Most campsites in the highlands seem to be filled with cheap hired motorhomes and rows of gleaming plastic caravans, but Glenbrittle was noticeably different. Whilst we were there we saw a classic Unimog camper, a large and impressive overland camper build on a Steyr truck, and a couple of vintage land-rovers. I’m not sure what it is that puts off many of the traditional campers, but Glenbrittle has got everything we want from a campsite in abundance. The site is quiet and relaxed, there are no formal pitches or ugly patches of hardstanding, everywhere on the campsite is within 50m of the beach, and the views in all directions are outstanding. The view from the windscreen looked out onto Loch Brittle, with the isle of Rum visible in the distance, and the view from the bedroom and kitchen looked straight out onto the Black Cuillin.
We had planned to spend the following day climbing into the iconic Black Cuillin mountains. The rather foreboding mountains provide epic views over Skye and out to sea in good weather, but unfortunately good weather was in short supply whilst we were there, and everything above about 300 meters remained permanently in cloud whilst we were staying at Glenbrittle. There are many people for whom the sense of achievement when walking in the mountains is in reaching summit, but for me the enjoyment is in the views. I would get very little satisfaction from an experience which could be replicated by leaving a smoke machine on overnight in your living room, and doing a 900m climb on a stairmaster in the morning. Instead we walked south east along the coast to Rubha an Dùnain headland.
The walk was gentle and took us to a rocky peninsula, with great views of several of the nearby islands including Rum and Canna. There is evidence all over the headland of ancient habitation, in a relatively small area there is a Viking canal linking a small loch to the sea, and iron age dun (fortification wall), the remains of a 19th century Clan McLeod village, and even Neolithic cairns. Boris was more interested in chasing sheep than looking for pre-historic remains, but I think he was most happy about doing a walk with very little altitude change.
We returned to the campsite as the heavens opened again, and we spent the rest of the day enjoying the views from the shelter of Jim.
The following day we got up early to leave for a drive to the Quiraing on the other side of Skye. Our experience driving past the Fairy Pools on the way to Glenbrittle campsite, had taught us that the car parks near popular attractions in Skye would be likely to get very busy during the day. In a small car there is normally a good chance that you can tuck yourself off the road somewhere, or wait on the verge for a free space, but in Jim this would be harder, and it is likely that a space vacated by a small car would be insufficient in which to park a big truck. To avoid parking chaos, we left early and enjoyed the drive north in almost complete solitude. The last stretch from Uig to the Quiraing involves a very tight hairpin (which we saw a coach requiring a 3-point turn to navigate), and a single track road which is short on passing places. I was glad to have done this drive before the 17 plate hire cars hit the roads en masse.
We arrived at the Quiraing a little before 9, and already the car park was filling up. By the time we left a few hours later we would have had no chance of parking, and in a repeat of the Fair Pools incident, there were cars scattered all over the area in absurdly ill-suited places. The walk to and around the Quiraing takes you through spectacular scenery and I’ve never seen anywhere like it. We climbed up to a through some of the jagged spires of rock, and enjoyed watching the views of the coast change, as the cloud swept through.
Arriving back at Jim, we had a few obstacles to contend with on our way out of the car park. It seemed at first as though we would have to wait for two particularly inconsiderately parked cars to leave, before we could make our exit, but I managed to thread Jim through the gap without losing anyone their hire deposit. The next obstacle was the tight hairpin bend immediately west of the Quiraing, which several people had decided was an excellent place to park their cars. Jim’s wheelbase is fairly short, and his turning circle is excellent, but I still had to ask one driver to shift his car before we could make the turn. The rest of the steep descent to Staffin was routine, descending slowly on the exhaust brake in second gear, and giving approaching cars plenty of time to make their erratic poorly judged manoeuvres befire we reached them. The traffic was beginning to play on my nerves, and instead of spending another day on Sky we decided to head back to the mainland.
We stopped at the fairly unremarkable Lealt Falls, on our way south, and once back on the mainland, turned north towards Loch Torridon. Many of the Highlands ‘A’ roads are narrow and winding, but the A896 was particularly slow going. Coming from the south-east which has had decades of heavy road investment, the A896 came as a bit of a shock. In many places the road is single-track and in very poor condition, and the last quarter of the journey took us a long time to navigate. There were frequent occasions where I would look in my side mirrors and see both rear wheels overhanging the edges of the tarmac. One notable improvement however, was the remarkable reduction in traffic. I’m not sure what it is which causes most tourists to stop at Skye and go no further north into the Highlands, but we went long stretches without seeing another vehicle. We got to enjoy some fantastic views over Loch Carron, and up to Beinn Bhan, without the constant stress of making way to oncoming traffic.
It was getting late when we approached Torridon, and we stopped in the car-park of the Torridon Inn. The ten days of our vacation up until this point had been remarkably cheap. Our diesel spend was higher than most would consider reasonable, but nevertheless we had spent less in ten days than many people spend on a weekend in a hotel. We had wild-camped approximately have of the nights we had been away, and the government hasn’t yet found a way to charge us for spending time outdoors. We therefore decided to splash out on a fancy meal. The Torridon Inn serves good beers and good food, but we were feeling like something a little more upmarket than a pub dinner, and instead booked the seven course tasting meal in the restaurant of the next door Torridon Hotel.
We took a gentle walk around their kitchen garden and the private section of the Loch Torridon shoreline, before heading back to the truck to start the futile task of trying to clean ourselves up for dinner. When packing for this trip, we had not anticipated a fancy meal being on the cards, and it was a struggle for Naomi and me to get ourselves into state even close to presentable. I cleaned my Reebok trainers in the sink, and wore the only jumper I had with me which didn’t have a hood or holes in it. A beard trim and shower had me looking less like a vagabond, but I still looked nothing like the kind of person you’d expect to see dining in a restaurant with 3 AA rosettes. Remarkably, not only did the hotel have no objections to our appearance, but they also agreed to us spending the night lowering the tone of their car-park after our meal.
The hotel is in a grand Victorian hunting lodge, and the stone fireplaces and oak panelling, give it a pleasing old world feel. The meal exceeded our expectations, and the whole experience was a delight. After the meal we retired to Jim completely satisfied and feeling very smug. In the morning we postponed Boris’s morning walk and drove the short distance around Loch Torridon to the trailhead parking for walks up Beinn Alligin. The ascent to Beinn Alligin involves more than a kilometre of vertical climb, and so it seemed cruel to let Boris tire himself out too early.
We arrived to an almost empty car-park, and positioned ourselves for an easy exit if the car-park filled up whilst we were out walking. The first obstacle we encountered on our walk was a tall deer fence with nothing more than a tall ladder either side to help you over. This was fine for all two legged members of our party but Boris struggles with ladders, and getting him over was something of a challenge. I expected to see a dog gate nearby, but couldn’t find anything suitable, and so Boris was subjected to the ungainly indignity of being manhandled over the fence. The 3 miles to the first summit are extremely steep, and by the time we reached the 922m peak of Tom na Gruagaich, Boris looked like he had had enough. We arrived with extremely fortuitous timing, and we got to enjoy half an hour of spectacular views before the clouds returned, and shrouded the summit for the rest of the day. From Tom na Gruagaich, we could see Skye, Raasay and Rona, and all the way to the outer Hebrides islands in the West, and a massive facefull of lochs and mountains in all other directions.
After half an hour of recuperating, the heavens opened, and we descended the way we had come, cursing our aching thighs for most of the way down. The walk had taken it out of us, and instead of trying to drive onwards, we drove back to the Torridon Inn, and spent the evening in the pub and another night in their car park.
The next day we had planned to drive to the Cairngorms and spend the afternoon walking and the night parked near the ski resort. Unfortunately the weather was particularly awful when we arrived, and we didn’t fancy spending the rest of the day parked at 600m, waiting to see if the lightning storm would pass. The Cairngorms came and went, and our first chance to stretch our legs came at the House of Bruar, an odd department store a long way from any big towns. It seems like a cross between Harrods and an Indian reservation casino, but it turned out to be a good place to buy some gifts, and stock Jim’s freezer with smoked venison, black pudding, kippers and other Scottish delights.
Feeling that much of the day was already behind us, and not having enough time for any sightseeing or the weather for any long walks, we decided to drive onwards, and cover some ground. We ended up stopping for the night in a beautiful spot near the border, in a place we found on the hit-and-miss Park4Night app. The parking place was a sheltered spot with fantastic views of the Fife peninsula and Forth estuary. As the sun set we took a walk along the coast, and could see the Cairngorms silhouetted against the sunset nearly 100 miles away.
For the first time in more than a week we had parked somewhere in which I could receive a data signal on my phone. This turned out be a stroke of luck as the following day we intended to visit Lindisfarne, an island connected by road to the mainland across a tidal causeway. For approximately half the day, the road is underwater and impassable; the data connection allowed us to check the safe crossing times on a local website. The conditions on the day that we planned to visit, meant that we would have to arrive early in the morning, and would not be able to leave until after lunch. This suited us well, and after crossing the border back into England the following morning, we arrived with 20 minutes to spare. I’m not sure why, but instead of having a barrier that closes to prevent drivers trying to race the tide, the road is always open, and there are several occasions each year where stranded drivers have to be rescued by boat.
Car-parking is extremely limited on Lindisfarne, and there is really only one place to leave your vehicle. The large grass car-park has a sign specifically excluding vehicles over 3.5 tonnes, but there is no provision made for heavier vehicles elsewhere on the island. We were fortunate enough to bump into a guy emptying the ticket machines in the car-park, and he was certain that we would have no bother parking Jim for the day. Lindisfarne, as well as being in a picturesque setting, is the site of ancient settlement, and between walking in the sand dunes, visiting the ruins of the abbey, and drinking coffee in the village, we had no trouble occupying our time until the road reopened.
Early in the afternoon we returned to the mainland, and after stocking up on provisions in Alnwick, we drove inland to a campsite we had booked on the edge of the Northumberland National Park.
Everyone has different wishes and requirements in their accommodation, and the reviews of a campsite are often little indication as to whether we will enjoy ourselves there; the Clennell Hall campsite was a good example of this, and we arrived to a bland site filled with static caravans. The beautiful Clennel Hall Hotel next door has a welcoming bar in it that non-residents can use, and if we ever return, I will take them up on their offer to spend the night for free in the car-park, rather than waste my money of the depressing caravan park next door. We had planned to spend the following day walking into the steep surrounding hills, but the weather forecast was for continuous rain from mid-morning onwards, and by the time we had walked a mile up the road to give Boris a morning walk, the rain had already started. Instead we changed plan, and decided to head Sheffield to visit a friend.
The soft grass on which I had parked the truck at the campsite, was waterlogged by the time we came to leave and I suspected that we would cause some damage on our way out. Locking the differential helps to prevent wheel spin, but we would have to turn sharply to get back onto the track around the campsite, and I was worried that dragging the outside wheels around the turn would do more damage than leaving the differential open. In hindsight, this was not the right decision, and the view in my mirror after getting back onto the track, was of two 6 inch deep channels dug out of the ground as the twin wheels on one side of the back axle span round looking for traction. I’m not convinced that the diff-lock wouldn’t have just resulted in me digging 4 channels instead of two, but I didn’t hang around to do some experimenting.
After navigating our way through Northumbria’s narrow back roads, we got back onto the A1, and made it to Sheffield in little time. Sheffield is not a particularly big or dense city, and it posed no problems driving through. We were given a rare piece of flat land to park on outside our friend’s workshop, and spent the rest of the day drinking and eating, and catching up. The last few days of our vacation were spent in Norfolk, staying with family and doing 2 weeks’ worth of washing.
Jim performed flawlessly on this trip, after a fairly long period of inactivity, and it was great to be back in him travelling, even if it was a fairly brief trip. I occasionally wonder whether we would be best selling Jim, and building something smaller and better suited to short trips in Europe, but this trip reaffirmed my love for him, and despite the inconveniences of travelling in an 18 tonner, he proved to be supremely comfortable and at home in north. I have a few maintenance jobs to do on Jim which would be best tackled this summer, but this trip confirmed that Jim is still ready to get on the road again, whenever we are.
No comments:
Post a Comment