Saturday 4^th April - Day 91

Walking song of the day: ‘West End Blues’ - Louis Armstrong

Forget what I said yesterday, about how the world was a beautiful place and everything was beautiful. Beautiful this, beautiful that, blah, blah, blah. Today was decidedly unbeautiful, in the way that the idea of living with Paul Daniels and Debbie McGee is unbeautiful.

There was nothing wrong with the scenery at all. In fact, right at the end of my day, I reached the Kyle of Tongue and Tongue Bay, which is just about the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. Flanked on both sides by hills and mountains (hello again Ben Hope), it is probably half a mile wide and five miles long with vast stretches of custard coloured sand reaching far off into the distance and water of the lightest blue despite the abysmal weather. Sheep and dogs are the only creatures that ever use those beaches, I was reliably informed by Helen, my guardian angel, of whom more later. These beaches defy imagination, you couldn’t dream them up. Hannah, the lady who runs the hostel I am staying in tonight is a Kiwi, and she and I were discussing our favourite beaches. Hers is in the South Island of New Zealand but she reckoned that the Kyle of Tongue is easily one of the most beautiful places on earth. She is bang on the money. I can’t wait to bring Harriet here and when I do, she will be one of the lucky few for I would guess that less than a hundreth of a percent of the earth’s entire population even know that this place exists and I think I can safely say, that that is exactly how the locals want it to stay.

Okay, from the moment I left Bettyhill this morning until long after I had arrived in Tongue, it absolutely poured with rain. I am pretty sure you do not want me to tell you the familiar details, suffice to say, I was soaked and very, very cold by the time arrived at my digs. My boots are also letting in water on account of me wearing holes in the souls. A mile or two from sanctuary, and somewhere up a mountain, I met the lovely Helen, who stopped and offered me a lift, something she told me she never did especially as I was a strange man. I started thinking about how cunning and callous a predatory killer would have to be to just wonder about in torrential rain in the mountains on the off-chance of being picked up by a kind and decent woman such as Helen. If one person could have persuaded him (for they are always men) not to go through with his dastardly plan it was Helen. She was 70 and her husband had had a stroke on the very same day he was made redundant from a Scottish bank earlier this year. Whether the redundancy caused the stroke who’s to say, but it’s highly likely. I don’t mind admitting, if Helen had driven past me two miles in to the walk today I would have accepted the lift. It was appalling out there and where it had been mild earlier, it turned very cold indeed by lunchtime. Later I was listening to commentary on the Liverpool game being played in London only to hear that they were playing in bright sunshine, in which London had been basking all day.

Thanks though Helen, and I sincerely hope you husband makes a quick and full recovery.

Cheers

Al

Friday 3^rd April - Day 90

Walking song of the day: ‘6 x 6’ - Earl Van Dyke

I think from here on in, at least for the next couple of weeks, most of my updates from the road are going to begin with words similar to “today was the best day of the walk so far”, because today was the best day of the walk so far and I am pretty sure tomorrow will be as well.

The beach you can see below was my reward for arriving in Bettyhill after a pretty easy ten mile day, during which I encountered nothing more taxing than beauty from start to finish. Sure there was a very steep climb which was quite tough, but all around me were hills covered in heather and moss, and granite rock sparkling in the sunshine like a Swarovski roadshow, all beckoning me on with promises of further riches to behold. I wasn’t to be disappointed.

Three miles from Bettyhill (which I must say, is a rather cool name for a town) is the Bettyhill Viewing Point. Here you will find a brilliant little information board which has a diagram of all that lays before you, so you can easily identify mountains Ben Hope (3040ft), Arkle (2580) and Foinaven (2980) some way off in the distance and in the case of Ben Hope, snow-capped, despite the blazing sunshine.

Add to this stunning cliffs and dark blue sea to my right and you start to wonder how you can improve on the place. There is no-one around, it’s pretty much silent apart from the birds (and I am sure I saw an eagle today) and there is virtually no traffic.

Actually, a chap did stop and ask me were I was heading and embarrassingly I had forgotten so couldn’t tell him. He started to do his window back-up at that point, possibly thinking I had slipped my carer, but the truth was, with the sun so high in the sky and all before me laid out as if painted by a poet, it seemed criminal to even entertain the notion of being anywhere but outside. And I had to wonder why I am only offered lifts when the weather is glorious?

It’s amazing how the memory of last Friday, when I was soaked and chilled to the bone and miles from anywhere, has slipped to the far corners of my memory, probably only ever to be recalled when attempting to gain sympathy from a pretty but simple, doe-eyed girl. Sunshine does that to you, it’s like that certain mate most of us have who always puts a wonky spin on things and causes you to feel and think in a slightly different way, if only for a moment. The sun has the capacityto make everything seem alright.

So this beach, Torrisdale beach to give it its proper, name looked just wonderful when it first came into view. I really am annoyed about my decent camera being broken as it would have conveyed its beauty far better than my phone camera ever could. But look at that sand, look at no-one being anywhere near it on the most perfect day of the year so far. My favourite beach in the world is Cathedral Cove in New Zealand, not least because it is normally deserted and takes a death-defying hike to get down to it. But while Torrisdale isn’t quite on a par, it is awfully close. It might be a cliché, and as it’s a cliché, I will no doubt repeat it in future posts, but if Scotland did enjoy a slightly better climate, no actually, a much better climate, I cannot for the life of me see why it wouldn’t be in the top few holiday destinations in the world.

Cheers

Al

PS: A quick hello to the four diners I met in the bar of the Strathy Inn where I stayed last night. They kindly donated £25 to the fund so many thanks for that, it was very much appreciated.