John o’ Groats Trail Day 4.
Distance today: 18.5 miles.
Total distance: 76.7 miles.
Accommodation: hostel.
Without going into too many details, spending a large part of yesterday in swamp conditions had not done my feet any favours. It was like a crime scene down there. Blisters, inevitably, but also some uncomfortable tenderness underneath together with a disturbing amount of angry red around my toes. It wasn’t pretty.
The plan for today was to try to get as far as Helmsdale which, as with yesterday, was a stretch. Someone had recommended a hostel in Helmsdale so that was the incentive. Leaving Dunbeath, the trail was nice and easy for the first couple of miles with a combination of pavements and well-trodden paths. There was even a post office to re-stock on essentials: mars bars and, slightly bizarrely, hot-cross buns. The transition to the more rugged coastline track was marked unceremoniously by me snagging my waterproof trousers on some barbed wire as I was climbing over a stile. I was not impressed. Why would they put barbed wire here?! Luckily it was just a small tear right down at the bottom of the trousers.
Weather-wise it was one of those days where it kept on flipping between sun, rain and wind which meant it felt like I was constantly having to change layers – although better that than have it hammering down the whole time. Of the few walkers I’d met, most had warned me about the number of ups and downs on this section. They weren’t wrong. While the scenery did its best to be distracting there is something disheartening about checking the miles you have walked and discovering it is no where near as many as you hoped or even would have actually done had you been on flat tarmac. Then there are the regular annoyances you get when you lose sight of the waymarkers and you’re in the middle of nowhere with no idea where you’re going. I genuinely started to do my best impression of a native American tracker, studying the ground for boot prints and looking for turned grass to see if somebody had been this way within the last couple of days. It wasn’t desperation but simply the recognition that it was generally a lot easier to follow an established trail than just make your own one up. And the sooner you found it the better. Ultimately, I was following a coastal path which meant it was difficult to go too far wrong if you just headed back to the coast. That’s not to say I wouldn’t have appreciated a few more visible waymarkers.
On the subject of waymarkers, I found myself pondering the theory that when the signs were slightly old and knackered and the stiles were old and knackered (and the walker was old and knackered), then there was a good chance you were in for a really dodgy section, likely to lead you down or by the side of a cliff. But if the signs and stiles were relatively new then generally the route was straightforward. The evidence certainly seemed to support the theory.
Had a brief stop at the picturesque Berriedale to air my feet and pass the time of day with an old English couple who had just moved to the area.
By 5.30 I was still nowhere near Helmsdale and so rang the hostel to check that they were okay with me arriving late. No problem. The track from there took you in and out of lots of little coves which were pretty enough but tiredness was creeping in and they became things I had to get past rather than admire. At some point it definitely looked like you could avoid the hills by walking along the beach. Unfortunately the stones made it hard going. Eventually I rejoined the track near Helmsdale and got to Helmsdale Lodge Hostel just after 7pm. The curse of Covid meant I had to pay £50 for a whole room because they weren’t allowing any shared accommodation. That said Marie the host was both friendly and helpful, suggesting I lay my soaking tent out to dry in one of the big sheds in the garden.
A pint and a chili con carne in the Bannockburn Inn and that was me done.
