Morvich Caravan Club Site, Loch Duich, Ross & Cromarty

22 August 2017:- It is our habit after breakfast to write up our diaries, although you can well imagine that my diary is filled with very brief entries, given I save my verbosity for this blog. So this morning as we sat over our coffees, we recapped our recent journey about the North Coast 500 and through Scotland generally.

We had to conceed that our concerns about the accessbility of the coastal road around Northern Scotland had been largely unfounded, although we also had to accept that we had taken the easy route rather than extend our exploration up and around the loops out to the most remote western reaches of the coast. For instance, the Applecross Penninsula has been lauded infinitum, and while I had pressed the argument for this to be included in our itinerary, Chris had been sensibly more cautious as regards the roads we should drag the caravan about. Initially I had felt betrayed by this, although always accept his decsion when it comes to matters of motoring safety and practicality. However I must conceed that while we have indeed missed many of the side trips suggested by the writers about the NC500, we passed through some splendidly awesome countryside, and I would support the decision of anyone else choosing to do the abbreviated route we took.

We recorded the mileage when we filled our diesel tanks the afternoon before we set off from Culloden Moor, when we refuelled at Thurso and again when we filled at Beauly yesterday, the total distance being 503 miles. (It should not be forgotton that did include a little tikki touring out and about from Dunnet Bay, such as our drive down to Wick and across to John O’Groats). Most of that distance was covered with the caravan in tow, some on slow one way roads, up, down and across the variety of countryside, often hampered by uneven roads; from Thurso to Beauly we averaged nearly 8 miles per litre as opposed to our more regular 11 – 12 miles per litre. We are always interested in such statistics; such calulations are a regular feature of documenting our travel.

As we travelled through the steep terrain today, and noted a roadkilled otter, we discussed too the recording of this generally. The fact I have only noted this kind of statistic three times so far in our travels should not be considered an indication that roadkill is a rarity. Down in Suffolk, dead badgers are a regular sight along the road side, and most squashed critters are unidentifiable. In New Zealand the regulars are possums, very common in the part of the country we come from. 

And on a different note, and hopefully not considered directly related to the above, Scottish cuisine deserves a mention. Early in the piece, whilst in Edinburgh, Chris tried a haggis samosa, which was a good concession to what might have been just too bazaar; how could one go wrong with a spicy Indian haggis creation? I took a tentative nibble and agreed it was not too bad. Since then, Chris has tried Scotch Pies, both cold and hot, deciding the heated version more palatable. In fact, he was so taken with them he bought himself another today. These are meat pies, made from mutton when one normally considers a meat pie to be beef. I am neither a fan of offal nor mutton, having been brought up on a dry stock farm, where offal was boiled up and fed to the working dogs and the mutton brought to table was from the old ewes who had missed an early trip to the works.

But getting back to todays activities:

This morning we packed up in rain, never a joy, although it was more Scotch mist than torrential rain. We headed toward Inverness, then across to the A82, that which follows the west coast of Loch Ness and travelled about ten days ago. Today we were early enough to find a space in the car park at Drumnadocht, that little settlement halfway down the Loch where tourists can revel in myths and stories of the Loch Ness Monster. When we last passed through here there had been a veritable traffic jam of tourists, those enjoying the quaintness of the place and the rest glad to have parking albeit distant from Urquart Castle. Today we wandered about enjoying the relative peace of the village, picking up a newspaper from one store and one of those Scotch pies from a Farm Shop, deciding the broccoli there was at a premium.

We continued down the Loch, turning on to the A87 at Invermoriston, and following the River Moriston up the Glen of the same name, climbing so gradually it was a great surprise to find the western descent so steep.

I had intended that we stop along the shore of Loch Cluanie for our late morning layby, but access to all of these was as rough as could be, so much so the roading authorites were not willing to mark them as “Parking” spots. And so we carried on, by now the rain had set in, and the traffic incredibly heavy, particularly considering we were all heading to the so-called unpopulated west coast.

The water levels of the Loch were very low, this like Loch Glascarnoch, part of the hydro system. Here the valley was wide, flanked by mountains of between 947 and 1120 meters ASL. We came over the saddle, marked only by the fact that the rivers and streams flowed to the west rather than the east, and soon found a sealed relatively level layby, so close to the road that the caravan rocked everytime a vehicle passed by, and there were many of them. Still, we were glad to have a safe space off the road.

Once more on the road, wide and sealed but of poor surface, we descended steeply toward the coast, coming around a corner to be faced with a van overtaking a string of traffic, on our side of the road. This was one of those times I was glad that Chris was driving, not I, because he avoided a head on crash with great dexterity, if not pure luck. I imagine we were not the only ones shaken by the event. Later we saw a fire engine and police car tear off eastwards and we wondered whether the maniac had tried the same trick further along the route.

The road continued on down a narrow gully between high mountains, now over 1,050 metres on both sides. Then suddenly we arrived at the shore of Loch Duaich, like the Sounds of Marlborough in New Zealand, with little shore and steep hills all about.

The turn off to this camp was just a couple of miles north around the base of the Loch, a further mile of narrow road up yet another narrow valley. We are surrounded with high steep hills, or more accurately, mountains.

I did suggest we delay our setting up until the rain eased, but Chris was not so sure it would, so we persevered. Once all organised, raincoats and shoes sodden, and dirty footprints through the caravan, a watery sun offered itself. I couldn’t help myself from saying, “I told you so”, but Chris remained conveniently deaf. 

We had hoped we could fit a visit to the Eilean Donan Castle into our afternoon, even after our drive across from the east and were not disappointed. This iconic tourist destination, frequently toted to be the most photographed monument in Scotland, is destination to at least as many as those who visit Urquart Castle. It is situated on a very small island guarding the confluence of Lochs Alsh, Duich and Long, joined to the shore by a stone bridge, surrounded by mountains, resulting in one of the most beautifully picturesque positions. From here one can even see the mountains of Skye.

The castle was established in 1230 by Alexander II to protect the area from the vikings but was destroyed during the Jacobite uprising in 1719. Eileen Donan remained in ruins for nearly two hundred years until 1912, when Major John MacRae purchased the castle with a view to restoring the home of his ancestors to its former glory. This John MacRae had recently married a Miss Gilstrap, and within a year or so produced a son, Douglas. Soon after, Mrs MacRae’s uncle died leaving her his sole heir, but with the fortune only to be transferred to her coffers if she change back to her maiden name, they quickly became the MacRae-Giltrap family, with money to burn or better still, to invest in the restoration of the castle. The difficult rebuilding would take twenty years. 

Just before young Douglas died in his senior years, he was astute enough to place the castle and the land about into a charitable trust, always good financial sense for tax avoidance, or should I say, tax minimisation. His widow is still alive and has part of the castle set aside for her or the family, should they wish to spend some time here. She is now about ninety years old, has five daughters and about twenty grandchildren, but none of these benefit directly from the vibrant commercial enterprise that can only be super successful given the number of visitors. The oldest of these daughters is one of the Trustees, so the MacRaes do have some input into the operations. We were told that the profits from the business are ploughed back into the upkeep of the castle, however as the structure seems to grow out of the rock, and its sturdy walls don’t look as if they will need  much attention for a while, unless the castle is bombarded as it was in 1719, the coffers must be growing quickly. Maybe they can invest in a multi-storey car park to accommodate the thousands of tourists who visit every day?

We spent a couple of hours here, enjoying the stories told by the kilt wearing guides, joining coach parties to listen in to the extended commentary, and wandering about the island to enjoy the impressive views. While there was little sunshine, the rain stayed away and for that, we were very glad.