Forsinard – Strath Halladale – Melvich – Reay. 2 July
Today I left the high land, and I was sorry to do so.
I was also sorry to leave a great B&B, and their two dogs and the ducks, geese, and hens.
The cycling was easy. The slope was downward. The wind was behind me. The sun was shining all day. The traffic was non-existent until I reached the A836. But still I was sorry to be travelling this road and leaving this enchanted place.
From Forsinard I crossed the railway lines and cruised northwards down the valley – Strath Halladay. The stream at this point is very small – only a burn. There is no sign of habitation until Forsinain, where the valley sides begin to be covered by Forestry Commission conifers.
This is the Flow Country. The narrow valley bottom (the ‘in-by land’ as it’s called in Cumberland) is fertile and arable. The banks and hills are mostly poor grazing and peat bog.
Further downstream there are a number of places shown on the map, but they turn out to be really small places – perhaps only a farmhouse with buildings.
Near Trantlebeg there is a walled burial ground for the strath. I wandered round it and saw many familiar names like MacKay, Sutherland and MacKenzie. When you read the places these souls lived you realise how small is the catchment area. I could actually see the recited place names of Trantlebeg, Trantlemore and Croick. Imagine the local scene a hundred years ago and less. People would be born, grow up, get married, raise a family and then die – all within sight of the place where they knew they would be buried. It was the same place their parents, grandparents and older generations were buried. It must have been a hard life for them, but I guess there was some comfort in having that certainty in mind.
As in the Strath of Kildonen there are many sad looking abandoned houses. It is poignant to think that these places were house and home to several generations of hard working farmers. The views are magnificent, at least they were for me at this time of year. Oh, what stories these homes could tell, about a way of life which no longer exists. I am reminded of a line by Shelley… ” I met a traveller from an antique land”. I feel like that traveller who has been privileged to pass through this land.
Within a couple of hours I would be within sight of an advanced nuclear power station at Dounray. What more sharp a contrast can there be?
An unamed bridge over a small burn which later grows to become the Halladay.
That burn has small trout in it, which can be seen if you just wait quietly and watch
Someone has been cutting peat here. It is now laid out to dry. The bricks of peat have a pleasant smell to them.
Combined harvester – an early model. I was a little surprised to see this because there is so little land that is fertile enough to grow cereals, and the growing season will be short. Nevertheless, they obviously succeeded in growing grain at some stage.
An abandoned cottage. There were also cow byres nearby.
The view from the front (and only) door. The yellow flowers are gorse bushes and the River Halladay is in the middle-ground.
On the A 863 between Melvich (mel-vick) and Reay (ray). This is the last county sign on this journey. The big grin is partly because the hill turns downward just around the corner and there is a fee-wheel all the way to Reay. I am beginning to sense ‘the end’.
The sign also mentions the Mod, which is a competitive music festival somewhat like an Eisteddford. In the background are both Dunnet Head and the Orkneys – where I don’t have to go!
21.54 miles. 1 hour 58 minutes. Avge 10.9 mph
