the Highlands, 5

At the darkest point of the night (maybe around 1 or 2 a.m.), the light still comes through...

(out my window)

 

 

Weather in the Highlands doesn't really set the pace for most who come here. Expecting the worst, you dont recoil when it arrives -- you just pull out appropriate gear and keep going. They have lots of pairs of Wellies for your use at the Torridon. Mud wont slow you down.

I've not had to give any of this much thought, because the weather has been unusually agreeable in the days I've been in the Highlands. Mostly cloudy, but not only. One sprinkle, but otherwise dry. Temps hovering in the 60sF (so upper teens C). But for my remaining time here, we enter the iffy territory that is so much the hallmark of Scottish weather. It might rain. Sometime in the course of the day. How long, when and how much? A big shrug. 

I get up to clouds outside. They multiply.

I switch around clothes. Tomorrow will be colder, I think. I'll save the warm socks and long sleeves for then. But it's all rather a guessing game.

Breakfast at the Torridon is predictably traditional. Eggs with that British trim of mushrooms, trout, tomato. Porridge (meaning oatmeal) with drams of whiskey. Toast in racks. You choose!

(I pick eggs with wild mushrooms and trout)

They, like every good hotel, are mindful of guest comments and a recurring theme on sites is the complaint that you have to wait too long for breakfast. Most hotels get this grumble at some point. The Torridon preemptively tells guests that the busiest time is between 8:45 and 9:15 and so if you want to avoid a wait, you should avoid that time slot. I and everyone else, therefore, came earlier! There wasn't really a wait, but it was funny to see everyone pack in quickly before what turned out to be a very quiet half hour.

And now what? They have kayaking options, but not Mondays and tomorrow promises to be windy and wet. (Scottish weather promises mean nothing, but still...) So how about a hike?

After a rather sedentary Sunday, I opt for the long forested hike. It's misty and drizzly as I set out. Perfect for a Highland forest!

The trail is 10 or 11 kilometers long and it has two possible add-ons if you want, for a grand total of 18 kilometers (maybe 11-12 miles). That seems to be not a big deal. Right? Right??

It's not a big deal, but for the gross mistake on my part.

It strikes me that so much of our anxiety and misery is of our own making. Not all of it, to be sure, but so much! I would say that this held true for me today, especially in the second half of my adventure. 

The thing is, I didn't take water. I thought I'd be gone no more than a couple of hours (I wasn't thinking). I didn't have my day pack. I didn't want to carry water. A heavy camera and a tiny cross bag were enough.  And very quickly I realized that this was a terrible mistake. Especially after the salty breakfast. And especially since I opted to do the add-ons. I walked a total of 4.5 hours, not excessively hilly but not flat either. (22 000 steps for those who measure life that way.) 

Initially I was fine. And especially while the path meandered through the forest. 

 

 

 

It's as if those mighty trees were watching over me. Their canopy is awesome. Their limbs embracing. Shielding from all harm. Don't you feel that way when you walk through a forest? I do.

(dense cloud cover)

(misty and wet)

(lobster traps? fish nets?)

A forest shares its calm with you if you let it. But once the path veered upwards toward a treeless ridge, suddenly I felt vulnerable and thirsty.

(From here, you can take a detour to a waterfall gushing from somewhere in that mountain)

(here it is!)

It's not a totally isolated trek. In the forest itself, I encountered three sets of hikers -- one Polish, actually, though we didn't exchange nationality information. One of the Scottish couples I met, paused to encourage me to do the addition that juts out into the water. Great views! -- she tells me. I was here 8 years ago and they were even better, because some trees have filled in the empty spaces since then, but still, definitely worth it! How could I say "no, I am limp from thirst, tired from not taking a pause..."? And for all I know, the views will be gone soon as trees grow even taller! So I took the extra path. And I did not regret it, especially since I survived in the end and drank about ten glasses of water the minute I got home. 

(yes, the view was worth the second detour)

(three photos when the sun poked through, just a little: )

I encountered no wildlife except at the very end. This guy. We eyed each other and once again I conveyed greetings from Wisconsin. He seemed mildly interested.

At the hotel again I sat down in their living room and ordered a cream tea: a pot of their blend, along with a freshly baked scone with homemade jam and clotted cream. (And LOTS of water.)

This was the time to learn more about the hotel. Because it really is a very carefully restored, special place. Family owned and cared for since it first went up as a hunting lodge back in 1887 for the Earl of Lovelace. He was an English dude and he did one thing that put him in the history books for many: he married Ada. This woman:

Ada was Lord Byron's only legitimate daughter and she was one spunky woman. Her bio tells me that she wrote the first computer algorithm. She was heavily into mathematics. Read about her here.

The Torridon house remained the family's hunting lodge until the 1960s, when it first opened as a hotel. (A road was built this way and suddenly a hotel was possible. Though even the staff here complain that the road is too narrow! Unless you drive a narrow car, you are going to slip off the pavement. There seems to be little interest in widening it, which is a shame.) In the 1990s the Torridon (then under a different name) was bought by the Gregory family and eventually, their daughter Rohaise married, and along with her husband, took over the place. A dynamic, modern couple! They know good food, they're absolutely committed to good service. You will notice this at the Torridon: people smile at you and offer a hand at every turn.

 

Evening: I join the throngs in the "living room" for drinks -- a Negroni for me, with yet a different gin. Scotland has probably as many gin varieties as it has whiskeys; I know none of them except the Botannical gin from Islay, but the bartender is quite the powerhouse of info on this stuff. He asks if I want a spicy Negroni, I say sure!

 

 

Then I walk over to the building next door, to eat at the casual restaurant again -- the Bo & Muc. Today's choice? Shetland Mussels first, then my one nod to fish and peas and potatoes: Shieldaig pollock with mashed peas and spuds (Shieldaig is a coastal village just up the road from Torridon). 

Oh, and Scottish Cranachan for dessert. I'd never heard of it, but apparently it's quite common here: cream, berries, oats and either a dash of honey or whiskey -- I'm not sure!

I'm done shortly after 8. And here's where I really did something totally nutty: I decided to go for a walk again. The evening is absolutely lovely! No more drizzle. The sun hasn't set yet. And yesterday's evening walk in the forest was so pleasant!

 

 

All that makes sense, but here's the really stupid part: I opted for the one trail I haven't done yet. The one that goes straight up the mountain to the back of us. I thought it was only about a mile and a half each way, but in fact it's a never ending path and more importantly, it's quite the incline. I wasn't even wearing my hiking shoes! No hiking stick either. Just me and my camera and my purse. All the way up.

(I think I recognizes these low bushes from my childhood days in the Polish countryside. One solo blueberry remains. Will I eat it? Of course I will.)

I should have stopped climbing, once I learned that this was no small piece of cake, but you know how it is -- just a little more, just a little more...

An hour and fifteen minutes later I finally acknowledged that this was insane, that the trail just keeps going without an end, or at least not one reachable by a 71 year old woman who has already hiked a dozen miles today and who is longing for a comfy chair or better yet, a comfy bed with a big quilt on top of it.

(looking back and down...)

 

 

So I did an about face and turned back. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The descent for me is always easier, though the rocky path and the poor shoe selection (I wore my Allbirds, which are meant for Paris streets not for Highland trails) threatened to twist my ankles and send me tumbling. Luckily I did neither and by 10 p.m. I was back at the hotel, feeling much relieved that this day ended without some major calamity.

I did learn something about myself: first, that I really am nutty and there's no limit to the craziness of the ideas that will pop into my head, but secondly  -- that I am way stronger than I think I am, my enduring cough notwithstanding. My watch tells me I walked 30 000 mountain steps today. I know many who would beat that by a mile, or indeed many miles, but for me, that felt good. Well, once I drank water and sat down in a comfy chair to rest.

And now it's night, though never totally dark.

What I have loved about both Lundies and the Torridon is the absolute quiet of the room. I'm sensitive to evening noise. Other people's TVs, thumps, squawks and groans aren't my favorite. If hotel reviewers write "thin walls," you can be sure I will look elsewhere for overnights. These two Highland hotels have been absolute gems in that regard. Total silence. Thick walls. Peace prevails. And in the mornings? Only the song of the Song Thrush out my window. But now? Just restful quiet.

with love...

the Highlands, 4

Well that was... thrilling, in a white knuckle sort of way. Entirely my fault. I wanted to do it, or at least I thought I should. Before I dive into the details, let me say this: I am not moving anywhere that requires powered locomotion for the next three days. Staying put, no matter what. Beautiful hikes just a short drive away? Nope, not tempted. Magnificent gardens on the Isle of Skye, a mere hour and 43 minutes down mountain roads? Not tempted. I am staying put.

Here's the thing: I am not the only one that often chooses overnights based on the sleeping possibilities in the area. Every single person at Lundies said the same thing: they were in Tongue because this is where Lundies House was situated. The scenery? It's great everywhere. Hilkes? Bike rides? Sky's the limit in Scotland. But interesting inns are rare. As one guy from Belgium said to another visitor who was actually from Edinburgh -- we have a hard time finding nice country inns in Scotland. I though there might erupt a fist fight, but it was all very genteel and proper and I deftly switched the topic of conversation to something innocuous like the weather, but the fact is, the Belgian guy was right. Many of the inns here are very old school. You know, with deer heads in whiskey bars downstairs. (I am at the moment staying in just such a place.) When I searched for an inn for my second half of the week, my criteria were so simple!  Not too long a drive please, and someplace with a cool set of rooms. (Price matters too, of course, so I wouldn't, say, pick the Castle of Mey -- the royal residence on the northern coast that also lets out rooms. Too posh for a state employee's retirement pension.) I might add that I do also avoid places that are trashed on Tripadvisor, but that goes without saying. Rare is the chump who will go to a hotel that cannot even eek out a fourth star for cleanliness.

In the end, for the next three nights, I chose to book a room at the Torridon. It's technically still along the "NC500," though it's on the far western edge of it. [I hadn't told you that Scotland affectionately labeled the route along the northern coast as the North Coast 500 (or simply NC500), in an attempt to get people interested in making the 500 mile journey along the remote coastal roads here.] It's the rare inn that is beloved by many, and doesn't overdo it in terms of fussiness and antiquity. Yes to deer on the living room walls, but the bedrooms are actually comfortably modern.

(at the Torridon)

 

Here's the issue: you can get from Tongue to the Torridon in just a smidge over three hours, but to do this, you have to follow the single track road from Tongue that cuts through the center of the Highlands (the same one I came up on from Inverness). Eventually, you veer off west to rejoin the coast in Torridon. I really hesitated on this one: sure, there was that hateful single-track, but it's the shortest route. But the big reason to not go that way was that I would have technically missed nearly the entire NC500. There would have been no coastal scenery, no mountains sloping toward the waterfront, no remote shore hamlets to admire and maybe pause in. If I'm going to do this trip right, I should follow the coast all the way down to Torridon. Google tells me it will take me maybe four hours and twenty minutes to do it (it's 165 miles). And three days into my stay in Scotland, I feel like one does after just giving birth: you forgot the horror of the experience and you're ready for the second one. 

I talked to others who came up the coast from the west. No one had anything good to say about the fact that the single-track road extends across nearly seventy miles. The stretch I did from Inverness had been only thirty-five miles and I hated every slow minute of it. Why did I think I could possibly love twice that amount?

Of course, you will tell me -- it's silly to fret. Everyone emerges fine in the end. No they don't! Along that same road, just a few miles outside of Tongue, John Lennon crashed his car into a ditch (with Yoko and their two kids in it). He panicked when he saw a car suddenly coming at him. Too, I saw two rather wider cars today, using the "passing lump" to avoid each other and managing to take off the side mirrors of their cars because there just wasn't enough room. And I saw another car being towed away, its sides smashed in.

What I hate most about these roads is not only the sudden stops that you're forced to make as you catch sight of a car coming at you around the bend, but also the narrowness of the pavement and the total lack of a soft shoulder. You have asphalt and then it drops down a couple of inches to some rocky ground to the side. So that unless you stay absolutely to the center of this thin wisp of asphalt, you're going to get that sudden bump down and scrape of the wheel against the asphalt edge, leaving you panicked that you're soon going to get a flat. (That sudden bump down happened to me twice coming in from Inverness and twice coming to Torridon, so I guess I'm getting better, because the distance was that much longer! In the US, we are spoiled with wide lanes. In Scotland, single-tracks are so minimalist that you'd think asphalt was gold and they were desperately trying to economize.)

Well, now you know where this story is heading. Let me roll it back to early morning and my departure. One last view out my window at Lundies...

One last breakfast with the Dutch, the Belgians, the Scots and the Californians. 

(egg, potato, mushroom and broccoli for me...)

Lots of good byes to the wonderful, awesome staff -- perhaps the only place I ever stayed in where not only everyone knew my name, but I knew theirs -- Tracey, Becks, Emilia, Marcello -- such fabulous people!

And I am off. 

 

I told myself I would do this drive in a leisurely way. There is no rush. I would pull over, maybe walk a beach or two. I made notes of things to see along the way.

And I did stop. Occasionally. And I did get out. Rarely. Mostly I was in a hurry to get back in and get this drive over with.

I left at 10:30, and I pulled into the Torridon at 4, though I did pause in Ullapool for about a half hour.

You are absolutely going to have to put up with pictures from this road trip! I am not going to economize on those! I paid in sweat for every stop I made! 

(misty and windy start to the day: leaving Ben Loyal behind)

(desolate indeed)

(Ben Hope, below, is the highest peak, or Munro, of the northern Highlands)

(sometimes off the road, sometimes on the road...)

(nice cove... I'm not pausing!)

(pretty beach: quick look only...)

(there's a lot of Viking lore in these parts of Scotland. I did stop to read a tablet about this history...)

Thankfully, the single-track now widens to a regular old road. Oh, the luxury of having a whole lane to yourself!!

(Ruins of Ardvreck Castle, dating back to about 1490 -- built on the lands owned by the Macleod Clan)

(And now I drive down into Ullapool)

Ullapool is the largest and most visited village (pop 1500) along the northwest coast. This day is bizarrely sunny up here and, too, it is Sunday, and it's summer. This brings out the locals and tourists alike and yet Ullapool feels very, very calm. [Though would you believe it -- every couple of weeks, a huge cruise ship will pull into the channel here, because the water is that deep. They ferry passengers by small boats to the shore.]

I park the car and walk along the main street by the shore. It's lovely in a simple sort of way. There are a couple of shops, fish and chips stores, a place to get coffee, or a beer. Believe me, I choose coffee.

There's a very nice explanation plaque by the shore, telling us how this is where the land buckled forming huge mountains when England pushed against Scotland some 430 million years ago. It gives you pause. The mountains, once the size of the Alps, have, of course, been whittled down over time...

 

 

 

And then it was time to resume the journey. For a short while, it remains a normal road.

And then, in the last eleven miles it is again a single-track and this is why I am not leaving for the next three days -- the track was the narrowest of them all. I'll go out on  Wednesday -- day of departure -- but not before then.

As I've already noted, The Torridon is a more traditional place -- very Scottish looking, inside and out.

(on the approach)

It's larger: 18 rooms in all. And it feels more sedate. At Lundies, I talked nearly everyone into doing the bike loop around the Kyle. Young and old. Here? Um, I think not. I wont say it's a more stodgy clientele -- what do I know about the guests, after all -- it just seems a little less energetic. Like, the type of place you'd go to when you want to sample some of the Highland life from sitting by the window and looking at it. Which, by the way, I can do because this is my wee room...

... and this is my view: a field of buttercups, Highland cattle in the distance, Torridon, the village on the other shore.

Ironically, it has hiking trails that start right from the property (Lundies House did not have that). Nonetheless, I get the feeling that most aren't gearing up to do the ten-mile trail up the mountain. And maybe I wont either. Rain tomorrow? Bring it on. I wont care. The chairs are awfully comfortable.

Thankfully I booked all three dinners at the lesser restaurant here. They do have a fine dining place and some people come here for that meal alone, but I'm saving money. My eatery is in an adjacent building. It's called Bo & Muc Brasserie. Sounds good to me. I pick West Coast mackerel for an app and Argyll sea trout for a main.

(the mackerel)

And it's good. And a bit of a relief to be with a menu again. Lundies House has you eating four courses with a set menu. That was a lot of eating! (On the flip side, Lundies House pushed you to sporty activities rather than placing comfy armchairs in your room facing windows.)

Evening. I take a brief walk through the forest. For the fragrance of it. For the beauty of it after a long day. For that feeling of being in the Highlands. 

And I have to admit -- I dont think I've ever walked a more magnificent Scottish forest. 

 

 

 

What can I say the coastal spots of this country are, to me, magic. 

With love...