Day 4:
Wind and rain.
Rain and wind.
After a mostly sleepless night on the cliffs above Durness, everything was damp, everything rattled and our spirits had taken a firm battering.
But storms lose their power once you’re on the move again, and by the time we were packed up and back on the road, humour had begun to replace misery. Reflecting on the night we’d endured, we were rather impressed by the roof tent. It had withstood considerably more than we had.
The further south we travelled, the lighter everything became. We crossed the Kylesku Bridge and stopped to visit Loch na Gainmhich Waterfall, also known as the Wailing Widow Falls. Reaching it resulted in muddy boots and required a degree of mountain-goat determination, but it was worth every slippery step. For a while, we had the falls entirely to ourselves.
Water plunged through the rocks and we could feel its spray in the air. It felt restorative.
Eventually other visitors began to arrive, so we continued on towards Drumbeg. The road to Drumbeg and Clashnessie remains one of my favourites in Scotland. It’s a single track that threads through miles and miles of vast scenery.
Utterly beautiful.
Also terrifying.
Five years earlier we’d stayed in a cottage along the same route. Back then, Delilah was with us. And when we reached the cottage again, we stopped the car and sat quietly for a while. The building hadn’t changed and the garden looked much the same. It wasn’t difficult to imagine our younger selves there and Delilah exploring the grass with the same enthusiasm she brought to every new place.
Some journeys collect ghosts as they go, while others bring them.
We continued on to Ardvreck Castle. Even in ruin, it commands attention. Its stone walls stand against the landscape as though refusing to surrender entirely to time. It felt like the sort of place that invites stories whether any exist or not.
By early evening we arrived at our next campsite in Ullapool, beside the beach. Rain drifted through in occasional bursts, but the storm’s anger had long since faded. The air felt warmer.
A songbird had claimed the bush beside our pitch and spent much of the evening loudly announcing its presence. Ordinarily this might have posed a problem. However, after the previous night’s weather, I doubted anything could keep me awake.
A nearby restaurant offered shelter from the rain and spared us the task of cooking. The food was excellent, the warmth even better.
The rain continued.
The bird continued.
And for the first time in what felt like days, we slept.
Properly.
Calmly.
The road, at least for one night, had stopped testing us.
R. H. DIXON 