Day 5:
The morning arrived calm and bright. Our resident songbird was already awake and making certain everyone else was too.
After packing up, we headed for Bealach na Bà, the highest road in the UK. It’s a single track with tight hairpin bends, the sort of route that comes with a police warning advising large vehicles not to attempt it. But, of course, some people attempt it anyway.
The weather had closed in somewhat by the time we reached the top. Rain blurred the distance and softened the view, but there was still enough visibility to appreciate the scale of the landscape around us. And the height!
The wind carried a coldness that discouraged any lingering, so from there we joined the Applecross coastal route.
Photographs of this stretch would probably convince people they were looking at the Mediterranean rather than Scotland. The coastline unfolded beside us in shades of blue, green and white. And by the time we completed it, our circuit of the NC500 was officially done.
It felt strangely understated. There was no finish line or fanfare, just another stretch of road slipping away behind us. And at the roadside, a deer stood scratching her ear, entirely indifferent to our achievement. She barely seemed aware we were there.
And somehow, that’s the moment I’ll remember. Not the completion of the route, but a deer going about her day while ours came quietly to an end.
From Applecross we made the long drive to Glenbrittle on the Isle of Skye, where we were due to spend two final nights winding down before heading home. The campsite, sheltered by the giant Cuillin mountains, overlooked Loch Brittle.
The setting was simply stunning.
However, the weather was plotting against us.
We cooked from the back of the car, sheltering from the strengthening wind while breathing in air that tasted faintly of salt and rain. There was something oddly cheerful about it though. The sort of contentment that comes from knowing you’re exactly where you intended to be.
For a while, at least.
A look at the forecast showed several days of heavy rain and stronger winds. So reluctantly, we made the decision to cut our holiday short and leave the next morning.
That night confirmed we’d chosen wisely. The rain returned with enthusiasm, and the wind continued to build momentum. We barely slept, and by morning we were packing away soaked equipment beneath a relentless grey sky.
As the old saying goes: You win some, you lose some.
Scotland dealt us spectacular views, empty white-sand beaches, curious wildlife, white-knuckle roads, unexpected memories and more weather than seemed entirely necessary. And somehow, that feels exactly right. Because no two journeys there are ever the same. The weather changes, the light changes.
You change.
Places missed become reasons to return. Places revisited become something new. There’s always another road to explore, another viewpoint to see and another version of the journey waiting to happen.
And next time, I’m sure I’ll bring all the ghosts from this one with me.
R. H. DIXON 