Tongue Onwards

My aim was for a bothy at the head of Loch Eriboll, a deep and lengthy sea loch which I couldn’t get a ferry across and would have to take a 20 mile hike around. Bothies are mostly old cottages in the middle of nowhere, restored a bit by volunteers but without toilets, cooking facilities, electricity or running water. If you turn up and it’s not full you sleep in it, on the floor or rough wooden benches. There are no charges. They’re great in cold, windy weather, particularly when torrential rain or snow hinders you putting up a tent. Some have fireplaces and if you can find wood locally then it’s happy days. 

It’s quite a hike from Tongue to Loch Eriboll, trekking up over two hill ranges, the first to Loch Hope and the second up and over to Loch Eriboll. It is 10 miles to the shores of Eriboll, starting at the shoreline of Tongue and crossing the Kyle of Tongue, a deep cutting inlet, along a causeway and over a bridge before the first hill range. The view from the causeway, as usual, is just breathtaking.

  
And along the base of the causeway Oyster Catchers were at work, scrabbling around for goodies.

  
It was a long climb up to the top of the hill leading to Loch Hope, but there was a track which gave me an opportunity to get off the road. And the impressive bulk of Ben Hope and its Loch got closer and moved east as I moved west.

  
It’s good to get off the road on a Sunday. The tourist board have promoted this NC500 they call it. It means the 500 mile route from Inverness up the west coast, aong the north and back down the east to Inverness. It means that on a Sunday bands of motorbikers and sports car drivers (mostly Porsche for some flash git reason) try to cover the whole route in a day, not realising that these are largely single track rough roads. It doesn’t stop them driving like diceds.

I dropped down to Loch Hope near its outlet to the sea. The view downstream from the bridge showed the strength of the water.

  
Climbing up the other side of the valley the view, looking back, of the coast across a loch with an island in the middle was great. Bewitching.

  
But all the time the route was failing to keep pace with the blue sky. Finally, after 10 miles, I crossed the brow of the hill to look down on Loch Eriboll. The storm was moving inexorably up the Glen. 

 
I put my Swiss army waterproof hooded coat, that you can make into a tent, over me and my rucksack as it peed it down. I trudged down the banks of the loch to the head  where I had intended to carry on into the country for a mile to stay at the bothy. 

En route the bulk of the occasional biking gangs were fine, but one mob of 8 or 9 came along the single track at a ridiculous speed. The leader came past me on a bend and his handlebar nearly caught my arm. The rest were doing the same. I shouted at each one as they passed .. ‘F… Off’. Ridiculous diceds. As I was for shouting, but they wanted to scare me, and they didn’t.

When I finally made it to the head of the loch and rounded the end of the bay the clouds began to clear and although it was 5pm I still felt ok, boosted by the change in the weather. I decide to try to make it to Durness, the following day’s destination, being a further 12 miles. I’d already done 17 miles and was feeling fit now the weather was improving.    Walking at a pace up the banks of the loch towards the sea I was surprised to see an ambulance with flashing lights coming towards me. I’d noticed there was no traffic in the direction I was headed for a while. Accident. Hope it was that prick who nearly hit me with his handlebars. The whirring of a helicopter came up the glen from the south and rose over the hill to drop down towards Loch Hope. 

I carried on quickly and knew I could finish the road to Durness if necessary. The loch was looking terrific. A rainbow gave it a beautiful addition.

   
I made it to the village of Laid, after 21 miles but still 8 short of my target. I heard cars coming up the road, for the first time in over two hours. I was beginning to feel the distance now so I instinctivelystuck my thumb out – I could finish this stretch later. The first car stopped, a young couple from France. They took me to the Sango Sands campsite, where I had started my Cape Wrath trail from last year. I pitched the tent, had a meal in the clubhouse and went to bed. Cop that!!! I heard later that the casualty was a biker.

  
Night night.