Day 10 – From Thurso to Ullapool

Thistle

In which Sid and Doris move from one little ferry port to another.

The YNot Hotel answered its own question when we found the breakfast room to have the cheery atmosphere of the morgue, albeit without the smell of formalin. Off to the Jamiesons’ cafe for a fry up. Here we found Morag cooking, making some excellent coffee and serving and selling the bakery goods.

There is atmosphere. The ladies behind us are being inveigled into buying poppies for the British Legion, a veteran’s charity not the populist movement you might suspect. The poppies have tartan decoration and we buy two.  In conversation with the elderly gent in front of us we learn he has retired to Thurso to get out of the Bournemouth rat race. We have visited this modest Dorset seaside town but not appreciated the rat eat rat competition. I am sure he is well out of it and will rest easy in the calm (or torpor) of Thurso.

We enter north west Sutherland from the east.  Mr Google tells us that Sutherland is called Sutherland because from the Vikings’ point of view it was south of quite a few other places.
The forecast shows 100% rain and is 100% right. Our pictures may include windscreen wipers. Sometimes the rain is slight enough that we can see the geology on the Rock Route. More exciting is going inside the geology. Doris dearly loves a cave.
The walk down into Smoo Cave coincides with some extra drizzle, and Sid shows some slight reluctance to enjoy it fully.

We go inside for some fully-deserved marvelling, after which Sid apologises for his previous lack of enthusiasm, cross the river and climb out. Bothy McWeevil is surprised there is no cafe. And as we drive on towards the Assynt Peninsula, passing Teal’s 10,000th mile, we are surprised quite so much is shut.
We stop in a random lay-by to read a random information board.  A team of weathered workers are installing a new board (probably with Gaelic as the first language) and Sid gets into conversation.  On his part about the work, but quickly on their part about the Mini.  “What size engine have you got?” is always the standard conversation opener from men of a certain age.  Everyone is well impressed we have the Metro A Plus Series 1275 overbored to 1293, although it does reduce their initial respect when they thought we were doing this tour with a mere 850cc.

One of the team says incautiously “Minis have a terrible reputation for cutting out in the rain”, and as everyone enacts the bad-luck-averting ritual of their choice, Sid shows him the Demon Washing-Up Glove Of Dryness which is wrapped round Teal’s distributor.

Another pair of Porches come past in the other direction.  When sailing there is a mantra – “two boats sailing in company can be deemed to be racing.”  When driving in remote parts it is a fair bet that two unusual cars driving near each other are probably touring together.
Following the guidebook rigorously, we pause above an island which is described as very photogenic.  The general mizzle is hiding the scenery.

On re-reading this blog it may sound as though Sid and Doris are despairing of the rain – that is not the case because the roads are enjoyable, the scenery near the car is lovely and the people we meet are great fun, but we do mildly regret the opportunity to look at the longer views.

After Unapool there is a wiggly alternative road to Lochinver shown on the map. Doris decides she would like to drive the longer route around the edge, via Drumbeg. It is apparently part of the North Coast 500 (cf Bothy McW) a route to entice motor homes, owners clubs of every marque and bikers to the B&Bs of the area.

The first part of this road, single track, through deciduous trees and with some extremely steep and twisty blind crests, would make a challenging rally stage and feels like an impossible road for two-way motorhome traffic. As the road geometry gradually eases and the trees give way to stony lumps of geological interest the driving and scenery become most enjoyable, which explains their inclusion of the first eight or so miles.

As Doris hands the wheel back to Sid, the Mini seizes the opportunity for a witty picture next to a motorhome.

We rejoin the main coastal road and see the Knockan Crag where two tectonic continents met which was very exciting for nineteenth century geologists.  Doris regrets the number of the most excellent Rock Route information boards that were missed in the murk, and gets Sid to agree in a weak moment that a return visit could be planned for a post-Covid spring, when seabirds and nature will arrange themselves obligingly and every cafe and visitor centre will be open and welcoming.
Towards the end of the journey the weather cheers up, vistas open, and even iPhone pictures from a moving Mini can capture some of the scenery.
 
Sid drives into Ullapool. Last night we had a salad picnic in our hotel room. Tonight we have a splendid residents’ lounge which the hotel’s compliance officer deems is private and thus not bound by the Scots’ no alcohol after six rule. There is cooked dinner by a roaring stove. Morale is high.

And after dinner another resident plays the piano in the resident’s lounge.  Sid and Doris realise it is their first experience of live music since Turin. [You will need sound on to enjoy this video to its full.  The picture of Sid alone, while charming, may not be enough to sustain your interest.  D.]

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