Stag Do!
The North Coast 500 Scenic Route, or NC500 to its friends, is the United Kingdom’s answer to Route 66 – just without the neon signs, giant plastic blue whales, or copious concealed firearms (one supposes). It leaves irresistible Inverness and proceeds north, looping its way around the ruggedest and remotest of Scottish highlands, completing a five-hundred-mile circuit that makes the North York Moors look like Disneyland. Adding to the majesty of our path was the frigid climate, which had become increasingly icy since our Invernesian departure and was providing quite the challenge as we inched our way towards Great Britain’s northernmost village: John o’ Groats.
Despite an arctic power slide or two, terrifying when driving a three and a half tonne machine with all of our life’s belongings in the back, we eventually reached the abundantly photographed landmark. New York in one direction, the Shetland Islands in the other, and the town of Bluff, New Zealand, directly below us, we really were at the very heart of planet earth. Moreover, we were able to savour it all on our lonesomes but for a stout puffin or three as it takes a brave, and possibly foolhardy, tour group to venture up here at the beginning of February. With every tacky tartan tourist trap and coffee shop closed until the warmer weather returns, there was little for us to do but take the timeless ‘Pen y Fan shot’ before returning to our slippery nemesis.
Each proceeding day, as we continued along the route, brought increasingly implausible landscapes as well as an abundance of Scottish wildlife. Lustrous lochs, concealed coves, and isolated mountainside bothies, I would confidently wager that nowhere on our Isles lay scenery anything quite like it. On one occasion we glimpsed a distant picnic spot and minor car park with a rather large sculpture of a stag in its centre and decided to pause for lunch – vegan haggis, neeps and tatties of course. It was only upon closer inspection that the aforementioned sculpture just so happened to be respiring, strutting, and also extremely interested in our vegan haggis, neeps and tatties. We watched in awe as the regal beast put on quite the performance: grunting, lifting its proud chin, and displaying its full antler offering in what looked like some form of mating ritual. As I hadn’t been this terrified by an amorous stag since Temple Bar, 2016, we decided to retreat ever so slightly.
The road to the Isle of Skye took us via Bealach na Ba, or Applecross Pass. Proclaimed as one of the UK’s most magnificent stretches of tarmac, it includes the longest section of ascent on any British road. Ideal for Chris Froome, less than perfect for Vishnu. The snow-capped pass took us between a pair of seven hundred metre monoliths before its infamous corkscrew section emerged before our eyes. Whilst having to conduct countless three-point turns around the excruciatingly tight corners on the descent was a slightly hairy undertaking; we were more than fortunate that nobody was coming in the other direction.
Skye was a far more touristy affair than any of our previous weeks on the road. With waterfalls to be seen, dinosaur footprints to measure, and whiskey stills to stumble around, it has something for alcoholics and palaeontologists. We based ourselves in the quaint town of Portree before taking a tour of Talisker Distillery, the oldest remaining on the island. Our knowledgeable guide saw us coming a mile off, though, as we ended up purchasing a lifetime’s worth of Talisker totes, tumblers and, why not, towels, singlehandedly keeping the gift shop going for the foreseeable future. The Old Man of Storr was our final Skye stop, which looked even more striking given its frosty dusting before we began our long journey back towards civilization… sorry, I meant Glasgow.
Just before we brought the curtain down on our Scottish adventure, there was just time to grab a photo or two of Britain’s highest peak. No, not Tim, but Ben. Although, our plan of climbing to its summit in mid-winter as “how hard could it possibly it be?” was swiftly reconsidered upon overhearing three experienced climbers exclaim that they almost died on its slopes a couple of weeks prior. Not having packed our crampons, we decided to partake in an even more challenging experience: watching The Lumineers live in Glasgow City Centre. I jest, it was actually a wonderful way to round off our trip around a quite magnificent country. From the glorious highs of the Cairngorms to sliding our way along the NC500, the scenery Scotland offers around every turn, particularly amongst the Highlands, is something quite special to behold. Hopefully, their Celtic neighbours can compare…
J
