When I last posted we were leaving Dufton and heading for the border. The fells of the Lake District fell away as we headed north, but we were barely into Scotland before the terrain started getting more interesting. To break up our journey to Loch Lomond, we headed for the Grey Mare’s Tail waterfall on the edge of Dumfries and Galloway, east of Moffat.
The A708 has a sign claiming its unsuitability for HGV’s, but in a move that would be repeated almost daily for the next 2 weeks, we ignored the advice and proceeded onwards. The road was a gentle introduction to Scottish roads, twisting and undulating with the terrain, as if somebody had unravelled a roll of tarmac on the ground. Whilst the road proclaimed to have a lane in each direction, the lanes were too narrow to accommodate a truck, and on the occasions that we met a large vehicle coming the opposite way, we had to put a wheel on the verge to allow each other to pass. Most of the time, other drivers gave way to Jim, but even Jim looks small when faced with a laden logging truck, and there were a few occasions where I did not have the upper hand.
We arrived at the waterfalls to be met with drizzling rain, something that we would have to get used to whilst in Scotland. Nevertheless we enjoyed the short but steep hike up the valley, and ate lunch in far more pleasant surroundings than we would have found on the M74.
After leaving Grey Mare’s Tail, we headed north, and after navigating Glasgow (a city not endowed with an effective ring road or bypass) we drove to Balmaha, and along the east shore of Loch Lomond to a campsite that we had booked. Loch Lomond is easily accessible for tourists flying into Glasgow, and as such has more visitors than many areas much more beautiful but more remote. To prevent chaos, camping around Loch Lomond is controlled and restricted in a way that it is not elsewhere in Scotland, and so to ensure that we could park in peace near the water’s edge, we chose to book a places at the Cashel campsite. The campsite was busy, but there is plenty of space between pitches, and you get fantastic views of the loch from almost anywhere on the site.
I had aspirations to rent a boat the following day, and visit some of the Loch’s islands, but the weather had other plans, and the rain was too heavy, and the showers too frequent to make such an endeavour enjoyable. Instead we took a short walk along a section of the West Highland Way, and smugly enjoyed returning to the warmth and dry of Jim, whilst the backpacked hikers doing the full length of the route trudged onwards.
After a largely wasted day, we left the campsite the following morning, and drove further into the highlands, heading north on the A82. The whole of the A82 has great views, but the site as you get into Glen Coe is awe inspiring. I often daydream about going to dramatic parts of the world such as Iceland and the Caucasus Mountains, but it became apparent at this point that the UK has places that stand up against anywhere else you can dream of. The rain can certainly be an annoyance when you want to be walking and enjoying the outdoors, but I suppose it is one of the key factors in making this part of the world so beautiful. While in Norway of Iceland, similar landscapes might consist of exposed rock, and loose scree slopes, the endless rain in Glen Coe has carpeted the valleys, and mountains in a velvety cover of grass, moss and ferns. We stopped before reaching Loch Leven, and hiked up the short but steep path to Coire Gabhail, othwise known as the Lost Valley.
It’s not a particularly arduous walk, but there are some sections which require hands with opposable thumbs to navigate easily, and Boris lacks these features. Boris also has an aversion to metal grate stairs, and took some persuasion to navigate such an obstacle early in the walk. The walk takes you up a steep narrow river valley, and just where you think you might face an exposed mountain-top, the valley open out into a wide meadowed area, flanked by several tall peaks. In good weather we might have spent the rest of the day lounging around and exploring the surrounding peaks, but as we reached the Lost Valley, we met a particularly heavy shower, and spent a few minutes huddled under a tree before heading back down to the truck.
The rest of the afternoon was spent in the Clachaig Inn, an iconic mountain pub which safely meets its reputation, with an excellent selection of ales, and friendly and lively atmosphere and great food. After a starter of smoked salmon, and a plate of Haggis, we drove a short distance down the road, and spent the night adjacent to the extremely picturesque Glencoe Lochan. The night was as peaceful as they come, and after a walk around the small lake in the morning, we hit the road headed for Skye.
Driving an 18 tonner on highlands roads is never a rapid experience, and the 130 miles we needed to cover, did not disappear quickly. Thankfully the views more than compensate for the narrow, undulating roads, and I don’t recollect enjoying driving in many places as much as I did through this part of the highlands. We stopped for lunch at the picturesque Eilean Donan Castle, before crossing the bridge to Skye for the final leg of the days journey.
In a country covered in narrow roads, poorly suited to large trucks, the roads of Skye stand-out for being particularly narrow, and particularly poorly suited for large trucks! I was beginning to get used to having to pull into almost every passing place, and nervously looking in my side mirrors to see both rear wheel overhanging the edge of the tarmac, when I was faced with another hazard that Skye’s roads present, clueless tourists. I have read Paul moan extensively on his Life at the End of the Road blog about the terrible driving that 17 plate hire cars inflict on this part of the world, but it’s difficult to believe it until you see it first-hand.
The most frustrating occasion was passing the ludicrously popular Fairy Pools site, on the way to a remote campsite further down the road. The car-park was full, and the road was strewn with cars parked wildly, on either side of the road. In some places the road was barely wide enough to fit Jim through, and it was in one such place, on a steep downhill section of road that I was faced with a small car blocking our path. I stopped, and patiently waited for the car to reverse. It didn’t, and before long, there were several other cars behind it, all wondering how the situation was going to resolve itself. Having seen the complete inability of many similar drivers to reverse, after they’d overshot passing places further up the road, I soon realised that I was going to have reverse back up the hill. I was within my rights to stand my ground and force the five or more cars to sort this mess out themselves, but I realised that I would soon have a queue of similarly inept drivers behind me, and the situation would only get more awkward. As I have experienced before, Jim’s reverse gear is not well suited to steep gradients, and by the time I had reversed 200m back up the hill to the nearest space large enough to squeeze into, there was the familiar smell of burning clutch. The fact that I had reversed an 18 tonner, up a 15% gradient, through spaces barely wider than the truck, seemed to be lost on the cars in front of us, and most passed by without any acknowledgement. The rest of the drive to the Genbrittle campsite was uneventful, and I was glad to find the beautiful location justified the additional grey hairs.
Facing a plumbing issue in the durham plumbing service? Look no further than Durham Plumbing Services. Family-owned and operated, they offer over eight years of experience in resolving residential and commercial plumbing challenges. Whether it's a leaky faucet, clogged drain, or full-scale bathroom renovation, their team of skilled plumbers is equipped to handle it all.
ReplyDelete