The wild uncertainties of the Caithness weather
OUR weather has certainly been schizophrenic recently, with days that could have come from January and others that might be expected in July. Not yet four seasons in a day, but just wait for next week’s hail and sleet!
After days of rain came a clear night, probably with a slight frost in sheltered hollows, but already by morning were the first signs of the next weather system approaching from the west.
Below Scaraben the red deer had decided it was autumn, with the roars of stags in rut coming from several different hillsides. The Berriedale water was high after recent rain, surging through the gorge below the suspension footbridge. Birches now had just a hint of yellow, the heather still bore some purple but was thickly hung with autumn cobwebs glistening in the sun above the rushing water.
In the rocky coves below the Ord, a few miles to the south, the first of the season’s grey seal pups were being born, to lie among the stones, suckle some of the richest milk in the animal kingdom, and grow to a size where they could fend for themselves within a few weeks.
Low cloud had formed over the sea during the night and was drifting inland on a light southerly wind to wash against the southern flanks of Scaraben. Wisps of mist came and went over the quartzite ridge, with a view south and east over a sea of white as from an aeroplane. Northwards, the sunlit county lay sharp and clear with the Hoy hills in the distance. Westwards, the cloudsheet heralding the next band of light rain was starting to move in, hiding the mountains of Sutherland. Below, the keeper’s cottages at Braemore basked in the morning sunshine. By lunch time the first spots of rain were falling.
A WEEK later. I’d been putting off a trip to "my" bothy in central Sutherland, 10 miles south of Strathy, but with a Bothies Association committee meeting coming up soon, had to make the effort to get out there and do some minor repairs to skylights and slates.
With the whole of this area likely to be transformed into a ginormous wind farm it’s no longer my first choice of a place to go. I can’t cycle the 12 miles down the stony track without thinking of all that money transferred from the pockets of taxpayers and electricity consumers to landowners and developers, destroying the landscape to no end other than to make certain politicians feel good, meanwhile passing out the deceitful message that somehow this folly is helping to save the planet.
Sooner or later the scam will come to an end, but not before much more damage has been done.
The bike ride began in wind and driving rain, but this soon cleared and by afternoon the bothy basked in warm sunshine. The place still has a great sense of peace and solitude, the slow-growing trees planted in their millions to the north have now acquired a wildness of their own; commercially useless but many square miles of dense, dark spruce and pine where nobody lives and nobody ventures.
The bothy sits on the very edge of these vast new forests, with unspoilt flow country rolling for miles to the south. I always remember a song from childhood, "All my cares just drift away, up on the roof", when getting out the ladders and, providing you don’t forget to hold on carefully, up on the roof is indeed a good place to be in the middle of remotest Sutherland on a sunny afternoon.
The return journey to Strathy was fast, if bumpy, with the wind behind me, with time to walk out along Strathy beach in the late sunshine, always one our finest stretches of sand between the river mouth and the rocks and caves to the east.
A FEW days later and a rare calm day gave a chance for a paddle in the kayak, along the coast from Lybster past Whaligoe. The cliffs are now largely silent, the seabirds which thronged them in early summer have flown. Only the shags and cormorants are left, lining the low slabby rocks or diving suddenly into the water with a startling splash as you enter a cave.
You don’t have to go far from Lybster harbour to find a very fine sea cave just to the west, a huge opening and a stony beach at the back. The seven or so miles of coast between here and Whaligoe boast many spectacular caves, geos, stacks and natural arches. I’ve paddled here quite a few times but there is so much to see that there always seems to be new places I don’t remember. On this occasion, after days of rain, various burns poured over the cliffs as fine waterfalls, especially at Clyth and Whaligoe itself.
There are many highlights of this coast, to mention just one or two... the stacks, just east of Clyth harbour, which, on a misty day, give passages through scenery straight out of Tolkein, and on Skerry Mor, off Clyth, the seals lie out in dozens, you can smell them on the breeze before you see them. It’s also a good place to land on the slabby rocks and enjoy a break with an unusual view up and down the coast from what is, in truth, a tiny island.
At Hanni Geo, you can see where the old broken steps which preceded Whaligoe gave precarious access to the sea. A bit further on, at Bruan, a huge geo cuts inland almost as far as the main A9; most motorists don’t realise how close they are to 200ft cliffs dropping into usually boiling seas. At the back of this geo a very long sea cave goes even further in. For the first time I managed to explore almost to the far end, 100 yards from the entrance and probably directly under the former Bruan church. Maybe a secret flight of steps leads upward... Think of this cave under the road next time you drive south from Wick.
Then there is a wonderful tunnel right through the headland to Wester Whale Geo, and of course Whaligoe itself. It’s one of the few places on this coast where you can easily land and it makes a good spot to have a break and a snack. You can stretch you legs by walking up the famous steps and even, if you wish, have a pot of tea or a meal at the new café which sits right at the top with a stunning view out over the sea.
The weather changed again. After a cool wet morning I took the chainsaw into the wood to do some work and suddenly found myself melting hot. A weather front had come through and among the trees was the sticky, humid heat of August. A bemused robin began to sing.
I gave up the thought of doing anything too strenuous. But no doubt by the end of the first week of October we shall have had the first hailstorms and sleet.
Perhaps the elements have caught the wild uncertainties of the financial markets. Or maybe we really are seeing the effects of increasing CO2. Whatever, there’s little we can do but enjoy our schizophrenic Caithness weather!