Bonar Bridge, Scotland: Testing the law

July 21, 2015

Just 151 miles to John o'Groats, says the bike route sign

THERE'S a law in Scotland that you can go on any uncultivated land you like, whoever owns it. And, by extension, you can camp there.

That seems too good to be believed, so we were reluctant to test it. But Bonar Bridge has no campground, even if a sign says it does. On the other hand there is indeed a bridge, and beside the river it spans is a park. And at the end of this small park is a spur of land that pokes into a division in the flow of the water. And there, we intended to camp.

Still unsure we wouldn't be turfed out by some Highland chief with a beard, hairy knees and a shotgun, we asked at the pub across the way. We were drinking coffee because we'd arrived early.

"I don't see why you shouldn't," said the man behind the bar, without recourse to law books. "It may not be allowed, though, so be cautious."

The problem with this sort of advice is that you can't judge it. The man was Scottish, so if he knew the law at all then he'd know it better than I did. But on the other hand, he'd probably never considered pitching tents or sleeping under bridges.

So we went down there anyway - and found two black tents already in residence. There was nobody in them. But a clue they were anglers, and therefore they'd be known to other anglers also there but in caravans, was evident in the clutter that surrounds fish folk everywhere.

The first man we asked was short, red-haired and freckled. He spoke with an accent I struggled to understand.

"Thuss me soon," he said. "Hay's been there tay weeks noo, so y'all noo hey a problem."

One of the campers was his son. He'd been there two weeks so one night on our part didn't look like a problem.

And that's where we are right now, between the empty black tents - "Thay's goon furra bevvy" (gone for a drink) - and the dividing of the river.

What's today been like? Well, nothing special at first. We got out of Inverness with a lot of improvising, noting again just how many pubs there are. We looked into a couple last night. No soft chairs and subdued lights. These are serious drinking pubs. In the old days, workers drank half their wages on pay day and went home to a weeping wife. That's changed but the pubs, with their uncompromising interior and frosted windows, stand in memory of those days.

We also had to cope with a long, high bridge over the river, struggling in a violent crosswind. It took us up and then down to the far bank, where the first hopefuls were waiting for dolphins. North Kessock, which faces Inverness, is known for them and even has an information centre - closed - in their cause.

It took a long time to get better. We rode an hour, maybe two hours, on paths beside the torrent of the main highway. We were secure but there was still that perpetual torn-paper sound of fast tyres on hard roads.

An American freight train passes above our heads

And then Dingwall, and a stop at a station we saw yesterday from the train. It took us 20 minutes to notice a model railway line round the inside of the café above head height. On it was, to make Karen feel at home, an American freight train.

I got the owner to set it going.

"They're my husband's passion," she said as it rattled busily round the room, halting everyone's conversation. She was a short and slightly apologetic, in a shirt embroidered with the café's name. She had the air of a woman who would have thought twice about marrying if she'd known she'd play second role to model trains.

"He's got a garage full of them and we change the ones in the café every so often. We go to America and he insists on going to all the auctions."

I thought she may have preferred Disneyland.

Strange French sign brought home to Dingwall in the first world war

The Munros and MacDonalds are the big families here. We stopped briefly next to a village war memorial, the dead in rank order and a Munro at their head. And just on from Dingwall is a strange structure high on a hill called the Fyrish monument.

The wacky memorial built to give work to evicted tenants

I'm not sure how Fyrish comes into it but it was built to honour Hector MacDonald. Fighting Mac, they called him, getting himself a name at the Battle of Omdurman. His life was going well until he was shamed in Paris by false allégations - no idea what - and shot himself in the way gentlemen were expected to in those days.

He's got two naval guns up there with him. They can, or could, fire an 8.2kg ball a kilometre and a half.

What really makes this story worthwhile, though, is that the monument was built to cheer up local peasants being cleared off the land. Their rents no longer interested the gentry but they did have to have something to do, so they were told to get their shovels and several tons of stone and get up on the hill and build a monument. You can only imagine their gratitude...

Scottish green, although the walkers we met complained that the countryside didn't change

Today was also the day we passed Vikki and Russell, walking from Land's End to John o'Groats - the longest road journey on the British Mainland - to celebrate their 40th birthdays. Doing it at a lick, too. They crossed Dartmoor, Exmoor, Offa's Dyke and walked the length of the Pennine Way.

"We had a wonderful evening camping above Newcastle the night it got its storm," Russell recalled. "It passed us by but we could see the lightning hitting ground beneath us."

For the moment they were having to walk on roads to make up time. Their boots were strapped to their bags and they were walking in trainers.

"Don't like it at all. The A9 was awful even though we were on the pavement. We had traffic inches from our ears. Whoosh, whoosh, all the time. Here, it's quieter but the countryside is all the same. It doesn't change."'

They're a lovely couple, from the New Forest in southern England, and we'll try to meet again.

In the meantime, we're expecting great things from the young anglers who've just returned from their bevvy.

"We'll no be a prahblem," the taller one said. "Lissen... F'we cutch enough fish tonayt, we'll gay ya one."

Today's ride: 78 km (48 miles)
Total: 2,355 km (1,462 miles)

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