Glen of Torridon. Do it. Drive it, cycle it, walk it, run it, whatever your motive force, don’t miss it if you’re passing this way – it’s awesome, especially if you’re lucky enough to see it in afternoon sunshine as you head for Torridon (which itself sadly proved a bit of an anti-climax.) We didn’t stop at the impressive-looking Torridon Hotel or Bar either (as they both looked almost too grand for the likes of us lowly Knumptyers) but instead ploughed on to accidentally discover the highly-agreeable lochside village of Shieldaig, basking with its’ trouser-legs rolled up like a happy … Continue reading A Short Cut Across Skye

We visit Gairloch because we’re seeking Tim and his glass-bottomed boat. Only problem is, there seem to be two Gairlochs – both based on the linear, Lochside model so prevalent in these parts. And, to a certain degree, we’ve become so overwhelmed by the continuing scenic beauty all around us, we can no longer differentiate between one inland or coastal Lochside village and another. So we gaily cruise into Gairloch and are mildly bemused by its obvious lack of any boats or harbouresque loch-side clutter, nor signs for any glass-bottomed boat trips. At the end of the High Street, we … Continue reading Today We Meet Tim

I think we first heard about it through idle social chit-chat in a pub in Lichfield, some 500 miles south of our current location, but the urge to investigate led us on a back-road from Gairloch to the Shieldaig Loch Hotel, where we found a car-park convenient for a hike into the surrounding hills – in search of an unusual World War ll war-grave. The story is little-known but well-documented online for those who seek it out. It revolves around the tragic crash of a US military aircraft, en-route home at the end of the War. On 13th June 1945 … Continue reading A Sobering Climb To The Fairy Lochs

We were headed with anticipation to what is becoming a Very Favourite Private Knumptying Spot not far from Poolewe and Iverasdale, the exact location of which is left deliberately vague so we stand a slim chance of finding space for the Knumptywagen next time we visit. Despite the nearby existence of a well-situated official camp-site with all mod-cons, we were slightly flummoxed to find that our own very low-key, help-yourself, leave-your camping-fee-in-the-honesty-box beachside ‘wild’ campsite we’d enjoyed so much on our last trip in September 2015 was closed (that’s C-L-O-S-E-D !) until May 1st (18 days hence), and no amount … Continue reading The Campsite Is Closed

  The roads are empty. The sky is cloudless and blue. Arthritic fingers of the occasional sea loch reach through gaps in hills and mountains. The heather-clad moorland stretches to an indescribable infinity. Inland lochs excite the eye, glimpsed dazzling with reflected sunlight like jewels set in mud and wind-whipped wavelets froth their surface as we sail serenely by, untroubled by traffic or the slight disappointment felt by reneging on a day’s fishing for wild brown trout. Our road runs alongside Loch Assynt and we’re headed for Ullapool, when the tumbled ruin of Castle Ardvreck heaves into view, standing still-proud … Continue reading An Incident On The Loch Assynt Road

Hey ho. The bloody water-pump’s packed in. Again. And this time we’re on the west coast of Scotland rather than the west coast of France, so the chances of getting it fixed are less than negligible. Several earnest phone calls this morning resulted in the nearest possible solution being back in Inverness, representing over 100 miles of back-tracking across country to the opposite coast, oh – and by the way – they were so busy, their earliest available service-appointment was the middle of May (over a month hence) – so a bit like the NHS really, but without all the … Continue reading Waterpump Woes (And A Failed Attempt To Fish)

This afternoon, we reached the north coast of Scotland, that flat-looking bit along the top, which we’d loosely targeted as our ‘starting point’ for a journey back down all the lovely twiddly bits of the West Coast. We’d already decided to avoid John O’Groats (there’s nothing there, advised two travelling nephews who’d been. Little realising that, in our very limited experience, this actually summed up most of the entire North Coast and not just the JO’G bit.) The unusually-named village of Tongue, nestling unassumedly on the shores of the Kyle of Tongue has therefore become the 4th overnight stop of … Continue reading The Very Furthest North Coast of Mainland Scotland