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.