Update 2: Clythness Lighthouse to Portgower

We were almost out of phone battery for most of this, so sorry about the lack of photos.

We woke up warm but exhausted by Clythness lighthouse to find a line of cows staring at our underwear, which was drying on a barbed wire fence alongside almost everything else we owned. After the previous day’s downpour the weather cleared, and a brisk breeze was aiding the drying process.

We had planned to reach Lybster the previous day, but had recognized the cold and wet had started to become unsafe. We knew we’d made the right choice but it meant that we were low on food and water, so we made plans to cut onto the main road to make our journey shorter and avoid the potentially wet and slippery trail that we knew would lead us directly along a cliff edge. According to google, there was also a cafe in Lybster.

With the promise of a cooked breakfast in mind, we hastily packed down and set off along the A9, waving goodbye to the line of curious cows who had been watching us the whole time. This haste would cause a problem however, as we soon realized we had packed things in strange and interesting places. Most notably, Jay had lost his bandana. This wouldn’t been a problem, but despite being only about a week into the pilgrimage, Jay is already six weeks overdue a haircut. (His hairdresser is on maternity leave and he couldn’t be bothered to find a new one before the hike.) We set off anyway, the wind whipping Jay’s unnecessarily floppy locks directly into his eyes, which drove him mad throughout the day.

Upon arriving in Lybster (which comprised of a single weirdly wide street), our immediate priorities were finding a public toilet, and then somewhere to eat. Having found the toilets, we walked along to the village cafe, collapsed through the door with our enormous bags, and ordered the largest breakfasts they had to offer.

When we finished, they kindly agreed to fill up our water and we planned our onward journey to Berriedale. Because of the storm we were significantly behind schedule, and still feeling a bit damp and beaten by the previous day, we decided to take a short bus journey to Dunbeath where we stocked up at the local Spar, Anna took a moment to lay out her damp socks in the sun, and Jay used some gaffer tape to fix the tears barbed wire fences had made in his waterproof trousers the day before.

From Dunbeath we were treated to a very short woodland walk — our first patch of trees on the pilgrimage so far, but we soon dropped back onto the coast path.

For what felt like forever, we found ourselves wading through some extremely high ferns (which were at times taller than Anna, and almost always taller than Jay). As we have found so often on this trail, the views were stunning, but the walking experience was… less so. Imagine: an uneven trail less than a foot wide, which slopes precipitously to the left towards a sheer and unguarded 50m drop, at the bottom of which the cold and wild north sea smashes against jagged rocks. On the right is a tangle of barbed wire. In front and behind there's deep foliage hiding large rocks, holes and other things that make the muddy trail uneven. It's not ideal.

As we approached Berriedale, however, the landscape opened out and became increasingly hilly. Berriedale is sited at the bottom of a deep gorge, and as we picked our way down to a small beach lined with white-washed houses we were getting tired, hungry and annoyed - and were also wondering where we were going to sleep that night. We sat on the beach to eat dinner, and because we were unsure of what was to come, Anna asked a couple holidaying in one of the houses to fill up our water, which they kindly did. We sat for a while eating, but we weren’t the only creatures dining on the beach that evening. Anna proved a delicious snack for a small swarm of midges, while Jay was disturbingly unaffected. We realized that for this reason the valley could not make a good camping spot, and we needed to get back up to higher ground.

Setting off again we crossed a swing bridge, which felt like it was made of elastic and had large signs warning that there could only be two people on it at a time. When Jay was halfway across, Anna stepped on and the bridge bounced wildly with the movement. This led Jay to strongly express his belief that it should be limited to ONE person at time.

On the other side of the bridge was a very, very, very steep (almost vertical) hill. Knowing we had no choice, we looked at each other and agreed one would not wait for the other, but that we would meet again at the top. Halfway up, dark grey clouds quickly moved in, and the rain, which we thought we had left in the previous day, began again.

At the top of the hill was an old navigation tower with a small seat nestled inside it. Jay found Anna sat on that bench, panting with exhaustion. We looked out at the rain soaked landscape we'd passed though, and then at the field behind the tower. It was almost flat, and only slightly full of sheep shit, and, exhausted, we agreed that we would go no further that day.

With the rain lashing down around us, we set up the tent quicker than we had ever managed it before (even including the time we spent kicking chunks of sheep poo out of the way). Jay got inside to lay out the ground sheet and noticed that there was a problem with the back left corner (probably because we put it up too fast.) He asked Anna, who was still outside, to adjust the pegs in an attempt to fix it. He has since acknowledged that he may not have been as polite as he would have liked to have been in dryer, less exhausted moments. As the rain stopped, Anna stood outside the tent, staring into the middle distance, weighing up the pros and cons of murdering Jay that night in his sleep. Finally, she decided she was too tired, took a deep breath and crawled into the tent to say evening prayer.

The next morning, Anna awoke for her morning stretch (about an hour before Jay, as per usual), to find the tent surrounded by sheep. With hindsight, we should have expected this due to the quantity of their leavings. Her presence scared them away, and we ate breakfast, packed up, and walked onwards up the next hill.

The deep valley of the previous day was to prove an omen for what was to come. Before that, though, there was more scrambling along cliff edges through bracken, before we reached Badbea clearance village. The village had been settled over a number of years beginning in the 1790s. This difficult patch of land between the walls of the sheep enclosure and the sea was to be the home of many families who had been evicted from their homes by the Duke of Sutherland to make way for more profitable sheep farming. Life here was hard, and many emigrated to other countries. The son of one of the emigrants erected a monument in 1911, the same year that the last resident left, which to this day stands over the preserved ruins of the village. It was here we paused to stop and reflect on the fractured history of the landscape on which we were walking.

After Badbea village the vegetation cleared, but we noticed on the map that the route to Helmsdale would involve cutting through two deep river valleys with extremely steep sides. The first was the Ousdale Burn, which involved slipping and sliding down one side, and then ascending back up 150 very tall steps. Had we known when we began the climb that there were 150 steps, we probably wouldn't have made it, but when you're halfway up, there's no choice but to keep going. At the top of the valley was a broch, and although exhausted from the climb, Jay couldn’t help but take the opportunity to scramble round inside its 2000 year old walls, calling out to Anna about the ‘cool old rooms’ he found there. We walked on along a fairly level track until we came to the second valley, the Ord of Caithness — another brutally steep climb. Collapsing at the top to catch our breath, we agreed that were it not for the promise of a real bed, shower and rest day, this would be significantly more difficult.

After taking a few moments, we shouldered our bags again and began our decent into Helmsdale, coming first to a small bay where we resolved to have lunch. As we descended on to the stony shore, Anna let out an terrifying primal shriek. Jay, concerned that something terrible had happened, spun around expecting to see blood and bone, but instead saw Anna running away from what at first seemed to be nothing. Upon closer inspection, Jay discovered a small Adder. He had never seen a snake in the wild before, and was absolutely delighted - though Anna was not impressed at being told how cute it was; ‘just a tail with a little face.’

We got a safe distance from the Adder, and paused on a large rock for lunch, watching tiny Sandpipers hopping among the rocks along the shore. As we finished up we texted our next host letting her know we’d be with her shortly, then set off again!

This time the journey took us along the beach, and Helmsdale appeared much quicker than we were expecting it to, causing us to pause and check the maps repeatedly, in disbelief that we could already be there.

From Helmsdale’s charming harbour the route became more challenging again, following the A9 - a very busy road with no pavement, or even a grass verge to duck onto. On one side, a sheer cliff loomed over the road, and on the other a railway curved alongside it. we found ourselves dodging fast traffic, and hurrying to get as far as possible up the road before we’d have to squeeze ourselves as far out of the way as we could!

Finally, with aching feet and legs, we reached Portgower and searched for Ina’s house. Previously she’d told us just to let ourselves in - but we’re far too city for that!

With all of the work Ina had put into making sure we were made welcome while on her patch (she had helped us find places to stay all the way from Helmsdale to Tain), and all the messages and emails back and forth, we felt like we already knew Ina. The care and generosity we had received before we’d even arrived was only continued when Anna knocked on the door and Ina threw it open, laughing and smiling, her arms wide for a hug. That evening we were fed, our knickers laundered, and had our first showers in days. When asked whether we would like to sleep together or in separate rooms, Anna’s reply of ‘separately!’ came so quickly and with such force that Jay couldn’t help but feel slightly offended.

Waking up after a wonderful night’s sleep, Jay followed the smell of bacon downstairs to find that Anna and Ina had already been chatting for a while. We had overheard some cyclists in Lybster complaining that there was ‘nothing in Helmsdale’, but Ina was soon to prove that wrong! After breakfast Anna and Ina walked Hazel (Ina’s very old, very lovely Collie) and we then climbed into Ina’s car to travel back to Helmsdale along the road we had struggled along the previous day.

We started at Ina’s church, which had a particularly impressive pulpit centred along the East wall, flanked by stained glass windows of the Holy Spirit and the burning bush. The building itself was home to a number of small rooms used for various community purposes, and a collection of old communionware, some of which had been dug up out of the graveyard many year prior.

As Jay clambered around looking at various areas of the church, Ina told Anna all about their plans for a poppy fall at the war memorial. That evening, Anna would crochet a poppy to add to the display.

Ina, having heard of Jay’s penchant for churches, then drove us 10 miles up the Helmsdale River to Kildonan Church. A now isolated remnant of life in the Helmsdale valley, the beautiful 1700s building had a sense of having been forgotten by time. Even the organ relied on foot pedals instead of electricity to pump the air around, and as Anna played the slightly out of tune instrument, Jay and Ina admired the stained glass and old wooden furnishings, as well as the memorials which told the story of this community.

At this point we were beginning to feel hungry and headed back to Ina’s for (delicious!) soup before heading back to Helmsdale. It was then we discovered how wrong those cyclists were.

Since we had arrived, Ina had been talking about Timespan, but up until that point we hadn’t been entirely sure what it was. We arrived to find what is, without exaggeration, one of the best local heritage and arts centres either of us (the kind of people who go to a lot of these things) had ever seen. The museum portion of Timespan focussed on the Clearances which have shaped, and continue to shape, this region. We enjoyed that the only mention of the rich landowners was to be found in an analysis of the impact of their actions on their tenants, or stories of them all killing each other. The exhibition mainly focussed on the stories of working people.

Upstairs was a small community library and research space, with bookshelves full of local interest and history books, as well as arts magazines and other interesting literature.

Opposite was a gallery space which currently holds an exhibition called ‘We Move As Murmuration’, using patterns of bird migration to explore human liberation and collective care. We were incredibly inspired, and raved to Ina as we sat in the cafe downstairs.

We later bought posters of their heritage manifesto which Ina promised to ship to us, and encourage you to go if you’re ever in the area.

Returning to Ina’s house, we settled into a quiet and sleepy evening. Anna and Ina crocheted as Jay lay on the floor and slowly and quietly gained the trust of Hazel, until she rolled over and let him rub her belly. We wandered of to bed warm, clean and content.

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As we get further into our pilgrimage, our feet, ankles, legs, and knees, are begining to bear the brunt of this journey. Please do keep them (and us) in your prayers.