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.