To the Highlands.

After another excellent night’s sleep, which must be down to the fact that we have no stress left in our lives anymore, (other than not being able to have eggs for breakfast,) we drive back to Cullen, which if anybody watches any of those pretentious cooking programs on the telly, they will know is home to the “Cullen Skink”... If you don’t know what it is you will have to google it !.

We follow the coast road west through to Elgin, where somebody apparently lost their marbles, and then onto Inverness, “the capital of the highlands. We stop off to do a spot of shopping. Jo does the food bits, and I go off to try and find a pair of lightweight long trousers as it’s a bit cool in the evenings. Can’t seem to find any so I start looking for a shop assistant. However, I’m disappointed as I can only find female staff, I was particularly looking for someone called Donald, so that for the only time ever in my life, I can say “Donald, where’s yer troosers?”


Leaving a rainy Inverness, we cross the Firth bridge, which we are later corrected by a signpost as actually being the Moray Firth bridge. Upwards and onwards, we head west. The scenery takes a dramatic change to being absolutely stunning. Lakes, sorry lochs, everywhere and mountains as high as mountains should be, not just hills.

We arrive at our destination overlooking a loch, for this evenings wildcamp. Situated just north of Gairloch on the shore of, yes you’ve guessed it, Loch Gairloch.