After scaling the dizzy heights of Benbecula (both physically and emotionally), I thought the rest of the holiday was going to be something of an anti-climax. I hadn’t reckoned with the excitement of Mine Genial Host of the Morefield Motel in Ullapool though.
We thought he seemed a bit of a character when we arrived: he was a large man and when we first encountered him he was just launching an attack on an equally large plate of bacon, egg and chips. Rolling his eyes he waved his lunch goodbye and showed us to our room. We thought he’d be anxious to get back to his plate of congealed grease but no, he was more concerned that we needed to know exactly how many hours he’d spent painting his motel through the long, dark winter months last year and how to dodge midges by moving at more than 3 miles per hour.
We did eventually escape and made our way into town to find suitable sustenance (both liquid and solid) at one of the local establishments. Unusually for Scotland, it wasn’t raining and, whilst this pleased us, it evidently caused problems for the locals – especially those running the Water Board who seemed to be trying to conserve resources by pumping air into the settlement’s taps instead of water. There was a weeping and a wailing and a gnashing of teeth across the town as pubs had to switch to disposable glasses and close their kitchens as they had no water. The only major beneficiary was the chip shop who somehow managed to keep serving all evening.
After our fish and chips we strolled back to the suburb of Morefield and our room for the night and discovered that although the water was still on in that part of town, Scottish Water had dropped 2 pallets of 2 litre bottles of water just outside the motel. This was obviously the most exciting event in the summer calendar and we found our host proudly flagging down passers by and urging them to take a few bottles because, “It’s free you know!”
Our 6 bottles lasted the rest of the holiday and one (admittedly refilled with humble Cambridge water since)made it home and still resides in our fridge.
Our stay on the Isle of Skye was mainly notable for the appearance of a mysterious hole in the groundsheet of the tent. We went to bed supposing all to be well, but when we woke up the next morning we found the side of the tent flapping and a metre long rip where the sewn-in ground sheet met the wall of the tent. It was on Helen’s side so I thought she might have been trying to escape in the night but without concrete evidence…
Our planned 15 mile hike in the Cuillins was the next casualty. We are brave and tough and all rugged outdoorsy really, but a combination of a slight hangover and a bit of rain forced us to abandon the walk in favour of a distillery visit (and very nice it was too). We did do a bit of a march to the Old Man of Storr in the afternoon though and I maintain to this day that the tourist track up to it was far more challenging than the ridge walk to Sgurr Dubh Mhor.
The rest of our holiday was spent meandering southwards through central and Southern Scotland, The Borders and into Northern England. Many museums and stately homes were visited, many local ales sampled. All in all, a pleasant time was had by us both. There were many highlights, but none could match the elation of standing on the highest point of Benbecula and thinking, “ No wonder Alistair Maclean didn’t bother writing about this place after all!”
