Day 2:
Our first stop was the Glenmorangie distillery.
Which was closed.
The first lesson of the trip: never presume.
We laughed it off and continued north.
The Whaligoe Steps were next. Rather than fight for a space in the tiny car park above them, we left the car in a layby along a quiet single-track road, then retraced the way on foot back towards the cliffs. The walk itself felt like part of the experience. A gentle warm-up before the real exercise began.
I didn’t count the steps. Instead, I found myself thinking about the herring girls who once climbed them carrying heavy baskets of fish in all weathers. I was carrying nothing but my phone and a bottle of water, yet by the time we’d reached the harbour and climbed back to the top, I was gasping for breath. Some places make history feel surprisingly physical.
From there we headed to the Duncansby Stacks where the landscape opened wide. Sheep grazed with complete indifference, their lambs only slightly curious, as we crossed a velvet-green field towards the cliffs. Beyond, the stacks rose from the sea beneath a brooding band of raincloud. Seabirds wheeled between rock and sky, riding the wind.
Everything felt vast there. Not empty, just larger than expected.
A brief stop at the 8 Doors Distillery in John O’Groats followed before we made our way to Scarfskerry in Thurso for the night. The day had settled into something calm. There were blue skies, bright sunlight and a stillness that seemed to deepen with every passing hour.
I attempted to befriend some resident goats at the campsite, but without snacks negotiations failed.
Later, we visited Scarfskerry Beach, which we were told is the most northerly accessible beach in Scotland. A small jetty stretched into the water. Waves crashed against either side while the setting sun painted the horizon in shades of gold and orange.
Then a seal appeared as though it, too, had come to watch.
There’s something comforting about the way living things gather for certain moments. It felt like a ceremony.
My husband and I lay side by side on the jetty for a while, looking up at the sky and listening to the sea. Of everything we experienced on the journey, this remains the moment I return to most often.
The day ended beneath a sky full of stars, the kind that still carries a trace of winter.
The roof tent, unfortunately, carried winter that night too.
R. H. DIXON 