Scotland Part 3: Durness, Torridon & Shieldaig
Crab Graves:
Deceased crabs seem to be a significant feature on Scotland's northern beaches. On one particular seashore, while Rach was sunbathing off her cold dip and Moo was busy climbing the cliff side, I managed to collect three enormous and fully intact specimens. I laid them out on a rock so it looked like a crab queue and labelled the experiment a triumph.
A Panting Moo
After the beach, when we got back to the van, Moo immediately flopped onto the floor and started panting. She was either doing a dog impression or she'd overheated from being out in the sun for too long. And as much as I would've loved it, it was clearly not the former. The poor little golden baby! Neither of us had ever seen a cat pant before. It was weird and quite alarming, but after five minutes sat next to an ice block from the freezer she was back to normal. ''Are we bad parents?'' asked Rach. ''No...'' I replied, ''...because she isn't our daughter.''Sango Sands Oasis
We spent the next couple of days at a great campsite situated high up on the coastal cliffs of Durness, called Sango Sands Oasis. Sango Sands Oasis. I had to double check we weren't in Barbados. It was a massive place, with great views of the beaches down below. Moo loved the freedom she had here, spending the days and evenings sat out on the grassy ridge behind the van or gallivanting around the site. The weather had become cool, wet and misty, so there was absolutely zero chance of us nearly killing her again.
Despite the size and hustle and bustle of the site, there was plenty of wildlife knocking about. On a wander, I spotted a couple of cream and brown stoats playing on a wall and fence post - a magical sight to see - and some wild rabbits. There were also some flies on the van which was slightly less enchanting.
Even less enchanting than the flies was the front page of one of the daily rags which a mate had so thoughtfully photographed and forwarded - ''Man caught w*nking in office on his first day back at work.'' The headline - ''I THOUGHT I WAS AT HOME!''
The next few days were spent exploring. We visited an underground cave near Durness, and an old castle ruin and waterfall further south. Back on the van, I had started a painting of a London pub called The Chapel. It had been commissioned by a friend of the family as a gift for her partner - the pub was where she'd first met him. It was a large canvas - 70cm x 50cm.
The Stag
As we moved further south we soon found ourselves driving through the striking terrain of Torridon. A single track road ran through a valley between two impressive mountain ranges. Then, eventually, we found him. The greedy stag of Torridon. We'd heard about him from some fellow travellers but weren't sure if we'd actually get to see him.He was sat in the grass when we noticed him. At first he ignored us, but eventually, presumably realising we weren't going to leave him alone, he got to his feet. He was a real beauty. I'm not sure I'd ever come across such a large animal in the wild before. He seemed quite tame and friendly. After a while we understood why. He was a right greedy fucker. He must've ate about four of our apples. Rach brought Moo out to say hello but, predictably, she absolutely soiled herself. The stag then buggered off to get fed by some other people who'd showed up.
When there aren't majestic wild creatures knocking about, it's Moo who is the talk of the town. At every park up there is always at least one passer-by who will come over for a perv. I mean, obviously it'd be more amazing to have a pet stag than a cat, but it's really not feasible. Especially on a van. One major upside to having a cat, of course, is that it won't gobble your apples.
Shieldaig
We spent a night in a charming little campsite called Shieldaig up on a hill above the equally charming little village of the same name. In the afternoon we had some thunder and lightning, which is always fun. It was a very pleasant stay, despite having to endure a little bit of boom bum in the late evening. It was impossible to locate the source of the boom bum; it was clearly some kind of party, but we just couldn't work out where the hell it was being held, despite the clear and present boom bum emanating from it and despite there not really being anywhere a party could hide. I eventually gave up trying to work it out, realising it held absolutely no importance to me whatsoever.The lightning had meant the site wifi had to be turned off, so in the late evening I had to walk down into the village to get 4G signal to download a few films. I sat there on a bench in the dark next to the perfectly still lake, the iPad bathing me in glow, as a few drunk patrons spilled out of the village's only pub onto the street following last orders.
Boom bum means noise.
More Fuel Stress
The next day, after we left the campsite, we continued along the NC500 which took us west to the coast. The road was tiny and wound its way up and down the mountainous landscape. Soon there was no phone signal whatsoever and no other signs of life. It really felt like one of the most remote places we'd been in all of Europe. It was the perfect moment for the low fuel warning light to flick on.Somehow we hadn't realised we were so low. Now we had a decision to make. We'd driven for about 20 minutes by this point, and our next destination, a little place called Applecross, was about another 40 minutes away. The nearest petrol stations were in Applecross, or 40 minutes back in the opposite direction. Going back was really not something we wanted to do, but carrying on for 40 more minutes of hilly terrain would burn the remaining fuel quicker. Now, I am of the opinion that vehicles always go way further than the fuel gauges will have you believe. I consider this to be one of my more solid opinions, because I once saw the theory evidenced on Top Gear, the televisual automotive Gospel. Rach, on the other hand, tends to place more faith in the fuel gauge. She is very much an early filler upper. However, we decided to plough on to Applecross...
The next half hour was stressful to say the least. Every incline was a time-elongated portent of doom, every downhill a brief, blessed relief.
"Keep the gears as high as possible, slowly increase speed into the uphills so as to avoid dropping down to second." So went my advice, as if Rach didn't have 15 times more driving experience than me. After a stretch of relatively flat travel, the red fuel light reassuringly disappeared, but it wasn't long before we got stuck behind the slowest driver in Scotland. Effing infuriating. At any other time, this would not be an issue. In fact, it's usually us who are being tailgated. But this guy was now forcing us into the low gears. Christ! The twat was unnecessarily braking for the merest of bends, even though he was only going sub 20mph on the straights. Granite! The fuel light flicked back on. COBBLERS!
Eventually we reached the stunning scenery of the west coast in glorious sunshine. We were five minutes from Applecross. Our phones were alive again and there were other cars parked at the road side taking in the views. We could relax. We were going to make it.
Will Rach and Sean find the fuel they need to continue their trip through the Scottish Highlands? Will Applecross do decent fish and chips? Find out next time... same bat time... same bat channel!
Eventually we reached the stunning scenery of the west coast in glorious sunshine. We were five minutes from Applecross. Our phones were alive again and there were other cars parked at the road side taking in the views. We could relax. We were going to make it.
Applecross
The fuel station in Applecross was out of order. Fucking unbelievable.Will Rach and Sean find the fuel they need to continue their trip through the Scottish Highlands? Will Applecross do decent fish and chips? Find out next time... same bat time... same bat channel!
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