[This walk was completed on the 2nd May, 2025]

I catch the bus to Dornoch (a BUS – yes, I’ve reached civilisation again!) and walk back to where I ended yesterday’s trek. On the way, I pass a row of old cottages, one with a stone set in its garden. An ancient standing stone? A mile-marker? Or a gravestone?

Turns out, it is a memorial. An information sign tells me the terrible story: in 1727, an old and confused lady called Janet Horne was accused of being a witch. She and her deformed daughter were arrested. Her daughter managed to escape, but poor Janet was rolled in tar and brought to this place, where she was burnt alive.

This is the last recorded case of a “witch” being killed by burning in Scotland. As an old and somewhat confused woman myself, I felt quite sick reading it.

I walk round to the other side of the garden to get a better look. Although the stone is in a private garden, people have left memorial tokens – pebbles, painted stones, a horseshoe, and some dried flowers.

Feeling rather queasy, I head down a little lane. This area of Dornoch is called Littletown and is where refugees from nearby Highland clearances came to settle. The cottages are small and the streets are narrow. I wonder who lives here now?

I arrive back in the main square (more like a triangle, to be honest) where the bus dropped me this morning. Dornoch Cathedral is visible behind the trees…

… a cathedral? In this tiny town? Dornoch is full of surprises.

Walk down the main street, lined with shops and houses, all built from a lovely mellow stone. Some seem fairly new. Good to see they have kept the high street looking so lovely.

I reach the turnoff for Cuthill and stop beside a row of pretty flower containers to take a photograph. This is where I will leave the main street and head down a minor road to reach, eventually, the bridge over the Dornoch Firth.

I walk past the entrances to some new-looking housing developments, dodging a few cars, and then the road narrows and I leave Dornoch behind.

I’m walking parallel to the main road at this point. Looking across the fields, I can see traffic trundling along the ridge, with some fine houses on the other side of the road. The fields are marked with several strange stripes – bare strips of ground with no crops. Why? A mystery.

There is no way of knowing, before you set off, whether a minor road will be fine to walk along or not. But this turns into a lovely section of the walk. The road is narrow with passing places, and only the occasional vehicle. Views are wonderful… just look at those hills ahead.

Something strange to my right. A raised mound and a line of cars parked, apparently, in the middle of nowhere. What’s hidden behind that mound? A quarry?

[Only later, when I look at the photo more carefully, I see that every one of the cars has a similar dent in the side. What happened to them? Another mystery.]

Although the landscape is very rural, there are houses dotted along the road. This modern bungalow seems out of place in the setting. But has great views over Dornoch Firth.

The road goes on and on. Some more houses are hidden behind high hedges and trees.

What a view they have. Fields of sheep, the raised line of sand dunes, and the waters of Dornoch Firth in the distance.

I pass a modern development of bungalows, some with great views.

And I love this modern house with a balcony jutting out. Again, they must have great views from up there.

Davochfin Farm says a faded sign, above a string of cheerful bunting.

On the other side of the road is a large park-like area with a beautiful lake surrounded by trees. You can fish here – for a fee, I presume. They must stock the lake, as it appears newly made and unconnected to any river.

Nearby is a drive leading up to a campsite. “Caravan and Motorhome Club. Certified Site. Members Only.” I can’t see the site from my road, but it is not my kind of place. I am not a person who likes joining clubs.

A couple of hens (or are they roosters?) scratch around among the bluebells.

On goes the road. Even narrower now. The smell of gorse is gorgeous.

Fields of sheep have given way to fields of horses. Some fields are marked out with riding courses – a series of low jumps. I guess you can book riding lessons here.

I’m approaching a wooded area. A mix of pines and deciduous trees. Camore Wood says my map, showing a network of paths among the trees.

I reach a hamlet called Lowmore, with a row of houses and cottages to my left. Street lamps line this stretch of road – which seems odd for such a tiny number of residential properties. The verges are bright with blossom and broom. Just past the buildings, a car turns up the hill towards the forestry car park.

I can’t resist stopping beside the traffic mirror. Snap a self-portrait.

In England, there is a heatwave. People are complaining about the unseasonable weather – today temperatures reach 24 degrees centigrade in London. (Yesterday, they climbed to 28 degrees) Too hot! Meanwhile, in Scotland the skies are dull and the temperature reaches the giddy height of 12 degrees C. I am wearing my fleece and winter coat!

Onwards, past an archery range. Nobody shooting arrows today – in fact, I can’t even see any targets.

The road rolls on. Those distant hills are getting nearer. The smell of gorse is intoxicating… and I’m getting hungry. To my left is a footpath gate. Could I have walked the coast along Dornoch Firth after all?

I decided not to attempt the shore route. My map doesn’t show a path – only “sands”. That could mean nice firm sands, or marshy bog. Hard to tell.

Further on, I pass a field with a “Beware of the bull” sign. I am usually very dismissive of these signs, as there is rarely a bull to be seen. But this time there IS a bull. In fact, there are TWO bulls.

Now, the road takes a shart right-angled turn, before heading 1/4 mile or so northwards to join the A9. This is a treacherous road to walk beside, but I am hoping to follow a track that leaves the road – going straight ahead beyond the gate – and joins the A9 a little further down.

As I approach the track, I notice a familiar footpath sign. Ah… the John o’Groats trail. I wasn’t expecting this.

The road veers to the right, my planned route goes straight ahead, but the John o’Groats trail wants to lead me down a pleasant grassy path to the left.

I hesitate. Will the trail lead me back to Dornoch along the sands?

One of the great thing about the signage along the JOG Trail is that it tells you which direction you are heading in. This trail sign says “southbound” – so, it must lead to the Dornoch Firth Bridge and that is exactly where I want go.

What a relief to find this wonderful path and to avoid a dangerous march along the nasty A9.

I pass through trees and into an area of gorse. Beautiful scent of coconut and burnt raisins… my mouth starts watering. It is definitely time for lunch.

Shrugging off my pack, I sit on the grassy verge and tuck into my sandwiches. At which point, of course, it begins to spit with rain.

I reckon I’ve covered half the ditance I plan to walk today. After a period of weakness and ill health, I was nervous about my capabilities and this is the longest walk I’ve attempted for some time… but I’m doing well. So far!

[To be continued…]

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Route so far today…

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