30 June – 4 July 2008 Scottish Highlands and East Coast
2008 is proving to be my year for Scotland. My fourth visit since Easter and progress is good. The whole of the eastern side of the country is now complete. This particular trip was another mega-bash along the lines of North-West England in 2007 and West Wales in 2006. Partly this was due to the fact the lines in question are big on heavy gradients and sharp curves, as well as generally single track from end to end, so journeys on them are long and low frequency, requiring careful planning to avoid too many long gaps between trips or unnecessary overnight stays. But the fact that the whole jaunt takes place at the opposite end of the UK means that two days are needed just to get there and back. Sleepers were an option but these would be more expensive and actually make the whole thing more rushed. It's always nice to get some rest and enjoy some local sights too!
Day One: Monday 30 June 2008
The day kicked off relatively late by my standards as my first train was the daily midday “Highland Chieftain,” from King's Cross to Inverness. However as I was about to be away from my post-work BMF classes for two weeks I thought it would be a good idea to get one done before the train, as there are morning classes for those of us not stuck in the nine to five! Then my holiday was really underway. I settled down on the 8 coach HST for the long journey with the laptop that I am writing this on (Asus EeePC) but could not get the thing to connect to the Wireless Network on the East Coast. Never mind, as there were no power sockets I would only get three hours at a time between charges anyway. The lady opposite read some of the notes I was working on for a job application and made some apologetic suggestions, which led to an interesting conversation about her work as a barrister. Something of this nature always seems to happen to me on this line now!
She got off at York, which once seemed such a long way but today will be hours behind soon. I'm relatively familiar with the route to Edinburgh now and it seemed to speed past. We were crossing the Tyne in less than three hours, the waters rushing away out to sea far below, Then it was across the Royal Border Bridge at Berwick and we were in Scotland. The train had been almost full but a good half of them were only going to Edinburgh which is not surprising I suppose. A few brave souls were hanging on for more northerly climes.
Much to my disappointment we did not cross the Forth Bridge and head up via Aberdeen though of course that does not make sense for a direct Inverness train anyway! Our route was through Falkirk, Stirling, Perth and Aviemore. I found it unbelievable that it would take another three and a half hours after Edinburgh, especially as the train seemed to be running pretty fast but that's what it takes. It's worth it though, beyond the grandiose Perth station the landscape takes on the fairy tale cliché appearance. We head through mountains and rivers, though sadly it's difficult to take pictures given our speed. Finally we curl into Inverness at 8pm, the sky still light as expected on this far North summer day. The London Sleeper is waiting for departure on the opposite platform which is an odd feeling when I last stood in the open air at midday!
Despite the light, it's noticeably colder than when I was tearing around Hyde Park this morning and I need a jacket for the ten minute walk to my guest house. It's basic but clean and comfortable. I head out to find a pub or two (no need for food as I have been eating sandwiches all the way up!). I look for one called Johnny Foxes but it appears to have been turned into a trendy restaurant, then for The Gunsmiths, which sounded promising. When I get there I hear dance music and realise it's been got at by the trendy bar lobby. Such places are a bit useless when you're on your own. Two doors down is McCallums, which has a loose rock theme and lots of domino games going on, so it seems suitable. As it turns out it's wall to wall Tennants so I have just one then try the next one on the list, The Blackfriars. And there I strike gold. It's got about five guest ales, plus all of the Shilling range and a couple of others besides. What's more, there are a couple of blokes playing traditional music and people are enthusiastically doing country dancing lessons. Great! I stay for a few, more than I intended because a bloke strikes up a conversation with me and buys me another one (it would be rude to refuse). He's a carpenter from Fort William, and he owns houses in Croydon and Scarborough so we have a bit to talk about. He hates the idea of working in an office too. He's a bit steamed so he doesn't stay for me to return the drink, indeed he leaves half his in the end. The place is winding down by 11.30 so I head back. I manage to get lost in a council estate – something I always seem to do, must be the pull of home – but get back safely in the end. I'm struck by how light it is still, it's more like 9pm would be in London. Time for sleep...
Day Two – Tuesday 1 July 2008
...as I have to be up at 6.15am. I wake a couple of hours before as it's already broad daylight and get some more sleep, eat the cold breakfast the landlady has left for me and head for the station. I hoist my stuff on to the waiting two coach 158, awaiting the off at 7.14am. This is the first of many ponderous trips I will do this week, though it's by no means as slow as I expected. The line is an interesting mixture. It does of course curl through sweeping mountains and over bubbling streams as I'd hoped. There were a few, though not many closed stations, and usually the buildings were still in place. What stations there were had been heavily rationalised but usually the unused platforms had been left to sprout carpets of wild flowers. At Rogart were some camping coaches – a great idea that I wish was more extensively used – and at Brora someone had adopted the station and installed old enamel advertisements for soap and tobacco.
What really struck me though, was the sheer emptiness of the place north of Perth, particularly so north of Inverness. I knew of the Highland Clearances, and this does lend this beautiful landscape a sombre quality (a cliché I know, but so true), but as a Londoner used to jostling with 8 million others, I was not prepared for the scale of depopulation. There were seemingly many more animals than people! Cows, horses and sheep were grazing together, something I'd not seen before. Hardly any of them seemed bothered by the train, even though there are very few of them passing each day. There was even a goat wearing a hi-viz jacket, presumably because at some point it had managed to wander on to the track! Trackside fencing here was not as high as elsewhere but still lined the whole route. The closer we got to the north most point, a second line of fencing appeared behind the first one, which resembled beach breakwaters. Wonder what it's for? Somehow it seemed to emphasise the desolate nature of the region which had flattened out into scorched heathland – what a local friend's father had described as “tundra” - and I can certainly see what he means now. For a stretch we skirt the North Sea before turning inland again and it seems such an unfriendly companion here in contrast to the blue waters and white beaches of Fife and Durham.
At Georgemass Junction the line divides, and the train reverses to head to Thurso. After Thurso it will return to the Junction then up the other branch to Wick. On its return to Inverness it has to then reverse at Georgemass again after calling at Thurso – it's complicated stuff and I shall see the rest of it tomorrow. Today's train journey ends at Thurso, the most northerly town on the mainland of Britain and the most northerly station in the UK. A sign above a modest shed welcomes me and I take a picture for no good reason. There are signs that the place has seen better times, though I don't know what Thurso was famous for in the past. Now its fortunes rest on Dounreay, the nuclear plant up the coast that is now being decommissioned over thirty years. The place is not unpleasant but not exactly inspiring either. I can't really imagine life in such a place as I come from the other extreme. I grab some bread etc for lunch and head back to the station where I am picking up the bus to John O'Groats.
It's a pleasant trip along the coast, the landscape seems like Dungeness on a huge scale to me! A lot of people get on when the bus reaches the main street in town, they all seem to know each other even though they get off in ones and twos as we call at the straggling communities hugging the northern coast en route. And most of them seem to be English! I certainly understand the pull of the place for overcrowded England, but it's still a surprise. We pass Dunnet Head in the distance, this is actually the most northerly point of the British mainland, I would have liked to visit but there isn't time because of the frequency of the buses along here. So I continue to and settle for John O'Groats. I say settle because its claim to fame is that it is the northern end of the longest distance it is possible to travel within the British mainland, the southern end being of course, Land's End, which I visited in 2005. So now I have the set. I'm not overjoyed because unlike Land's End, which has a regular bus service, various trails to follow, and a lot more of interest, including most importantly, a hotel with a bar, this outpost has almost nothing. The hotel is derelict, there are the usual tat shops (why craft and woollens in both places?), and they even charge to use the toilet!
I find possible solace in a turbo boat, but the crew won't take it out because the only other interested people are a family with largely smaller children, and they fear the conditions would be too much for them. They tell me I am likely to get wet and thrown about, but not knowing me, they didn't realise that was the point for me! I have my waterproofs, I protest, but it's no good. Now I have just two hours to kill. I walk along the cliff top as far to Dunscaby Head as I can get, but here I am frustrated as well, there isn't quite enough time to see the wild waters of the Pentland Firth before I have to turn round. I have to get used to the system of paths too. Effectively everywhere in Scotland is free to roam, and there are three actual categories where routes are more formalised. So often paths are not marked and I spent too much time trying to avoid fenced off areas, not realising they were fenced to keep sheep in rather than walkers out! Oh well. Back to John O'Groats, where a moderately heavy rain is falling now. I have a quick conversation with a cyclist who is camping there tonight (I feel a pang of envy though god knows what I'd do with the evening) then get on the bus to Wick.
It's a short journey (though I did nod off so maybe it wasn't). Wick is a slightly edgy town, a look of time having forgot it, the buildings a bit battered and grey and lots of neds speeding up and town in their chavmobiles, LEDs whizzing round and oversized exhausts blasting. I find my rest for the night above the Clydesdale Bank. The owners are a young couple and the rooms are all refurbished with modern touches and furniture, as well as beautifully clean. My room is a family room so it is huge. After sorting myself out I head into town. The bars look unwelcoming and the chip shops are closed, so after watching the firemen putting out a practice fire by the harbour I head for Wetherspoons. You know what you're getting with them and for once it's welcome as the town isn't a place I'm at ease with. It's grill night so I can get a reasonable meal with a drink, and then even better, McEwans 80/- is only £1.59 a pint so it's a cheap night. Back at the B&B I can't get in, and can't get a mobile signal (I have been with three networks yet I'm always the one who can't get a signal at times like this). I ring the B&B from the kebab shop opposite and they tell me the main doors are unlocked. Oops! Luckily they hadn't gone to bed. Inside I gratefully fall asleep.
Day Three: Wednesday 2 July 2008
Breakfast is taken at a more earthly hour today with two Ross County youth players in the dining room, and afterwards I go for a look around Wick. There isn't much, though in daylight it's much less edgy. I decide to walk along the cliffs eastwards. There are magnificent basalt shelves of cliffs that I take great delight in clambering over, dropping down from cliff to cliff until I am faced with the last sheer drop. I lie at the edge and watch two blokes fishing on a still lower ledge, no idea how they got there! The water crashes over them and they are not bothered. They're not even wearing waterproofs or boots so they hopefully know what they're doing. Above me a Midlands accent asks how they got there. No escape from England! I keep going and cross a firing range (not in use!), having great fun climbing some of the obstacles next to tank tracks before crossing a spectacular gorge then ending my walk at the ruins of the old Wick Castle, a legacy of its Viking past. It's then time to return to the town and the next journey.
At the station is a surprise. It is EXACTLY the same as Thurso. Same building design, layout, posters, lockers, welcome sign, everything! Almost as if they were made from a mould. I photograph it before getting on, noting the same grander past that the place must have had, judging by the number of disused platforms. Another two coach 158 (I wonder if it's the same one!) takes us down the branch to Georgemass Junction, the bit I didn't do yesterday, then up to Thurso, back again, a reversal at the junction then down to Inverness. I take photographs from the opposite side of the train today. I notice quite a few of the same people from yesterday, which is curious, maybe they're doing the same as me. All is well until Lairg, where as we pull out the train stops and the guard announces a technical fault. I had noticed a bit of slow running earlier and the two combined cost us nearly fifty minutes once we get going again, the driver having reversed to allow people off while he sorts the problem. This isn't a problem if nothing else happens as I had nearly an hour and a half before my next train at Inverness. Looks like I've lost my return trip to the Blackfriars now though!
Worse is to come. At Inverness the train to the Kyle of Lochalsh is running 20 minutes late, so I stop in the bar and call the guest house there to let them know I will be late. They then inform me that I was booked on the 2/3 July; when I state that it IS 2 July, they casually say that there is no vacant room tonight. I'm not best pleased and I remind them that I offered to send a deposit to secure the room and they didn't require one. To this they reply that they tried to call my mobile that morning and got no reply. I remind them that this is the Highlands and people have been known to go out of range. Confirmation is also not something they required! Facing the prospect of trying to find a bed late at night here or there, or sleeping rough, or getting the sleeper home at great expense, I prepare to blow and start by thanking them for stranding me 600 miles from home without somewhere to sleep. The owner tells me she will sort something and I should still get the train. I get a call from them as the inevitable two coach 158 departs to say they have put a bed in the dining room. I am relieved but it has spoilt things a bit, I don't like getting annoyed with people like I did but I think it was justified somewhat!
I cheer up as I find out what all the fuss is about. The line passes through, quite simply, the most spectacular landscape I have yet seen. It skirts round loch after loch, water shining silently as mountains covered in mist are reflected in its inky depths. The train goes incredibly slowly as it has to negotiate those curves, but it doesn't matter for a change. You want to take time to enjoy this! You can see the single track snaking into the distance then round the edge of a loch out of sight, and this is when I think rail is king. Our presence hardly troubles this paradise, but if there were as many cars trying to drive this as there were people on the train, it would be a different story. Eventually one track splits into four and we reach the two platform terminus at the Kyle of Lochalsh. It's a different station design, nicely preserved though hardly any of it as a station now. There are craft shops and whisky shops, a museum, a fishery office and a fish restaurant (now sadly closed and in Plockton, five miles away). The station has lost much of its former function, again long wide platforms lie covered in weeds, a new health centre being built on the opposite one, as the ferry to Kylealkin on the nearby Isle of Skye no longer meets the train as it did once. Now you have to go to further north or south for ferries, or cross the Skye Bridge – more on which tomorrow.
The owner of the guest house meets me and drives me back – it takes about thirty seconds, why on earth would I ever not walk that? I take the gesture in the spirit of goodwill, as I suspect it's partly to make up for their error. Back at the guest house I am shown into my room, in fact the dining room with a bed made up, and join the other guests at the table for a glass of wine. They are a couple who have come up by motorbike for a couple of days. Their booking was messed up too so they have to move to a different guest house tomorrow night. We have a chat about bikes given my fledgling scooter career and what I am trying to achieve with the pointless quest. They head out to the pub, I'd like to tag along but as they are a couple I presume they'll want to be on their own. Once I've got the room to myself I get settled and head out myself to a different pub. There are two hotels which seem a bit smart for a scruff like me, and two blond wood bars. Blond wood is not what I expected here. I give in and go into the North West Bar, where they have a few ales at least. There are a load of builders in there, from their conversation I gather they are building the new health centre and staying in the town. That must be an interesting way to work, though it must be unsettling sometimes, not being at home for long periods.
I marvel at the everyday midnight closing and the wonderful light sky as I head back to base and thankfully, a night's sleep in a bed, something I was not sure of getting a few hours ago.
Day Four: Thursday 3 July 2008
After breakfast with the other guests, I get the bus to Eilean Donnal castle. I really knew nothing about it but it’s apparently famous. It was originally built to defend the McCrae clan but played a part in wars against the Vikings and the English. In the twentieth century the owner rebuilt it as a sort of folly, and it is now a romantic monument, used in films such as Highlander. There's not too much to it but it's a nice restful diversion away from the business of the quest. It's perched on one of the multitude of sea lochs that characterise this area. I sit on a rock revealed by the outgoing tide and drink in the landscape. I could have watched for hours without a doubt. However time does not allow, and I head off to look around the nearby village of Dornie. It's a tiny settlement along one side of the road, two pubs – one blond, one closed. Reluctantly I settle for the former after buying a paper. I have a conversation with a young bloke coming out as I'm going in, as he is wearing an Arsenal shirt! I comment on it and he says that he has always been an Arsenal and a Hearts fan, bizarre! His accent is an interesting one that I haven't heard before, thickish, and I guess the Scottish “country” accent. People greet me as I am walking around, even from their cars, and I realise that in tiny communities like this, people have to acknowledge each other because they all need each other. In urbanised communities so much is done by people that we don't know that we take them for granted. One temp today, another one tomorrow. It's not healthy and it's a lightbulb moment for this lifelong city dweller. I know why I want to live somewhere like this now. People are suddenly valuable once more.
I get the bus back to Lochalsh and can now thankfully use my own room, so get changed for a walk and pack my bag with waterproofs etc. Then I head out up to the Skye Bridge. This is in two stages, crossing from the mainland to a smaller island in Loch Alsh, then a raised span over the rest of the loch and almost into Kylelakin on the island. It's quite a sight, but then I like engineering, particularly bridges. But I don't like the idea that walkers used to be able to get a ferry across that met the train that took a shorter time, and was a much more gentle and pleasant way to amble across. Now you have to do a five mile round trip on foot, inches from speeding cars on the bridge, or get a shuttle bus, neither of which appeal. Not everything new is progress. I wonder what the bridge has done for the traffic on the island. Certainly the roads around the Kyle are as dangerous and busy as some of those at home! Also, what happened to the inevitable community of people that grew up around the ferry trips? All that must be gone if everyone can just leap in their car any time they want and head over to the mainland to go to Tescos.
The views from the bridge are undoubtedly spectacular, and I get some good pictures. Kylelakin is a rather sad forgotten place, probably due to the loss of the ferry. The hostel is closed, there are no pubs to speak of, and the whole shooting match looked far better from the Kyle side of the loch. I have lunch then wander up to the ruins of Castle Moi. I have to cross a beach to reach it and there is a sign warning of the tide, which is indeed coming in. I'd like to spend longer at the romantic ruin and maybe try to climb up one of the mountains behind it. However I don't know the area, and the tides may be an issue if I have to come back this way. I don't fancy bedding down in the ruin having secured a bed over the water. Rain starts to pelt down just then which decides the issue once and for all. I get my waterproofs on and head back, catching sight of one of the biker guests from the guest house arriving at the other place they have had to make for tonight.
Back in Lochalsh I don't fancy going back just yet so I go to the other blond pub, which has a Gaelic name that is pronounced Coolens, don't ask me to spell it! There has been a wake going on all day which I spotted starting a few hours ago. I'm always drawn to the idea of these small communities. All the people there knew each other, I'd seen most of them working on post vans, shops, fishing boats while I'd been there. Again that idea of interdependence. God help the place if it ever gets too big. However some things are everywhere and I'm put off a bit after every time I go to the loo, there's a hovering audience waiting to get into the cubicle to take coke. I get fish and chips and sit watching the water before going back.
Another biker is being settled in when I get there, he asks about pubs and I give him my opinion of the two I've been to. After a snooze I head out again to the North West Bar again, not wanting to go back to Culleens, where the other guest is. We chat until closing time. He's called Alec, from Aberdeen and just fancied a couple of days away. He's also in IT though for a solutions company rather than on a helpdesk. This is his first time back on a bike for 15 years, so I spend another evening talking bikes and pubs to someone! This has definitely been one of the more friendly trips I've done, a point which is reinforced when the people coming out of the wake give me a cheerful wave, seemingly recognising me from earlier! They must have been drinking for ten hours now, so it's not surprising that things get a bit excitable!
Day Five: Friday 4th July 2008
Another early start, I have to be on the 7.25 back to Inverness, the first step on perhaps my most epic trip yet on four trains over nearly 15 hours! I marvel at the watery landscape one last time and feel rather wistful as the train (yep, two coach 158) chugs through the mist and the sedate lochs once more. In Inverness I have time for a coffee before getting ANOTHER 158 to Aberdeen. I'm spoilt now, so the pleasant beaches and lush fields that we pass just aren't quite as spectacular as they once seemed as we head along the single track line to the granite city. Sadly I have only fifteen minutes in Aberdeen and I want to make sure I get a seat with a good view so get straight on the waiting three car 170 back to Edinburgh – hurrah – a different train. It's a grey old place and I will visit properly one day but the moment at least marks my visiting every city in Britain now (not the UK, haven't been to Northern Ireland yet!).
It's another picturesque trip back to Edinburgh on this very full train. I've done much of this line before but it was good to travel the magnificent Tay Bridge again, the coast of Fife, and of course the Forth Bridge. Made it back to Waverley six or so minutes before the London train left, and eventually found a seat (had one reserved but there was an elderly chap in it and I didn't like to turf him out). As I write we have just passed the Bounds Green depot at Hornsey. The epic is over. Now the biggest challenge of all – the Victoria Line and the Penge train...
Itineary
London King's Cross-Inverness
Inverness-Thurso/Wick
Inverness-Kyle of Lochalsh
Inverness-Aberdeen-Edinburgh
Edinburgh-London King's Cross
