Day 79 -- Ousdale to Occumster The weather forecasters had been warning that this was the day when Hurricane Gonzalo was due to hit landfall across Scotland -- and it did. Northern Scotland had winds gusting up to 100mph and lashings of rain. And we walked through it. At times the only way to be safe was to cling to each other and turn our backs, waiting for the pounding air to pass over us. Walking into the wind was possible only by being bent double. Both of us were thankful for the weight in our rucksacks since we were sure that at times that stopped us being blown into the road. Fortunately many motorists seemed to have heeded warnings to not travel, so for once the A9 was exceedingly quiet. At Badbea, perched on the bleak cliff, are the sad remains of a clearance village.

The people were forced off their fertile crofts inland and Badbea was their only alternative, but the life was so hard that when even herring fishing died out, so did the settlement. The last resident left the village in 1911, whilst others had long before departed, many to emigrate to the new worlds of Australia, and New Zealand. It is hard to imagine the grief and bitterness that those people must have felt when forced out of their homes and even their own country. After the pretty little village of Berriedale nestled in a hollow, the wind got even worse as we climbed steeply onto the tops of the cliffs. Away in the hinterland the air was roaring down the valley, battering us, the noise so loud we had to shout to be heard, as we staggered onwards. At Dunbeath a bus shelter became a total haven for half an hour or so as we sheltered whilst eating our lunch. It even had a proper bench to sit on instead of those awful sloping plastic bits you find in modern shelters these days. What use are they to anyone? Strange how disregarded, insignificant objects like a bus shelter can be wonderful things when walking through a hurricane.

From the sublime (our hotel last night) to the ridiculous. Our B&B at Occumster was most odd. We shared, unwillingly, in the life of the house, eating our evening meal beside a covered snooker table under which were piles of games and papers, whilst the young son played, loudly, at shooting people on his Xbox. Our room was cold, dusty, and unfinished, with dowdy pictures propped up against the wall. One of the few places on the walk we would not return to!.