Just wow …

You may not have heard of the North Coast 500? It was introduced by the Scottish government a few years ago to boost tourism. It does what it says on the tin and follows the route that us old hands have been plying for years: around the coast, starting and finishing at Inverness. The effect of that tourist drive, the pent up, relaxation of covid and the now proliferation of motorhomes, has made the route like the M25.

We hit it when we got off the ferry. And, as a motorhome owner, I’m not complaining. But there are a lot of people out and about. And, as much of the NC500 is single track, it can be slow progress. But the progress is, and I’d forgotten this, beautiful. The roadside scenery is better than anywhere in the country. It’s better than Shetland, Orkney and the Hebrides. It is, simply, stunning at every turn – certainly from John o’G to Ullapool. The hills are taller and more shouty, the beaches longer and sandier, and the lochs, lochier. Absolutely stunning … I’d forgotten how fab it is.

spitting distance from high tide

 
We walked along a huge, empty beach at Bettyhill, after I’d spotted it from a height and didn’t think we could get to where the sea, river and sand conjoined. It was a four miler, but worth every bit of effort. We wild camped down a tiny road leading to a tiny harbour, with our tent spitting distance from high tide, looking out onto a Goonies landscape. And then, just short of Cape Wrath, walked again across beach and sand dune, which was vastly reminiscent of Pyla dunes in the SW of France (which, if you’ve not been to need to be on your bucket list). 

like Pyla

On Thursday night we stopped at the Ullapool campsite, which showed us exactly how busy the area is, even this late in the season. It was packed (100 vans and tents?), soulless, but only £20 for us two. 

And that inspired us to leave one of northern Scotland’s major conurbations (where we were accosted by a vagrant, sitting harbour-side as we drank coffee and ate bacon rolls, regaling us of how he lives out of a Citroen Saxo and was heading back ‘home’ to Orkney – we do attract them) and head for Mull, wild camping with the midges, sea-loch side in drizzling rain … one of those nights – where we wild camp, and the rain and bugs would seem to make life a misery. They are often our highlights. The position was exquisite and, even if I say so myself, the spaghetti and meatballs more than edible. And, with no internet, we read books and caught an early night in a festival tent which continues to keep us dry and warm. Sure, yesterday morning as we put a damp tent away and defended ourselves heroically against persistent midges, it may have been nice (Al) to wake up under Mrs McTavish’s duvet (hopefully, without her) as she prepares porridge and Aberdeen Angus sausages and egg. But would we remember it with the same affection?

something to remember …

We may never know …

Stay safe.