[This walk was completed on Monday, the 26th May, 2024]

What a difference a day makes! Yesterday, I walked in glorious sunshine. Today it is dull and rainy.

I cycle back to the spot where I ended yesterday’s walk, and chain my bike up beside a tree.

Reluctantly (because I hate walking in the rain), I heave my backpack over my shoulders, and head off along a woodland track. The rain eases off slightly, and I take a few photographs of the peaceful woods.

I cross a little footbridge, and meet a few other walkers (it is Bank Holiday Monday, after all) and then take a right hand turn down a broad gravel track.

This track takes me out of the woodlands, and out of the Fleet Loch Nature Reserve. Now I’m walking through farmland. I know it’s farmland, although I really can’t see very much!

This is long road, and rather boring. At last, the rain clears a little, and I stop to take a reasonably decent photograph. The hill ahead is called Silver Rock.

I cross over a level crossing, and am surprised by two cyclists. They look bedraggled. Poor things.

Ahead is the A9, but I’m not joining the road yet. Instead, I’m going to follow the official John o’Groats Trail and pick up a footpath to my left. Where is it?

Once past the railway crossing, and this must be the path… although, to be honest, it simply looks like a muddy field.

I stomp across the first muddy field. Realise – too late – that I should have put on my waterproof trousers. The grass is just long enough to make the bottom of my trousers wet. Sadly, I can’t see anywhere dry to sit in order to put my waterproofs on, and I can no longer manage the manoeuvre while standing up!

The path takes a little detour to avoid a cottage, and then continues straight ahead. Beyond the first field, is a second field.

Now, I know there are cattle in the second field, because I saw them from the road when I cycled along the A9 earlier. And I can just make out the beasts through the misty rain. Luckily, they are several hundred yards away, at the top of the slope.

As I make my way across this second field, the cattle spot me, and begin to run down the slope towards me. I am now 3/4 of the way across the field – too late to turn back – and I begin to speed up to try to reach the safety of the fence ahead before they arrive.

But these are frisky bullocks and too fast. They crowd behind me, snorting and bucking, and I have to keep turning round to fend them off. “Stay back, naughty boys.” Undeterred, they follow hard on my heels and I grow increasingly concerned, until I reach the safety of the fence at the end of the field.

There is a gate, with a stile next to it. With relief, I swing myself up the stile and sit on top of the gate.

Then, to my horror, I see the next field has got bullocks too, and they come charging down to investigate the commotion. I am surrounded!

Perched on the gate, unable to go forward and unable to go back, I do what everybody does at times like this. I pull out my phone and video the situation…

This is the most frightened I have been on my trip so far. Even the waterfall of death, near Whaligoe Steps, was not as scary as this.

Having filmed what may be my final moments, I ponder the options. The bullocks are now nuzzling my knees, and breathing wet breath all over my lower legs. Obviously I can’t go forward, neither can I go back.

Behind me is the railway track and its perimeter fence runs just next to the gate I’m sitting on. It has nasty barbed wire on top, but it would be possible to stick my leg over, try to find a purchase on the gaps in the wire, and scramble down beside the line.

The trouble is, I would be (a) trespassing on the railway line (I don’t care much about this) and (b) I would have to find somewhere where I could climb back over (I do worry about that!).

By now, I have been sitting on the fence – literally – for about 10 minutes and my bum is going numb.

But then, the bullocks do something inexplicable. They stop nudging my legs, mill around for a few seconds, and then stampede up the hill. Away from me! As soon as one side does this, the other side follows.

I wait till they are about 200 yards or so away. I can see the next fence I have to reach… and it is only 100 yards away. I think I can make it…

Hastily, I climb down and march across the next field. March? Actually, more of a run.

Then one of the bullocks spots me, and they all come charging down again. I sprint for the fence and make it to the gate, heaving myself over. Just in time.

Once down on the other side, I feel safe enough to stop and take a photograph of the bullocks, now assembled and staring at me through the bars.

My next fear is that this field, too, will contain bullocks. But there is no sign of any animals. The grass is long and doesn’t look grazed. I think I’m OK.

The long grass turns my damp trousers into thoroughly wet trousers, but I am too relieved to care. The ground is quite boggy too, so I end up both wet and muddy as I stumble forwards towards the next fence.

Over the next stile, and I enter a lovely wooded area.

I should really enjoy this section of the walk, but too be honest I’m too rattled to care much. Also, I barely notice that the rain has stopped, because I’m still shaking after my near-death experience.

Onwards, along a path, that turns into a track.

And then I emerge on the A9. I pull on my hi-vis vest, and set off along the gravel-strewn verge. It is a most unpleasant part of the walk – with cars speeding past every minute or so – but at least the road is clear of bullocks!

I reach a place called The Mound. This is the name given to a sloping bridge, which takes me over the River Fleet, and then the causeway beyond.

I stop on the bridge to take a photograph looking up the river. On a fine day, this would be a beautiful view.

Onwards. Along the causeway. Luckily, traffic is fairly light on this Bank Holiday Monday, and they are mainly cars and the occasional camper.

The rain comes down again. I pull my hood up and put my head down. The road bends around the far bank of Loch Fleet, and I look out for the turning I need. There it is… the Scenic Coastal Route to Embo.

It is still raining, so my photographs are rushed jobs, as I need to keep my camera dry under my coat most of the time. Here is a blurry shot of the little lane – the Scenic Route.

And, it would be very scenic if the weather was nice. Gorse in the hedgerows, lambs in the fields, the beautiful Loch Fleet to my left. But the rain spoils everything!

I spot a blue and white VW camper van coming towards me. Surely, that is MY van? Someone has stolen it! Oh no, just when I thought the day couldn’t get worse.

But, as the van gets nearer, I realise the number plate is different. It is not MY van. Whew!

Onwards. It is a narrow road with passing places. Luckily hardly any other traffic decides to take the Scenic Route.

It is also a relief to, finally, spot my van parked in a lay-by. Not stolen after all.

I was half-decided to walk a little further today. This parking spot is in the middle of nowhere [although later I discover I am close to old Skelbo Castle] and I was hoping to reach Embo.

But I’ve had such an eventful walk, and it is still raining. So, I decide to call it a day.

When I parked here earlier, the tide was low, the sky was clearer, and I could see seals lying on the sandbanks. Now the tide is high and the sandbanks are submerged. I wouldn’t be able to see seals anyway, because of the misty drizzle.

I brew myself a cup of tea in the van, and count my blessings. I’ve survived cancer, I’ve survived being mobbed by bullocks, and my van has NOT been stolen. I am a very lucky person, really.

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Miles walked today = 6 miles

Total distance around coast = 5,159.5 miles

Route today:

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