Day 43: Dornoch, John O’ Groats and the Mystery of the North Coast 500

No wonder I have had a bit of trouble finding accommodation for this leg of my trip. Unknowingly I am now on the North Coast 500. 

What’s that I hear you ask?

I had no idea either so I Googled it.

It’s a circular road trip round the North of Scotland (516 miles actually, but that hasn’t got the same media and PR appeal as 500miles. Some song in the 1970’s for a start about a being 500 miles away from home – reel in the American tourists.

It starts at Inverness Castle and ends at Inverness Castle, taking in some of the most spectacular scenery in the World.

So friends and family here’s an idea. Go to Gatwick on the train, plane to Inverness airport, train to Inverness Railway station and at the Eastgate Shopping Centre in the heart of Inverness, you hire a car from the Eurocar desk and go for it.

It could be done and dusted in a week and you would get the very best taste of Scotland.

The next bit of my journey is ¾ of the North Coast 500, just missing the bit along Loch Ness, so stick with me and you can do it beer in hand, sitting in your armchair.

So it’s the A9 to John O’Groats and the first pause is in the little town of Dornoch.

It is Sunday morning, so given the benefit of my Sunday travelling experience so far, I had expected the town to be closed. My expectations were wrong. It was largely open probably because it had tour buses in hotel car parks and a Sunday service in the smallest cathedral in Scotland.

Golfers were already immersed on the golf course, which was virtually on the beach with holes interspersed by small stone bridges over  streams heading sea wards.

The Castle hotel was open

The Carnegie Courthouse, Spa and Cafe and Tourist Information Office was closed

but I had high hopes of a huge building called simply JAIL. 

A Jail museum perhaps, or a dungeon where one might put into practice the things learnt in “50 shades of ......pure drivel and worst writing?

No. It was just another rather large on several floors, temple to Mammon, designed to tempt tourists to part with the last of their Scottish pound notes before returning to England or Europe. Sadly not much on offer was even designed or made in Scotland.

Wasted opportunity given that there were several other wee giftee shoppee’s a few minutes away also competing for tourist attention. Never mind. 

Back on the A9 and I was beginning to feel I had arrived in the Scotland of scenic Calendars. 

Scotland is very good at placing parking bays in scenic places often with picnic tables.

The A9 cannot always be used, as it often becomes impassable in winter as evidenced by snow barriers by the side of the road.

So don’t go thinking you will do the North Coast 500 in December through to February, You may not be able to.

I drove through mountainous rugged scenery for about an hour, occasionally coming off the road and heading for small harbours, just because I could. 

Then the scenery totally changed and became totally flat, brown and relatively featureless apart from the odd house, sometimes a ruined farmhouse, or cattle and sheep. It went on for miles and miles.

Reminded me of the landscape around Romney Marsh in Kent, except that is green and this was so BROWN and dead looking.  Well it would be, since it is the largest area of peat bog landscape, blanket peat bog, in the whole of Europe and it is a precious eco system for birds, plants and other wildlife that are under threat from climate change and agricultural processes. So now we know.

Thank you Google for clearing that one up. 

And that’s another point folks, if you are going to do the North Coast 500 there are no petrol stations. I have just done 94 miles with not a sniff of one anywhere. No idea what the locals use...red diesel ,  rape seed oil or chicken dung perhaps. Fill up everywhere even if the price is eye -watering which it certainly was  in the garage I arrived at in Wick.

The sign said unleaded was 1.73 a litre! Thankfully it was a misprint just 1.13.

John O’Groats at last.

Busy, full of tourists of course but exciting to have reached this landmark.

A trio of bikers asked me to use their cameras to take snaps of them by the iconic signpost.

“So where are you from?” I asked 

“Sussex actually” replied one of the men

“So am I. Where in Sussex?”

“Billingshurst.”

“Oh okay. I’m from Eastbourne.”

“No way,” said the lady,” my brother lives in Eastbourne. In old Town.”

“You’re kidding, So do I. Where in Old Town?”

“17 Brightland Road.”

Brightland Road is 25 YARDS from my own front door. 

What are were the chances? 1,000,000 to 1 or is this a fine example of the 7 degrees theory?

I took some of my mum to the very end of the harbour and scattered her on the sea towards the Orkney Isles. They are knitters. So was mum.

I am seasick so that’s the closest I am going to get to see them this trip.

On to Scarferry and the cottage belonging to Shelagh whom I met in church at Falkirk.

It was one of three, and literally in the middle of nothing at all. It was on the edge.

The sea is about 25 yards away. No shop, no bus, no church, certainly no pub. Just rocks, the sea and dogs. Yes, dogs of the rescue variety is turning out to be a bit of a theme . The lady next door has five bearded collie rescue dogs and one corgie.

The cottage is circa 1970 and comfortable, but the internet doesn’t work out here. No matter, The sea is worth watching for a change.

Last night it got dark at 11.10pm. I know I watched it over the sea.

It got light again at 2.45am. I was still awake. 

Tomorrow/later today I will get my blogs up to date and take my laptop into Thurso Library and use their free internet to post them and respond to my emails.