Choraidh Croft, Laid, Loch Eriboll, The Far North West Scotland

19 August 2017:-  The rain had cleared by the time we rose, although the wind was still about to remind us this is a wild part of Scotland. We were packed up and away by 9 am on the road westward, on what we consider to be a big adventure, only because our roads ahead are mostly marked on the map as “dot, dot, dot” types; one way with passing spaces, and of dubious quality. However the NC500 is a major tourist route so it might be considered a bit dramatic to exhibit any anxiety, but we are towing a caravan rather than travelling in a car or motorhome for which these roads are better suited.

After picking up a newspaper at the McColls in Castletown, we continued on through Thurso, to Reay near the nuclear power plant we had seen yesterday, and on across Flow Country like that travelled through nearly a week ago as we came up to Thurso from the east coast. This blanket bog is much more appealing in the sunshine, or even under cloudy skies; last Monday, the marshy moor had been blanketed in rain cloud.

Most of our route was through similar landscape, even after leaving Caithness and travelling toward more rugged country. We travelled down into bays; Melvich, Armadale, Farr and Torrisdale, and past little settlements created for the refuge of those cast out during the Clearances such as Portskerra, stopping above Melvich for our late morning stop, one of the very few spaces large enough to accommodate our rig. While there are heaps of wider bays along the route, one is not supposed to stop even for a moment to snap a photo; these are for passing only.

We crossed the Kyle of Tongue on a causeway constructed only as recently as 1971, shortening the coastal route by ten miles, then across more bog country before winding our way down the side of Loch Eriboll, around the head and halfway back up the other side, where we found our Certified Location, a little camping area tucked between a house and simple tearoom and the loch shore.

We have only travelled seventy five miles today, rarely over 40 mph and often at a mere 20 mph, arriving at our lay-over soon after 1 pm. I fear we have miscalculated our camping spots, not being aware of how few places we would actually be able to stop to “smell the roses”. But I am not complaining because as I type this up, I glance up from time to time to  look out over an island, across the loch to the steep eastern shore. 

None of the residual showers have arrived, and we are tucked up in here out of the wind. One other motorhome has arrived since I began this and I suspect we will be a full house by nightfall. The choice of camps has mainly been driven by availability, and many we phoned were full. “Wild” or “free” camping is allowed here in Scotland, in all spots but those marked “No Overnight Stopping” but this is more suited to motorhomes. Here caravans, ours included, are not set up as they are in Australia, with internal water and waste tanks, solar panels, large batteries and every other self-sufficient feature. Caravanning here is an entirely different cup of tea to that in the antipodes. We could of course have our caravan altered to match that we had in Australia, but it would be an enormous cost, and would we want to? In England one is restricted to commercial or club camps anyway, mostly to keep out “travellers” the English-speak word for “gypsies”, but not the kind we consider ourselves to be.