2^nd Sept 2014

Leaving the lifeboat station I headed towards the lighthouse with a couple of things on my mind, how do you avoid something you can't see and if I were to get swallowed up how long would it be before someone realised. Now leaving civilisation I passed the lighthouse and hiked up the hill towards the headland. Already the trek was beginning to feel different, I knew that from this point on I'd meet less and less people and wondered how long it would be before I completely lost my mind and started having full blown conversations with myself.

Carefully I made my way up to the clifftops, keeping an eye on anything that could potentially conceal a gaping hole. Looking down from the cliffs I first noticed how different the rock was. Layered on top of each other like huge piles of slate tiles, then I remembered the information board I'd read in Castletown about the flagstones and realised how they came about. By simply separating the slabs and cutting them to size it made sense. Nature had done the hard work and walking along the cliffs and finding what looked like a small quarry I was able to image men loading horse drawn carts with the slabs to be cut at the mill.

The views ahead of me were spectacular, the rugged Scottish coastline jutting out into the sea with giant rocks protruding from the water the waves crashing around them leaving a white froth replenished as soon as the last has disapaited. I proceeded to follow the outline of the coast, sidestepping any indentations with long grasses growing across just to be safe. After about half a mile the trail I'd been using as a route guide vanished and I found myself in uncharted areas. I can only assume that from this point on people very rarely ventured. The grass was growing longer here and passing the carcass of a dead sheep made me realise that I was now well and truly in the wild, a part of the trek where help simply wouldn't be easy to find, the section of coast where even my mobile phone would probably be useless should I need to contact anyone. I'd referred to it in various posts as the "dead zone" and seeing the bones wrapped in a bloody woolen wrap really brought it home, I was going to be alone and would only have my best judgements and knowledge of the outdoors to rely on. One poor decision, clumsy mistake or reckless action could be the end of the trek and possibly the end of me.

I carried on, not trying to think of what could be but instead wondering what lay ahead. Gazing at the horizon the views not only looked stunning but also extremely intimidating. As I climbed over the undulating hills that formed the harsh coastline dropping vertically below I found myself looking down into and across a huge quarry stretching from the clifftops back inland. Piles of discarded chippings formed giant barriers partitioning the smooth, level stone floor. It looked like a scene from a science fiction penal colony. With very little else on my mind I imagined landing craft dropping off interstellar convicts to work the mines. Maybe I had been alone on the trek far too long. I left the quarry passing some rusty machinery and carried on over the cliffs towards a field.

Feeling a little peckish i decided to boil up some water and prepare the flavoured pasta I'd bought in Thurso. It wasn't high in calories but it filled a gap. I carried on along the cliffs until I saw a building. I figured that it would probably be a good idea to top up my drinking water at every opportunity so headed over in the hope that someone would be home. As I got closer I noticed a sign on the gate saying that the building was a fisherman's bothy. I went through the gate and up to the door, it was locked with a combination code so I knocked just hoping that someone was using it. There was no reply so I took my pack off and laid it on a picnic table outside and had a wander round the bothy looking for an outside tap I could fill up from. Unfortunately there was no tap which meant I'd need to make sure I was careful about my water consumption until I found a fresh stream or some form of civilisation. Leaving the bothy I headed down towards a river that was now blocking my journey.

It was an old wooden bridge, the rotting walkway consisting of thick wooden planks laid across two large rusted steel "I" joists. The handrails also rotting provided no structural reinforcement at all. Across the steps leading up to the bridge was a plastic linked chain with a sign hanging down advising visitors not to cross as the bridge appeared to be unsafe. "Appeared" was the key word I picked up on, having a good look at the steel supports and design of the bridge I decided that appearances could be deceiving. As long as I didn't jump up and down and spread my load out over several points of the bridge as I crossed it the chances of putting the span under stress would be reduced to a minimum. Only one way to find out. I climbed over the pathetic barrier and began to slowly make my way across. Every time I placed my foot down I checked the integrity of the wood beneath my feet, nothing bowed or cracked. I carried on crossing the bridge hoping I was right and more over that I wouldn't end up getting wet in the river below. Reaching the far side of the bridge my heart was racing but i felt more confident that I'd make it off the bridge and over the river instead of in it.

From the bridge I followed a track that took me to a small chapel ruin surrounded by old graves enclosed in a dry stone wall. This was the location of the old community of crosskirk. The nave had been dated back to the 12th century although an exact date was undetermined due to the simplistic design of the building. That being said it was one of the oldest acclisiasyical ruins in caithness but not the oldest. A ruin in Reay had been dated as far back as the 9th century when an old headstone had been uncovered in the graveyard. Looking around the ruins I found the doorways too small to fit through, with my backpack on. In fact it was impossible to fit through the tiny gaps with the pack on and even without the cumbersome hump I still had to crouch right down to pass through from one room to the next.

Leaving the chapel I headed over to the cliffs, a cairn marking the edge of where the ancient community once inhabited the area now right on the clifftop. There was nothing to see, the eroded cliffs claimed by the sea also took the last signs of the ancient village. I followed the clifftop along a little further and found myself at the base of a huge wind turbine. Along my journey I'd come across many wind farms but this was the closest I'd managed to get, I was stood at the very base looking up. Having seen the blades laid out on wick harbour, each blade longer than several buses back to back, to now see them spinning above me I found it hard to judge the height. The blades now looking small as they gradually spun in the calm breeze. What perplexed me even more was how little a breeze was required in order to make the spin and I wondered how much power each turbine produced. Looking across I saw more, dotted inland.

Carrying on across the wasteland I came across some irregular looking concrete blocks. They weren't anti tank blocks like the ones I'd come across on numerous times walking the beaches these were very different. They laid buried in the ground but at approximately 30°. Embedded in the concrete were thick steel hoops. The blocks also appeared to be placed in very specific positions. I wondered if maybe this was am old airship site similar to the one I'd seen earlier that day. I carried along now spotting a weird done shaped pile of stonew
I went over to take a closer look. An inscription answered all my questions. During the cold war a US naval communication outpost was stationed there. The concrete blocks would have been used to tie the antenna in place and stop them falling over in high winds. Mystery solved!

I left the wind farm and ex communications site over a dry stone wall, having to leap over a wide boggy ditch and headed along the cliff top. A mile or so ahead of me I could see a strange dome shaped complex. As I got nearer I could see that I'd arrived at Dounreay nuclear power station. Dounreay was the first nuclear power station built in great Britain and at the time and for many years was extremely controversial. It was getting late in the day and looking ahead I couldn't see anywhere particularly good to camp so I decided to set up camp amongst the rocks sheltered from the wind. I rehydrated one of my last meals, sweet and sour chicken with rice and sat on the rocks by the shore watching the sun go down. The clouds in the sky capturing the oranges and reds of the days final moments of light. A flock of geese flew overhead in formation like a squadron of world war 2 bombers and fighter planes heading south for the winter. They definitely had the right idea. The temperatures at night dropping quite drastically unlike the warm summers nights I'd been used to while heading up the east coast.

The following morning I got up early and ventured out of the coffin, looking up at the skies it was overcast with thick clouds but I felt hopeful for at least a dry day. I decided to begin to pack up when my hopes were dashed. Heavy rain drops hitting the flysheet, my pace hastened and I grabbed my waterproofs. Its surprising how quickly I can get my gear stowed when circumstances turn against me. Now packed up I set off towards the power station. Hoping over a low flagstone wall I set off once more in hope that I could walk the coast in front of the complex. As I approached the perimeter my hopes were once again dashed, a low wire with ominous looking warning signs attached to it. Not wanting to glow in the dark or grow a second head I decided to turn round to follow the perimeter fence around and back to the coast. As i began my minor diversion a heavy fog rolled in from the sea and my views of the coastline became obscured. I checked the satellite images on my phone and looking for visible landmarks re plotted a route that would circumnavigate Dounreay and take me through Reay.

Reay wasn't too far to walk, following the road at a safe distance from the power station and after only an hour I'd passed through the little village and found myself at the local golf course. I was running low on water so decided that before I was to head off into unknown territory I'd stop at the clubhouse and see if they could fill my containers up. Scottish folk are always obliging to the weiry traveller and the young lassie behind the bar was delighted to help this wiery and I can only imagine scruffy looking traveller. From the golf course I was able to make my way down to the sandy beach that ran alongside. There was a small river that widened as it ran out to the sea. Thankfully it was shallow enough to walk ankle deep through the trickle of water to the other side. Once on the other side I followed the sandy beach along towards a small harbour where I now needed to head up onto the headland.

Now back on the cliffs my views had been restored, feeling at ease I could see the dramatic coastline once again spanning off into the distance. The mountainous terrain ahead appearing both ominous and excitingly inviting. It had now ceased raining but the wind coming off the sea was driving and strong, the dulled light providing a strangely lonesome atmosphere with a harsh undertone that only a wilderness such as this could support. Walking a little back from the edge of the cliffs I eventually found myself at the edge of a huge valley, in my head I compared it to a canyon the likes of which I'd never come across and certainly not whilst on the trek so far. Planning to walk the coast anti clockwise I knew that the journey would get harder and more challenging and that situations would slowly appear, each time more dramatic that the last. Starting along the south coast I first hit the low lands of kent, a flat landscape with very little to tackle other than long straight hikes and very little water eventually passing through Yorkshire and Northumberland with its undulating cliffs and romantic scenery and yhen into Scotland with its enormous cliffs, waterfalls and mountainous landscapes. This particular valley was without doubt the most impassable challenge to date. With no other choice but to follow it inland till it shallowed out I set off. The rocky walls dropping away vertically to a bottom that couldn't be seen below. About half a mile along, where the valley shallowed I could see an old arched stone bridge below. The walls of the valley were also less steep but compared to Berriedale looked almost vertical. I needed to get down to the bridge so by traversing whilst descending I gradually and carefully made my way down. The bridge itself must have been built hundreds of years ago and looked like most of it had been worn away over the years. Grass was probably the only thing holding it together and thinking back to the "unsafe" bridge at crosskirk I wondered if I'd be able to cross the narrow river without this ancient relic collapsing beneath me. There weren't any signs saying it was unsafe but it didn't take a genius to make that assessment. I stepped onto the bridge, it seemed solid enough. I carried on crossing over, nothing budged or creeked. On the other side and back on the firm grassy bank of the far valley slopes I thought to myself "well they don't make bridges like that anymore" it probably should have had a sign saying "unstable bridge" but I guess that very few hikers ever come this way and the people at health and safety probably don't even know of its existence.

It was a quaint bridge and I expect during the middle ages probably saw a lot of carts crossing over, now left abandoned I felt satisfied that I'd renewed its purpose. Leaving the bridge behind I made the steep ascent to the top of the valley and headed back to the coast. It was now becoming more and more baron. The sea to my right and heather covered hills ahead and to my left. As I continued on my journey the terrain ahead seemed to tower above the sea, the wind was picking up now and my pack acting like a sail was determined to knock me off my feet. Coming across a small indentation on the clifftop I decided to take a small break out of the high winds. I set my bag down and sat looking at the scenery around me. As I gazed in wonder I noticed small droplets of water trying to make a break for freedom only to be turned back by the up draft of the winds channeled up the cliff face. It was a mesmerising experience as if gravity had been reversed. Each droplet running to the edge of the rocks and leaping towards the sea below only to end up back where they had started having to make their way back to the cliff edge and jump once more. A few succeeded but the majority failed. It was an almost endless cycle for the poor droplets.

Finding myself caught up in the experience and although fascinated by the continuous cycle of events I decided that I'd spent long enough gazing and had to move on. I grabbed my pack and set off, hoping that the determined little droplets would eventually find their freedom and join their brothers and sisters in the great ocean below. It was going to be miles before I'd find myself anywhere near the shore again and the desolate landscape in front was to be my home for an undetermined length of time. Careful not to walk to close to the edge I made my way along cliffs, the grass and heather beneath my feet proving to be a satisfactory surface to hike over. Then I found myself confronted with an even bigger canyon. This valley made its little friend I'd met earlier seem insignificant. There was absolutely no way I'd be able to climb down and even if I had a rope it would have had to have been a multi pitched repel. Scotlands finest features were now slowly presenting themselves to me. Looking along the vast ravine I couldn't see any bridges or tracks, I couldn't even see the end and it certainly didn't apear to shallow out at any point. I started walking the length of it, occasionally stopping to peer over the edge. I could hear the crashing of water from a waterfall but couldn't see it, it was almost like the valley was bottomless, although I knew that couldn't possibly be the case without seeing a river or stream for the water to fall into it seemed plausible. After a fair hike, a good couple of miles I would guess I eventually found the source of the water that was flowing into the casum. A small loch trickled its brown, peat coloured waters into a small stream that then vanished into the valley that had stopped me in my tracks. Now away from the cliffs and sheltered by surrounding hills I stopped to have my last ration pack until I picked up my supplies from the Bettyhill post office a few days away.

After my little picnic I headed off once again, the wind had died off a little now but there were still heavy looking clouds overhead. Around the other side of the loch I began my way back to pick up the coast once again. My elevation had begun to slowly drop and the hike was slowly becoming easier. From the top of the cliffs I could now see a small beach ahead of me and decided that when I got down to it I would find a sheltered place to camp up for the night.

3^rd Sept 2014

Coming off the cliffs I headed towards a small track, the beach ahead with a river flowing between the dunes and the bank I was now on. Looking around I saw a small footbridge crossing over and considered pitching between the dunes for the night. To my left I could also see a couple of small copses. Trees are always my preference for shelter from the elements so I walked over to take a closer look. Beneath the canopy of leaves I found a nice level area covered with nice long grass. With my mind made up I unpacked the tent and set up camp for the night.

Around 8am I was woken up by the sound of sheep grazing next to the tent. I looked out and up at the skies, the sun was peering through the clouds. Although I didn't have any more breakfast rations I did still have a couple of breakfast bars. I took one from my pack, made a coffee and got myself ready for the trek ahead. I left my temporary home and headed along the track towards the footbridge. As I got closer I could see that someone had removed a wire barricade from the steps leading up and off the other side. Before crossing over I checked the sign attached to the wire. Once again the bridge had been condemned as unsafe to use and once again I made my own appraisal. Taking into consideration the footboards lookes in better condition than the bridge I'd crossed the day before and the steel girders, although thinner, appeared reasonably sound I made my way across. Granted this bridge was three to four times longers it appeared to be completely safe and certainly more sturdy. The bridge had been erected by military engineers and all these years later it was still doing a grand job. On the other side of the bridge I followed the river round to a lovely golden sandy beach which sweeped right towards the small harbour at portskerra. Before reaching the harbour I had to climb over a couple of hundred yards of rocks and boulders where I picked up a narrow track that took me to the end of the headland. Along the track to my left I found a commemorative garden dedicated to the fishermen of the village who'd lost their lives during storms over the years. I stopped briefly to read a poem dedicated to the list souls and looked across the harbour at where their boats would probably have wrecked so close to home. It would have been a sad sight for the families and friends and for a moment I felt their loss. I then carried on following the road round until I found a track that lead me back to the cliffs.

Following the clifftop I once again found myself isolated. Looking in all directions the only form of life I could see were sheep scattered over the hills. After a while I had to descend into a small ravine, a stream running down the middle and falling from the clifftop to the sea below. While deciding where I was to cross and ascend the other side I spotted an old square stone tower. It appeared to have a small doorway and windows at ground level. Slightly obscured in a recess I decided to head over to take a closer look, at the time I wondered if it was some kind of medieval lookout tower. As I walked along side the stream and around a rocky outcrop I noticed another stone structure. This one was round and looked much older and it was certainly in worse condition. Getting closer I could see what I thought were doorways were in fact fireplaces. Having seen numerous lime kilns before I began to change my hypothesis and decided that these were either lime kilns or possibly smoke stacks for smoking fish. After having a good look at the different structures and construction techniques I decided to cross the stream. Now further away from the coast and looking back towards the sea I could see a clear way of climbing back to the clifftops. It would be steep but fairly easy to negotiate. The sun was still shining and a soft breeze kept me cool as I hiked the rugged coastline, occasionally looking back to look at the breathtaking scenery I'd hiked over the last few days. Visibility being miles. I could even see the Dounreay power station way off in the distance.

Ahead I could see another beach. It really surprises me how many secluded beaches with their perfect golden sands I have seen in Scotland. The hills were grassy and still damp from the previous days of rain. I had to be a little careful where I trod hoping not to get stuck in a bog. I had by this time realised that heather was my friend. If you saw heather you could almost always guarantee a good footing. Grass however was more often than not concealing a soft squidgy bog, the peat soaking up the water to form a particularly unstable ground. As I headed towards the beach below i found myself zigzagging in and out. After a while I could see the sandy beach directly below me. A steep V shaped slope lead down and out of sight. Hoping to shorten my hike I wondered if the slope would take me to sand dunes that ran along the beach or if it would end with a waterfall that I couldn't see from where I was. Well theres only one way to find out I thought. I started descending the bank by walking across the slope back and forth until I was at the bottom. The slope turned to my right, below where I'd peered down when making my decision to take a shortcut to the beach. Another ridge covered in loose soil and rocks also joined the valley at this point. I continued following my destiny hoping to join the dunes below. I was still 20 odd feet from the beach when my plan fell to pieces. The valleys, although now joined with a small stream running between them suddenly ended with a small waterfall. It was too high to throw my pack down and climb down. I had to come up with another plan. Following the slope round towards the dunes I had to climb over a barbed wire fence, almost loosing my balance as I did. For a moment I had visions of sliding down the bank and off the cliff face landing in a crumpled heap on the rocks and sand below. Thankfully I managed to stabilise my self and regain my balance. Now on the other side of the fence I carried on round the bank to a field that followed the slope down to the dunes. If it hadn't it would have meant a ridiculously high and extremely steep climb back to the top of the cliffs.

From the dunes I was easily able to head down to the beach. Much like many of the beaches I'd crossed in Scotland this one had golden sands and a perfect sweeping shoreline. The thing that really stood out for me here though was the waves. About a metre and a half high and uniformly breaking right across the bay. It was quite literally a surfers paradise. Tempted to unpack hoolley I somehow managed to refrain and kept walking. On the far side of the beach a river found its way to the sea, a little too deep to walk through and too shallow to paddle the pack raft across. Looking along it I could see a road bridge not too far away crossing over and looking back at the other side of the river I decided the banks were probably to steep and overgrown to climb. I followed the river along through some woods and up to the road. Crossing the bridge I found myself in Strathy and stood outside the local community centre. I needed water so had a wander round to see if I could find someone or an outside tap. I found neither. I did however spot an information panel telling visitors about an ancient stone, the priests stone or Strathy stone. The priests stone was an ancient relic that had been found lead down in the marshes about 1km from Strathy. Legend had it that if the stone were to be moved thunderstorms would engulf the village. Its still there today and although I fancied going and taking a closer look there were no instructions on how to find it. Deciding that a 2km round trip to try and locate the stone was a little excessive especially with no guarantee that I'd find it I grabbed my pack and set off along the road up the hill in search of a track that I hoped would take me along the coast to a lighthouse situated out on the headland. Near the top of the hill I came across a small inn. It wasn't open but looking at the clock on my phone I decided that I'd wait as water was desperately short and I wasn't sure what sources I'd come across on the next remote section of the trek. At 6pm sharp the doors opened and I went in for an orange juice and lemonade and to fill up my containers in the toilets. There was a young couple staying at the Inn who'd decided to take a cycle ride around Scotland having never done anything like that before they'd discovered that they were carrying things they simply didn't need. We got chatting and without realising the time darkness had fallen. After a wee shot of whisky and a toast i got out my head torch and hit the road.

I didn't need to walk far before I found the single laned tarmac road that followed the clifftops out to the lighthouse. It was very dark and the head torch barely through a beam, cloud cover had also obscured the stars and any sign of the moon. I simply had to do my best and follow the road for four miles until it quite literally ended. At the end of the road, as I had expected and hoped, I found the lighthouse. Now as lighthouses go this one was quite special, it was the first lighthouse to be powered by electricity.

Although I could just about make out the shape of the lighthouse in the beam of my torch I really couldn't see much else. Approaching the end of the road I did notice a small area of grass that appeared to be sheltered from the wind so I headed back to take a closer look. Between a couple of rocks the ground was level and sure enough the tent was low enough to benefit from the shelter the rocks provided. A lovely little spot. I wasn't sure what the view would be in the morning or how close I'd be to the coast but at that time of night it didn't really matter.

During the night the wind changed direction and the flysheet rattled around waking me up. Covering my head with the sleeping bag seemed pointless although determined to get a good nights rest I tried to ignore the noise. Then I realised something was off, my knees were cold and they didn't usually feel the weather especially when I was wrapped up in my quilted comfort bag. I rolled over, it was drafty. I grabbed my torch and shone it down the tent. My knees were exposed. On closer inspection I realised my sleeping bag had broken. Just typical, thats all I needed, would any of my kit last the duration of the trek. It was a bit of a fiddle but I did eventually manage to fix the zip but for how long only time can tell.

4^th Sept 2014

It was 8am when I finally decided it was time to get up. With no food and nothing edible around me I needed to make a move, the day was going to be a tough one and because I pitched the tent in the pitch black I had no real idea where I was other than near to a lighthouse somewhere near Strathy. Once again it appeared to be a dry morning with heavy cloud cover threatening to rain. I was camped near a large loch with sheep grazing under the shadow of the lighthouse. Across from the tent was a spectacular view of the sea and the day I had ahead of me. I packed up my kit with one eye on the weather and set off away from the lighthouse across the grass and heather to follow the coast. Climbing a hill immediately across from the rocks I'd sheltered from I could see that my journey from here was going to a real challenge. The high cliffs and sheer rock faces looking quite formidable. I plotted a route in my head to get from one hill to the next and set off. It wasn't a simple case of just following the coastline now, it was a case of keeping as close as possible, sometimes having to weave between the rock laden hills, watching out for bogs, marshes and obscured streams. Some of the hills were too steep to climb and others had vertical ledges, the heather clinging to them.

When I was able to get closer to the coastal edge I was often rewarded with a magnificent view and able to follow it for a while. On the horizon I could see the landscape becoming more and more dramatic, the cliffs rising above the sea as high as skyscrapers. Although I was hungry I was determined to make it as near to Bettyhill as I possibly could although I wasn't expecting to be able to get there for at least another day.

Other than hills to negotiate I hadn't had much bother keeping close to the coast until I came across a wide gorge with steep sides that plummeted down below me several hundred feet. There was absolutely no way I would be able to climb down which meant I'd have to follow along it edge to find a way across. The winds were beginning to pick up now and my pack was catching each gust forcing me to sidestep. Having to keep my balance as well as hiking the gorge was tough but it wasn't far before I found the beginning and was able to start making my way back to the coast. Back on the coastline I kept following the cliffs, ahead of me I saw a couple of cairns stacked up high on top of the hills. I made my way up the steep slope to the top and could now see the insane landscape stretching out as far as the eye could see. It was going to be a formidable opponent.

I set off down from the hill, not to be discouraged by the difficult times I would encounter along the way, and made my way up to another even larger gorge. This one could easily engulf the gorge I'd hiked round earlier and as with the last one I did the same. On the other side it was a case of climbing up another steep and very high hill to another cairn. From here I could see a few farm houses dotted about further inland. I pulled out my phone and checked the maps. Not far from here I would come across the village of Armadale. I set off, the sea still to my right a few hundred yards away. My hunger was starting to take its toll and the energy exerted covering the baron lands of the north coast was making it a difficult hike, feeling weaker the further I hiked. The heather feeling like walking in deep snow and the wet grass tangling roubd my boots slowing my progress.

I could now see the village ahead, hugging a small cove with sandy beach. The waves were rolling in off the ocean and breaking uniformly across the entire width of the bay. They surf here was almost perfect. Slowly I made my way down off the cliffs and began to cross the beach. After walking through two rivers that divided the beach into three I was able to scale the bank on the far side. The extremely steep slopes and cliffs to my right meant I needed to find an alternative route to get me back to the coastline. Checking the maps once more I noticed an old cart track on the satellite images. I decided that the safest route for me to take would be to follow the track as it wound between the hills as far as it would take me and then reasses my options then.

The track wound its way between the hills and alongside small streams back and forth. Occasionally I would catch a glimpse of the sea as I descended from hills or walked between them. The track was a couple of miles long and at points disappeared beneath the wild vegetation. When this happened I stopped and carefully looked ahead for any signs that would reveal where the track continued.

4^th Sept 2014

Unbeknown to me I was about to discover an old ruined clearance village. I kept following the track between the hills until it opened up into a large basin. Down below me I saw the ruins of an old farmers cottage surrounded in lush green grass which was very different to the long straggly grasses of the bogs and marshes, a herd of sheep calmly grazing and making themselves at home. Then I noticed two more ruins. These were in much worse condition than the first and barely recognisable as cottages. They were quite spaced out. An old dry stone wall formed a perimeter around the village and mostly all that was left were small piles of rocks. I'd hoped the track I'd been following would lead me further along the coast but here it ended. Stood looking over the village I scanned the area for some kind of path or trail left by livestock heading westward but there was nothing.

Although deep inside I wanted to explore the area in more detail with the hopes of finding relics or any signs of the previous occupants. I would have also been tempted to stay the night had I not run out of food and desperately trying to get to my pickup point. I looked out over the landscape ahead of me from my high ground and decided that no matter what I'd have to negotiate the bogs surrounding the village and climb the slopes of the mountainous hills on the far side. Choosing my route I set off carefully treading through the bog to the bottom of the slope. Taking a deep breath I set off traversing the slope as I ascended and made my way to the top. I was hoping that from the highest point above me that I'd be able to get my bearings and see some form of life.

Reaching the top and coming over the peak it became very apparent how remote I really was. To my right I could see the sea, which in itself was a comfort but everywhere else I looked in all directions were heather covered rocky hills and valleys. It was truly going to add another dimension to the trek. I plottee a route across the terrain between and over the steep hills and cliffs, crossing bogs and marshes and looking out for under foliage streams. Eventually I arrived near a small village slightly disoriented. A narrow track ran down from where I was and down to a narrow tarmac road. Hitting the road I turned right convinced it would eventually take me back towards the coast. The road twisted along the valley between the peaks and after several miles I found myself near to farr bay. I was a little confused at this point as I hadn't expected to get that far and had in fact been looking for a large loch. Somehow, whilst disoriented among the valleys I'd managed to find my way. Quite often the sea being obscured by the landscape. I tried to work out the route I'd taken from the clearance village to arrive here using the satellite images but with no contour lines to indicate the elevation of the hills I'd walked through I simply couldn't work out where I'd gone wrong. It didn't matter, I was alive and Bettyhill wouldn't be that far away. I certainly knew I'd be able to get there at least by lunch time the following day. I continued along the tarmac track, farr beach clearly in view, to an adjoining road. A sign a little further up confirming my suspicions. "Bettyhill stores, open 8 days a week", interesting I thought. In Bettyhill they have 8 days in a week! I carried on following the road up the hill towards the little village, passing the post office on my right. It had just gone 6pm and the post office come grocery store had just closed. With a few quid in my pocket and unable to access my weekly budget till the following day I headed off to the Bettyhill hotel and bar to get myself an orange juice and lemonade and take a little rest before setting up camp nearby. Whilst in the bar I got chatting with a couple of German tourists who'd fallen in love with Scotland and visited several times before. It was now getting late and night had fallen, the days getting shorter and shorter all the time. Across the road from the hotel was a car park and public toilets so I decided to pitch on the grass and went to bed looking forward to receiving my supplies the following day.