It was raining when we left Brora, and we started our route on yet another golf links. (David prevented me from walking on the beautifully manicured grass, instead we walked on wet grass paths between the golf course and the beach). By the time we decided to descend onto the wide sandy beach, the sun was shining and continued to do so all day. The morning was delightful, as the tide was receding and we were able to walk on damp sand: we passed a colony of terns on the sand and then a similar number of cormorants out on the rocks, and a solitary grey seal basking quite close to shore. We had to cross a number of burns, sometimes quite tricky! We stopped for our picnic at a table by a caravan site just above the beach, and from that point our walk became progressively more difficult, with pebbles, rocks to scramble over, rock pools to avoid and more frequent burns to cross. It was tiring and we were glad to finally reach Helmsdale, where we are having a rest day tomorrow.

A Backward Glance

After yesterday’s experience we were a little disappointed to be setting out in rain under a grey sky. However, after negotiating the Brora golf course and a short path through long grass we were on the beach and in the sun again. There was less happening along the shoreline today, and apart from gentle lapping of waves against rocks between us and the sea it was very quiet indeed. After about an hour of walking we noticed a lone figure with a dog in the far distance walking slowly in our direction. When we eventually met he greeted us with, “Spec yoom thinkin you be in evin ear”, in a voice just like The ‘BFG’. He was carrying a plank of scaffold board and taking it to a secret location to complete a seat he’d been making. The happiest man on earth chatted to us in BFG explaining how nature had conspired to keep tourists out of the area and had swept away many attempts to bridge the burns protecting the shoreline. Later those burn crossings provided interesting moments that challenged our continued travel in dry socks. Fortunately the tide was out and we were able to step across them on stones nature or other walkers had made for those that dare. Once out of the protected shore line we came across caravans and stopped to have lunch at a table and bench overlooking the sea. From that point on until our destination the walking was over large pebbles and rocks, which I enjoyed and Carol detested. The alternative was to leave the beach and use the A9 running parallel quite close by. I thought a trial separation in our relationship would do neither of us any harm, Carol could taste life in the fast lane for a change, while I plodded on stubbornly in the slow one. Eventually we had to sit down on a large piece of log that had drifted onto the beach to have a serious matrimonial debate, and Carol reached for her friend Mr Komoot to back up her grievances. We had just passed the last reasonable exit to the alluring A9 option, a crossing over the intervening railway line. At just the right time another walker came in our direction following the same path: we both stared wondering what would happen when he got to the crossing option. He continued towards us. The intelligent, uncomplaining, wise, informed and cheerful traveller turned out to be a Frenchman walking the ‘John o’ Groats Trail’ from Inverness. Carol pointed out the difficulty of the beach walk and the opportunity to get on the A9 using the crossing. He admitted to falling over a few times and the need to be careful, but Carol knew that his and my mind were thinking the same thing in two different languages. I had international agreement and after a few minutes of quiet resignation, we got up and followed the Frenchman who was now out of sight from us (probably because he’d fallen over again among the rocks).