Sango Bay, Durness, Scotland.
Sango Bay sits just about as far north as you can travel on mainland Britain without needing a boat. The journey there will take you through some of the most scenic Scottish highlands, along coastal roads, through mountain passes and across deserted moorlands. I had five days to get there and back whilst calling in on too many locations to remember. I think I may have overcooked this one. . . . . . John Lennon had very close ties with Durness, and according to The Scotsman would visit in the holidays during his youth to stay with his Auntie. John would travel north with his cousin, who lived in Edinburgh, and spend time helping his Uncle fix up the house and basically messing about with his cousin out on the beach or up in the hills. I wanted to find out more, so Durness was to be my destination. I intended to get there and back via an anticlockwise route up the east coast of Scotland, across to Durness, continue down the west coast, before heading across the Highlands to the Fife Coast. St Monans Harbour would be my last location before heading back home. A round trip of 1055 miles, all in in five days. Ambitious? It was early February, so a trip this far north was going to be a challenge with only nine hours of daylight a day, but that means I can do sunrise to sunset photography for as long as my legs hold out. I had my warm gear, good boots and Max along for support. . . . . . Day one was the overnight scamper 383 miles to my first location at Rattray Head Lighthouse, north of Aberdeen. It was dark when I set off and dark when I arrived some 7 ½ hours later. Max is an absolute dream in the van, with a large soft bed on the floor behind me, a travelling bowl of water and securely strapped in with his seatbelt harness, he just jollies along for the ride and the walk at the end. Not that I’m Speedy Gonzales, but he has this great water bowl with a sort of small hole in the middle, a floating plasticy thing that he can sip water out of but no spills when cornering. Anyway, not a single complaint from him on the journey. Well almost none. As we turned off the main road, we began a two-mile bounce along a bumpy single track road dodging pretty big potholes and sheep in the dark. Max began to protest at this point, not only because I’m sure he was busting for a wee, but also I had found the operating limits of his water bowl. We arrived at a small car park about 100 yards from the beach, and as there were a few hours until sunrise, it was toilet break all round, mop up water bowl spillage and into bed for some rest. “Walk? Where is my walk?” It was windy. The van began its familiar boat at sea impression rocking back and forth, but after so many hours driving I soon fell asleep. Night Max! “No walk then?” At this time of year this far north, it only gets light just before 8am, plenty time for breakfast and a cup of tea. It was still very windy, but we got ready and headed off to the beach. Max was busting for a walk after the long journey here. I could hear him saying “This best be worth it!” We emerged from a gap in the dunes onto the beach and were assaulted by the fiercest southerly gale blowing along the beach right to left. It was difficult to breath, and my skin was being scrubbed and nicely exfoliated by the sand. Gusts would come and blow us about and then there would be lulls for a few minutes. Max, bless him, was not amused. I’m 6’ 1’’ (the 1 inch is important) so my experience of the sand was far removed from poor 2-foot-tall Max. His face and eyes were being sand blasted mercilessly and his ears were like windsocks. He quickly developed sandy, teary blobs under his eyes, and he was giving me that face. That one that says, “will this take long?”. Time to get busy and get my shots, I think.
Washed up
I had placed myself a little back from the shoreline as the tide was out and wanted some foreground interest. It was also giving me a little respite from the horizontal sand blasting. I found a bundle of rope that had been half buried by the sandstorm. This was a bit of a struggle, and a little risky as sand was battering the side of my camera but having driven all this way, in for penny…….
Windswept
I got a bit braver and ventured out towards the surf having spotted some part buried kelp. I grabbed this handheld shot but the wind and sand were relentless, and Max was getting quite distressed by now, so it was time to go back to the van and refocus our plan. I was wanting to wait for high tide, so needed to check the weather forecast.
“It was a gonner!”
I’m going to put a marker here to say it was the 8th February 2019, the year Covid-19 was discovered followed by the pandemic at the beginning of 2020. In-between then I did manage to go on a number of photography trips up and down the country, but it wasn’t until my first trip out of the pandemic in July 2020 that the onslaught of the sand this morning reared its head. Just before 4am, whilst standing in a field of wheat, I went to focus my camera on a Dutch barn in Sixpenny Handley and the focus ring on my lens jammed. I could hear the sand grinding in the focus mechanism. A very expensive lens was toast. It was a gonner! I’ve since swapped cameras and lens systems but still have this particular lens as a souvenir. Max has never gotten the sand out of his ears. . . . . .
Meanwhile back in the Sahara desert, high tide was quite some time off and the forecast was for the wind to strengthen as a winter storm approached, so rather than wait we packed up and hit the road to a quirkily name town Portknockie, to go find Bow Fiddle Rock. An hour later I found myself in the middle of a small housing estate overlooking the harbour. It had been raining relentlessly during the drive so I was beginning to doubt I would get much, apart from a drenching. Max was loving this trip so far (Not!). But as I pulled up, the clouds started to clear, and the rain stopped. It’s a right faff getting all my gear out and strapped to me at the same time as attaching a 30 kilo Labrador to my waist. He is not one for cooperating, and I could see a break in the clouds was letting the sun illuminate the tip of the rocks down on the shore. Time to move! What was a purposeful stride quickly broke out into a downhill sprint as what I assumed was a one-time-only glimpse of sun shining direct on Bow Fiddle Rock tricked me into a foolish fit of running. Have you ever tried running down a steep hill? All it takes is that one wrong foot and you are down, taken forward by the forces of gravity and uncontrollable momentum as your knees buckle under you and the ground comes ever closer to your face. Yes, it happened. Down I went, arse over elbow into the soft, muddy hillside. Tripod one way, phone the other. Combine the weight of my camera backpack, which I estimate by the laws of physics had a force of 3 g on my back, and the fact Max was continuing to run whilst being tied to my waist, my upper body and face were propelled into the ground with great gusto. Looking back to the line of houses I had parked in front of, curtains were twitching. Thankfully I didn’t face-plant the soil and my tripod just needed a dust off, along with my pride. My window of opportunity was brief as dark clouds were on the horizon behind me moving fast, so I won’t blab on anymore and get the images up. Bow Fiddle Rock
The clouds had diluted the sunlight on the rock, but I knew things could change soon. In this shot I went for 1/6th of a second exposure. This is my go-to exposure time to capture the movement in waves. I can almost hear the waves crashing over the smooth pebbles in front of me. Anyone who has been on the shingle beaches in Dorset or Kent will know exactly what I mean. Max had wandered off by now mooching along the shoreline in search of anything to eat or chase. Having put one in the bag, I could take a little time and decide what to do next. This composition was great as the tide was coming in crashing over the foreground rocks. What it needed was a long exposure and these white waves would become misty like. I practiced the shot for the next few minutes and found around 100 seconds was just about right. As if for compensation for my rather undignified fall earlier, the clouds passed over me and into the distance and a single beam of light hit the rocks from my right once again. I hit that button.
Sea monster
The 100 second exposure transformed this image into some kind of fossilised monster appearing out of the fog. What a shot, I was ecstatic. So much so it called for a selfie and a little celebration.
Rather pleased to have bagged that one
Next!
Duncansby Head Lighthouse was some 180 miles and an overnight stop away, so after my pie and a coffee celebration, I hit the road and headed for my overnight at Latheronwheel harbour.
“Erik was on his way”
An early night and a good sleep was a great catch up for the travelling and limited kip for the first day and a half. Not to mention Max actually managed to get an evening and morning walk before I set off for John O’Groats and Duncansby Head to get some images of the amazing sea stacks. On the way I stopped off at Castle Sinclair Girnigoe, which is a castle in a state of ruin perched right on the edge of the sea cliffs. I could not stand up! The wind was howling in from the sea and the only images I could manage were lying almost flat on my stomach. Light was terrible and I couldn’t (read wouldn’t) get close to the edge of the cliffs to get the best composition. All the way up I had been keeping an eye on the weather and it was clear Storm Erik was on his way. I went for black and white to capture the stormy mood.
Castle Sinclair Girnigoe with Erik bearing down
Paddington Bear?
I could literally feel myself be blown over the edge here so retreated to the safety of the van. Storm Erik was the first storm named in 2019, and the eye of the storm was aiming for a direct hit on North Scotland. My visit to Castle Sinclair was a fair warning that I should not ignore. Duncansby Stacks are even more exposed, right on the north east tip of Scotland, so making a trip there to stand on cliff tops as the storm approached was crazy. I’ve more sense than that. Plan B, skip Duncansby and head straight along the north coast of Scotland and get to Durness before the storm hit. It was 10:20 in the morning and nightfall was just before 7pm. I wanted to take in the sights along the coast and maybe grab some images too, so I had all day. Good plan. Not exactly boring, but half the journey was away from the coast across the relatively flat farming lands around John O’Groats. Not until you get to Reay does it begin to spice up a little as you enter undulating single track roads with brief glimpses of cliffs, coves and steep valleys running to the sea. Strathy to Coldbackie (I love these names) was where it got interesting crossing baron rocky ground dipping in and out of passing places to avoid oncoming vehicles. It was twisty and seemed to go on forever. After a brief lunch stop, I dropped down to cross the Kyle of Tongue. According to some info on “Languages of the world”, the estuary of a river is called “firth”, as in Firth of Forth in the Kingdom of Fife. Say that again…. Firth of Forth in the Kingdom of Fife. Love it! A narrowing of the river is called “kyle”, as in Kyle of Tongue. “Loch” is often translated into other languages as ‘lake’, though this is not always correct, as a loch can be either a fresh-water lake or a fjord-like narrow sea gulf. There are two ways to get across the Kyle of Tongue, cross the causeway halfway along the “kyle” or drive all the way round inland. I knew which I was taking, I had an appointment with a safe campsite to ride out the storm.
“It felt like I was seconds away from going over the cliff edge”
Man, it was blowing down at water level. The crossing is single track with passing places, but in the middle is a car park, a viewing point if you will. The wind noise inside the van was deafening, so I parked with the driver’s door in the lee and climbed out carefully. If I stuck my head round the back of the van it nearly took my ears off. Not a place to hang about, the skies were darkening. I made just one more photo stop before getting to Durness and that was a Loch Eriboll, nicknamed "Lock ’orrible" by the British servicemen stationed here during the war because of the often-inclement weather. It was most certainly inclement today.
‘Orrible weather on Eriboll
No causeway across Eriboll, just a long drive all the way round the loch with a short burst around Beinn Ceannabeinne before landing at Durness. . . . . .
“Lennon last visited Durness in 1969 when he decided to travel north after flying in from the US with Yoko Ono and their daughter Kyoko. After collecting his son Julian in London, the family headed off in a white Austin Maxi, Lennon apparently ditching the services of his chauffeur. The holiday was cut short, however, when Lennon - who was known as a nervy driver - crashed the car on his way back from a day trip to Tongue. It is said he let go of the wheel after a tourist in a car came towards him on a single track road near Loch Eriboll.” Keen not to emulate John, I kept my eyes peeled and made sure I got to the campsite overlooking Sango Bay in one piece. . . . . .
During winter the campsite is locked, and you phone the owner who will pop down and let you on. No facilities are open, and you are left to your own devices. Or as in this case, left to my own survival. I was the only person there, parked in my van on the top of the cliffs overlooking Sango Bay. With hindsight, my choice to park close to the cliff edge to “get the best view of the beach in the morning” was a little foolish. “Good luck” was not the parting shot I wanted to hear from the campsite manager. The winds began to slam into the side of the van and rock it back and forth. I could only use the sliding door which was sheltered from the wind and could not be ripped off. After about an hour I was convinced the van was moving ever so slightly forward. I was beginning to feel a little seasick and disorientated with the rocking. I was scared now. It felt like I was seconds away from going over the cliff edge. I had turned the driver’s seat around and could not reverse this without opening the driver’s door which would have been suicidal. So, I climbed outside and went and found 4 house bricks from the BBQ pile and banged them under my wheels. Nothing to do now but hunker down for a night of rock and roll. I obviously survived and awoke (I’m not sure I actually slept) to the most amazing post storm sunrise forming below me on the sands. I had heard the huge seas pounding the rocks below during the night and the sand had been swept clean and not a soul was around.
Sango bay sunrise after the storm
No time for breakfast, I needed to get down there and capture these colours, the crashing waves and the pristine footprint-free beach. I had already scoped out one particular sea stack the night before so headed straight there.
Sango Bay sea stack
First shot I was able to get quite close and low on the beach as the waves washed around the stack and these black rocks. It was still just before sunrise, so there was a beautiful orange glow on the horizon just starting to light up the tip of the stack. The tide was coming in quick now, so I had to move back a little for the shot I wanted next. Yes, you’ve guessed it, out with the NDF filters for a long exposure. I waited for the sun to be up above the headland to my right and got the tripod on some more solid sand. The wind was still howling in from the sea, so some vibration and a little softness was going to be small sacrifice to get this next image.
Four minute stack
I did take a few more captures at this spot, but the wind was so fierce, their quality was not up to scratch. That said, I was pretty chuffed with these two, especially after the night from hell in the van on the cliffs above. I still hadn’t eaten since yesterday. Time to take a walk the length of the beach and get some surrounding shots before a rewarding breakfast.
Max managed to leave his mark in one of my shots as ever. The weather came in once more, so the rest of the day was spent relaxing, going through some images and the odd kip to catch up on the previous night’s sleepless stormy frolics. Having reached my most northerly destination, tomorrow was the start of the journey back south. The chippy opened at six and I was first in the queue. . . . . . It was like someone switched the freezer back on overnight as I awoke to near freezing conditions and frozen rain on the van. The mountains in the distance had a fresh dusting of crisp white snow. My journey back south was to take me down the A838 via the Kylesku bridge, Assynt and then across from Ledbeg to Lairg at the end of Loch Shin. I was desperate to photograph the Assynt region in Winter, but it was not going to be. Within about 30 minutes of setting off, I was hitting snow and ice down at low levels and there was a good chance I might find some tricky conditions on some of the mountain passes. Mr T has four-wheel drive, but this has always been there to get me out of a situation, not go foolishly into one where I have never been before. Looking on the map, I decided upon a route that hugged a series of lochs at a reasonable low level. It wasn’t long before I came upon Loch Stack and was presented with a fantastic highland scene.
Loch Stack Boathouse
I pulled over and had a wander over to the boat house to grab a few handheld shots before carrying on.
Winter light at the loch
The sun had only risen in the last hour and was still low in the sky. Fresh snow on the mountains looked beautiful in the low sun light creating layer upon layer of shadow and light. I stood here for quite some time before turning to head back to the van. Standing right behind me a bold as you like were 3 huge stags. “Excuse me gents, I need to get back in my van” There were a couple of navigation issues where my sat nav was trying to take me across what were clearly mountain passes with significant snow fall. After several U-turns I finally hit Lairg where a welcome lunch awaited at The Pier, a café on the edge of the Loch. Highly recommended. Back on main roads I was able to push on through Inverness, along the shores of Loch Ness and head over past the Cairngorms through Pitlochry and into Perth. My final destination for today was to be The Kelpies at Falkirk some 256 miles from the start in Durness. I really didn’t know how I was going to be able to keep standing and get these night shots of the statues. But the weather was perfect, the skies were clear and I had to just get the fire going and find some stamina. Why is the car park so far away? At 8pm I finally got myself and Max at the base of the statues and set about finding the right composition. The conditions were prefect and the reflection in the water spot on. It didn’t take too long to find the right spot, and I just had to wait for the tourists to clear.
The Kelpies
I wish I could have stayed longer, but as I have said before I had set myself a tough schedule and I needed to be over on the Fife Coast for sunrise, and that was 60 miles away. Luck had been on my side once again at The Kelpies as within a short time of leaving, the rain came in once again. I spent far too long finding somewhere suitable to park the van and get my head down, so only got a few decent hours of sleep again. Shortly before dawn I awoke and drove Mr T down to the harbour and squeezed into a little spot near the pub. The weather was pretty miserable by now, but I had come this far and would give it a try. St Monans East Pier Seawall is a strange zig zag affair that I can only assume is that shape because of the rocks it sits on in the sea. But it makes for something unusual in a photograph. There is one problem, and that is it is on the other side of a high wall on the harbour that you have to climb over. It was raining, the sea wall was wet and slippy, and a fall would have landed me in the sea, in the dark. No chance, I perched half on half off a slippy wall, in what I can only describe as that rain that gets you wet. You know what I mean?
St Monans
This image is a relatively short 20 seconds compared to some in recent days, but I think it works best. I took a few images here but most of them had too much water on the lens as it was a constant battle maintaining balance and wiping the lens in the rain. That said, what a beautiful, picturesque harbour on the Fife coast. I will definitely be coming back here, when the weather is more cooperative. I’d been on the road five days now with little in the way of shower or wash, and even less sleep so given it was only 7:30 am I headed back to the van and found a spot along the coast where I could park up, get the kettle on and have some breakfast before starting the long 250 mile journey home. What a great little adventure packed into a few days. I didn’t get everything I wanted, but I did get some great images when the weather allowed. Battling through Storm Erik was amazing and something I still talk about. Well, maybe not as much as Storm Arwen in November 2021 that took Mr T’s driver’s door off. But that’s another story. I stuck on the full Morrissey back catalogue as I headed to Edinburgh following in the footsteps of John Lennon dropping his cousin off back home before he returned to Liverpool. I on the other hand had an appointment with a hot meal and a shower back at home in Bolton.
“If a ten tonne truck…….”
Keywords:
Assynt,
Bow Fiddle Rock,
Durness,
Edinburgh,
John lennon,
John O'Groats,
Landscape Photography,
Port Knockie,
Rattray Head Lighthouse,
Sango Bay,
Scotland,
Scottish Highlands
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