When my brother Steve, a new recruit to our beloved sport, suggested he’d mapped out a coast to coast route across the Northern Highlands, I sighed wistfully, Rattagan to Montrose, a week long epic – I’d never get the time off work! To my surprise, Steve had in fact pulled together an absolute gem, an all-terrain mini epic that could be completed in only two days.
Closer map inspection suggested Steve had been well and truly bitten by the biking bug – this route (on paper at least) looked tough and tasty, starting near Brora above the Dornoch Firth and finishing in the picturesque village of Kylesku, some ninety miles North West. Either that, or he was delusional, yet to grasp the extreme discomfort induced by 20 hours of non-stop riding across butt-thrashing tussock and rock strewn track – my heart soared! The 2-day affair would wind its way east to west, across moor land, speed quickly (and not so quickly) along gorgeously gruelling stalkers tracks, and down some scintillating singletrack descents on its way to Kylesku.
The route mapped, advice and estate permissions sought, and another ‘victim’ enlisted (my wife Aneela), a date was set in mid April. Fingers were crossed and we were fortunate enough to land a weekend of glorious sunshine only occasionally marred by passing snow, hail and rain – all the seasons in one day, typical of Scotland’s weather!
Although only a mini c-t-c, it was certainly ‘maxi’ on the logistics front. The idea was to leave a car parked in Kylesku, and use the other to get us all across to the East Coast to begin the westwards journey on Friday morning.
Picture this - decanting from one stuffed Fiat Punto, a six foot 2 brother, his extra large mountain bike, and a ‘few’ essential supplies (he brought enough food and beer for a family of six for a fortnight) into our sardine like hatchback. Firmly opposed to Rubik’s cubes and other such puzzles, the transfer resulted in several expletives and much sweat and frustration as it suddenly looked like the trip was doomed before it had started.
A rationalisation plan (my bruv is a project manager) was put in place and we transferred only the really essential items: only one crate of beer; ‘Do we really need chicken satay?’. Equipment stowed, we drove, noses to the windscreen, knees in seat backs, to our mid point stopover.
We set up base camp in a wee cottage attached to the Crask Inn, by Lairg near Sutherland, the perfect pre and post ride pit stop. The cottage (or ‘home’ as we would fondly call it whilst puffing up hills with unpronounceable names in the middle of nowhere) turned out to be the perfect midway spot for relaxation the night before the trip commenced, our place of rest and recovery after our first day on the hills and finally, our place of sore-arsed celebration following completion of the trip.
After a hearty breakfast we loaded up the car, left The Crask, and the three amigos departed for Doll, near Brora, where the fun would begin.
Car safely parked up, bikes lubed and ready, we posed for the prerequisite ‘coast-shot’ – trouble is I’ve got one of those digital cameras and the facility to preview an image doesn’t always do much for your confidence – I’ll need to work on that physique of mine!
We set off, giggling childishly at what was to come – as far as we could tell, this route was uncharted by bike, adding hugely to the sense of anticipation of entering a largely unpopulated wilderness.
Three very different riders, three very different agendas. My wife Aneela, gutsy, fit and a reasonable rider as long as she could avoid ‘twiglets’ (slippery roots to you and me), looking for a new challenge. Myself, an overweight adrenaline junkie, biking veteran of 15 years in the Highlands, Alps and all that Snowdonia and the Lakes can offer. My brother Steve, 6 months into his mountain biking career, very fit, up for anything and completely clueless. He fell victim to his new SPD’s only 10 yards from the car, slipped and tumbled whilst crossing a ford in full flow – still attached to his bike! A few choice words and a quick striptease and we were back on track.
Gorgeous sunshine ensured fantastic views as we skirted the West bank of the river and Loch Brora. Along some superb singletrack, route finding was straightforward, and obstacles were few until we reached the narrow (24inches) and extremely boingy suspension bridge beyond Kilbraur croft.
Steve and I couldn’t miss an opportunity like this and as soon as Aneela was half way across, we applied a ‘little’ pressure to either end of the bridge. Aneela did the cleated-shoe-shuffle admirably and got across the 50metre span intact.
Joining the Brora to Rogart road briefly, we took the chance to spin a bit and cover some ground – a faint nagging in the back of the mind spurring us on, as on any uncharted route, the prospect of misjudging time and terrain looms large.
Turning off right, onto the Scribberscross Forest track, I found out Steve has a terrible habit of intruding on PCM’s (personal climbing mantras), with excited “there’s a lapwing, oh look, look, DEER!!!”. I took this moment of ‘burst climbing karma’ to explain to Steve: “if we are going to get through this trip together, you had better shut up whilst I’m trying to climb and keep my breakfast indoors!” Point ignored, he did this again, and as I turned to sneer at him, the very object of his excitement almost bowled me off the bike – 20 to 30 deer darted across the track just a foot or two in front!
A well-earned lunch was savoured at the junction of the Ben Armine lodge track, as we had a bit of a slog in front of us - the perishing hail shower that now hung overhead would ensure that the quad tracks to come would be nice and soggy. With undulating heather clad moorland all round we made good time along the rocky Landrover track to the lodge. Later we would recount the stretch that followed with a shiver - our friendly track gave way to vague quad bike imprints on the leg-sapping moor. Onwards through Ben Armine forest (where there are no trees!) via the Black Water, we pushed, carried and occasionally cycled, on a point of principal, westwards towards the end of Loch Choire.
Nirvana. At the end of some delirious bog trotting (approx. 4 miles), we enjoyed a few kilometres of descent on good surfaced track to one of the most beautiful wilderness locations I’ve ever seen – Loch Choire. With its mirror waters and sandy beach, this remote loch is cradled by the Bealach Easach, a formidable singletrack climb. Buoyed by its splendour, a motivational song ensued to aid my tiring companions: “The hills are alive…”. “SHUT UP!”
As we rounded the western end of the Loch I kept quiet but inside I was getting pretty excited. This run was turning into a real mountain biking epic, as I saw the 200 metres ascent on scintillating rock-strewn singletrack leading up the bealach. Aneela and Steve did not share my excitement.
Before starting the ‘nose-to-the-stem’ climb, I warned Steve about sharing his perspectives on the scenery with me – he agreed, and off I went.
Not entirely sure whether I was seeing things after 7 hours in the saddle, I picked out another tyre track on the climb. With this incentive to dig deep, I kept going well beyond the 200bpm stage. I later found out that the tyre print belonged to The Crask owners son, and he was descending, not climbing (smart move)!
At the top we rested for a bit and munched on our remaining snacks - funny how fantastic a fig roll can taste. We sat in the sun, quite confident that ‘just over that hill’ we would see the Crask Inn and our home for the night.
Breaching the summit, off the left side of Ben Klibreck, we were elated to see the Crask about 4km ahead, however, the singletrack we were promised turned out to be axle deep ‘home-of-frog’. Worse, the Crask appeared to be on the move – it seemed to stay exactly 4km away for almost an hour. On a rare occasion we could actually ride this stretch, Aneela, also fairly new to the joys of SPD’s, crossed a narrow plank bridge, only to teeter off the edge and fall 5 feet on her head.
Never were we so thankful of a boggy landing – apart from acquiring some head camouflage, no injuries were sustained. Eventually we crossed Strath a Chraisg and stumbled up the narrow road to the Crask for a well-deserved pint, nine and a half hours after our merry start in Doll.
Waking up to blue skies and frosty bikes, it took a lot of mutual persuasion (and the incentive of raising money for the Cancer Research Fund) to leave our cosy cottage and face the prospect of 50 miles on sore bums.
Although a high mileage day, the map promised some quick road work, leaving enough energy to enjoy the more interesting terrain. Blasting along remote highland roads blew away the cobwebs and gave us the chance to take in the scenery, the A836 leading us through the sleepy village of Altnaharra, and onto the Strathmore road to Loch Hope. For those (and this includes those from North of the Border) who think the views stop at Inverness, don’t be fooled - the scenery was spectacular.
Dropping left into the Reay Forest estate we zigzagged down fast switch back Landrover track to Gobernuisgach Lodge. With permissions to cross the estate sought in advance, we were rewarded with a majestic climb on rocky track, flanked on both sides by impressive mountains and curious deer - truly satisfying. From the extensive stalkers tracks visible in the distance, the area merits further exploration. Although two-thirds through the days ride, no time for relaxing, an exhilarating descent on loose rock and shale spat us out, stupid grins all round, at Loch Merkland. Even though we had to get well acquainted with the tarmac monster, this day’s riding was far more on-bike than off and the rhythm was welcomed.
Heading along the A838 (the quietest ‘A’ road I have ever seen) en route to Ben More Lodge, we couldn’t help but worry about the severity of the climb to come - the mountains to our left looked totally unimpregnable! At the head of Loch More, we entered the estate where the lung bursting climb awaited. The dry, fast surface, toyed with our abilities as the incline steepened, taking us high above Achfary Forest. A rare and burning sun had us pulling off layer upon layer of clothing. Steve was given the title ‘Mr Ben’ - we had never seen anyone change clothes so frequently dependant upon air temperature, wind speed or even rain droplet diameter (we think it was his cunning way of taking extra rest stops)!
Twenty minutes later, the silvery slopes of Foinaven across the glen provided a just reward and had we more time, might have enticed us over for a spot of scree running. Narrowing into the Bealach nam Fiann, a culvert-strewn masterpiece, tricky on a down slope, sappingly difficult on the way up, we gave it one last big effort.
Plateau at last; we lay on the sun-baked rocks until heart rates stopped whirring, the cloudless skies offering perfect views of the conical mountains of Quinag. Steve and Aneela were a wee bit sad that it was almost over, I on the other hand was getting quite overexcited about the final section. From our original reconnaissance of Kylesku, I had noted a steep descent, a juicy alternative to Steve’s ‘stay high and level’ option.
Adrenaline won and we all plunged into a descent following the waterfalls of the Maldie burn - the perfect finale to a perfect mini-epic. We dropped 450 metres over 2km on rough singletrack, boulder strewn, rut infested, occasional wheel swallowing bog pools, vertical slate sections, ruts and culverts. Enough to get you drooling just thinking about it!
Not a puncture or a skint knee between us, we regrouped along the edge of Loch Glendhu for a final snap and a group hug. What final snap? I had forgotten to pack extra batteries, and if you’ve ever worked with a digital camera, you’ll know they’re pretty hungry monsters. All eyes on me – what a plonker!
We battered along the final stretch of rough track to Kylestrome, where Steve’s Punto was parked (or so we hoped). Without getting changed we dived into the car and crossed the bridge to Kylesku village to find a shop selling batteries. If you’ve ever been this far North, you’ll know that this was a tall order. Luck was with us and we loaded up on Duracells and ice-lollies.
Retracing our finish, we managed a couple of parting shots to capture an unforgettable ride – try it, it surprised me and it might just surprise you.
ESTATES: (we would recommend checking activities/permissions in advance)
| Route | Approx. Distance | Time | Distance on road | Distance off road | Distance walked | Ascent | Descent |
|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|
| Doll to Crask Inn | 55km/34m | 9.5 hours | 7km/4m | 48km/30m | 10.5km/6m | 780m | 580m |
| Crask Inn to Kylesku | 84km/52.5m | 7 hours | 39km/25m | 45km/27.5m | 3km/1.8m | 739m | 1039m |
Last Updated 28-05-2002
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