Brabster to Halsary Memorial

"We shall remember those who flew - Beyond the storms, into the sunset."
Engraved on the memorial for the crew of a B17 Fortress which came down in Feb 1945 during a snowstorm.

Caithness, on the whole, hasn’t gone mad for footpaths. There being no legal record of rights of way in Scotland, you won’t find any comforting green or red lines on the OS maps. Also missing (or hidden from sassenachs) are way marks, footbridges and stiles over obstacles; with no chance of finding the usual thin strip of eroded ground to follow. Stepping off the road or track will require a reasonable amount of faith. If there was a path on the ground when the area was surveyed the OS may have marked a black line on the map, although away from the popular walking areas this often only brings false hope. Luckily the easily led won’t find many black lines on the map in Caithness either. With much of the county being flat expanses of blanket peat bog up to 3m deep or flow country (wetlands), why this should be is a complete mystery.

With that in mind it was time to take to the road. First up was a long, straight single track with expansive views of the surrounding heather moorland and isolated patches of forestry. Tarmac is hard on the soles of the feet and at times I hopped up onto the soft verges for relief, returning to the road when frustrated by the slow progress. Eventually the roads became wider and busier and it was back up on the verges for safety. At Watten is a loch of reasonable size barely contained by the low hills surrounding it, taking on the appearance of a large puddle. I watched a small train wind its way slowly along the shore and took the weight off my feet.

With the roads no longer going the way I wanted and longing for soft tufts underfoot, some more adventurous walking was needed. Early encouragement came from a small shortcut along the river, having only one fence to clamber over. Following the lonely road through Acharole, the remote and dark farmhouses spread out and the sense of isolation increased. The last farm stood alone, miles from the nearest neighbours in the secluded valley; the kind of place a solitary walker like me would love to live. Needing to use a handy stone bridge I sneaked through the farmyard, well aware of what type of social misfit was lurking inside.

Now I had an opportunity to get to grips with the bog that I had admired from the road and followed a lazy burn to the edge of a large tract of forestry. After a muddy series of attempts I threw myself over a good sized fence and gained entrance. With the light fading, it was an easy walk along a soft track to the memorial where I could relax and look back on the first tough day of the trek.