An unforgettable journey
[The journey was, indeed, unforgettable, but this post contains several errors which can only be attributed to my faulty memory. In particular, I've confused my drive from Mallaig to Kyle on the 19th with the one a week later. This later post, which was written with reference to my actual trip diary and dictated audio notes is much more accurate!]
Today, 17 years ago, was a high water mark of my 1989 trip to the West Highlands. My first yessss!-moment was finding this beautiful hazelwood walking stick in Mallaig. For years I'd wanted an otter-headed cane, so I dropped £19 for this one in a heartbeat!
Then came the road trip. During the day that Sunday long ago, I drove the circuit from Mallaig to Kyle of Lochalsh (A 830 -> A 82 -> A 87), then back the way I came and down to the Ardnamurchan peninsula. My goal was to get to Ardnamurchan Pt (the westernmost spot in mainland Scotland) by dusk and watch the sun set over the distant Scottish isles.
Now for anyone who has driven in Scotland, you know the route I described above is a bloody long way to travel in one day, even taking all A roads. But the highway out along the Ardnamurchan peninsula is a B road (the B 8007 to be precise), and those can make for some pretty slow going.
I was not to be deterred. The B 8007 is a lovely drive leading into one of the more scenic and still relatively unspoilt areas of rural Scotland, and all along the way, I listened to glorious Mozart on the car stereo. It seemed I had the road all to myself, which was good because I was driving my little rented Austin Maestro like it was a fucking Maserati. ;-) I was a mad thing that day, free as a bird, and at the absolute apex of my life.
I would have reached Ardnamurchan Pt on time if not for the fact that I simply had to stop at every beautiful spot and snap photos, which meant I stopped a lot. ;-) I tried to save some film for sunset pictures, but I ran out of both film and light before I reached my desination.
Well, not all the daylight was gone. What remained was a wash of purple twilight just luminous enough to silhouette what was probably the island of Coll on the horizon. But there was another treasure I found at the point that night - one I wasn't expecting at all.
It was a road sign (of course!), but not just any road sign. It was one of the really old-style baked-enamel road signs which were everywhere around Britain when I first visited in 1967, but were nowhere to be seen now (1989). On this amazingly well-preserved sign, below a blood-red Egyptian-like Ra sun-disk, was a single word in embossed black letters:
END
Talk about an iconic image. If there's one scene I regret not being able to photograph during that whole holiday, it was that single, ancient road sign against that stark, burgundy-hued horizon.
On the way back inland, I stopped at the first public house for supper. I hadn't eaten since breakfast, and I was starving. I was about to experience another sort of apparition. As I walked into the pub, I was greeted by the blaring music of George Strait, a then-hot American country and western musician. After I was seated, on came another George Strait song, so I knew this must actually be a tape that was being played. I was amazed! In this tiny pub in one of the remotest mainland stretches of rural Scotland, everybody was happily listening to the ambient sounds of the latest wave of American country music.
After supper, I drove the entire distance back to the Loch Shiel Hotel in less than an hour. Arriving home, I mused about having survived the B 8007 in such fine style. It was truly a day and a night that I would never forget...
Today, 17 years ago, was a high water mark of my 1989 trip to the West Highlands. My first yessss!-moment was finding this beautiful hazelwood walking stick in Mallaig. For years I'd wanted an otter-headed cane, so I dropped £19 for this one in a heartbeat!
Then came the road trip. During the day that Sunday long ago, I drove the circuit from Mallaig to Kyle of Lochalsh (A 830 -> A 82 -> A 87), then back the way I came and down to the Ardnamurchan peninsula. My goal was to get to Ardnamurchan Pt (the westernmost spot in mainland Scotland) by dusk and watch the sun set over the distant Scottish isles.
Now for anyone who has driven in Scotland, you know the route I described above is a bloody long way to travel in one day, even taking all A roads. But the highway out along the Ardnamurchan peninsula is a B road (the B 8007 to be precise), and those can make for some pretty slow going.
I was not to be deterred. The B 8007 is a lovely drive leading into one of the more scenic and still relatively unspoilt areas of rural Scotland, and all along the way, I listened to glorious Mozart on the car stereo. It seemed I had the road all to myself, which was good because I was driving my little rented Austin Maestro like it was a fucking Maserati. ;-) I was a mad thing that day, free as a bird, and at the absolute apex of my life.
I would have reached Ardnamurchan Pt on time if not for the fact that I simply had to stop at every beautiful spot and snap photos, which meant I stopped a lot. ;-) I tried to save some film for sunset pictures, but I ran out of both film and light before I reached my desination.
Well, not all the daylight was gone. What remained was a wash of purple twilight just luminous enough to silhouette what was probably the island of Coll on the horizon. But there was another treasure I found at the point that night - one I wasn't expecting at all.
It was a road sign (of course!), but not just any road sign. It was one of the really old-style baked-enamel road signs which were everywhere around Britain when I first visited in 1967, but were nowhere to be seen now (1989). On this amazingly well-preserved sign, below a blood-red Egyptian-like Ra sun-disk, was a single word in embossed black letters:
END
Talk about an iconic image. If there's one scene I regret not being able to photograph during that whole holiday, it was that single, ancient road sign against that stark, burgundy-hued horizon.
On the way back inland, I stopped at the first public house for supper. I hadn't eaten since breakfast, and I was starving. I was about to experience another sort of apparition. As I walked into the pub, I was greeted by the blaring music of George Strait, a then-hot American country and western musician. After I was seated, on came another George Strait song, so I knew this must actually be a tape that was being played. I was amazed! In this tiny pub in one of the remotest mainland stretches of rural Scotland, everybody was happily listening to the ambient sounds of the latest wave of American country music.
After supper, I drove the entire distance back to the Loch Shiel Hotel in less than an hour. Arriving home, I mused about having survived the B 8007 in such fine style. It was truly a day and a night that I would never forget...