Middle, near the top

A clear, still warm day for my entry to what feels like the 'north beyond the north' - the wild, empty lands of Sutherland.


Leaving Lairg, I see a burdened figure striding ahead.

Ray O'Connor from Macclesfield is nearing the end of his epic end-to-end walk, which began on 9 April. He hopes to reach John o'Groats at the weekend. Respect!

(Our chat beside the narrow road was punctuated by the roar of two passing Forestry Commission juggernauts, one laden with timber, the other empty.)

The bait pulling me north was the prospect of a lunch stop at the renowned (among end-to-enders) Crask Inn. Possibly the loneliest inn in Britain, in terms of wilderness location.

All was quiet when I arrived. A hand-written paper on the door read: 'Closed for funeral business. Open at 4.00pm'.

And so on to the hamlet of Altnaharra, nestling beneath the vast shoulder of Ben (I'll find out which Ben as soon as I can...) - and a night of indulgent luxury in the Altnaharrah Hotel, which caters for the upmarket fishin' and shootin' market. Forgot to pack my tweeds.

In fact the hotel is delightful - not snooty at all.

And my bathroom is, at this stage of the ride, only one step this side of paradise...