Meanwhile, back in Strathnaver...

I've told you about the Caravan Club's excellent site at Grummore/Altnaharra before. I've even taken you for a bit of a stroll around the place in a posting when we took the the Road Snail up there early last summer. Last week's post was mostly written while I sat by the bonnie banks of Loch Naver enjoying the endless changes of light and looking for the Eagle which everyone else claimed to see "almost daily". Regrettably as I write this I'm back at home, the Snail is on the drive and what I have to consider "real life" has resumed.

I hate it when it does that.

Still, our eight night stay was a spectacularly good one - the theme of the week would appear to have been "rainbows", as the heady mix of sunshine and showers meant we saw several of them. Indeed, as we travelled north from Bunree along the Great Glen a rainbow actually chased us the full ten mile length of Loch Lochy.

It's a four hour drive from Bunree to Grummore, but an early start meant we got there before lunch and were sitting lochside with a glass of wine by early afternoon. In the rain. And high winds. Seriously, Loch Naver was so rough there were actually breaking waves - you could have surfed it! But do you know what? We really didn't care. We were greeted by the perennially cheerful warden and another rainbow before settling down to enjoy the view.

This was a different raimbow later in the week. This is the view though...

That really was the pattern of the week. We went on the odd excursion - more of which in a later post - but the majority of our time was spent on and around the site watching birds, ogling the view and pottering about on our little inflatable kayak. 

Enoch (so named because it perpetually leans to the right) is a new addition to our equipment list, bought with the express intention of spending some time afloat on Loch Naver. In truth we'd have vastly preferred a more solid boat but the inflatable was sturdy enough and was much, much easier to fit into the car! 

If I'm honest my cunning plan was to use the kayak to paddle over to the broch located on a small island on the other side of Loch Naver. By all accounts it's in a much better state of preservation than the example to be found on the site itself, which if we're honest is essentially a pile of rubble. This turned out to be a little ambitious however. A quarter of a century ago as a younger, fitter Venture Scout I did a lot of kayaking and got to be reasonably good at it. While I soon found that the skills hadn't left me, after twenty five years of relative inactivity it seems that my upper body strength really had. The broch was clearly a little over-ambitious so we restricted ourselves to the aforementioned pottering about. 

It was still wonderful - as proof I submit this waterbourne video of absolutely nothing happening.

 

Lolling about on the water was terribly relaxing though, and we'll get to the broch next time...

Life on the site is the epitome of relaxation really - although if you have an interest in birds of 'planes, a relaxation which is punctuated by moments of intense excitement. Strath Naver is often used by the Royal Airforce, and indeed airforces of other nations, for training purposes and the sight of fast jets skimming down the loch is not unusual. They are often eye-wateringly low, which from my perspective as a 'plane nut is all to the good.

Obviously the R.A.F. operates a minimum altitude policy, and even here, which must surely qualify as one of the least built up areas in the country fixed wing aircraft are forbidden to fly below 100 feet and I would hate to suggest that any pilots would ever breach that. All I'm saying is that after a little saunter up the hill in the middle of the week we were there I had the immense privilage of watching an R.A.F. C-130 Hercules transport 'plane pass below me as it made its way along the strath.

This was actually the third C-130 we'd seen over the week, two more having come over at roughly the same height a day or two earlier. We were also lucky enough to see several Tornado GR-4s doing their thing, also flying deliciously low.

Again, I would never suggest that pilots of Her Majesty's forces would ever fly below the limit. I do however have two things on good authority. The first is that once they drop into the Strath 'planes are off radar and so their bosses can't be sure how high they are. The second is that several reliable witnesses claim to have seen an R.A.F. Typhoon fly down the loch so low that it left a wake. 

We're going to pause for a moment to reflect on how magnificent that is*.

The 'planes aren't the only attraction though. Me and Mrs Snail also love to watch the birds, and Loch Naver is a magnificent place to spot our avian friends. I've mentioned the birdfeeder we carry around with us before, and as ever at this site it was perpetually swarming with Chaffinch, Siskin and Blue Tits. We also had slightly less regular visits from Wheatears, Pied Wagtails and, erm, Sheep:

They like birdseed. Who knew?

I already mentioned the eagle that everybody else saw "almost daily". We're pretty sure we caught a couple of glimpses of a Golden Eagle, but never saw it clearly enough to be absolutely sure. A White Tailed Sea Eagle has also been sighted on the loch, but so far we've never had so much as a glimpse of it.

We have, however, on many occasions seen pairs the rare Red Throated Diver, and the even rarer Black Throated variety - both of which we were privillaged to see again on this trip. The real ornathological highlight of the week however came not at Grummore but on a trip to the East Coast - so I'll save that story for a later post.

The real star of the show though, is always that view. I could happily spend a week sitting looking at it with a glass of wine in one hand and a pair of binoculars in the other...

...I mean seriously - look at that!

One windless frosty morning we even woke up to see "sundogs":

See them? Either side of the sun...

The most astonishing spectacle provided by the view came on our last day, however. We had been scheduled to leave on the saturday, but we were enjoying ourselves so much that we extended for an extra night which meant we left on Easter Sunday 2014.

I have to say, we were initially disappointed. We raised the blinds that morning to be greeted by thick fog - not only could we not see across the loch, we couldn't see the loch itself! 

Feeling more than a little chagrined that we were to be deprived of one last look at the beauty of Loch Naver and Ben Klibreck we began the "packing up routine". As we did so, however, the fog began to burn off. As it thinned glimpses of the opposite shore began to appear, and then, this:

I have no idea what to call it. It's not a rainbow - a "fogbow" I guess? Here's how it fitted into the general view:

Pretty, itsn't it? The phenomenon only lasted a few minutes before the sun climbed a little higher nad the fog thinned a little more.

By the time we were hitched up and ready to go we were once again bathed in brilliant sunshine beneath a gin clear sky. Strathnaver is a hard place to leave when it's like that, but I suppose if you don't leave you can never go back, and going back is something we're already looking forward to.

*And yes, before anybody says it, of course such things totally upset the peace and tranqulity of the area. But they only do it for a few seconds at a time, and a jet at twenty feet isn't noticeably louder than a jet at one hundred feet. They have to train, and frankly  - given that most of the time flying low makes our pilots less likely to attract hostile fire, I'm happy for them to fly as fast and as low as they like.

Getting away again - Eating in Onich.

We would normally have been out and about with our little house on wheels a couple of times at least by this time of year. This year however circumstances have dictated a later start to the Road Snail's season, which is why posts have been so thin on the ground around here lately.

We really can't put off our first foray into the highlands any longer though, so as I write we're pitched up at the Altnaharra (nee Grummore) Caravan Club site on the banks of Loch Naver in the central Highlands. 

As ever, we didn't come here in one bounce, following the long high road to Bunree just south of Fort William for a two night stop over on the way.

Now, I've talked at length about Bunree before, so I won't waste your time repeating myself. The site is still a real gem of a place, nestling against the shores of Loch Linnhe just to the west of the Corran Narrows.  

Once again we were lucky enough to secure a lochside pitch, and were quite content to spend our one full day in Lochaber looking at the view watching the boats sail past. 

We did need to eat though, and we find it impossible to stay so close to the magnificent spectacle of Glencoe without driving through it a couple of times, so after a lazy start we set out into a grey overcast morning to see what we could see.

Glencoe never disappoints - whatever the weather, whatever the season, whatever the time of day there is always something to catch the eye. On this occasion it was the sheer volume of water cascading down the slopes of the Glen. Great white torrents roared and gurgled from the melting snow on the peaks down every stream and channel, swollen still further by the not inconsequential rainfall "enjoyed" by this part of Scotland in recent months.

From there we ventured a little way down the picturesque Glen Etive and spent an entertaining half hour watching a group of canoeists shooting an impressive set of rapids. Well, I say shooting the rapids - they were clearly new to the sport and what they were mostly doing was falling in with a flurry of paddle and a slightly shocked expression. They did it with enthusiasm though...

The time was ticking inexorably on towards lunch o'clock - which regular readers may remember is pretty much the most important time of day aboard the Road Snail, so we left the canoe novice s to their literal baptism into their chosen sport and headed back into the great gouge of Glencoe in search of food.

Regular readers may remember the meal we had at the duck egg blue "Glencoe Gathering", which we enjoyed in spite of the fact that one of the lumps of chicken in her kebab was raw in the middle. That's the kind of kitchen faux pas that would without question normally ensure that we'd never even consider returning, so the fact that we did consider giving the place another go should tell you something about how much we liked it.

On this occasion however we decided to try somewhere new. The site at Bunree sits a fraction north of the little settlement of Onich, which means that over the years we've driven past the Onich Hotel many, many times and every time we've done so we've said "we should try lunch there sometime" but for some reason never had.

This trip we decided to rectify that. We'd heard good reports of the place, and as we pulled into their little lochside carpark our expectations were high. 

The hotel sits demurely on the shoreline of Loch Linnhe, it's neatly kept gardens leading down to a small crescent of beach set in a sheltered bay. We made our way through the main doors into a dimly lit lobby and were directed into the restaurant. "We normally serve lunches in the lounge bar, but we've a wedding in toady" explained the smiling waitress who showed us to our seats.

The restaurant was a long narrow room with one wall taken up almost entirely with windows offering views of the loch which on a fine day must be stunning. Since we were there on a gloomy day of slate grey water, steel grey skies and drizzle filled air our attention was focused more on the interior and our corridor like surroundings.

They were, to be frank, little more inspiring than the weather beyond the window. Everything was clean, but the decor could most generously be described as "tired". The dark floral print curtains were a little faded and nothing quite matched anything else.  

Things started to look up when the menus arrived however. Even before we read them they were impressive documents. Each was a large rectangle of card printed on one side with the bill fayre on one side and a beautifully composed photograph of the small standing stone which occupies a nearby field on the other. Clearly whoever designed the menu has not yet been let loose on the interiors. If they ever are I confidently predict that the results will be spectacular.

Far more important than what a menu looks like of course is what it actually says. We've seen many a flash looking menu in places where the the food has been dull - you always have to beware of places where style is given priority over quality. I wasn't worried though - if this were an establishment which placed style over substance they would have redecorated a decade ago. No, this this is a menu that got even better when you read it. Whoever put that collection of dishes together really cared about food, which of course makes them our kind of people.

Perhaps it was because this was the first real day of our first excursion of the year, but I was feeling extravagant enough to plump for a rib-eye steak. Because she is more sophisticated than me Mrs Snail opted for a Bourgenoin style shin of beef. Because she isn't much more sophisticated than me she did, however, ask if she could have it with chips rather than the fondant potatoes the chef prescribed.

When the food arrived it surpassed every expectation. I'd ordered my steak medium, which seems to be something chefs of all calibres seem to struggle with. Rare and extra rare seem to be the default position, and if you order well done they just assume you have no idea and cook it 'till it's like boot leather.

Medium though, that they all seem to struggle with. Over the years I've been served "medium" steak that has been rare enough for a good vet to get back on its feet, and so overcooked and dried up that it would have served as body armour. 

This though, this was perfectly judged. Just the faintest hint of pink in the middle,  juicy and succulent and bursting with flavour. It was accompanied by crisp golden chips, roasted tomatoes and a pile of garlic mushrooms that were almost as meaty as the steak itself. 

Mrs Snail's shin of beef was even more impressive. Shin is not the easiest cut to cook well, but this was spot on. Slow cooked and literally falling apart at the merest touch of the fork, served on a pool of thick and unctuous sauce. 

Both meals were unbelievably good. We're a demanding audience where food is concerned and we were totally blown away. About the only criticism I can level at the place is the fact that I couldn't wash it all down with my customary glass of Coke.

The hotel has a passable wine list - as she doesn't drive Mrs Snail was able to enjoy a juicy Shiraz with lunch. As I'm always driving wine is never on my lunch menu. I don't really mind this because I have a passion for Coca-Cola which borders on the unhealthy. Sadly the Onich Hotel offers only Pepsi, which I'm afraid just won't do at all, or worse something on draft referred to as "Cola", which generally speaking is an abomination.

As a result I was forced to go for the tea totallers default beverage and have a glass of lemonade. It's a long time since I had lemonade. I can't imagine it's an experience I'll repeat any time soon...

That's a pretty churlish criticism though. The bottom line is that the Onich Hotel was spectacular and we'll definitely be returning.

Then it was off to what I still think of as the real Highlands. More on that next time - hope to see you all then.

Stuff and nonsense!

Hello! Once again, the days are lengthening, the nights are shortening, there are rumours that water might, at some point in the future, stop falling from the sky. It is time for the Road Snail to emerge blinking from winter hibernation into the dazzling light of the dawning new season.

Sorry. I'm feeling poetic, what can I say?

Anyway. Traditionally we'd be taking the 'van away for a few days at the end of February, but somehow we've ended up with too many things to get done at home, so our lovely 2007 Lunar Quasar 462 remains parked up on the drive of Snail Towers and I've been turning my attention to the equipment we drag around the country with us. Surely some of it is surplus to requirements? Let's start with the front locker and go from there.

OK. We open up the front and what do we have?

Two BP Gaslight bottles. I've always wondered whether we really need two of these. I mean, a full one has been known to last us a full season, so we could save some space and some weight by not carrying them both around. It'd be 5kg off the nose weight for a start! I just wouldn't quite dare though. We go to places where the nearest refil is a couple of hours away, and we have had the "damn, the oven's gone out" experience in the middle of cooking a roast - not being able to nip outside and conntect the other bottle in those circumstances would be a real disaster - they're our hot water, our heating and in the event of battery power they're our fridge too...

And yes, I know we could avoid such a situation by being organised and knowing how much gas is in the bottle. People who know me know that's never going to happen, so two bottles it is, let's move on - what else is in there?

My beloved "briefcase" barbecue. Folds totally flat, more than enough grill space for the two of us, lasted us three years now, stored in a custom case I made out of a section of old windbreak and some gaffer tape. Speaking of which, the current windbreak is also in here, largely because it won't fit anywhere else. We don't use it often, but it comes in handy when we're parked up alongside windswept Scottish lochs.

Also in the front locker, the bottle jack, kept for the nightmare scenario of having to change a wheel at the roadside, the toilet chemicals, the hook-up cable and the TV ariel cable you occasionally need to use at sites with poor reception. We could ditch the TV cable - we use it maybe twice a year - but I know that if I took it out I'd forget to put it back in again. All that's left is the little bag (also made of a piece of old windbreak) that houses all the essential bits and bobs like the wheel nut wrench and the spirit level. So, not all exactly indespensible, but nothing I'd want to do without.

The only other externally accessible storage is the "wet locker". When we're travelling this is where our walking boots live. It's handily situated to be inside the awning, if we had an awning, which we don't. It also houses an external electric socket and a gas point for a gas powered barbecue. Now, if we're talking about non essential items, the gas barbecue hook-up has to be right at the top of the list. It might just be me, but I've never seen the point of a gas barbecue. So far as I'm concerned a barbecue is a thing that burns either wood or carcoal. A gas barbecue is a glorified camping stove, and I really just don't see the point.

Anyway, the wet locker is also where I keep the bird feeder and birdfood.

Don't look at me like that.

Well, OK, I know what you mean. I too used to look at the people who erected bird feeders outside their caravans and think "why?". And then I realised how much time we spent in the 'van watching the local avian life and enjoying comparing the species in different places. So we started putting out a few scraps of this or that to attract them closer to the windows. Turns out the caravan makes an excellent bird hide.

So, one very wet day at the Bunree Caravan Club Site we decided to take the plunge and set out to get a proper bird feeder. Turns out that these are harder to obtain in Fort William (the nearest town) than you'd think, but we eventually found something suitable in the local Argos store and its been with us ever since. As you can see, we've had many little feathered friends take advantage of it, in all sorts of places...

 Siskins at Ravenglass

A Bullfinch at Grummore

A Great Tit at Grummore on a glorious sunny day

A very stately Hooded Crow strolling around Dunnet Bay

Blue Tits and a Bullfinch

So yeah, we like the bird feeder. While acknowledging that it makes us look more than a little bit old, but we don't care.

So, that's the outside storage sorted out - what do we keep on the inside?

Obviously there is all the usual crockery, cutlery, food and bedding jiggery-pokery. The radio (permanently tuned to Radio 4) is built in and much used. It has a CD player too, but that's a little tempremental so as a rule we leave that alone. There's usually a selection of books in there, and there's always a copy of the complete works of Jane Austen, a collection of Arthur C. Clarke short stories and a Collins Dictionary to settle any disputes arising from the travel scrabble that also resides in there.

I don't want us to sound too intellectual. We do, these days, also carry a TV. 

Now. 

When we bought the caravan in 2007 we swore we wouldn't. And we didn't, for quite a while. It was the Olympics that made us do it. We set off for our summer holidays in 2012 the day after the opening ceremony of the London Olympics and intended to watch the games through a laptop using a TV stick. However, the software for the stick crashed almost immediately and we were faced with either buying a TV or not watching the games.

Well, not watching the games wasn't an option - the Olympics has been something of an obsession for me for most of my life (the first games I have any memory of were the Monteal Games in '76 - I was 4, which makes them amongst my very earliest memories) so we decided on taking some drastic action and I headed out to buy a telly.

It turns out to be surprisingly difficult to buy a telly in Stratford-upon-Avon (which is where we were pitched) at half past five on a Saturnday, but I eventually found an ASDA store and bought a little Polaroid flat screen. It's been with us everwhere since, although the lack of signal in alot of the places we visit means it isn't always useful and to be honest if we didn't have it we wouldn't miss it.

The laptop I referred to earlier, however...

Well, for a start, how do you think I write this blog when we're on the road? I can do it on my 'phone, adn have done, but a full size screen is also good to have. Assuming the TV stick works it's also a handy TV backup/replacement, plays DVDs and CDs, and gives us access to things like i-Player and (far more importantly) weather forecasts. Again, we can do these things on the 'phone - which we also always have - but the laptop is just too useful to be without.

So that's us.

What can't you live without on the road?

A Caravan Christmas.

The nights have comprehensively drawn in now, the Winter Solstice is behind us and Christmas is very nearly upon us. At this time of year there are very few sites still open, but even parked up on our drive the Road Snail continues to be a useful member of the family.

We're entertaining Mrs Snail's family over the holiday season, and so it's very handy to have an extra en-suite double bedroom sitting outside to provide extra accomodation. There is always room at Chez Snail...

It's not just the extra sleeping space that is useful either. Come Christmas day there's always something that either won't squeeze into the oven or needs cooking at a radically different temperature to everything else. In such circumstances all we need to do is nip out onto the drive and crank up the oven in the caravan. True, you do look a little odd walking up the drive carrying a steaming dish of Yorkshire Puddnings, but since most of our neighbours think we're a little strange anyway we really don't have a lot to lose...

So, when friends have asked us if we're going away from Cristmas our reply has been "No, we'll be on the drive". In truth I can't think of anywhere I'd rather be.

Not that we haven't gone roaming with the 'van during the holidays. Not at Christmas, but at New Year. We celebrated New Year 2008 at a Camping and Caravan Club site in the north Lake District. There's a lot to be said for it. The hours of daylight were short and the weather was grey and rainy. The atmosphere however was wonderful.

Every caravan sported a colourful display of coloured lights - something that is much easier to do on a caravan since the advent of effective solar and battery powered sets - there were signs reminding Santa to stop by (which given that it was New Year was perhaps a little redundant, but let's not be Grinches) - there was tinsel, there were Christmas Trees. It was like being in a little festive village.

Because it's easy to stay at home for the holidays. I think that when the nights are long and the weather is cold, there is a tendency to snuggle up on your sofa and do the things you do every year. But getting out, going to places you wouldnt normally be, that can be a real experience. Seeing what unfamiliar towns - or even places you know well at other times of year - are like at Christmas is fascinating. Think about what the town where you live is like at Christmas. It's different, isn't it? So give those places you know in the summer a bit of a winter visit. You'll be surprised. And probably entertained.

Where ever you'll all be spending the festive season, and whoever you're spending it with, everyone here at Snail Towers would like to wish you all a very Happy Christmas. I'll be back in the cold dark days between Christmas and New Year with tales of castles, food and frolics in the North of Scotland. I hope I'll see you all then.

Telling Kintails.

If you spend a week in the highlands as October turns inexorably into November you are clearly not a worshipper of the Sun. Even so, you might perhaps hope for a little bit of fine weather.

I think it's fair to say that on our late Autumn expedition to the environs of Loch Alsh we were plumb out of luck. We left home in freezing cold and driving rain and as we headed north it just got worse. The week was spent under leaden skies with the heating cranked up high. It was great.

There is something astonishingly comfortable about the feeling you get when you're snug inside your little tin box listening to the rain pounding powerlessly on the roof. Getting out in weather like this is one of the great advantages that a caravan has over a tent. Had we been under canvas the weather would have been a nusiance, maybe even a problem, in the 'van it was just part of the background.

It's an area we he never really visited before, having merely driven through it on the way to the Isle of Skye a couple of years ago*.  It sits somewhat to the south of our more regular highland haunts in Assynt and Strathnaver and as a result we decided we'd gave a go at doing the journey in one go, rather than stopping overnight half way as we do when hitting the far north.

Despite the vileness of the weather we made the journey from North Yorkshire to the shores of Loch Duich in a shade over eight hours, which I think was pretty good going. We were fortunate to be pitching up at the Morvich Caravan Club site during a lull in the rain, but as the sun began to drop behind the mountains and the already grey sky grew even darker we opted to forgo any late afternoon sightseeing and settled in for an evening of hot food, good books and planning for the rest of the week.

Because even when the weather is bad and hill walking isn't all that attractive there is rather a lot to do...

One of the places we were particularly keen to visit was the little seaside town of Applecross. We'd heard it was a beautiful place, and checking it out on the map it seemed that the drive there would be pretty spectacular in itself. 

We were right.

The roadled us over hills and through some pretty little villages that we'll probably talk about more in a later post.

Finally you get to the hill. 

Oh my.

You need to understand - we're from Yorkshire. We know hills. We've spent a lot of time in Scotland, and the Lake District. Sutton Bank, the Hardknott Pass, The Struggle, which leads you up out of Ambleside to the Kirkstone Inn, these are all legendary hills which we have taken in our stride. We've towed a caravan up onto Rannoch Moor and up to the Commando Memorial above Spean Bridge at the southern end of the Great Glen.

We are not phased by steepness, is what I'm saying.

In that context you need to understand the full import of what I'm saying. This hill is seriously steep. It rises from sea level to a shade over two thousand feet in less than five miles. By the time you are approaching the top there are some hairpin bends where it felt as though the car was nearly vertical. Add to this the fact that it was raining hard, blowing a hoolie** and we were climbing into cloud and I was pretty happy that we were inside the car with the heating pumping away. You'd have to be crazy to be outside in weather like that.

So when, as we crested the hill, we saw an oldish bloke standing next to a Ford Focus waving a set of jump leads at us, we had to stop to help.

It turned out that he was a keen cyclist. He'd just ridden his bike up to the top of the hill - the hill we'd just found moderately challenging in a car, mark you - where his wife had been waiting to meet hime in their car.

Because you wouldn't want to go down the hill on a bike - that would be insane. Or something.

Anyway. It seems that Mrs cyclist had become bored sitting at the top of the hill and had made the mistake of listening to the radio. For quite  a while. This had flattened the battery of the car and now they were stranded at the top of the hill in increasingly hostile weather.

 Trust me. This picture gives you absolutely no idea of how steep this is.

We squeezed our car into the little layby and I got out to see what - if anything - I could do. The wind - and "wind" is probably the wrong word, I swear it was damn near hurricane force - was what we'd call in Yorkshire a "Lazy Wind", one that is too idle to bother going 'round you and instead just goes straight through. It was icy cold and utterly relentless. With one hand holding the bonnet to make sure the icy blast didn't rip it off and send it hurtling back towards Lochcarron I helped the cyclist to connect up his jump leads and Mrs Snail gave the engine some revs to see if we could spark the Focus back to life.

We couldn't.

After a quarter of an hour's freezing but fruitless effort we gave it up as a bad job and offered the couple a lift down into Applecross so that they could find a phone signal (there was no discernable network coverage of any kind up there) and get some slightly more mechanically competant assistance than me.

While Mr and Mrs cyclist set about phoning various garages and mechanics, myself and Mrs Snail retired to the Applecross Inn for a spot of lunch. The place had been recommended to us by many people, so I'm going to assume we were there on a bad day. Let's just say that following my Grandma's rule about saying nothing if you can't say something nice, I'm not reviewing the food. Mind you, the speciality is seafood, which as regular readers will know neither myself nor Mrs Snail actually eat, so we weren't experiencing them at their best in any case.

By the time the lunch ordeal was over Mr and Mrs Cyclist had arranged for a guy from Lochcarron to meet them at the top of the hill so we gave them a lift back up and waited 'till he arrived. The weather had not in any way improved, so the hoped for views had not materialised. On a clear day though they must be spectacular, and given that we'll almost certainly be back in the area we'll give the Applecross hill another try when the weather is less hideous.

*On that occasion I came home with pneumonia - not the best souvenier, and one that might have put me off Skye a little... 

**I'm not sure if this is a generally used expression. If you're new to the expression it basically means that the wind was very, very strong.

Eating at Kylesku - a bridge just far enough...

When we left the wonderous beach at Achmelvich we couldn't help noticing that the time was getting on for "lunch o'clock" - perhaps the most important time of the Road Snail day, and we were beginning to feel a little peckish. Fortunately we knew exactly where a decent lunch could be found and set off again along the twisty little road around the coast.

 As we drove we passed Clach Toll with its distinctive split rock - another superb beach, although it's nowhere near as big as Achmelvich. There is an excellent campsite here too - we've stayed here many times but now prefer to pitch up inland at Elphin because like Achmelvich three miles or so up the road it's just become too crowded at peak times. Like Achmelvich it is something of a victim of its own success - well worth a visit of you're in the area though.

There's a carpark just on the other side of the campsite (take care as you drive through - popular campsite means lots of kids running around) furnished with a warden's hut much like the one at Achmelvich, a decent set of loos and - somewhat incongruously - recycling facilities. I presume these have been provided because of the campsite, although I don't recall anything at Achmelvich.

Anyway, from the car park you can take the boardwalked path down to the beach - soft white sand, hard black rocks and the same crystal clear turquoise sea you found up the road at Achmelvich - or you can stay on the headland and explore the Salmon Bothy.

This little stone house sits on the end of the Clachtol headland overlooking the beach. It was originally used by salmon fishermen who used to net the fish (none of your poncy fly fishing here - it was about catching as many as you could) as they migrated past on the way to and from their breeding rivers - you can still see the massive poles rising up around it which were used to hang the massive nets on as they dried. These days they serve as perches for seagulls...

The bothy is open to the public during daylight hours - providing useful shelter when the heavens open - and houses some interesting displays about local history. It is also, I should warn you, occupied by a strangely creepy mannequin of a fisherman who sits in a corner behind the door. Scared the life out of me the first time I want in there and judging from the occasional startled cries I've heard in there over the years he continues to startle tourists to this day. 

But on this occasion we were hungry and didn't hang about, speeding (well, drivng as swiftly as you can on a road so narrow, twisty and undulating) on towards lunch.

As you leave Clachtol the remains of a Broch can just be made out on the shoreline to your left - look for the big pile of grey rubble. The road then takes you up again, past some stunning scenery, through the little village of Drumbeg - home to an impressive viewpont and one of the finest little shops we've ever seen, and on back to the main road. I'm skimming over the delights of this route on this occasion because I'll need something to talk about the next time we're up there. So, I'm skipping forward a bit to the incomparable Kylesku Hotel.

This remarkable place sits just off the main road next to the slipway for the ferry which took cars and passengers across the narrows where Loch Glencoul and Loch Gleann Dubh meet. This is an old ferry point, there was a rowing boat that took foot passengers across the water back in the ninteenth century - and with good reason. The narrows are not wide - which is rather in the nature of narrows, of course - but they are relatively deep. You can't wade across, and if you don't cross here the only way to get to the opposite bank and the settlements to the north is to take a massive detour through the town of Lairg.

In short, cross here or you're taking a detour of well over a hundred miles. Irksome if you're driving, a major problem if you're on foot, or even on horseback. The the only really large traffic across the narrows until relatively recently was cattle, and they swam their way across. People were less keen on this though, so the ferry thrived and grew. Between the wars a small car carrying ferry was launched, to be replaced in the fifties by the ferry Maid of Kylesku capable of carrying two cars at a time.

The Maid was replaced in nineteen sixty seven by the larger Queen of Kylesku, which served with distinction until nineteen seventy six. But although bigger than the Maid the Queen was still too small to carry full sized commercial vehicles, which were forced to continue trucking their way via Lairg. This finally changed when the much larger Queen of Glencoul was comissioned in that summer of Punk and drought. 

As the Ferry prospered it must surely have seemed a no-brainer to set up a hotel on the slipway. Ferries mean queues. Queues mean customers.Often thirsty ones who could do with a bit of a feed.

It is surely no surprise therefore that the Kylesku hotel should have prospered in a similar manner. However, as traffic on the road increased the ferry became more of a frustrating bottleneck than a vital public service and in 1984 work was completed on the beautiful bridge which now allows cars to speed across the narrows unperturbed. This spelled the end of the Kylesku ferry of course, and the Queen of Glencoul relocated to the Corran Narrows just South of Fort William.

The road to the ferry slipway is now a dead end as the main road north sweeps smoothly past over the bridge without so much as a by your leave. This could, I suppose, have been the death knell of the hotel too, but it has soldiered on manfully, building a solid reputation among both locals and regular visitors alike. As a result it has always seemed to be thriving.

On this occasion we arrived in glorious sunshine and found a table by the window in the little bar area. We were busy being distracted by the cutest and most well behaved little dog we've ever seen which was sitting in under the next table when the waiter, whose name I missed but who could have stepped straight off Bondai Beach, were it not for his marked southern English accent arrived. As I was perusing the menu he was keen to assist with recommendations. On learning that I hate seafood and that Mrs Snail is allergic to it he paused for a moment before suggesting "Go on, 'ave a steak..."

I very nearly did, but was instead enticed by the burger  - something which regular readers will surely not find in any way surprising. I'd say that it was fabulous, but such a word hardly begins to do justice to the bun swathed meaty perfection that was placed before me. It was lovely - as was the beetroot and goat's cheese salad which Mrs Snail selected from the veggie menu our Antipodean looking waiter produced when she told him she didn't eat a lot of meat.  

The view was equally stunning - the odd common seal swam lazily past the ferry slipway while a colony of Arctic Terns provided a spectacular airshow, looping and whirling around each other before diving spectacularly into the loch to emerge with a flashing silvery fish firmly grasped in their beaks. 

And on this sunlit scene I will draw the curtain on our summer expedition. There was much more - as we took the snail north of Kylesku through the north eastern settlement of Durness with its vast beaches and the insanely brilliant "craft village" of Balnakiel, then "over the top" to the beauty of the far north east and Dunnet Bay.

But these are tales for sunnier times. Now, as they say, "Winter is coming" and it's time to turn to more recent travels. 

The most beautiful beach in the world.

If, as you leave Lochinver on the Ullapool road you take the first left turn after Baddidarrach, you find yourself on a little single track road that hugs the coast for many miles before arcing back inland and joining up with the main road north just south of Kylesku. There are too many delights along this narrow twisting ribbon of asphalt to name in one posting, but I really can't write another word about Assynt without mentioning the wonder that is Achmelvich beach.

We first came here on our first visit to the area twenty years ago, when we walked over from Lochinver on a grey, overcast day. Even in bad weather we were blown away by the astonishing beauty of the place. Anyone who has spent any time at all on the West Coast of Scotland will know that dazzling white sand and crystal clear waters are not unusual in that neck of the woods, but Achmelvich really is something else.

These days we tend to arrive by car, because we are older and lazier than we used to be. The approach by car is pretty interesting, as you leave the narrow and twisty road and join a narrower and twistier road which takes you up a steep hill with a sharp turn at the top. Don't worry though - however tight you might think it looks there's a caravan site by the beach which means the road is towable, which means unless you're driving a very large car indeed you won't have a problem. Indeed, we've often thought of staying at the caravan site, but are unlikely to now for reasons I'll go into later.

There's a largeish carpark behind the beach, equipped with an un-staffed warden's hut displaying information about the area, examples of local flora and fauna and details of the various ranger guided walks and events that happen throughout the year. Beyond that is a short stretch of Maccair (free draining and fertile grassy plain) before you finally hit the beach.

Just look at it!

When the tide is out - as it was in this picture - the beach is huge and insanely inviting. The view is tropical - although the temperature often is not, this is still the highlands after all. To stand on the dazzling white sand, gazing out over the azure waters and breathing in the crisp pure air is to fall in love. You won't be able to help yourself.

You'll see all manner of sea birds here - this bay is where I saw my first family of Eider Ducks, for instance - as well as other, larger wildlife. There is a rather arresting photo in the warden's hut of a Basking Shark crusing just a few metres off shore and whales have been seen off the headland.

Can you not feel the water lapping at your toes?

Sadly, this could in the end be the place's downfall. It looks very peaceful and empty in these pictures. The truth is that beauty this exquisite cannot hide for long and when it is discovered it attracts, well, pretty much everyone.

The brutal truth is that when we first came here nearly two decades ago, this was a deserted stretch of sand. Now, twenty years later the only way we were able to take pictures that were not full of other people was to arrive ridiculously early - and even then this once isolated haven was far from deserted. The caravan site which is just out of shot on the left of these images is now huge and rather chaotic, as are the fields of tents crammed in behind the Machair. 

It is, sadly, an age old problem - and something that particularly afflicts the highlands.

Beautiful places attract people who want to experience that beauty. This is understandable, and more people experiencing beauty is clearly a good thing. But for most places there's a tipping point wher the weight of numbers visiting a place starts to erode that beauty and I think that sadly Achmelvich may be reaching that point.

The question is, what can be done about it? I mean you can let market forces do their work - once the beauty of a place has been destroyed people will stop visiting and the issue resolves itself, but this is hardly satisfactory. But what else do you do?  You can't just restrict access - who do you restrict access to? Who do you say can or cannot visit the beautiful places? I've often joked that while it's fine for us to go to places other tourists should probably stay away - but that really is nothing more than a selfish joke. Such places must be available to everyone.

So. Visit Achmelvich. It really is the most beautiful place in the world. But tread lightly.