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Travel StoriesUllapool 2012 - By Ren Withnell
Ullapool 2012 - Inverarnan to Ullapool
As I lie in bed I can hear rain on the tent. Midges like damp conditions, but they can't fly in heavy rain, they risk being knocked out of the sky by a raindrop. It sounds like it's raining hard, but tents are like conservatories, they make the lightest of rain sound like a downpour. I hope the little monsters have decided to take a rest day today, to leave us alone and to give us a break. I put on full length trousers and long sleeve t-shirt, head net and boots, I venture out, leaving the gf to hold the fort...sleeping.
It's as bad as it was last night. They're everywhere. There's the swarm under the tree with the tent and another army hanging around the toilets. It's horrible. I want to make a brew on my stove, maybe warm a tin of soup for breakfast, but it's just plain miserable with the wee beasties everywhere. I go to the loo and watch as a few of the youths wander around outside their tents.
The Bar and Shelter at Beinglas Campsite. They offer much needed relief from the onslaught of wee beasties.
Of course I'm up far too early. To let the gf rest a little while longer I take a walk around. The site not only has a bar but a shelter room for campers. The shelter has an electric stove and a grubby shared fridge, some rough and ready tables and chairs and very little else. It's not smart but it's there for the use of and offers another haven from the worst of the midges. This is a real camp site, not like most other sites where it's mostly caravans and campervans. There's some small wooden lodge rooms in a block, wood cabins and wigwams to rent too.
Beinglas seems to be well organised and smart, in a beautiful setting and comes complete with a bar and shop. Very impressive...shame about the wee beasties.
Around the back there's a stream, woodland and every perfect condition for the man eating midge. If it was not for these critters this place would be lovely, fantastic even. The services are fine, the scenery is impressive and as I pass fellow campers covered in their nets and full body clothing they all say hello. Are they friendly or is this the Dunkirk spirit? I could do without the youths though. To be fair most of them are just regular kids, it's just the gobby one and his 2 cohorts make the most noise with the foulest of language. I guess I'm getting old and up myself.
Taking the tent down is nasty. Not only is the tent soaking from the rain but I'm rolling it up with a million midges, most of them trapped inside. Sweet revenge? Nope, for the million I've trapped there's another million million who continue the attack. I squeeze and pack between rubbing my hands and scratching my face. I'm beginning to wonder if they can bite through the head net or even through my jumper.
We get loaded. I don't want to take the net off to put my helmet on, but I do. As I ride the short run to the bridge I'm itching around my eyes, my nose, my ears and my forehead. Oh good lord, get me out of here, please! With the road comes relief. How much is physical and how much is mental I'm unsure, but I feel much better now I'm on the move. I just hope, prey and beg that Ullapool will be better than last night's digs. I shiver as I think of my wet tent with it's layer of drowned midges. I hope we get chance to dry the tents. It's raining now.
Crianlarich passes and the rain eases a little. Tyndrum and The Green Welly come and go and the weather improves just a tiny bit more. Rannock Moor is as bleak and wild as only Rannock Moor can be yet the rain feels lighter, less penetrating. I try my best to get a good clear run through the twists and turns that lead down to the famously impressive Glencoe valley but roadworks and trucks conspire against us. I'm forced to take in the scenery instead. Glencoe is almost a cliche for the Scottish Highlands now, made ridiculous by it's own fame. Lines of cars crawl along and coaches stop in gravel spaces to force tourists to listen to wailing bagpipes.
Glencoe rolls down to the village of Glencoe and a cafe where we stop. I had planned to spend as little as possible on cafe food and drink, both of my traveling companions had agreed and encouraged this plan before we started. However the convenience of a cafe, the smell of the bacon and the laziness of wealth soon overcome those plans and we're all eating bacon butties and sipping hot tea. I go outside for and join another biker for a smoke while IW and the gf digest.
Outside the cafe at Glencoe my overloaded bike leans precariously.
My smoking biker friend is riding a Harley, has a thick Scottish accent and is working on a house in the marvelous village of Kinlochleven just around the corner...in Scotland that's about 10 miles. He doesn't live here though, he's traveled up from Cheltenham. That's a fair trip! He seems like a very relaxed man with a sense of purpose, I wish him well and return inside after my ciggy. It takes a little cajoling and persuasion to galvanise the others back into action. Happily I can report that the rain has stopped, there is even a minor risk of some sunshine too!
I'm just starting to find my speed a little as the road dries. In the thickness of North West traffic I've become accustomed to riding slowly, carefully and relaxing into the idea of being wedged between cars, lorries, buses and white van man. I've almost forgotten that a bike can corner, can be leant over and powered around a bend. I've certainly forgotten how to do it. Fort William and a fuel stop at Morrisons allows us to stretch our legs and the gf purchases some essentials whilst the goings good.
As ordinary a car park as ever you'll find at any Morrisons. Look at the backdrop though, you don't get views like that at any Morrisons, only Fort William's Morrisons.
Goodness me I am rusty. The road out of Fort William heading towards Inverness, the A82, is a great road and I'm fairly familiar with it. I know the bike's loaded up but I can't seem to judge the corners quite right, I'm either going in a tad too fast creating a 50 pence piece corner, or too slow and not getting that satisfying curve through the bend. I aim for too slow, at least that way it's a little less scary. I know IW can shift along some, I hope I'm not slowing him up too much.
Loch Awe passes and after a few miles becomes the famous Loch Ness. It's dry now but the road is narrow and quite busy so I try to see if I can spot Nessie between the trees and the traffic. I'm unsuccessful this time and Drumnadrochit is coming into view. I need to consult my map and I think we're due another rest. We pull off the main road and park our wobbly bikes opposite a cafe, only to be interrupted by the drones of a bagpipe.
I quite like bagpipes...but only in small doses. I could happily listen to a ditty or two at a function or passing by as part of a parade. What I'm not so keen on is the piper's wail whilst I'm trying to drink my tea and talk to my companions about our next move. However the young piper, I'd say he was only 15, carries on for 5 to 10 minutes then takes a 1 minute breather. He then resumes his auditory assault whilst tourists toss coins into his collection box. The gf purchases some chocolate bars from the newsagents across the village green, apparently this goes on all summer to the endless despair of the locals.
I can't decide if IW is slapping a midge or despairing of the bagpipes...
Between the bagpipes IW and I agree to cut a corner and head up through the Muir of Ord. I'm slightly concerned about getting lost on these minor roads, but that does not prove to be the problem. After a short stretch we make a turning onto a road and I notice some gravel in the centre of my lane. This is obviously not a busy road and the gravel collects in the centre of each lane where the car tyres don't run. This spoils the road. The gravel only appears here and there, but I can't be certain of where it is so I am forced to ride at a speed that assumes there's gravel on each bend.
Other than my rusty cornering and fear of gravel, we successfully navigate our way through small villages and undulating countryside and come out onto the main A835 road to Ullapool. This is more like it. It's a big broad main road with only a sprinkling of traffic and the countryside is becoming mountainous again as we head North West. I can't explain why, but my mood is lifting. It could be the occasional glimpses of sunshine, it could be this road, it could be the scenery and the sense of remoteness, or it could be that I feel like I'm heading home.
Last time we came into Ullapool we came in from the North. I remember seeing the small town nestled in the valley as we looked down upon it, that's when it captured my heart. The approach from the South is not nearly as impressive, we pass a few rather posh houses and B&B's then I spot the fuel station. As we approach my smile grows as I spot the houses and shops along the shoreline. We stop to fill up then I only get a tiny bit lost looking for the entrance to the campsite. It's not a big place, there's not much to remember or much to get lost in.
The campsite is exactly as I remember it. The curry house is still there at the entrance should the mood for curry arise, but we're supposed to be saving. We book in and look around for a suitable pitch. There's a van, 2 tents, a handful of blokes and 2 bikes not far from the office and near to them there seems to be a likely spot. We roll over and start to erect the tents on a cool but dry and comfortable evening. There are midges about, here and there, but this is a comfortable nothing compared to last night and this morning.
Our neighbours. The red bike is a smart classic Z250. Don't see many of those these days.
The campsite is busy, not full to bursting but busy. This site is populated mostly by caravans and campervans or motorhomes. Some of the motorhomes are very impressive but the gf, IW and myself all agree they're excessive. We'd all like a nice mid-sized one, large enough for sleeping, cooking, washing and living, but no more. If they're too big they must be a nightmare to drive and anyhow, it's just showing off really. It's a terrible thing, jealousy. It
Toooooooooo BIG! This guy actually had a modern XJ 600 in the storage at the rear. I don't want one...honestly...well...
With the tents up the gentle breeze works its magic in drying them out. Looking around the inner bedroom section of my tent I see dead midges embedded in the material, eeeewww. I scrape a few off but it's an endless battle so I focus on blowing up the airbed while the gf airs the sleeping bags over a nearby wall. Oh it's such a relief to be in the dry and to be midge free. With that thought I feel the itchy tingle on my neck as one of the monsters sinks it's fangs into me. It's not bad, but it's still not perfect.
After making the gf and I a brew on my natty little stove, and after a shower in the small but curiously effective and well thought out cubicles, we head into town. The perfect thing about Ullapool's campsite is the walk into town is no more than 3 minutes! Past the curry house, down the lane, round a bend then we're at the harbour and town centre. We pass one chippy and settle on another for tea, I have sausage and chips, IW has curry and chips, the gf has fish and chips. We sit on a bench overlooking the jetty and eat our tasty, salty meals. The gf thinks this must be one of the best fish she's ever tasted. It must be fresh off the trawlers that come and go here.
The water in the harbour is crystal clear. IW, ever the naturalist, points out and names the various fish in the waters to the gf while I take pictures and chill out. Ullapool is on the shores of Loch Broom, a sea loch, so I try to work out if we're on the sea front or the loch side. No matter, cars and bikes quietly come and go, some stop to take up residence in the guest houses and others to eat or take in the view. Ullapool is popular with bikers, the roads are great and there's food and drink when you get here.
As the evening sun starts to set we return to the tents and spend a while on the shore next to the campsite. Apart from the occasional midge it's a cool but pleasant evening and the loch is mill pond flat. It's hard to imagine we're far far up North. It's hard to imagine the North Sea and the Atlantic are barely a few miles out there. It's hard to imagine the busy main road and bustling traffic back home. What I can imagine is my sleeping bag and my airbed, I'm getting tired. The gf is in good spirits and does not want to retire for the night but I grumble enough to persuade her to join me.
Loch Broom and the setting sun. Spectacular.
Ullapool 2012 - Prologue
Ullapool 2012 - Bolton to Inverarnan
Ullapool 2012 - Inverarnan to Ullapool
Ullapool 2012 - The Lochinver and Drumbeg Loop
Ullapool 2012 - A Ride To Gairloch
Just another one of those fabulous and beautiful rides around The Highlands. The weather isn't so bad either.
Ullapool 2012 - UIlapool To Callander
Ullapool 2012 - Callander To Bolton
The motorcycle ride from callander to bolton and what happened on the journey
Ullapool 2012 - Epilogue and More Pictures
The end of my travel story to ullapool and some more pictures of the area
Ullapool 2012 - Even More Pictures
Pictures from my motorcycle trip to Ullapool. Scotland is a beautiful place and we even had great weather.
Reader's Comments
john said :-
more ren, more. :)
01/01/2000 00:00:00 UTC
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Travel StoriesUllapool 2012 - By Ren Withnell