The Far North

Another kind invitation from our friend Arthur saw Andy and me driving 6 hours after work on Thursday north to Durness. Well, Andy drove, I just sat there and relaxed, enjoying the spectacular highland scenery. Durness is as far as you can go without falling into the sea, or turning right for John o’Groats. We arrived early on Friday morning, and a bit later were roused by Arthur to ascend Foinaven: a huge massif of a mountain which looks as if it ought to be a Munro but is actually not quite one by a matter of inches.

It was hard work to reach the bottom of the mountain, across a bumpy, heathery, boggy, pathless waste. However, it was worth it for the fab views from the summit over mountains and islands.

I’m told that this is the only formation of the type in the UK (but am of course open to correction by geologists). Following the descent we had a trek across bumpy, heathery, boggy, pathless wastes to reach a track. I have rarely been so pleased to see a track. However, it was five miles along said track to get back to the car. I was more than ready for my excellent dinner at The Old Schoolhouse, Kinlochbervie.

Disappointingly, there was a Durness mountain that they would not allow me to visit:

So, clearly, I will need to have another visit to Durness.

The next mountain was just south of Ullapool where we had retreated in search of a rain-free climb. We went up something the name of which I have forgotten (if you are reading this, Arthur, no doubt you can advise!).

The next meal was at the canalside Lock Inn, Fort Augustus, where there were plenty of boats to see – there is actually a series of locks. Roast chicken with haggis: novel and not unpleasant. Sadly, the next day meant a return home. The weekend finished with a run back at Hesket, and dinner kindly cooked by Sabiene. Mountains are all very well but food is just as important.