On Tuesday we had a fantastic night’s sleep, interrupted only by Tom kicking the hazard lights on with his toe. Wednesday dawned bright but chilly in Blair Atholl, and we had the luxury of bona fide beans on toast on our new melamine plates from House of Bruar. Our hesitancy about using the van’s plumbing had been overcome by curiosity the previous night when we borrowed a hosepipe off the senior Haweses. We spent a good half hour improvising a series of prototype tap adapters from an old coke bottle to allow us to fill the water tank/lose some fingers to frostbite. This proved to be a turning point as we then discovered the source of the mysterious buzzing sound: the water pump had been pointlessly running attempting to pump fresh air throughout the whole of the first night. Hopefully any damage caused was minimal, and we were both relieved to find out we hadn’t been irradiated or anything.
The hot water was now working perfectly for washing up the breakfast things, but we still weren’t brave enough to try the shower so used the campsite facilities. What the campsite showers lacked in temperature they made up for in pressure and quickly removed any pesky dirt, skin, and muscle from our heads. While adjusting to our new life as a pair of fleshless but spotlessly clean skulls, we discussed our plans for the next few days.
The weather forecast promised a shocking end of the week over on the west coast so we decided to head up to Aviemore and the Cairngorms, naturally stopping off at the Dalwhinnie distillery (my favourite). Feeling slightly light-headed and light-walleted, I stowed my new bottle of Winter’s Gold whiskey and we carried on up to Aviemore. Tom fancied a Subway and soon overpowered my rather weak protestations about poor value and never being as nice as it smells. We acquired 45cm of meat-style sandwichette with “salad” from some of the nicest sandwich technicians we’ve ever encountered and ate it in the sun outside. We had another little look round the shops, bought yet more groceries, and drove on to the campsite in Glenmore.
We spent the evening on the beach of the loch surrounded by utterly beautiful woodland with Tom’s parents and Rhubarb drinking tea and champagne (classy), and when the sun went down I dumped a can of M&S chicken tikka masala into a pan (even classier). The four of us played bridge (class overload), or rather, three of us played bridge and I sat with a vacant expression on my face as my brain whirred and overheated like an old Dell laptop.
Thursday was our first proper walk. We walked up to Lochan Uaine which was genuinely breath-taking, then carried on up to Ryvoan bothy which was the epitome of cosiness with the smell of wood fires still lingering in the air and a small selection of teabags left by previous guests. Back down in the van we brewed up a cup of tea and prepared various things on toast for lunch. Sitting with my feet up eating cheese on toast with a cup of tea in the rain, I felt an equal mix of contentment and smugness welling up inside me.
That night we decided to brave a “wild camp”, meaning we would go without the facilities usually provided by a campsite and rely just on what we had. Which wasn’t really much of a sacrifice considering we have a van with more reliable utilities than our previous flat. Our chosen spot was Allt Mor car park, just up the road from our last campsite. In a moment of excitement at the prospect of being in any way “wild” I suggested we don our waterproofs and headtorches and walk through the woods, in the dark and the rain, to nearby Glenmore Lodge for a couple of pints before dinner. In reality the paths were well marked and well maintained, and the walk was only about 15 minutes with the biggest dangers being some slippery grass and maybe a dung beetle, but at the time it felt like a journey through Mirkwood or the Forbidden Forest. A couple of drinks later, we were back at the van discovering why people carry levelling blocks. The level of alcohol in my blood really upped the ante as I tried to stop knives and pans of boiling water and frying onions from sliding off onto my feet (and head whenever I bent over).
In the morning we drove across to Inverness to do a load of boring errands and sample the delights of Mr J.D. Wetherspoon. We managed to pick up a nice bit of hose from B&Q complete with tap attachment doo-dah for about 7 quid (take that, Go Outdoors!) before carrying on to Dingwall to spend the night.
The people at the campsite told us about a website and app called searchforsite.co.uk which lists all the campsites and camping spots you could possibly desire, and which we have since come to rely on like a wise old sage (stay here, you should, chemical toilet disposal point, they have…).
On Saturday we made for the coast, aiming to book onto the Sunday ferry from Ullapool to Stornoway now that the weather had improved. We drove past a couple of incredible looking spots on the way which we’ll try to go back and see somehow. At Ullapool we asked The Great Wise App to find a place for us to spend the night. It said “park for free at the Royal Hotel you may, if dinner or drinks in the bar, you buy…”. So that’s what we did. It rained constantly the whole day and night that we were there, but Sunday was pretty glorious as we boarded the morning ferry.
The ferry journey was spectacular, as were the chips in the restaurant. I even commented to Tom how easy it had all been – obviously I spoke too soon. The ferry docked, the passengers all sat expectantly with their hands poised on the ignition, the signal went for the ramp to descend, but nothing happened. It was almost a full hour before the ferry had managed to swing around to allow all the vehicles to reverse off the ferry through the back door.
Now finally we were in the Outer Hebrides, on the Isle of Lewis. Except that it was the Sabbath, and being a very traditional Christian island, everybody else was inside resting. So we roamed the island looking for signs of life, and eventually found some other tourists at Ness, and a few starlings around the lighthouse at the Butt of Lewis.
As the sun went down and we started looking for a place to stay, we drove past an extraordinary number of churches, all with lights blazing and car parks packed, the kind of activity you’d usually only find at a Michelin starred gastropub. Presumably they were all praying for rain, as that’s what we got in full force for the entire night. We were parked up at the end of a quiet road not far from a loch, another wise app recommendation, and I was disturbed in the night by the wind and rain, a growing sense of unease about the sea/cows/locals creeping up on us, and then finally a good old leg cramp to make me feel at home.
Monday morning came and all my fears were unfounded, of course. We had breakfast in Stornoway and had a good look round Lews Castle before attempting to find a campsite that would allow us a proper wash and a place to do some laundry and write this blog post. The first place we tried was closed. Then we called the second place, which closed at the end of September, but recommended a place not too far on from there that was open all year. We looked it up, and although it had no electrical hookup it did have a laundry nearby and was right by a huge stretch of beautiful beach. We stuck it into the satnav and were shocked that it was a 55 minute drive away. Surely not? On a little island? Well anyway, the drive took us past the famous Calanais standing stones, the most spectacular of many stone circles on the island, so we stopped and had a look around, a quick worship of the sun gods, a quick slice of tiffin in the visitor centre and bought a fridge magnet to add to our collection. We bumped into the senior Haweses again and told them of our campsite woes and possible success, and they followed us on the drive round to Ardroil Sands to spend the night.
The drive was increasingly scenic and I even saw my first ever wild stag in broad daylight. The road tracked round the edge of a huge loch and through a narrow gorge with half the trees blown over. We emerged out the other side to side vistas of white sandy beach as promised, past the community shop where we could do laundry, and down to a small car park by the beach with some pretty impressive toilets. We parked up and refilled the water tanks and I had a quick wander down the the beach which was as beautiful as promised. Tom even managed to fix the TV aerial which hadn’t worked since the Peak District with a pair of pliers and some Mr Bean-style arm waving. That’s where our luck ended.
Emboldened by our recent technical success, I attempted to charge my laptop from the van leisure battery so I could finish this post using a mini inverter in the 12V socket used for the TV. The little green light came on and went off suddenly and my heart sank as I realised I’d probably blown a fuse. It was a race against time to get the drafted Word document off my laptop before it died, and I then had to sheepishly deliver the news to Tom that we now not only couldn’t enjoy our recently fixed terrestrial TV, we now couldn’t even watch any of our DVDs. And my laptop still wasn’t charged.
So we eventually settled down for the night, both quietly wishing for a time machine. Instead of a time machine, I woke up around 3.30am to the sound of howling winds throwing handfuls of solid rain at the van. The wind was deafening and we shook periodically. After about half an hour I decided to check the weather and see when it might stop – not only would it carry on until SIX PM it would also get worse, from 40mph up to 50. Luckily the van was watertight, and my duvet was impenetrable to the cold breeze now developing inside the van via the various vents installed for our safety. Stupid safety.
This morning we woke to find the wind still howling as expected. Since we don’t fancy the drive back up through Falling Tree Gorge and Lochside Heights, I suppose this means we’re stuck here for another night. And we’ve also discovered that the showers were not working. Excellent. However, we’re fully stocked up with food, we’ve got the solar panel for power, there’s plenty of running water here, diesel and laundry (hopefully) just up the road, and of course that beautiful beach just over the dunes. And we’ve got all the waterproof kit so we’ll venture for a walk on the beach. And there’s reading, knitting, and crosswords to be done. And if things get really rough, I suppose we could play Bridge…
Sorry for the bumper post!
Troughton out.
Troughton & Hawes in the Great Outdoors 
Brilliant! Keep it up it’s the highlight of my day reading this😁X
LikeLike