[This walk was completed on the 5th May 2023]

There is a regular bus service between Durness and Rhiconich. What a relief to leave my bike behind and catch a lift – in a comfortable minibus – because the weather has been blowing a hurricane, and cycling would have been tricky in the gale.

It takes me some time to explain to the driver where I want to be dropped off. “It’s just before a bridge called Drochaid Mhor, in the middle of nowhere, where there is a layby with a phone box.”

Yesterday, I moved out of my friendly hotel in Richonich. I had a short circular walk planned, but first needed to check into the campsite in Durness. They were “fully booked” when I enquired a few days ago, but they accept a few un-booked campers from 12 midday – on a first-come-first-served basis. So, desperate for a place, I was waiting in a layby outside the campsite at 11am. Still managed to be second in the queue – a giant motorhome managed to sneak in before me – but was allocated a nice spot overlooking the sea.

By the time I’d settled in, visited the local Spar (surprisingly large and well-stocked for such a small place), and had lunch, I lacked the energy for a serious walk. It was horrendously windy too. So Thursday turned into a REST day.

This morning, I caught the 8am minibus, along with two women cyclists (their bikes strapped to the back of the bus) and a male walker. But I was the only person who got off here. Not surprising, really. It’s the middle of nowhere!

I follow the road back towards Durness. On the ridge to my right, my map promises cairns and ancient hut circles. My plan was to climb up and take a closer look. But there is a fence in the way and, despite my day of rest yesterday, I’m feeling unusually tired.

Is that a cairn up there? A hut circle? Or just a ruined sheep fold? I will never know for certain.

After a mile or so, I come to the head of an inlet, where the River Dionard joins the sea loch – or, more specifically, empties into the Kyle of Durness. There’s a farm across the river and a footbridge, and my map promises an ancient broch too. But, again, I feel too tired to explore.

The road crosses a nameless stream via a modern bridge. You can still see the remains of the old road and the old bridge right next to it. It’s another one of those “ghost” roads – so common in this part of the highlands.

The sun disappears and my photographs fail to do justice to the next section of the walk – which hugs the bank of the Kyle of Durness and is very scenic.

Acorss the Kyle of Durness are some magnificent hills. I realise I am looking towards Cape Wrath. The clouds and the patches of sunlight create some spectacular landscapes. Look at that tiny little white cottage over there, silhouetted against the moody darkness of the hill behind. Just glorious.

I pass a field of sheep with their delightful babies. Stop to take more photos and watch the little lambs playing about.

Onwards. I must be nearly at Durness now. The outskirts are ahead.

I reach a flat area of grassy land that juts into the water – Rubha an Tigh Shaille, according to my map. Earlier, when I was riding in the minibus, I saw a gaggle of campervans and motorhomes parked here, presumably making use of the open space for an impromtu campsite. I’m glad they’ve moved on.

This is also the spot where a minor road branches off towards the Cape Wrath Ferry.

I stop to read the information signs, and learn why the waters of the Kyle of Durness are beautifully clear. The rivers that feed into the Kyle pass through either hard rocks (on the Cape Wrath side) or limestone (on the Durness side). As a result, they don’t carry the peaty sediment that turns the water of so many Scottish rivers a murky brown colour.

Although it looks like a recent addition to the landscape, I love this monument. An exclamation point standing proud above the water.

I know the ferry to Cape Wrath isn’t running yet, but I walk down the little side road anyway. It curves around the edge of the loch, past a few renovated residences, a farm and a rather posh looking “Cape Wrath Lodge”.

The ferry car park turns out to be just a layby. And there is no sign of the ferry… where is it?

I walk further along the road, past a “No parking beyond this point” sign and, there, at the end of the road is a large turning area, and a slipway leading down to the water.

So this is the famous Cape Wrath ferry terminal. No ferry in sight. Definitely not running yet.

The Kyle is narrower at this point. Across the water is a road and a house. I wonder if the house is inhabited? On this side, there is a bus shelter – possibly intended for waiting ferry passengers but currently being used as storage space for a cement mixer.

My plan is to follow a core path from here. This follows the edge of the Kyle and, eventually, takes me to Balnakeil Bay. (You can see the signs for the path in the photo above.) From Balnakeil Bay, I will follow the road back to Durness and my campsite.

I set off along the path. Hello, Mrs Sheep. That’s a fine lamb.

I was relieved to see the Core Path signs, because although my map indicates a path, you’re never quite sure in Scotland whether the path actually exists on the ground, or not. But, this seems a good path, running high above the edge of the water. I look ahead. Still can’t see the mouth of the loch.

The path takes a steep dip down into a little gully, where a small stream joins the waters of the loch and a boat is pulled up on the pebbly shore.

The path deteriorates after this, and I have a tough scramble up the other side of the gully. The path climbs higher, becoming narrow and crumbly, with a steep slope below.

The trouble with coastal landscapes (and one of the reasons why they are so enticing) is that coastal areas are in a constant state of change. And so, it seems, is this path, which appears to be literally slipping into oblivion. I stop to catch my breath and take some photographs, while considering my options.

I decide to abandon the treacherous path, and clamber higher up the slope, holding onto grasses as the soil tries to slip away under my feet.

Finally, I reach a more solid surface, but my way is blocked by a group of rather aggressive sheep. I’m not scared of sheep, but have no desire to be tussling with them on a treacherous slope, so I take a wide detour inland – wider than I would have preferred.

Now, I have lost sight of the water and I am surrounded by undulating hillocks covered in long, tufty grass, with no obvious landmarks. Must be vegetated dunes? I get the same experience of disorentation I’ve experienced among dunes before – when you can’t see more than a few meters ahead and quickly lose all sense of direction.

I pull out my Garmin, and use it to navigate back towards the water. What a relief to climb another slope and see… the mouth of the loch and the sea!

I walk down through the dunes with diffculty. The grass obscures the uneven ground and I have to pay attention to where I put my feet. Progress is slow.

When I get closer to the water, the path becomes clearer again. Until my way is blocked by another obstruction – a long fence topped with barbed wire. Oh dear. How annoying. I follow the fence inland until I come to a point where the wires are sagging and there are some big stones to stand on. Other people have clearly used this point to cross over too.

I climb over and stop to take a photograph looking down along the obstruction.

Why do farmers do this? There was an obvious path and the fence cut straight across it. Providing a small stile or a gate would be easy.

But I have a treat in store. And all my frustration is forgotten. Look at this gorgeous beach!

The beach even has its own little reef. I walk along the sand, and perch on a rock to eat my lunch. The high dunes inland provide a buffer to the wind. A perfect picnic spot. Later, I use the same rock to balance my camera and take a self portrait.

At the end of the beach, a group of rocks separate the sand from another little bay. Looking back, you can clearly see the rocky reef between the sand and the water – although I imagine the waves crash over at high tide. The sea is beautifully clear too.

The next bay has an angular, geometrical look. Almost a perfect square, as if delberately carved out of the rocks by a giant machine.

The stones here are fascinating. Clearly huge geological forces have been at work – firstly to create all these layers in the rock, and then to carve the rocks up into smaller lumps. Beautiful. Nearly every pebble seems a work of art.

I climb a slope at the far end of the bay, and stop to take photos looking back. This square bay, and the pretty beach where I had my lunch, have no names on my map. They are secret, mysterious places. Over the water is another mysterious place… the hilly landscape of the Cape Wrath peninsula.

Will I ever get to Cape Wrath? Fate (and the ferry timetable) seem to be conspiring against me!

Onwards. I follow a grassy track above wonderful rock configurations, the shoreline draped in bright green seaweed…

… until I eventually round the corner at the mouth of the loch, and begin travelling eastwards towards Balnakeil Bay.

This marks an important transition. No longer am I walking northwards up the WEST coast of Scotland. I’m now walking eastwards along the NORTH coast of Scotland. I have, literally, turned the corner!

I have to confess that from here the path becomes slightly boring – an obvious gravel track. And the landscape of fields and grassy dunes gives way to a sparser landscape of bare rock and short grass.

I pass over the remains of an old quarry (I think, it’s not marked as such on my map) and reach the edge of a golf course. The wind has remained strong during the course of my walk, but became really fierce when I rounded the corner. I’m surprised, therefore, to see a lone golfer on the green.

From a safe distance, I watch as he wacks a ball over a narrow inlet. But the wind is so strong, the ball seems to stop in mid-air, and drops like a stone into the sea. His shoulders sag. As I pass him, he explains in a strong northern-european accent, “The wind is too much.” I agree and sympathise.

As I leave the golf course, I pass this sign. “Durness Golf Club. The most north-westerly 9 hole course on mainland Britain.”

Balnakeil Bay is absolutely stunning. A huge, curving expanse of sand, with creamy-blue waters in the distance, and the north-pointing finger of the An Fharaid peninsula at its far end.

I was planning to walk along the sand and do a circuit of the peninsula, but I feel strangely tired, despite my day of rest yesterday. And I don’t fancy battling against the wind any more. So, I decide to head straight back to my campsite instead.

Joining the road, I pass an old graveyard and a ruined church, reach a car park for the bay, and follow the road as it turns vaguely southwards towards Durness. This impressive building stands overlooking the bay. I wonder if it’s a farm house or holiday lets? Huge, and what a view!

Just off the road is a “motorhome stop over” site. I will come across a few of these along the north coast -basically they provide official overnight parking places for motorhomes, with no amenities except for electric hook-up points. They are also cheaper than established camp sites. This one charges £20 a night.

I remember that the Durness campsite is full, and I guess these places are a good idea. You need your own onboard water and toilet facilities, though.

Beyond the motorhome site, is a weird “craft village”. I visited this place yesterday, on my rest day, so I don’t explore it again today…

… but I do stop at the Cocoa Mountain cafe, which has a “for Sale” sign on the front lawn. The cafe seems strangely out of place in such a remote and rustic setting. It is also popular and crowded, and they seem to have run out of proper food, so I have to make do with a trio of “tasting chocolates” and a big mug of hot chocolate – bliss!

With renewed energy, I walk down the road and into Durness.

The Balnakeil road joins the main road through Durness. There is the bus stop where I caught the minibus this morning. And the wonderful local Spar, that sells good coffee from a machine and warm croissants.

Opposite the Spar is a petrol station, and this creates a busy little spot, with vans and motorbikes stopping for fuel or food, or both. Just beyond the Spar is the camp site.

I have a wonderful spot on the edge of the site, overlooking Sango Bay. But, because of the wind, I have been unable to pop up my roof. Even with the roof down, the van rocks and rolls.

My poor Scooty bike has been blown over by the wind. I’m glad I didn’t have to cycle today. And, with a bit of luck, I can avoid cycling tomorrow too… but that’s another story.

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Post walk update: the large house in Balnakeil Bay was built by the Mackay Clan on the site of a former monastry, and is called Balnakeil House. Sadly the Cocoa Mountain cafe appears to have closed down. The “craft village” – which you could accurately describe as “rustic” and seems mainly inhabited by aging English hippies – has an interesting history as a never-commissioned MOD early-warning station.

Miles walked today = 9 miles

Total around coast = 4,930 miles

Route =

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