Clach Goil to Lairg
Next morning the sun was shining again. Deer grazed a couple of hundred yards away. I decided on a leisurely start, waiting until the dew and condensation had evaporated from the tent.
The hike downhill was a boggy affair, the cart track that once served the remote dwelling a no more than intermittent boon. After a hard slog to a broad unsealed road serving a hydroelectric installation, it was all downhill to the main road at Wester Fearn. There was no choice but to plod along the road to Ardgay, where I’d have to make my next route choice. I had to decide whether I could carry enough provisions to get me through to Kinlochbervie, which was at least five days away. If I was doubtful, I’d need to go via Lairg.
A northbound train trundled past when I was half a mile from Ardgay station, and I wished I were aboard. The previous day’s miles had taken the spring out of my step. Walking into the village, I passed a sign exhorting people to shop locally in Sutherland, but every shop had closed down. The only activity I noted was at the motor repairer, where a group of men were effing and blinding loudly. I checked the train and bus timetables: nothing in either direction for nearly three hours. Needing to eat, I crossed the Kyle of Sutherland to Bonar Bridge. Shops were open, and so too was the hotel. Two pints of Guinness and a huge bowl of pasta and meatballs later, I felt happy. I decided to sit in the sun until it was time to ride the train to Lairg. The alternative was too tough: five days in remote country without replenishing supplies, and too many miles on tarmac.
At Lairg, as at St Monans, I asked for help and information and received it. First I got a lift from the station to the town, then a great recommendation for B&B in the village centre with Win. The sun shone in her garden, strong brown tea gushed into my cup, and all was well with the world.