Walking to Portgower and back again

Five – Portgower, Lothbeg, Helmsdale – I cross the bridge but instead of turning right up to the farm I continue past Gartymore and turn right on to an overgrown farm track. I cross a stone bridge over a burn running rapid and brown. I turn left and climb through scrub land on a stony path – there is a buzzard sitting on a pylon – it does not move. I climb over a gate and see a tumbledown croft on the right which is bigger then most and in better condition. I climb over another gate and follow another path which hugs the side of the hill and cross over the burn again on a flat wooden bridge and walk towards Raven Rock Road. Afterwards I am told the name of the road by Penny (Arts Committee) and Jean (Chairman) thinks that the field between me and the croft is called Fox Meadow. This part of the walk has been intense with colour and atmosphere, I can’t remember any noise or birdsong – I think I must have been concentrating so much on finding the way that my eyes were my focus of attention and I did not listen. I cross the A9 and walk through Portgower then turn down to the beach. Portgower is tiny, some houses detached and some in a terrace with their land on the other side of the narrow road. There are gardens here, flowers, vegetables, pigs, chicken and sheep – there is a hum of people talking and dishes clattering, a TV shouts from an open window. To reach the beach I cross the railway line then sit on a rock, drink my water and eat a sandwich. The air feels soft and again the world is silver grey and calm. I walk towards Lothbeg then realise that today I will not have time to reach there so I begin to walk back along the beach to Helmsdale beside the railway line. I take photographs of the stones. Pinks, yellows, greens, greys, blues and blacks – worn smooth and rounded granite veins circle them and some erode in such a way that they look like distorted heads. I find one piece of sandstone that has a slice taken from its surface, I turn it over and there is a sunset coloures within the stone. Julia (Timespan’s Artist in Residence) tells me that such stones are found here often. I never find another. The walk back takes three hours, partly because of taking photographs and also because the tide is in and I have to scramble over rocks and shingle. This I don’t mind – on the way I find two beautiful sticks of wood, one curved and one straight – I am surrounded by a moving cloud of Oystercatchers which wheep at me because I am near their eggs and chicks. I see the chicks fluffy and desperately running away ahead of me, and I see two clutches of eggs – pale green/grey with freckles. I do not touch them or stop to look – the birds are agitated enough already. The rain begins and I am drenched, I keep my head down to make sure I don’t tread on any eggs and slowly become aware of a new bird call which I did not hear straightaway as my hood was up. I have not seen these birds before, there is a flock of around 30 around me and they look as though they have been attracted by the Oystercatchers’ alarm calls and are attacking their chicks and eggs. I feel awful and then I realise they are also attacking me. They swoop down and scream around me, banking up into the air before turning back to have another go. They’re absolutely beautiful – their tail is forked and flows behind them and they dive and climb sharp and swift. I will look them up in my book when I get back. I watch them for a while then move on. When I pass below Gartymore they leave me alone. By the time I reach Helmsdale I have been soaked three times and have mostly dried off. I am exhilarated. I look the birds up, a choice between Artic Terns and Artic Skuas – because of their size I choose the Skuas.