Day 77: Upper Loch Torridon Viewpoint - Rigg

Today, in the morning, the fog was still on guard. The spot where we slept last night turned out to have good views, but we discovered them like finding a fiver in your trouser pocket: late and with a surprise.

We set off almost at midday and headed towards Applecross. There are two roads to get there: the long and friendly one, skirting the coast… or the other. And which one did we take? Of course, the other one. The Bealach na Bà, which in Gaelic sounds like "you're going to sweat", is a high mountain road, narrow, with hairpin bends and gradients that make even the handbrake sweat. But today, all that, neither here nor there. Because there was fog. Lots and lots of fog.

The view promised much, but it remained a promise. The only thing we saw was the "Single Track Road" sign and the odd bored-looking sheep. Applecross, when we arrived, didn't exactly give us a fanfare welcome either. The village – if you can call it that – is tiny. We took a courtesy stroll and went back to the car before someone charged us for breathing.

As there was no other option, we retraced our steps over the same mountain pass. And what did we see this time? Well... fog. But with memory.

After so much "non-seeing", we set course for Plockton. An hour and a half in the car, about forty miles, and a soundtrack of grunts (mine) and sighs (from Daddy Edu, every time another car occupied half the road). Upon arriving, Plockton turned out to be… touristy. Lots of cars, lots of humans, and a pay-and-display car park that didn’t accept bones as currency. So we went to a car park next to the airfield, more peaceful, more spacious, more my style.

We ate something in the camper there, and then we went back on the road, heading for the Isle of Skye. Before crossing the bridge, we stopped at Kyle of Lochalsh, at a Co-op supermarket. I didn't go in, but Daddy Edu did, and came back with provisions. Nothing for me, of course.

The Skye Bridge, now that’s cool. It connects the island to the mainland, floating over the water as if designed by an engineer fairy. There’s no toll, which I think is the least they could do after the day we’d had.

Daddy Edu sent a message to Len to let him know we were also on the island. And Len, who's as quick as a border collie with GPS, sent his location. They were on the north of the island! Another hour on the road. But it was worth it.

When we arrived at the car park (which was packed), right next to Len and May's motorhome there was a space. As if they had saved it for us. We parked and, while Daddy Edu levelled the camper with those magic wedges, I could already smell familiar faces.

We were greeted with joy, and soon we were all in their giant motorhome. The humans shared something light for dinner, and I got the prize of the night: the cheese rinds. Now that was worth repeating.

Around eleven o'clock, we went back to our camper, parked right next to the mothership of the people from Malaga. The night was peaceful, without fog, without tourists, without payments. Just cheese in my belly and friends beside me.

A good ending, even though the day didn't show much.