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 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 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.