A late rise – 9.30 – and a decent breakfast, largely of bread, olive oil and crushed tomatoes. Lovely. Because I ended short of my destination yesterday I had to go back today and finish off what I left. There and back was about 23kms, without my rucksack. Funnily enough 23 kms with my rucksack too. But I hadn’t got it. The sky was clear all day and again the shadows held onto the frost, but in the sun it was warm. Sunday is a grim day to be roadwalking, particularly in the countryside, as thousands of motor bikers race around all over the place. They even ride in tandem up to twenty at a time. They should get a proper hobby. Walking. 

The road, as usual, works its way up a hill and down to Benifallim, but not such a high one or steep one. The views are more pastoral than dramatic, but still lovely. In this one you can see the frost on the valley floor under the trees. It’s going to be cold nights for camping. Oh heck. But Scotland was freezing and I got rained and snowed off the Cape Wrath trail. And then I only had my trusty tarp Wilson. This time I’ve got my one man tent and an inflatable mattress to keep me off the cold earth. In Jockland I didn’t have owt but a groundsheet. Be reight.

The hunters were out in force. I think you can see this one this time on top of the hill. I zoomed in. I didn’t hear any shots in my area but there was one over the hill to the north so someone may have copped lucky.

The path I’m taking tomorrow and for the next four weeks – the GR7 – runs through a valley in a few days that’s been bought by a rich folks’ hunting club and they’ve put a 3 metre fence around it. Apparently it’s easier to get over the fence and across than get round. We’ll see. I’m inclined to go round. Mass trespass on Kinder Scout would have been cool but that was 85 years ago and individual trespass gives only one target. I’ll go round.

The road crept over the brow of the hill and the warming valley opened up.

It was like taking a run in cricket and Benifallim was the far stumps where I turned round and dashed back. It’s a very quiet village but nice looking.

On my way back I made a stop at the Venta Sant Jordi, the inn on the photo with the bikes. It was half three but they were still serving late lunch and I had a nice menu of the day with warming local scran. Cheeses, cured ham, pork ribs, hot onion croquettes. Just what the doctor ordered. Well actually it was me that ordered it. The sun was going down when I came out so I legged it back to the hostel before the ice took over. I was only in my shorts and t shirt. Alcoy in the valley bottom backed by the hills I’m going over tomorrow, resplendent in the pale, chilly evening sun. Great. A hot bath. I washed my dirty clothes and hung them over my radiators, which then went off. Hope they come back on. Pretty please.

Walking down through town there are lots of Christmas mannequins of black men climbing up balconies to deliver presents. 

Not very pc if you have a Hampstead mentality but moorish blood runs through Spanish veins and 800 years ago Christians, Moors and Jews were living in peace side by side. It struck me as similar to the Dutch tradition of Black Piet who helps Sinterklaas. Interestingly Piet is a Moor from Spain in Dutch folklore. 

Anyway my lovelies I’m tired as an old fart might be. A long day tomorrow, nearly 30 kms again with my rucksack uphill and down dale. I’m not going to push myself slavishly to reach Reus on time. If the body says ‘slow down’ and I think it might be saying that at the moment, then that’s what I’ll do. I’ve got all the rest of my life to walk from Tarifa to John O’Groats. Bite size chunks. Night night. Sleep tight. Hope the midges don’t bite.

Strange coincidences. When I arrived at Casa Perla yesterday afternoon it was a welcome sight I can tell You. Well, I did I with a capital letter and You my dears are no less important.  It looks nice.

Over to the right is a garage door and I heard voices from inside so I popped my head in, expecting some bloke to be working on a car. Instead it was converted into a bar. Pearl, the co-owner, laughed. Her and her partner Huib (Dutch) had passed me earlier in the day driving to Finisterra to buy my breakfast as all the local shops were shut. Huib joked that I was their guest. They passed me coming back and said what a pace I was setting and that I must be their guest. When I popped my head in an hour later she laughed, called Huib through and he nearly wet himself. I’m not that funny.

I told Pearl that her bar looked like the Cavern. She was shocked and asked me how I knew about that. Apparently her dad was a soul singer who was backed by the Beatles in the Cavern and in Hamburg, Davy Jones. He disappeared in 1971 and she can’t find him. She thought I knew the connection.

Huib said he was from Den Haag and we both laughed about the Duelling Pianos bar, a local  very well known landmark in nearby Scheveningen. I was checking my Facebook and got onto my exiled blades group. A blade had posted on our great form and I went on his Facebook page. He was from Den Haag and had posted photos of sunsets over Scheveningen.

I went up into the village to a restaurant run by two Scottish guys, father and son. Salt of the earth. I said both sides of my family came from Scotland but I’d done some ancestry research and couldn’t find it. The dad said ‘Bloody hell’ I’ve just been on the phone talking to my cousin less than five minutes ago about tracing our ancestry. 

I had a pint, they gave me another pint, cooked fabulous potato and onion soup and chicken balti with chips(exquisite) and charged me £8! My turn to say bloody hell.

My breakfast room, 8am this morning.

Lovely views, including a clear Puig Campana.

Breakfast was great and I set off at 9am. Straight away I took a wrong turn and it cost me an extra kilometre, but at that point I was ok, on good form and ready for the long walk today, starting with a 15 kilometre uphill stretch, some of it very steep. An old Moorish castle came up on my left, built in the 12th century. The Arabs ruled most of Spain for hundreds of years. 

And as I struck out into the countryside the views got better and better. 

It was still below freezing in the shade, due to the clear night, but warm in the sun. Bizarre switching between warm and cold but carrying my pack was keeping me warm enough. The frost clung to the side of the road all day.

When you don’t want to carry a lot of water these fresh water sources are brilliant.

I’d planned to turn off the road onto a footpath I’d seen on a map I’d downloaded from a Spanish government website. There was a barrier across the road saying it was private property but I thought the footpath was a public right of way. After the best part of two kilometres I realised that the dried up river bed I was following (it was too high up in the mountains to still benefit from the recent deluge) was going to be completely overgrown. Worse still, working my way back to the road, I saw a bloke on the hill up to my right in a safety vest and one coming down the hill in front of me. They were hunters armed with proper rifles, not shotguns, and there were five of them dotted round the valley. The safety vests prevented their mates taking a shot at them if they moved. The guy quizzed me but I said I was lost and asked him the way to a nearby town and he was ok. Lucky he hadn’t put a bullet up my arse. I was all in black in the shade in the undergrowth in the bottom of the valley below. There were three hunters in various positions in this shot but the definition isn’t good enough to show them.

This was a big problem. It meant I had to do a dogleg via Torremanzanos, cut up north to Benifallim and then cut west to Alcoy. All three legs meant substantial steep climbs and falls and a total kilometre count for the journey of 42 kilometres. I can’t do that with a rucksack. I can only just do it without one when the climbs are involved. I decided to see how far I could get. And the scenery stole the show.

The picture above is Benifallim. I got there and I was done in, so I phoned my hostel 12 kilometres away and they sent out a bloke who I had to bung. I’ve changed my schedule and I’m staying here in Alcoy another night. I’ll walk to Benifallim and back tomorrow to keep momentum in my legs but I’ll give my shoulders a rest and leave the rucksack in my room. Joy of joys it puts wild camping off until Tuesday night. 

And Alcoy is nice. Night night.

X

Who needs pepper spray when I’ve got my ferrous friend?

According to several blogs the GR7 footpath is clogged with blackberry bushes in parts so I got this to free it up a bit. Can’t wait to use it. I sharpened it before I left home so it could take a paw off with ease. Alright, alright I won’t use it on wild dogs. Unless nobody’s watching! If I hear a wolf howling in the night I’ll keech myself. If a wolf sees me with this in the night he’ll keech himself. 

Anyway last night the evening meal was included in the room rate, as well as unlimited wine. I felt a bit sluggish this morning so it’s an early night tonight. The walk today was mostly uphill. It heads through Finisterra on its way up to Relleu, with picturesque hanging houses.

Behind Finisterra lurks the big hulk of Puig Campana, usually shrouded in cloud. It had snow on it when I went up a couple of years ago. Higher than Ben Nevis it’s a bugger to climb but a fantastic view if clear as far as Ibiza. 

Turning a corner in Finisterra and looking up the valley opening up before me the various mountain ridges in sunshine and shade looked spectacular. I like this photo as much as any I’ve ever taken.

You can refine it and leave out the house and look further to the left but, as a quick pick-up- your- iPad – and – click, I like it a lot. I was struggling up the steeper parts. My rucksack is around 17 kilos today with my hold-all and water on board, but it felt heavier. I’m a shadow of my former self.

It’s a 15 mile walk and a climb of 2000 feet with the ups and downs. There was a torrential downpour two weeks ago which lasted for three days. Three people drowned. The earth is still damp and the valley bottoms which are usually dry are gushing with rivers and streams. The upside is that I won’t need to carry much water on those stretches where I won’t pass a shop for two or three days. The downside is that the tent might be coated in mud. We’ll see. It didn’t do the oranges and lemons any harm.

Road walking today and tomorrow. I’m not bothered too much but some purists scoff at tarmac. It gives a decent if hard surface and doesn’t get you wet and muddy. From Finisterra across to the main road to Relleu a new road has been cut through the rock, exposing fantastic rock formations.

What really pushed my buttons was what I thought were quartz seams in the limestone walls.

However on closer inspection, and particularly where the seam was exposed by water action, it turned out to be marble. Beautiful marble. Cop this. Stunning.

Slogging up a long hillside the temperature cooled to almost chilly and on reaching the top a plateau opened up and I could see Relleu in the distance. Usually that puts a spring in my step but I was too knackered to leap forward. It looked a long way away. 

The hostel is nice, Casa Perla run by a Dutch couple. The town was still wearing it’s Christmas dressings following a local Three Kings procession as we had in Beni.

I’m tired now. I’ve bathed and eaten and I’m going to sleep. 

Night night.

Ha ha – play on words and names. What a wag. Frosty in Leeds this morning and my old dear scraped the ice of the car. What a babe. Flight on time, passing over Manchester, IoW, Portsmouth, Deauville, Alencon, Le Mans, Tours and then it clouded over. The Pyrenees soon saw off the vapours.

  
It’s a great feeling coming back to Spain to start another walk. We landed early, everything was quick and I got a cheap transfer to Benidorm. Six euros ain’t bad. The weather is beautiful and the town is reasonably quiet – I’m staying near the western beach. It’s the quieter of the two. Time was when I’d want the other one.

The local digital thermometer shows 24c. Kismet Hardy. It’s been a bit wet in the hills. Like a lot of rain. I got an email yesterday saying that the pilgrimage route I originally intended to take was detoured as a result of erosion from heavy rain. My route through the mountains, limestone mountains, will be ok. As long as it isn’t too hot… or too cold… or too wet… or too overgrown! 
God bless Spain. 

The hotel is actually very posh. Full of Frenchies and Spaniards. Shorts banned for dinner. I’m wearing shorts. The restaurant manager says it’s ok. The place is heaving. Immaculately dressed Froggies and smart but casual Spanish. I feel at home in my short shorts and Sheff U shirt. 

I need pepper spray to ward off wild dogs, wild humans and wolves – which are reinhabiting a lot of Mainland Europe and are now in packs only 80 Kms from Madrid. But they don’t sell it in Benidorm. Probably some local bye-law crap. It’s not illegal in Spain. Anyway I’ve got a machete so that would sort out a few dogs, wolves and noisy children! Ok. Sorry for the children comment. I’ve been all over Beni looking for spray but let’s move on. 

I’m heading for Alcoy over the next two days. Relleu tomorrow and Alcoy on Saturday. The next two photos are the footpath I’m taking when I get to Alcoy. The track is in red for those who are watching in black and white. The first one shows a tiny bit of route in the top right hand corner, heading north from Alcoy (Alcoi in Valencian). 

Should be good. We’ll see. I don’t particularly like wild camping but needs must. I prefer campsites with showers and shops. Anyway one day at a time sweet Jesus, that’s all I’m asking of you. 

How about this for tapas! In Benidorm.

And a local ham shop.

And the end of Christmas parade.

Benidorm. Brilliant!

I’m looking forward to getting out to Spain tomorrow and starting my walk on Friday. The flight is early from Leeds Bradford. Another budget airline.

I’ll blog proper tomorrow night from sunny Benidorm. Talk to you then. Bye folks.

The last full day and by another piece of luck the Fish Man in his van stops for half an hour in Durness selling fresh fish and shellfish. I bought four langoustines, two small smoked haddock fillets, six eggs, a pack of butter, big spud and a disposable barbecue. Down to the beach for brunch.

    
I got the barbie strategically located on the rocks and cooked the langoustines. Oh my giddy aunt what a fresh, sea and lemon taste to them!!!

  
I followed it by coating some foil in butter, poaching the smokies in it and then mixing in the eggs. Smoked haddock foo yung. No seasoning needed. The taste of heaven on earth. Unbelievable. Spuds were good too.

  
Loafed the rest of the day, blogging in the clubhouse on site, unpacking and repacking the rucksack, showering and trying to air the smell of smoke from my clothes. But not until after I’d collected what driftwood there was and turning the barbie into a warming fire.

  
Early night and up at 6.30 to derig, get loaded up and get to the bus stop for the 8am to Lairg, to get the train to Inverness, to get the train to Edinburgh to get the train to Leeds. Less cold last night. Still cold but not nut piercingly bitter. The morning looked lovely. Luvleh!!!!

   
  
 Goodbye my old love. I haven’t got the sense to stay away. Get on the train, the train the train. Say goodbye to Madame George. Goodbye. Thanks.
 

Well I was going back to the village of Laid, where I hitch-hiked from, to walk the missing section to rest in Durness. There is a bus once a week from Durness to Laid and it leaves on a Tuesday morning at 10.30. It had been another bitter night and I hadn’t slept through this one, waking up lots. Eight miles from Laid to rest today. Once you’ve made it up then milk it. Laid to rest. Laid to rest. The bus arrived on time.

  
The view down Loch Eriboll was again beautiful.

  
I walked back with a light heart and none of the usual focus on pace and targets. It was the last waltz of this tour. And the weather became blissful to match the occasion.

  
Drifting round from Loch Eriboll westwards onto the north coast again the views were beginning to get ridiculously good.

  
And looking back across the mouth of Loch Eriboll equally good.

  
It might look balmy but it’s still chilly, even when the wind drops. This is a seriously northern climate. I pulled into the Smoo Cave Hotel for lunch and had Haggis and Langoustines – two local delicacies. Absolute heaven for me. On the way back I spotted a sign that I didn’t know about or expect.

  
The link was explained.

  
   
 
I couldn’t help it. I sobbed my heart out. John, here as a kid, to grow to be a genius and inspiration to a generation and then to be ‘assassinated in New York in 1980’ by some half-witted Yanker. I said ‘sorry’ to the German couple behind me , and they were sympathetic. I got back to the campsite beach and loafed on the rocks for a while. 

Back at base which means that I’ve completed the North Highland Way that doesn’t exist. 118 miles (190kms). 

Small snack for tea and an early one. Another day tomorrow and maybe a tale to tell. 

Night night.

  
Forever young. We love you John. Laid to rest. 

Turning right down the loch the views behind me seaward got better and better. 

  
The jetty arrived and I sat on the rocks waiting for the bus to come back, watching a bloke on a small boat spinning for sea trout in the estuary. He turned towards me, landed and beckoned me in. It was Jim, the ferry skipper. He gave me a lift over early, took calls regarding the ferry timings and continued fishing, all at the same time!!! With his best pal curled up forward. The quid pro quo for taking an early one on the little boat was that I had to take seaweed off Jim’s lure when it got wrapped up. Worth it for 15 minutes early start away.

  
  
As we approached land the sleeper became the figurehead.

  
 Jumping off the front of the boat onto the beach I waved the skipper goodbye, and his first mate. As I passed a house a car came out of the drive, I stuck my thumb out and the bloke stopped and gave me a lift back to the campsite in time to see the sun on the beach below.

   
 
Fish and chips and early night. 

Night night.

It was a really cold night. Jesus Blade it got at me, and I was wrapped up in the tent, bag, clothes, jacket etc… I got out at 4.30 and went for a shower at the campsite shower block to warm up. It did the trick but it was one of those where you press a button to give you 30 seconds of shower or summat. They seem to make a big noise but I was so cold I didn’t care. I got back to the tent and back into the sleeping bag, and slept through to 9.30. When I woke up the tent was warm with the sun and that had probably kept me asleep. 

I had to make a decision.

1. Go back to Laid and finish the journey to here.
2. Go to Cape Wrath. 

Cape Wrath – Yeeees!!!!!

There was no wind so the ferry would be running. There are ferries at 11am and 2pm, with follow on bus journeys along to the lighthouse 11 miles away, at the end of the Cape, the most Northwesterly point of the British mainland. If there are fewer than four travellers on the 2pm ferry then it is cancelled and so is the bus. If I got the 11am ferry, took the bus to the end of the Cape and walked back then I could make the 5.00pm ferry back. If It wasn’t running I could walk round but it was a three hour trek round the head of the loch. If I walked to the Cape and tried to get the bus back then it might not be on. In that case it would be a seven hour walk back. 

Apart from the bus there are no other vehicles on Cape Wrath and no residents, except the bloke who lives next to the lighthouse and runs a 24/7 cafe. Realistically he will serve 20 people from the two daily bus runs and five walkers a week coming up the Cape Wrath trail from Fort William 200 miles away (a few more in summer). The track to the Cape from the ferry is very rough, going through a remote MoD target range. It takes the bus an hour to do the 11 miles.

Anyway back to waking up at 9.30, getting my teeth cleaned and buying a sandwich at the local Spar shop. I walked on the two miles to the ferry slipway, walking through farm land. 

  
The Kyle of Durness was dark and ominous. 

  
There were loads of people, around 23, waiting for the ferry. I got on the first run on the boat that only holds 12 people, but it was a bigger and higher boat than last year. At the back was a couple who I’d met in the Youth Hostel at Tongue and they were walking over to Kervaig bothy near the lighthouse. Nice couple.

  
It was a long 11 miles on the bus, being bounced around on the rough track, but after an hour it emerged. The north coast of the UK is to the right and the west coast to the left. I love these geographically significant locations. 

  
I had a divine cheese and pickle sandwich in the cafe and set off back on foot. Turning south and then inland I had a great view of Sandwood Bay, world renowned beauty spot. 

  
Cutting inland I got a last view of the northwest coast down towards Kervaig.

  
After an hour the bus came back towards me with 5 passengers on board. Yes!!! The 5pm ferry would be running. The weather had completely turned around and long spells of sunshine brought cheer. The plateau of the Cape was beautifully surrounded by hills.

  
And the miles from the ferry to the lighthouse were waymarked. 

  
Over the Cape and the road dropped down towards the sea and an empty summerhouse in a classic location.

  
Laters.

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.