I was dubious of how safe it would be to go inside and explore so resisting temptation I carried on crossing a bridge over a river and up the slope the other side towards a field with an open gate. On the far side of the field I could see an ancient burial mound so I went over to take a closer look. These type of monument usually date back thousands of years and I wondered what lay beneath. Were there bones and artifacts our ancestors had buried. Were they pagans or did they believe in some other supernatural forces. I'd probably never know but it certainly got the imagination going. From the burial mound I had to follow the fenced clifftop along to the edge of the field where a combination of dry stone walls and barbed wired fences became my obstacles for the next few miles. Climbing over the barriers I gradually made my way around the coastline. It was quite the workout, reaching the final stone wall I decided to stop for something to eat. Deciding to rehydrate a ration so that I wouldn't need to carry the weight of the water I took my pack off and pulled out my hydration bladder. It was half full. This was not good, that morning it was full. I checked the screw top it was tight. I squeezed it only to discover tge repair stan had made in kessock was no longer holding. I needed to get another hydration bladder ftom somewhere but this far north i was unlikely to find a cotswolds or millets. I'd just have to watch the water levels and hope I found plenty of fresh running waterfalls or streams.

After finishing my hydrated ration of chicken tikka with rice and hot mug of coffee I carried on along the cliff top, leaving the fields behind and walking over a carpet of heather. It was still a lovely sunny day and as I approached the beginning to Dunnet head I stopped at the information centre hoping to get some local knowledge about hiking the clifftops to Britain's most northern point. Unfortunately the centre was closed, thankfully though there was a picnic bench outside so I sat down and checked the satellite images I'd stored on my phone. They revealed nothing.

I had no choice but to tackle this all important landscape with only my wit and cunning as tools to help guide me safely to the very top of Britain. Setting off I was sure to take note of the changing landscape ahead of me. The hills, ridges, vegetation and faint sheep trails. Walking towards the remote landscape I plotted in my head a cunning plan. To say it was more cunning than a weasel and if you stuck a tail on it you'd call it a fox is simply inadequate in fact a word has yet to be invented to describe just how cunning it was. Simplicity is always your best ally when plotting to overthrow a monster like Dunnet head and this plan was simply simple. Follow the cliffs and don't fall off. Even I couldn't make a mess of that. First I had to beat my way through overgrown plantlife passing a field to my right. Gradually the cliffs began to rise and I found myself amongst shoulder high ferns. Making sure I was safe distance from the cliff edge I beat my way through till I walked straight into a barbed wire fence obscured by the ferns. Bugger. An adaption needed to be made to my simple plan. Follow the cliffs, don't fall off and look out for barbed wire fences obscured by fauna. Damn I'm good, I thought to myself. I climbed over the fence and pretty much fell into the ferns the otherside. I continued to beat my way through the ferns towards a carpet of heather. Ahead of me now was a steep climb over a crest covered in more ferns. To begin with the ferns were short, but the higher I climbed the taller they got. Not to be perturbed by this nuisance I kept going eventually reaching the top. The views were spectacular and breathtaking both at the same time.

Carrying on the hike became simpler, the baron landscape too harsh for ferns to grow leaving only a heather carpet beneath my feet with the occasional weird bright orange spongy moss saturated with water to contend with. I climbed another slope and picked up an old trail worn into the peaty soil carving through the heather and leading me towards the lighthouse perched at the most extreme point of the head. Having only one more hill to climb I decided to take a break. The sun was still shining bright and not a cloud to be seen. Peering over the Atlantic ocean from my clifftop viewpoint I sat watching the herring gulls riding the thermals. They glided passed me one after the other as if to be on some kind of thrill seek, one bird demonstrating how it had mastered the invisible forces swooping over and around my head time after time. I sat there thinking about how far I'd come and how soon I would be before I began my descent from the top of the country, south, back home to Southampton. Listening to some atmospheric music on my ipod my eyes began to well up and I had the urge to ride the thermals with the birds, I wanted to be like them and fly above the land gazing down at the coast to get a different view. Obviously I didn't attempt to fly from the cliffs knowing that humans weren't designed to fly and that I'd undoubtedly fall like a stone into the cold waters below and be eaten by a passing killer whale. I grabbed my pack and made the final push to the lighthouse.

Arriving at the lighthouse I posed for a selfie in front of the stone monument declaring Dunnet head to be mainland Britain's most northern point and set off to stand at the very top of the country. Looking north across the calm ocean was a grear experience. I'd reached, quite literally, a turning point on the trek. From here on I'd be going home.

After taking in the atmosphere I headed away from the cliffs a little way and setup camp. There was another tent pitched on a nice enough piece of grass so I decided I'd pitch across from it. This was the first time in six months I'd have a neighbour. Peter waa a cyclist, born in Slovakia he'd been working in Manchester as a 3d modeller for computer games. He'd cycled from Manchester to Scotland for a holiday and wild camped along the way. Standing on the clifftop we both watched the sun setting majestically on the horizon. As the sun disappeared the temperature dropped and we both decided to seek the warmth of our respective mobile homes. I was nearly out of water so once night fell I decided to go on the hunt for water hoping there would be an outside tap somewhere at the lighthouse. Like a ninja shadow walking under the cover of darkness I began my reconnaissance. Creeping around the courtyard undetected I located a tap connected to a hose pipe, which was a good sign, and began to fill my hydration bladder and water bottle so that I had enough water for the following day. After successfully completing my mission I returned to the tent and settled in for the night.

28^th Aug 2014

After editing videos and writing blogs I finally got to sleep around 2:30am. It was chilly so I kept my clothes on. I woke around 9am and made myself a coffee and nibbled on a couple of breakfast bars before climbing out of my sleeping bag to face the next leg of my journey, heading home. Outside the tent I looked around me, checking the skies for dark clouds. There weren't any. The sun was shining, there was a slight wind and a few fluffy clouds, it looked like it was going to be another lovely day. I packed my gear away and said goodbye to Peter who was also packing up ready for the next part of his trip. He was undecided about catching the ferry to the Orkney Islands or to head south towards wick. I knew where I was heading I was heading across the heather westward and hoping to get to Castletown or possibly even Thurso.

With my back pack on I marched along the clifftop away from the lighthouse and onto the baron plains of Dunnet head. Immediately I managed to pick up a well worn sheep trail that followed the cliffs. As I hiked along the trail I tried to work out what I could see across from me. A small town on the opposite shores had to be Thurso, the houses running inland from the coast. As I continued, now heading inland I was able to make out the shape of the landscape I'd be hiking at some point in the future, maybe even later that day.

The trail made for easy walking although being mere feet from a reasonably high fall I had to be sure a sudden gust of wind didn't knock me off balance and into the waters below. After a mile or two the trail I was following vanished, it simply ceased to be. I now had to improvise a route which although sounds simple enough was made difficult by uneven ground covered with spongy heathers and hidden potholes. Eventually, after various stops to plot a safe route, I saw a lovely loch ahead of me. The land began a steep descent down towards it, too steep for me to negotiate so I followed the contours of the slope for a more gradual and less exciting or strenuous path. As I made my descent I kept an eye out for any trails that would help my journey but didn't see any. I had to be careful not to slip and took my time carefully selecting where I trod and which direction to follow. The loch was what I would call a typical loch shape, narrow at one end and getting wider as it found its resting place between the hills. Finally alongside the loch I needed to navigate my way around its perimeter and start an ascent up the slope on the far side and back to the clifftops. The slopes here were fairly steep and compared to the infamous Berriedale hill I'd been told was a formidable challenge these slopes were by far more aggressively steep. Once I'd reached the summit I could once again enjoy the fantastic views across from Dunnet head. Ahead I could see another forest of ferns but this time I could also see a reasonable track leading through them. I began to head down the otherside of the slope towards the ferns and quite easily made my way through. The cliffs looking quite awesome ahead and at there base two gorgeous untouched and isolated beaches. As I carried on through the ferns and got closer to the cliffs I felt like the clear turquoise blue water were beckoning me to climb into a wet suit and go diving. Rock formations firing my Imagination and wondering what aquatic life I would find I continued along the clifftop looking down below me.

Now with the ferns behind me and a very well trodden trail ahead I spotted footprints in the soil. I was heading towards civilisation once more. On the very top of a hill to my left and I can only imagine a view fit for the gods was a large white house. It was fairly massive and I guess during the winter months must take one hell of a battering. I carried on though, without taking a diversion to see for myself, along the trail and up over another steep slope. As I hiked my way up I met a lady in shorts and sandals coming towards me. Sheila had been dog sitting for friends and had never been to Dunnet head. She asked how far she would be able to go so I explained that if she followed the path she would eventually find the beaches but beyond that she'd have to improvise a route to get all the way to the far end of the head. I then carried on and found myself quite surprised when I reached the top of the slope to be faced with such a dramatic change in the landscape. I could see a small village to my left, agricultural fields ahead of me and a very small harbour below a few hundred meters away. The descent down to the harbour was extremely steep, the weight of the backpack pushing me down. It was difficult to go slow so I let gravity take control and quickly made my way down.

At the bottom there were some picnic tables on a lovely grass bank overlooking the harbour. I took my pack off and laid it down making sure the solar panels I'd attached to it were pointing at the sun. I'd become reliant on this free energy to charge my phone and needed to keep the battery as fully charged as possible. While I was sat enjoying the view from the harbour and plotting my next little adventure across the rocky shore to the sandy beach shiela returned from her little walk to the beaches I'd told her about. We started chatting and I asked if she knew of any shops nearby so that I could get a few supplies. The village of Dunnet being so small didn't have any but a nearby town, Castletown, did. It was about four miles away at the end of the beach. Sheila then offered me a quick ride in her car promising to bring me back so I'd be able to continue my trek. Just as I was loading my pack into the back of her mini a couple of her friends, Christine and ian came over. Seeing my backpack Christine asked if I was the walker that was in the news and trying to recollect what she had read in the paper that morning she said "are you walking the entire coast, six thousand. .." I finished the sentence "600" miles. With a big smile she immediately put out her hand to shake mine forgetting she'd potentially broken her little finger that morning, that is until I gave her a goid firm handshake. After a bit if banter and a coffee and sandwich sheila and I hopped in her car and headed for Castletown passing the huge sand dunes I'd be hiking in front of later that day. Whilst in the shop I took a quick look through the caithness courier and sneakily took a photo for my blog. We then headed back and dropped me off at the harbour. At the shop I'd treated myself to a couple of tins of vegetable soup and some rolls so I decided I'd sit back and enjoy the good weather and have an early dinner / late lunch.

After satisfying my appetite I then began to set off across the boulders and rocks in front of the low cliffs towards Dunnet beach. The beach was about 3 miles long and the tide was out. By the time I'd got about half way across I noticed that the tide had begun coming in. The firm golden sands made for an easy hike and I quickly made it to the other side climbing over boulders that were strewn about in front of a small carpark. As I got to the top and began walking across the carpark a familiar face appeared. It was Anne whom I'd met the day before. She was there with her husband archie. "Can we buy you some fish n chips?" Archie asked. "Absolutely" I replied. So I climbed into there car and we headed back into Castletown to the local chip shop before returning to the car park by the beach to munch down on steak pie and chips. A lovely treat and much better than rehydrated what ever it was I still had in my pack. It was soon time for them to go though so I grabbed my pack and took a note of archies phone number, archie insisting that if I needed anything to give him a call. As they left to go to a church meeting I set off to fibd a place to camp. The road to the car park ran right alongside the sea and as I was about to pass the harbour I noticed derelict building. It had been a flagstone mill opened by James trail. I had to take a look round. There wasn't much left but my need to explore had been satisfied. At the back of the building was a small woodland so figuring it would provide some shelter for the night I headed in. While looking around I noticed a small trail leading into the foliage and up to a thick hedge. A small channel between the hedges appeared to lead somewhere so I followed it and much to my surprise I found a small clearing large enough to make camp and petfect for a nights rest. As I was setting up camp for the night I began to get a severe headache, I finished putting the tent up a pulled out my firstaid kit. Due to water damage and being crushed in the side pocket most of the kit was unusable but I did manage to find a couple of ibropfen tablets. I climbed into the tent and lay down on my sleeping bag nursing my head. The next thing I knew, it was gone 2am in the morning, I'd literally passed out. It was a mild night so I got undressed and climbed into bed and got some sleep.

30^th Aug 2014

Camped up in a secluded and secretive part of the old walled garden in Castletown I woke hopeful of a clear and dry day. A little behind once again on my blogs I decided to spend the morning catching up. Writing blogs on the move especially in poor weather is difficult and quite often once the tent is pitched and evening meal consumed rest followed by sleep is often top of the agenda. Peering out from under the flysheet it appeared to be a reasonable day, the sun breaking through gaps in the cloud and a light breeze in the air. A couple of hours typing up the events of the previous days didn't seem to be a problem and I was hoping to collect my next rations donated by claire Gilbert in Thurso or somewhere nearby a couple of days later which meant I could afford a short day to allow for the pickup point to be arranged and the parcel delivered. What I didn't know was that the supplies hadn't yet been ordered. After a good few hours I'd finally caught up to date with my blogs and posted them online. I began to get myself ready to hike what remained of the day. Tap, tap, I could hear the patter of rain outside hitting the tent. Climbing out I looked through the canopy of leaves above me at the sky. It was hammering down, the trees I'd pitched beneath doing there best to keep me dry. It wasn't just spitting though it was literally pouring down. I made the decision to keep dry and above all else keep my kit dry. Afterall Thurso wasn't that far away and it was the best place to collect any deliveries. 
Hoping that the shower was only fleeting I climbed back into the tent to rest and catch up on some sleep. A couple of hours later I once again woke from my snooze, it was still raining. It seemed like I'd be there for another night so I settled in, had a meal and chilled out. Contacting joanne I then discovered that the supplies hadn't been ordered and that it would still be a few days before I was likely to receive a package.

The following morning I woke early, 6am in fact. The sun was just rising and there were once again clouds in the sky. Wanting desperately to get a few miles in I quickly packed up and set off. I didn't have any breakfasts left so I took out a chocolate bar and nibbled on that as I left the secret garden and along a muddy woodland track back to the harbour. From the harbour I had to follow the road which ran adjacent to the coast to the old flagstone quarry where I was able to make my way down to the rocky shoreline. The rocks were slippery so I had to make sure I trod carefully and select my footings with sincerity. After a few miles I found myself in a small sandy bay and looking at the satellite images in Google earth ascertained that I must be at murkle bay. From here I needed to cross a small burn and head up to the clifftops and head towards a place called clardon haven. The path was severely overgrown with wild plants and traipsing through the damp undergrowth I could feel my boots getting wet. No bother this was something I was becoming very much acustomed to. Arriving at clardon haven I made my way along the clifftops towards an overgrown field that not only had sheep grazing in it but also some unusual concrete blocks buried. The blocks were laying at a 30° angle with steel rings cemented into them. I was curious to know what they had been used for. As I walked across the field I spotted more and more. They seemed to be a forgotten relic of the war and the positioning of them suggested that they had been uses to hold something in place. Did we use airships during the second world war, I wasn't sure. I knew the Germans had large helium filled balloons and that we'd used blimps so it was possible that I was standing in field that could have been used by the military to launch our own airships as a sky bound defence strategy.

After having a good look round I continued to the far side of the field passing a couple of buildings contained within high steel fences, signs on dotted around saying "danger, shooting area". This was definitely something to do with the military although the buildings looking to modern for the second world war. A little perplexed I climbed the fence at the edge of the field and into another field, having to negotiate a small stream at the same time. Following the edge of the grassy field, which looked like it had recently been mowed, I noticed an unusual monument or ruin up on a small hill not far from the field. I had to take a closer look. Temporarily abandoning the trek and my pursuit of the coast I hiked across the field to the gate and wandered over to the strange structure. It looked like a mini castle or to be more precise the turret of a castle standing alone in the middle of the field. As I approached the unusual construction my imagination started to try and ascertain its purpose. Could it have been a sacred burial site, or maybe even a medieval prison. It was quite small which would have meant the cells inside would have been tiny. The lack of windows also a curiosity, talk about solitary confinement. At the front of the structure was a solid steel door, rusted and welded shut meaning I wouldn't be able to look inside. I got closer and noticed a stone embedded above the door with writing chiselled into it. It was hard to read but most definitely clarified the purpose. It was the burial site of the sinclairs of Ulbster. With the mystery solved I turned and headed towards a track that lead to a castle ruin I could now see, obscured by some trees just along from where I now was. At a guess I figured it was probably once owned by the sinclairs. As I made my towards the castle I felt a jab, a thorn like prick in my trousers. To be more precise, in the scrotum. I stopped and took a look round. I was alone. Unbuckling my trouser and unzipping my fly I had a feel round. I couldn't feel a thorn and decided to make a visual inspection. There was a small swelling on my left ball sack, something had crawles up my trouser leg and literally invaded my privacy. Being sure the offender wasn't still present I tucked myself in and carried on.

Entering the grounds of the sinclairs estate was like entering a medieval village, the old stone buildings having crooked doorways and hay laying on the ground. I almost expected to see a black smith banging away at a piece of iron fashioning a horse shoe. The castle was a complete ruin and all access had been bricked up. Attached to the ruin various extensions had been built over the years, easily identifiable from the differences in materials and designs. I found it quite curious that anyone would build onto a decaying ruin such as this and found it quite fascinating as I passed in front alongside the waters edge towards Thurso harbour and the river leading up to it.

A small footbridge allowed me to cross from one side to the other. As I entered the town I passed a small ironmongers. Archie, annes husband, had mentioned that I might be lucky and get gas there so I popped in on the off chance. Sure enough they did a small canister of gas that fitted my little stove. Using part of my weekly budget I bought a canister and headed into the town. I must admit Thurso was larger than I had expected. I'd thought it would be a tiny village but never expected a town. Locating the local superstore I spent the rest of my budget on some more energy bars, a packet of flavoured pasta, a couple of packs of 3 in 1 coffee and a litre of banana milkshake which was on offer. 
It was just gone lunch time now and I figured I'd be able to a few more miles in that day. I left Thurso along the clifftop path and passing a caravan/camping site spotted an outside tap. With very little water on board I ceased the opportunity to fill up before carrying on to Scrabster where Thursos lifeboat station was situated.

Scrabster is an unusual place, you'd think it was a village but its more like a small port and business center. I headed down from the clifftop path to the harbour and over to the lifeboat station. The door was open so I let myself in to say hi to anyone that was there. As per normal I was welcomed with a coffee and biscuits, allowed to charge my batteries and able to cache the satellite images up to Durness, a good week or so trek from Scrabster. Before I left I'd mentioned about how cold my hands were getting now that the temperature had dropped and was given a pair of neoprene gloves to take with me. I was also warned that the next few miles of my trek would be perilous. Walkers had quite literally disappeared when hiking the cliffs, grass growing over deep holes and unable to support the weight give way and the ground swallowing them up.