Day 72- Wick to John o'Groats and Duncansby Head 22 miles

Crossing River Wick in the morning

 I can't believe its here! The final day. By tomorrow I'll have nothing to do but sit and wait for the car. I was half excited and half disbelieving. I packed up without thinking and left, walking along the River Wick back into Wick for breakfast at Weatherspoons. I'd woken at 6:30 for the first time in weeks after going to sleep later than ever, so I reached Weatherspoons too early and had to wait for a while.

  After breakfast I headed out of town, passing the massive supermarket and joining the A99 again. The first part of the morning was rather awkward, hitting quite a lot of traffic. I crossed the road a number of times trying to stay ahead of the curving road. Eventually the traffics drawn away and your left with only the occasional car and passing cyclist. Cyclists this far along are only doing one thing, I wished good luck to all those going south and waved congratulations to those on the last few miles north.

  I was tired half way through the day, and struggled a little to get momentum. I'd already finished the
walk in my head. As I approached John o'Groats I waited for the rush of joy, or euphoria which I'd imagined a hundred times over since leaving Land's End. Nothing. I walked on into the outskirts of John o'Groats and looked down towards the Orkney Islands. They are a stunning sight, and while the town is small its not as unpleasant as the guide books suggest. I had a choice to walk to camp and make the last few miles to Duncansby Head tomorrow, in the end to turned right and followed the lane away from town. I wanted it to all be finished so tomorrow I could lounge about waiting for my lift.

  Its a flat enough route to Duncansby Head but I felt every meter, reaching it exhausted. The light house, built in 1924, is a pretty enough building but the beauty of the spot is the coast line and bird sanctuary. Thirle Door and the Stacks of Duncansby are wonderfully reminiscent of the 12 apostles at the end of the Great Ocean Road Walk in Australia. I stood listening to the birds for a while, lay on the grass and tried to get around the idea it was over. In Wild she gases up into the heavens and whispers thanks repetitively in a holy manner. All I felt was fed up that now it was all over I still had another two miles to walk back to John o'Groats to camp.

Duncansby Head

Thirle Doors and the Stacks

  Once pitched and showered I wondered round a little. Tourists came and went in their truck loads,
all posing on my sign till I gave up trying to take my own picks and retreated for food. It felt silly in
any case, especially alone and with strangers taking photos. Instead I sought my certificate from one of the shops, and was given it my a nice pimply teenager with writing as jaggedly my brothers for 80p. The sun was high and it was a lovely day in which to rest outside. The Cabin at John o'Groats is a lovely little shack, run by a couple that work the entire summer without a day off before going abroad in the winter. She gave me a cup of tea on the house and I happily munched down fish and chips with onion rings. The last really unhealthy meal I had a right to eat guilt free.

The Official End of Land's End John o'Groats

John o'Groats Campsite

  Just before bed I met a cyclist off to the Orkney Islands, I thought she looked wonderful, like the adventurer I try to pose as. A little bit of me felt jealous of her forth coming trip although most just felt relieved it was over. I showered and went to bed, eager to get to sleep early to wake up at two and watch the dawn.
  When dawn came I opened the flap and peered out, surprised to find light already spreading across the sky. For an hour and a half I lay in my sleeping my staring out and listening to the world wake. It was wonderfully calming, and exactly what I needed. When I drifted back to sleep at 4 it was with the first tinges of pride and feelings of accomplishment. I felt more relaxed and content than I'd been all year.

Dawn Rising over Duncansby Head

Day 71- Dunbeath to Wick 22 miles

  I woke up with trepidation this morning, gingerly crawling from my tent and lowering my feet to the ground. Nothing. No pain just a little tenderness. Hoping this would last I packed up and collecting my EasyAcc battery from reception before leaving camp. For the first mile or so every part of me was focused on the slightest twinge from my foot. As the boots hadn't helped much yesterday I wore my sandals from the go, took it very slowly and swallowed two ibuprofen.

The A9 no more, A99 from now on

  The road from here is straight and even, farm houses drifted by but no other landmarks to break up the day. I pushed through Latheron onto Lybster before stopping for supplies. The town is off the main road my a kilometer or so and walking down towards the sea stopped at the post office and bought a supply of bourbons and crisps. The crisps proved a mistake, far too greasy. I wondered back towards the A9 along a parallel side lane till Mavesy. Then the roads goes ever onward, still straight with just a few farms. I didn't mind so much, my foot was fine and I could walk without too much effort.
  At one point a couple of lamps came running up to the farm fence across the road, they did it with such open command that I crossed to see what was up. The boldest raised himself up on its hind legs, its front hoofs on the fence in an effort to get close. I stroked it uncertain of how you're meant to stroke a lamb, its friend joining in with enthusiasm, I felt rather honored by the encounter.
  Later a flock of young calves chased me from the other side of the fence, making me grateful for the barbed wire. That was it in a way of nature. I got a thrill as a joined the A99, the A9 curving inland to the north coast. The sign with John o'Groats only had Wick and Thorps left, 35 miles to go!
  Wick came into view as a welcome relief, and following the signs I found my way to the Wick Caravan Campsite, paid their extortionate fee and set up camp. The showers were small and scruffy, but the lawn flat and even so it wasn't so bad.
In town there is meant to be the Northern most Weatherspoons and I was tempted to go find it and have a proper meal (well as broad a term as that is when it concerns Weatherspoons). The walk into town was more than worth the effort, the camp along the Wick River, the path crossing it before reaching the center.

River Wick

  With all the bad things you can say about Weatherspoons they are usually in grand old buildings, they don't blast loud music at you, you can sit for hours without been bothered, quick internet and cheap drinks. You wont gleam much about the local culture, or leave with an 'experience' as such but for a tired walker it was just what the doctor ordered. I downloaded a load of things on my Spotiffy account for the next day and talked to my brother in America using Skype. I left at the shockingly late time of ten, been treated to an even more stunning view while recrossing the river. 18 miles tomorrow, 22 when if I walk from John o'Groats to Duncansby Head and back.

Day 70- Brora to Dunbeath 25 miles

Start of the day, wearing my high-viz vest

  Today was hard. Harder than any other day so far and it had nothing to do with the actual road or land around me. Within a mile of camp my left foot started to be in real pain. There was no fall or twist, but hot fire seemed to have spread on the top and in step of the foot which meant every time I pointed my toes ever so slightly at the end of each stride shooting pains went up my leg. It got worse the longer I walked and I ended up limping and leaning on my poles. I tried tightening my shoes to give it extra support but it only made it worse, the extra pressure causing a constant dull pain. For ten miles I continued, head bowed. I'd not carried any pain killers as I'd not needed them for the last few months. I hoped to find a small shop in Helmsdale but after reaching it saw little on the main street and simply walked through, pausing as I climbed back out of the town to change my boots to sandals. Some relief, but by this point the pain was constant. Walking flat stretched of road and down hill were the worst.

Cooking pasta at the end of the day in my tent

  The day dragged and I made horribly slow progress, covering just over 2 miles an hour. The road around Berriedale was very steep and zigzagging hard to walk on: I constantly had to switch sides and hope that drivers would be sensible around corners. They were, and after rejecting another kindly offered lift I made it to the home straights. From Berriedale the road stops trying to kill you and straightens out along the coast. Then at the twenty mile mark something truly wonderful happened: my foot stopped hurting. The caught nerve uncaught or something and I no longer needed to limp. Relieved that the next few days wouldn't be filled with pain I completed the last few miles to camp and dumped my things. I stopped in a campsite just on the other side of Dunbeath, a very neat and loved place with unusually stylish showers and facilities. 

  In the shower I sat on the floor and waited for my muscles to ease for well over half an hour. Without realizing it I'd walked tense the entire day and it had totally drained me. Before camp I'd finally found a shop and bought some ibuprofen which would help tomorrow if things hadn't changed.  Cleaned I slumped back to my tent, ate and drifted off to sleep dreading tomorrow and hoping that my foot would behave itself. IN my sleeping back it still refused to allow me to point my toes, it didn't hurt while immobile but I dreaded tomorrow. 22 miles to Wick would not be fun if things stayed the same.

Day 69- Dornoch to Brora 19.5 miles

Just out of Dornoch, heading north towards Loch Fleet

 Quite a pleasant day, structured in a manner I'd never tried before. I set off late at 9 and walked the twelve or so miles to Golspie by 1:30. There I stopped to watch the Wimbledon final in a lovely family run pud. I left again at 17:40 with another six or so miles to walk to Brora Caravan site club on the northern side of Brora. It was nine when I reached camp and my body couldn't work out if it had had an easy or hard days walking. 

Loch Fleet starting to appear up ahead

  The lane skirting along the coast from Dornoch is quite pretty, straight north it cuts out the curves of the coast, bypassing Embo and heading straight to Loch Fleet. The Loch is a beautiful side, mist hanging low of the water casting everything into monotone. Another kind passerby offered me a list and once again I refused explaining I couldn't without wrecking all my efforts the last two and a half months.
  Once I'd rejoined the A9 crossing The Mount my lovely lane walking became a thing of the past and the dreaded road stretch began. The guide books had described it with such creative horror that I'd expected high roads with motorway traffic rushing past 60miles an hour. On the most part the roads were clear and if I walked towards the traffic I could watch their approach and wear head phones without endangering myself. Moreover the drivers were all passing me with extreme care. I began to sing along to 'Show me the Way to go Home' and followed up by an acapella performance on the side of the road, quite happy with the world.

Loch Fleet

  The A9 stretches on but a side verge took me away from the worst of the traffic allowing me to walk with ease. I switched sides when the corners demanded it, mostly I put my head down and pushed on grinning whenever a sign past with the ever dwindling number of places and miles till the end point. I was dreading injury more and more now, something which would stop me from completing something I'd doubted I'd manage.
   Federer and Djokovic played a hell of a match, the whole pub supporting Federer even though he'd
knocked Murray out. Even when the place officially shut they didn't have the heart to push me out till the end of the match which I was very grateful for. Federer lost but fighting and with his usual style, poor Djokovic won largely unappreciated by everyone present. Seems awfully unfair. I didn't like him when he first entered the scene, probably because of him beating Murray far too often but Federer has the same nasty habit and I think he's great.

Dunrobin Castle and Gardens

  The last stretch goes off road for a little while, twisting past Dunrobin Castle and along the coast.
Dunrobin Castle is home of Clan Surtherlandruly, an impressive building with the grandeur of European castles and gardens of the English gentry. It's also the largest and the most northerly great house in Scotland with the oldest continuous inhabitants. They were known for shipping many of the land owners around them to America, seizing their lands. Who says nastiness doesn't pay in the long run?
  From the castle I walked along the coast  enjoying great views back towards its imposing presence, high up behind it on the Ben Bhraggie hill the100 foot statue of the first Duke of Sutherland staring down at his lands. It made me think of Terry Pratchet's Jingo, the statue of Tacticus with 'I can see Your House From Up Here' written underneath as both a threat and boast to the people he conquered

Along the coast looking back to Dunrobin Castle

Dunrobin Castle with the statue tiny on the hill above it

  When I reached camp reception was closed and following the signs instructions I set pitch and got on with preparing for bed. The field was largely empty so I was a little put out when late comers decided to pitch right next to my tent and made a tone of noise late into the night. What do they think camping is? A social event? I'm going to become such a crabby old woman at this rate.

Day 68 - Rest Day in Dornoch

  I woke slowly, a sudden urge to pack and leave almost too much to resist. All the tennis was over so why wait? Then I remembered just how crabby I'd been yesterday and lay back down. Relaxing into a hike is something I seem quite incapable of. When I get back I'm going to do some walks where I have no destination, or very very small ones to try to force myself into a slower more calm style of hiking. I think its partly fear or failure: when I'm walking I feel competent and in control, but when I rest I feel suddenly unfit and over weight.

Dornoch Seaside

  After eating the reduced sandwiches I'd bought yesterday I lay around trying to work out what to do. There is supposed to be rain and I wanted to hang out on the beach for a while. That said I decided to head into town first to buy postcards which I could write up on the beach. Dornoch is a strange town,

Dornoch Cathedral

with signs at every corner which suggests a town considerably bigger in size. The 'Shops' and 'Tourist Attractions' is actually a small corner convenience store and a single historical museum with a large forsaken building site around it.  'Golf Course' might have deserved a sign, although I found the place horribly unfriendly when I popped my head in, 'Tennis Courts' were two run down council looking courts while 'Beaches' sign took you the long way round past council houses.

Dornoch Gold Course

  The church was lovely, as was the town itself, if small and limited in attractions. It was bustling with people. I wondering round the Dornoch Cathedral, smiling as I discovered a Tardis hidden behind the mass organ. The old prison turned market place was interesting but specialized with niche items which I could ill afford. Stopping in a cafe I bought myself an ice scream feeling parched by the unexpectedly warm day, dropping a few items into the post office on the way back which would no longer be needed. In the last few days I wanted to be as light as possible.

  All jobs done I wondered back to camp, dumping my things headed over the sand dunes to the beach.

Dornoch Seaside

  The coast is soft sand, with the sea flat and crystal blue falling into the distance. Not crowded like tourist sites I found a solitary patch and lay down in an attempt to even out my weathered and tanned legs. Five minutes later I was bored. How do people do this for hours? The wind also blew strong enough to pick up the sand and slowly covered me on one side making it impossible to write. My

ipod was soon covered and by the ten minute mark I stood up relieved to be back on my feet. Instead I spent an hour up to my ankles paddling in the sea, the waves crashing up to my ankles and feeling marvelous. I could feel my body rimming with energy and all my stiffness drain out of me. I must have walked nearly three miles today and the exercise was a good amount to warm up my muscles but not enough to tire me.

  In the afternoon I sat back and watched the women's tennis finals in the campsite's entertainment room while writing up several

pages of my blog. I was a long way behind now and struggled to motivate myself. Before retiring I completed some needed laundry and chatted on facebook with my brother in America before lying back to watch Buffy. Less than 80 miles left! I'm so excited for it to be over but, unlike yesterday, I am also excited about tomorrows walk. A lovely day off.

Day 67- Ardjachile to Dornoch 6 miles

  I woke up this morning feeling stiff, but more than that, fed up and hard done by. The fact that I was having a fantastic experience that few get to enjoy, seen some of the prettiest parts of the country, didn't matter. The world was obviously out to get me and I hated it back in kind. This actually means one simple thing: I really needed a day off as I'm turning more and more unreasonable. Unless you're Levinson Wood or other real explorers 280 miles without a day off it a tall order.

Dornoch Firth Bridge

    Today's walk only took two and a half hours. It was exactly what was needed, a quick jaunt across Dornoch Firth Bridge, followed by another side lane all the way to Dornoch. Again there is very little to describe. It was an easy stroll along a deserted track with the Firth to my right behind flat and bleak looking sand dunes and wooded moorland my left. One thing that did bring a smile to my face was the first sign for John o'Groats, only 88 miles to go!  

John o'Groats 85 miles!!!

  I tried Dornoch Caravan and Campsite first but been told it was £11 fee I left not too graciously. Within a few hours however I'd come to realize that it was in fact the only site within a few miles of the town. In the end, after spending even more money in a cafe, I sheepishly returned and payed for the next two nights. 
  My first impressions of the campsite were dismal, the man behind the counter looked high on weed and the cloudy sky made the whole place look dull and depressing. After I'd settled in a little, washed and relaxed I realized it was an unjust judgement. While it's expensive this does include showers, a tv room (to watch the tennis) and free internet which stretched across the entire campground. Moreover the camping area is quite sheltered with the beach barely two hundred meters behind. Even the people behind the counter became friendlier as I got to know them. It seemed, to me, a very well run family campsite.  

Dornoch Caravan and Camping Site

 Once I requested to watch the tennis a man came to mend the TV. I still caught the start of the match and was quite happy to sit alone in the room. The expense of the campsite is more than mediated by been able to sit for three sets without having to buy a drink- like I would have had to in a pud. When Federer thrashed Murray I actually felt relieved rather than disappointed: I'd watching the final between Federer and Djokovic if I could but it was no longer imperative and I could enjoy the next few days. If I passed a pub at the right time I'd drop in, otherwise I'd simply carry on and look at the score after. Murray would win next year.
  The rest of the day was spent lounging around and eating, I'd popped into town to buy some food but didn't look round at all as I'd have the whole of the next day to do so. Early to bed I revelled in the idea that I could sleep in as long as I liked tomorrow. The campsite was silent and I fell asleep easily.

Day 66- Dingwall to Ardjachile 28 miles

Cromarty Firth

  I started out slowly, not leaving Dingwall till 9 o'clock. Even after I packed up I ended up talking to the campsite manager and a few other people before leaving. Through town I bought a bacon bun from the bakery before climbing up through an estate to join a lane above the A9. It's a deserted road with pretty views of Cromarty Firth. A seventy something lady passed me jogging and I watched her with admiration and a little sadness: my nan was younger than her when she died last year never having smoked or drunk and I feel so envious and bitter on her behalf as well as mine.

B9176

  At Evanton I found a church cafe and stopped to have an early lunch, beans on toast, and a glass of orange juice. I'd considered this as a possible spot to camp but it was still only half eleven and I felt much fresher and more relaxed than yesterday. There was no need to rush, quite the opposite in fact if I was wild camping, so I strolled on-wards and enjoyed the walk along a series of B roads, turning north through Balnacraig to cross the Dal Neich. Two cyclist past me at the bottom, their progress slowing as they struggled back up from the river back to the B9176 road. Both were carrying enough supplies to tell me that they were also heading for John o'Groats, I'd already seen half a dozen others today on ladened bikes. Quiet and easy going I made good progress, stopping only once to munch on some biscuits perched on my bag on the side of the road.   The further along the road the more pretty and rugged the landscape became around me. Happily listening to Deasert Island Disks I carried on past Strath Rory, ignoring where I'd planned to wild camp. I felt strong in a calm and absent minded way so it seemed a pity to waste it. About eight or so miles away there was a campsite, less that six miles from Dornoch it was a perfect rest stop. If I reached it tomorrow would be nothing but a stroll.

  Half way along the lane, just past Blackpark, I lost my footing in a pot hole and fell face down on the road. I knew quickly that I was unhurt, just grazed palms and leg. Rolling over I unclipped my bag rather than make any attempt to lift it up from the ground, I was also a little concerned with been sprawled across the road strapped into a 40 pound backpack. As quiet as the lane was it would only take a distracted driver speeding to get home. Once on my feet I checked on my leg and sucked my palm clean before pulling the backpack on. I was suddenly a lot more weary.

School glass house in Edderton

  A lady stopped to offer me a lift in the four wheel drive and after I politely refused I began to descend towards Edderton. A family with bikes strapped to the roof of their car had stopped near the town and were rummaging in the side ditch. The man informed me they were geocaching, something I'd only loosely heard of: people buried of hit objects or boxes around the countryside and provided both the GPS location and a clue so others can hunt them down. Its a clever way to get people into the countryside.
  Once at Edderton I turned east and walked the last 3 or so miles to the Dornoch Firth Bridge. The A836 was busy and rather unpleasant to walk, and I was pretty tired at this point. I'd only walked 28 miles once before and, even more urgently, I needed the toilet. Just before Maikle Ferry roundabout a side lane takes you to the entrance of the campsite. Its a horribly long campsite, the road

Parish of Kincardine, Croick & Edderton

on one side and train track on the other, the tent field five minutes walk from the toilet block. That said it was well maintained and clean enough. Once I'd had my rest stop, set up the tent and washed, I sat back and ate. My body was beginning to  stiffen, my knees in particular complaining loudly. It took me longer than ever to go to sleep, constantly trying to stretch out my aches in the sleeping bag with no affect. It wasn't the crippling pain after a hard work out at the gym, just a dull ache of weary joints which had walked over a 1000 miles in less than nine weeks. Not much
longer to go.

Day 65- Bunchrew to Dingwall 18 miles

Entering Inverness, Kessick Bridge in the distance

 Another tennis day- not that many to go and I'm relieved. I swear they drain me to the bone as I rush through the day trying to get to camp in time to watch the bloody boy play. Murray is due on court at mid afternoon against Pospisil (someone I know nothing about)and Wawrinka is playing Gasquet just after. I am aware that this is not why people read hiking blogs but as a summary of my day these are the key points I remember. The walk on the other hand was unmemorable. You follow the A862 from Bunchrew to Inverness along the River Ness. Its a narrow road not designed to be walked and at one point I chose to balance on the wall instead of the road. On one side there was a two meter drop to the shores of the river and on the other cars whizzing past a few feet below.

  Once through Inverness, which I only skirted, and across Kessick Bridge. I'd finally reached the A9 which would take me most of the rest of the way to John o'Groats. The bridge is an impressive structure from afar but walking across it wasn't very pleasant, the sides high, traffic loud and litter all over the place. After is road walking all the way to Bingwall. Most goes along the old highway, a very quiet side road now ignored my all but those who live alone it. It meant I could tune out and trudge along. My back was hurting today and the arch of my food seemed to be having trouble. It didn't help that I refused to allow myself a break, forcing a pace I'm not used to in order to reach Bingwall in time.
  At Tore I crossed the A9 to follow the A825 towards Conon Bridge and the River Conon. The last
stretch to Dingwall on the western side of the River Conon is only a few miles more, flat and paved. At Dingwall I found a pub which provided me with the tennis and ordered some food. I'd missed the start of the match but due to a rain delay I still had two sets to watch. Murray made relatively easy work of it but Wawrinka struggled which upset me as I needed him in the next round to beat on Djokovic a while. Wawrinka seems to have Djokovic's number and if he can tire him out before the final Murray might stand a chance. Unfortunately Wawrinka failed.
  Dingwall campsite was another Camping and Caravan Club site which meant a very reasonable fee and good standards through out. There were also a few signs of Land's End to John o'Groats cyclists, out routes finally meeting again for the first time. I watched one cyclist in reception sat with his chest thrown out with pride boasting of his journey so far, I wonder if that is how I appear at times, I do hope not. That said he cycled it which in my mind takes a lot more fitness, or at least a very different type of fitness and one I haven't got. He started under two weeks ago, it staggering how quicker it is and makes me appreciate just how long I have been going.

  The next few days would be an awkward affair and for no other reason than the fact that the men's semi finals was on Friday and I'd quit the walk rather than miss Murray playing Federer- probably an over exaggeration but only by a little. I also needed a day off badly, my last one had been in Peeble: after 13 days walking and 250 miles covered my body was complaining in earnest. Yet I couldn't have tomorrow off as well as Friday to watch the tennis. Tomorrow I'd carry on walking, cover as much distance as I could towards Dornoch so that the next day I'd only have a few miles to walk before camping. If I could reach Dornoch my lunchtime I'd have most of that day off as well as the whole of the next to potter around and do as little as possible.

Day 64- Drumnadrochit to Bunchrew 18.5 miles

Last night was the first time I encountered other hikers doing this trail. Four or so friends in camp, the lady I ate with and the two in the last section of yesterdays walk. Today there were a few sat on the side of the road but once I'd left town I was alone again. The path out of town goes along the main road for a while before rising into the An Leacann forest hills overlooking Loch Ness. The view stretching back was stunning.

Loch Ness

  The climb up is hard, but I'm yet to get to a hill and enjoy it which I think says more about my own fitness than the difficulty factor of the hill. Huffing and puffing I trudged on wards, pulling the rain covers over my bag as the drizzle began. Along this path there's a rather good outdoor center, raised by the locals to create a safe place for people to go and learn about the outdoors. I dropped in to use their toilets before heading across the Corryfoyness Ford to Creag Bhan. I was told to look out for a cafe about ten miles through today and sure enough I'd have had to be blind to miss it. There were dozens and dozens of signs everywhere with things like 'coffee?', 'beans on toast?', 'scrambled eggs?' and 'real coco?' making me hungrier by the moment. I wondered up the strange path to the door of the cafe, bark underfoot wet and rather slippy. Chickens were running wild and the actual house further along was fenced off, a horde of huskies running behind it barking. Not exactly how I pictured the organic cafe I was told about. Still a very friendly lady came walking towards me and explained they were doing some construction work at the moment but if I wished to have a drink I could sit on the terrace further down.

Abriachan Eco-Campsite and Cafe

  It was a very strange place, the lady had to walk nearly 150 meters between the house and the little shack like building I was sat in, first to take the order, then to bring the drink and twice after that. That's well over half a kilometer for one customer. The hot chocolate was a generous portion and good strength however. The lady warned me weary of the chickens as they were rather cheeky and spoiled. I'd never met a pampered chicken before so allowed it to approach, excited to pet it if allowed. In a flash it had jumped on the table and stolen my bloody biscuit! Outsmarted by a chicken...

Bunchrew Caravan Campsite, view looking at Beauly Firth River

  The rest of today was dull enough, more pine forests and snippets of lane walking. At one point I was walking along a road when I saw a herd of cows walking towards me. Unsure of what to do, the road narrow and with fences on either side, I climbed to sit against the fence and wait for them to pass. They had three handlers who coaxed them along, yelling for me to stay put while they past.

Bunchrew Caravan Campsite

  Before the end of the Great Glenn I turned directly north, dropping down off the ridge to the Bunchrew Caravan Campsite along Beauly Firth river, a few miles west of Inverness. 18 miles walked I happily set up camp, the site rather stunning and views set to match. With toilets and shower facilities in good condition and a small shop with computers at reception you couldn't ask for more. Rain, however, did dampen the evening. Just after I pitched it began to pour and continued all night. I ran to the burger van which had opened fifty or so meters away and ordered myself a chicken burger with chips. Eating in my tent I happily lay around ringing a few people, (yes I had signal!) and watched an episode of two of West Wing on my phone. The rain not stopping I gave up waiting and ran to the shower block to wash. Back in bed I wasted a little more time before going to sleep, the rain still heavy against the tent, but dry and warm I wasn't the least bothered. The Great Glen was done, an easy trek tomorrow before the final stretch to home. All would be on roads but the finish line was in sight and I couldn't wait to reach it.