Strathy to Tongue, is rather long.

A great breakfast and a sunny getaway from the Strathy Inn. Looking across the valley was an old graveyard facing the sea to the left of the shot, so that those resting could lookout over where many of them worked, and where some of them died. 

  
There was no alternative to the coast road. Paths start from the road but end in nowhere, leaving off-road walkers no option but to retrace their steps. It wove close to and away from the coast. As it worked its way westwards it was noticeably quieter and the villages grew further and further apart. The sea peeped through some gaps.

  
At times cutting through fragrant valleys of gorse flowers. I’ve cursed gorse in Spain when it’s ripped my legs to bits; but it gets my blessing here for its fragrance.

But the dreich was turning to rain and I wanted to finish the walk quickly. No chance. It was 23 miles to the Youth Hostel in Tongue where I had earmarked to camp. I got a text – it was the Strathy Inn – I’d left my charger in the room. Idiot. They couldn’t bring it as the only car was in Thurso for the day. I’d covered 8 miles and Melvich was only two miles away. I said I’d get a taxi back from there but I wasn’t hopeful that there would be one. I tried hitch-hiking but no takers. Heather, the owner of the Strathy, Facebooked her mates and elderly Anne (the absolute diamond) volunteered to bring my charger over to Melvich. When she arrived she refused any money for petrol and said she was glad to help somebody in need. What a great old kid! Thanks Anne. 

The Post Office was open so I topped up with sandwiches and cans of beans for the next couple of days. The views were still wonderful.

  
But ahead the clouds were strengthening. I didn’t like the look of things.

  
There was nothing else to do but get my waterproof jacket on and get on with walking, uphill and down dale. The storm was so strong I was soaked. The road was like a river. After hours of soaked fatigue I made it to Tongue. My intention had been to camp at the Hostel. Sod that. I got a room for £30. Worth every penny. I dried out my boots, clothes, rucksack and tent. The receptionist gave me a lift into the village and I watched the last minutes of the Scottish cup final, with Hibs scoring two minutes from the end. The pub was split 30 Rangers, 70 assorted Catholic/ Celtic fans.  It was a bit tense at the end with the Rangers fans taking it badly but it all ended amicably with the one genuine Hibs fan buying a round for the whole pub, including the Sassenach. Peace reigned. I left the Man Utd match after 90 minutes. I couldn’t face extra time as it was so boring.

Walking back to the hostel the views were good and the sun broke through.

  
  
Back at the hostel I went down to the waterside and watched the changing colours of the hillsides and reflections of light on the estuary for an hour. Captivated 

   
 
I bought a haggis TV dinner, defrosted it, microwaved it and ate it in the kitchen looking through a panoramic window. All’s well.

Night night.