Loch Ewe

We decided to leave Ullapool while we still had all our vital organs.

(Although, as regular readers will remember, JBs liver is not always as vital as it might be.....)

Refreshed if penniless, we headed to Gairloch, further down the coast.

On the way, we passed the magnificent Loch Ewe (or as it was known during WW2 Loch A)

That's right blogmates, we'd stumbled upon the top secret site from which the Atlantic convoys set sail.

We paused to think of all those brave seamen (and women) who set out from here, including, quite possibly, Uncle Tony and Grandad Bull.

I've enclosed a photo of the information board which tells it so much better than I could.

Assault and battery

 The last couple of days have seen us holed up in the faded glamour of the Caledonian Hotel in Ullapool.

Chosen mainly as a respite from the predicted rain, the hotel is, surprisingly ok. (Despite the haggis at breakfast)

Ullapool and the surrounding area are simply wonderful. A small slice of paradise that could only be improved by:

a) : A more temperate climate.

b): A branch of Home Bargains.

Sharp eyed readers will, by now I'm sure, be wondering about the assault and battery link.

Wonder no more. Arriving last night, famished from travelling on barely visible Highland tracks, the local fish and chip shop appeared Heaven sent.

Now comes the unpleasantness. Nervous readers are once again advised to look away (or at least close one eye).

Two portions of haddock and chips and some mushy peas cost an astronomical £28.

That's right . Twenty eight English pounds. 

It was tasty, but I was left wondering if I should have framed it........

Anyway, here's some of the highlights...

Summertime

 Today we were privileged to witness the Scottish Summer. The one day in the year when the sun shines, and nervous locals emerge, blinking, from their burrow.

Some of the bolder ones risk opening the top toggle on their duffel coats.....

And so we took full advantage of the phenomenon, travelling up the coast to Dornoch.

Home to the smallest cathedral in Scotland, (so small, I couldn't photograph it) Dornoch is a very pretty little place. It has a Royal Golf Course, though no golfers appeared to be wearing crowns.

After pausing for an outrageously priced toilet break (50p to pee! That's ten bob.  For  a piddle) we headed to "the beach"

Actually, it was totally deserving of those quotation marks.  Stunning. Pristine. And uninhabited apart from razor shells, dead sea urchins  and us.

It was lovely mates. And though we may be blistered from a combination of sun/wind,it was well worth it.

BTW; for those readers who enjoy the shipping forecast (and I know there are many) the purple arrow is pointing to Cromarty.

Breathtaking, isnt it????

I see no monster.....

 Today, I decided to address the wild talk around the campsite about a monster, and set out to circumvent the fabled Loch Ness.

Armed with a family sized bag of monster munch (the better to lure the beast in) and a stout heart, I set forth.

My quest was hindered somewhat on arrival at Urquhart castle (jumping off point for many a monster hunt) when I was met by a security man complete with stern moustache,  demanding to see my pre booking arrangements. 

Regular readers will, of course, know that pre-booking does not happen in my world.

Refusing to pay the frankly extortionate £9.60 per person to approach the Loch, I pushed on, determined to view the monster or bust.

Eventually, after encountering waterfalls, holy wells and,most horrendously, bagpipes, I reached the Loch shore.

I faced the water,  waving my monster munch and generally taunting the beast, but to no avail. 

I'm left with the uneasy feeling that there may in fact, be NO MONSTER,and that it's all a hoax designed to sell plastic crap to tourists.........

Battle re-enactment

Today's outing took us to  Culloden, where in 1746, a band of Highland ruffians took on the British army. It went very badly for them, and by then end of the day some 1300 were dead.

Scottish rebellion ended then,at least until the emergence of the Sottish National Party.

Keen to fully immerse myself in the site, I hoped to stage a re-enactment, but neither ruffians nor Scottish MPs turned up.

Instead, I turned my attention to the Culloden monument, which resembles nothing more than a giant plant pot.

It was as I approached that disaster struck. A cunningly placed stone, presumably left by the retreating Jocks all those years ago, seized its chance and hurled me to the ground.

Bloodied but unbowed,(well quite bowed actually, it did sting a bit) I staggered to my feet, sang the national anthem and limped off.

Here are some scenes from the day. (The drama wasn't fully captured as my phone smashed during the carnage)

Nervous readers should look away now....

The site of the 1746 battle.

The giant flowerpot, (treacherous stone still hidden)

The aftermath. I fear I may never dance the hornpipe again...

 

Caledonian capers

Welcome back, blogmates!

It's been quite a while since we set sail together, and frankly, I cant promise that it will have been worth the wait...

This trip finds us on the far north. Scotland, to narrow it down. 

Inverness, if you want to be narrower still.

Scotland is a strange land promising swirling bagpipes, men in skirts and haggis running free over the moors, none of which have been spotted yet.

There's much crazy talk around the shower block about a monster, again, sightings so far, nil. (Although the woman in the campervan would definitely benefit from a makeover)

Here's the view from my tent: