[This walk was completed on the 7th May 2023]

It’s a Sunday and there are no buses running. So, with no bus to catch, I can enjoy a lie in and a leisurely breakfast. Then I drive off in the van and find somewhere to park on the other side of Loch Eriboll, before jumping on my Scooty bike and cycling back to the telephone box in Laid.

It’s midday by the time I reach the Laid phonebox (which is in working order – I usually check!). I wrestle Scooty into a safe spot behind a rock – where he decides to fall painfully on my leg before he submits to being chained up. (We have a love-hate relationship!)

Nursing my bruised leg, and cursing the fresh oil stains on my trousers, I perch on a rock beside the vengeful bike and eat my lunch. It is another beautiful and sunny morning, although the clouds are gathering over the mountains.

After eating, I sling my ruck sack over my shoulders and set off walking. Southwards.

I soon come across a rare sight on the road – an open cafe. I suspect this is the only cafe on the banks of Loch Eriboll (and time proves me right) but I’ve only just had lunch, and it is too early to stop for a cuppa. Seems a waste of an opportunity!

Further along are an assortment of buildings with some pottery on display along the walls. “Pottery” says a sign on a shed that has bricks holding down the roof. What a great place to have a pottery studio, but I wonder how they survive in such a remote place.

This is the Lotte Glob pottery (weird name) and it even has a little car park opposite an impressive entry gate. Wow! Love those pillars. Wonderful.

I suddenly remember that my brother and sister-in-law used to live somewhere on the North coast of Scotland in a cottage with land that stretched down to the sea. Should have remembered to ask them where exactly. I start taking notice of every cottage I pass, in case one was theirs.

This cottage, for example, would be a fabulous place to live, if you liked wild countryside and splendid isolation.

I pass a muddy field with a couple of horses munching at hay. Not much grass in the field yet. The growing season starts late in the north of Scotland.

Nearby is a fenced area with two sleepy pigs. They have nice furry coats to keep themselves warm.

I love this sign on the gate. 101. A great number for your address, although I’m surprised there are as many as 101 properties around the loch.

(When I was a GP in the rural Cambridgeshire fens, the addresses were a nightmare. Number 38 Fen Road could be a property standing entirely on its own, or next to another house which declared itself proudly to be number 92 Fen Road. This apparent random scattering of numbers turned every home visit into a stressful search. “You can’t miss it,” was fen-speak for “You will never find it.”)

Ah, here is a house for sale. A massive renovation project for sure – but what a view you would have at the end of it.

I finally leave the cottages of Laid behind. Empty countryside ahead. Mountains in the distance.

There is graffiti on the passing place sign. “Slava Ukraini” with a translation underneath “Glory to Ukraine”.

That awful war seems miles away from this peaceful place.

Traffic is much lighter today. Fewer boy-racers to dodge, but more lumbering vans and motorhomes. The single-track road causes the occasional traffic jam as vehicles jostle to pass each other.

The splash of green trees makes a welcome change from the emptiness of the slopes around the loch. It’s disappointing to see they are only conifers. I do dislike the dark sterility of these pine plantations.

I must be nearing the end of the loch now. The road winds ahead, and I find a song worming through my brain – “The Long and Winding Road” – a Beatles classic.

Once lodged, the song won’t leave me alone for the rest of the day. Thank goodness it’s such a beautiful piece of music.

Ah, here’s the bridge at the top of loch, where the river, the Amhainn an t-Stratha Bhig, empties into Loch Eriboll. I’m half way through today’s walk.

I stand on the bridge and enjoy the view upstream. It’s a shame the sun has vanished behind clouds, so my photographs are lacklustre. I think that is Cranstackie mountain in the distance.

I opt to climb down on the other side of the bridge to sit on the shore of Loch Eriboll. Time for a rest and a snack. Apart from the occasional buzz of traffic on the road behind me, the scenery is utterly empty. It’s not peaceful though – there are some noisy gulls around.

Instead of crossing the river by way of the bridge, I decide to wade through the spreading shallows at the top of the loch. Half way across I begin to regret my decision as the mud squelches under my boots and spatters the bottom of my trousers.

When I look down, I see the reddish seaweed on the edge of the shore seems to have created red splash marks on my pale-grey walking trousers. Another stain to add alongside the dark streaks of oil from my Scooty bike. At some point I’m going to have to find a washing machine!

I climb up the opposite bank, clamber over a crash barrier, and rejoin the road. What a lovely view.

Further along, the view becomes almost surreal. What a weird landscape. Are these pools of water, and humps of land, natural?

I can hear the call of a cuckoo. Always love that sound. There are very few trees around, but the bird must be perched among those silver birches clinging to the cliffs. I hope they are holding on tightly – look at that rock fall!

There is a a lone cottage down by the shore. I stop to take a photo as the road circles around, and begins to head northwards. I wonder who lives there? Or is it just a summer holiday home?

The road runs close to the edge of the loch for a mile or so. Beautiful. I make rapid progress, only interrupted when I have to jump onto the verge to avoid the occasional motorhome.

The road begins to rise.Here’s a cyclist. Must be touring. He has weighty saddlebags and makes slow progress up the hill, and stops frequently. I catch up with him several times and we have an intermittent conversation. He is hot and tired and wishes the hills would end. I’m glad I’m walking.

I stop to take photographs of the sheep. They look snug in their fleeces. I love the colours of the landscape – muted reds, umbre browns, and brighter splashes of green and gold.

The road continues up the hill, rising slowly but growing steeper. “The Long and Winding Road” is now on a permanenet loop in my brain.

I woman cyclist whizzes past me, coming downill. “Yeee haaa,” she cries with her legs stretched free of the pedals and her shoulder humped against the wind. I know how she feels. I enjoyed this downhill stretch on my Scooty bike too.

At the top of the climb, I stop for a rest and take some photographs looking back down towards the top of the loch. What an incredible view.

Now the road winds gently downhill, moving away from the water. The map promises “hut circles” but I dont see any sign of them.

There a phone box ahead. According to the bus timetable (the bus which only runs on a Saturday morning), this is a bus stop too. Almost a mirror of the one across the loch in Laid. The map tells me this is Eriboll, but there is no sign of a village, just a large farm house opposite the phone box.

Sadly, this phone box is no longer working. Inside, all the apparatus has been removed and a sign tells me, “BT no longer owns this kiosk.” Apparently, it is now owned by an organisation called “WildLand” who retain the kiosk as part of the heritage of this area.

I sit on the wall beside the kiosk and have a drink and a snack. This causes some amusement among a couple of car drivers who give me a cheery wave.

Onwards. The road is winding up a hill again and towards a small white chapel.

The white chapel now appears to be a private residence, with a single lonely-looking sheep standing inside it’s walled garden. Why only one sheep? Is it supposed to be there?

The lonely sheep can’t tell me, but the rest of the flock are camped out on the other side of the road. Behind them is the loch and, beyond the water, is the far shore where I started today’s walk. I’ve tramped nearly nine miles, but I’m only a mile or two away from where I set off this morning!

Onwards and upwards. I pass a ruined cottage, or a ruined sheepfold – its hard to tell. Paths criss-cross the slope beneath me and I wish I’d found a route closer to the water. Fed up with road walking. But they might only be sheep paths and lead nowhere.

At the top of the hill I stop for a rest (really, my fitness levels are terrible) and take more photographs of the loch and mountains.

This has been a really glorious walk. But I’m rounding the final bend…

…because here is the parking space where I’ve left my van. It’s high above a beautiful little bay and a fish farm.

I brew a cup of tea in the van, before heading back to pick up my Scooty bike and return to my camp site in Durness.

On further investigation, the red stains on my trousers turns out to be blood splatters. It was Scooty’s revenge for being left behind for two days – oil stains and a gash in my leg!

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Miles walked today = 9 miles

Total around coast = 4,948 miles

Route:

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