Day 6, Friday 14 August: Train Inverness -> Thurso, a Night at John O’Groats
We berthed Eriskay back at the Caley Cruisers boatyard, shamelessly using the bow thrusters to steer her in reverse. We were off and away into Inverness in no time to pick up a train feast for our 4-hour rail journey up the east coast from Inverness to Thurso. The feast was necessary as the train has no catering. (It seemed like a good idea to stow the unfinished but opened Thistly Cross cider from yesterday in our Chilly’s bottles, but the folly of this decision became clear as we walked to the shops; lesson: don’t put bottle-conditioned evervescent liquids in chillies bottles - the seal isn’t up to the job.)
It’s a beautiful ride on the train north from Inverness, but not a fast one, looping around the Cromarty Firth and various other bodies of water; there are no bridges this far north to match the Tay bridge and the Forth bridge further south. The train also stops at many many local stations, and as the helpful gent at Inverness station had assured us, was not busy - we easily found a table on the sea-view side of the carriage to settle into.
Arriving in Thurso we had indisputably run out of railway: it is the most northerly rail station in the United Kingdom, and everything from here would have to be on road, on foot or on water. A walk into the town revealed not too much to detain us, so we pushed ahead via the golden find of the day: Rachel stumbled upon the Johnny Groat Thurso-to-John O’Groats minibus service, run by such a friendly fellow, full of stories about the area and the landscape features to be seen along the scenic road east of Thurso, helpful with our luggage and flexible with our arrangements. The Castle of Mey on a promontary near Dunnet Head (the true most northerly point of the British mainland) was bought by Queen Elizabeth the Queen Mother and was her favourite holiday spot; apparently we’d just missed King Charles coming up to the area for walking and fishing. We were so pleased we took the trip with Johnny Groat (real name: Colin Sinclair), and he even offered to take us back and on to the Scrabster Ferry terminal in the morning. What a find!
And so we’d come as far north as we could on the British Mainland. Our ‘caravan’ for the night (actually surprisingly well-fitted, especially after a boat: walk-in shower, full kitchen) had a view from its big sofa over the Pentland Firth to Orkney, taking in the iconic John O’Groats sign-post with its distances to all points from Shetland to Land’s End to New York. Most stunning of these distances was Edinburgh, 273 miles to the south: Scotland is really quite a big country, if rather empty in the Highlands! I was surprised how good a view of Orkney there was; it looked just a bit over the water (but what dangerous water!).
There was a constant stream of people having their photos taken at the sign-post, by each other and by kindly strangers, many of them having walked the John O’Groats Trail from Inverness; everyone seemed to be happy to be there; there was a prevailing sense of achievement. In reality (as related by Jonny Groat), John O’Groats is essentially a marketing stunt by Billy Butlin to play catch-up with similar shenanigans down in Land’s End in the 1960s; there’s really nothing there but the signpost, a camp site, a tiny harbour sheltering from the fury of the North Sea / Atlantic cross currents, a whisky bar (not today thanks), knick-knackeries aplenty, and (thankfully) a cute little pub serving local beers. Rachel and Al went for a walk along the sea side above the beach, while the kids played football in a goal net conveniently located just outside the pub.
Dinner was in a local hotel, mostly notable for its pool table in Dom’s eyes! Once darkness had fallen, Al went down to the harbour to see what he could see, and what he could see was the top of the deep black sea, writhing like a monster trying to escape a cage, just a few centimetres below the level of the harbour jetty - it must have been the highest of high tides. There were warning signs everywhere that in a storm the waves could engulf the harbour walls entirely, and not to walk there in anything like rough weather. Fortunately there was no wind or rain so no-one came to any harm, but the power of the water was unmistakable.
Day 7, Saturday 15 August: Leaving the British Mainland - Scrabster to Stromness
Well-rested, the children sent their postcards to grand-parents (so that they would have the John O’Groats postal mark), and then we were met once more by Johnny Groat to be transferred back to Thurso (actually to the ferry port in Scrabster.) We also bought a copy of Colin’s book ‘The adventures of Johnny Groat for a keepsake.
We were very early for the Ferry, so there was time for brunch (in a very promising-looking Tapas restaurant) and a meander around the Scrabster ferry terminal. The friendly fisherman on the end of the jetty told us that he’d caught all of his bucketful of glorious, huge sea bream specimens in half an hour, before a seal had turned up and he’d had nothing since. He also opined on the easiest way of dispatching a fish (get your fingers in the gills and snap its head back, apparently: every day is a school day).
The ferry between Scrabster and Stromness runs a few times a day (as we were shortly to become familiar in Stromness), takes a bit less than two hours, and is well furnished with a viewing deck, bar and restaurant. The only loser-out was Dom, for whom the swell of the Pentland Firth was too much, sadly. The ferry gives you a lovely preview of the Old Man of Hoy - Britain’s tallest sea stack at 137m - as you pass west of Hoy, the southernmost island of Orkney.
And then we were on Orkney!