A Northern Wilderness
By Niall Laybourne
It has been said many times, and perhaps somewhat apologetically I perpetuate the cliché: ‘you don’t have to go abroad to experience adventure’.Whilst I do often dream of taking a rally’d-up KTM 690 with an ϋber 40L fuel tank and bulletproof aluminium panniers across Siberia or over the Dempster Highway, I also dream of winning the lottery, to fund such an adventure! In the meantime, I enjoy the adventure on my doorstep.Aside from occasional forays into higher education, I have lived in the far north of Scotland since birth. Caithness and Sutherland sit in the northern extremes of the UK mainland, and my home town of Thurso is situated about 58.6°N, almost as far north as Stavanger, farther north than Stockholm and not that far south of Helsinki. We have of course an entirely different climate to these Scandinavian locales, but my home has always influenced my love of northern latitudes, exposed landscapes and of being amidst the elements.
Motorcycling is a joy I came to later in life, getting my big-bike license at the age of 28. The ability to control your trajectory with your whole body has always appealed. Plus the sense of adventure gained by simply leaving the house and being alone inside the helmet is pure solace, and a joy in itself. Motorcycling in the beautiful landscapes here is special, but when I’m battling the fierce gales of this windswept land or fighting the constantly changing elements, my day trip is elevated to pure adventure. When I’ve come home after viewing endless vistas, through ever-changing light, muscling the bike over serpentine single-track roads, the sense of achievement and exhaustion is bliss.
This area of Scotland is often overlooked, maybe partly because it’s so far north and can be simply bypassed via ferry to Orkney. However, perhaps there’s another reason. Caithness and parts of Sutherland don’t slot in to the picture-postcard image of what Scotland ‘should’ look like. The most visited parts of the country feature rugged rocky coastlines, pristine beaches and majestic mountains. The coasts of Caithness do feature the beaches and certainly impressive cliffs, but we’re a bit ‘mountain-impaired’ shall we say. Travelling up from the south or west the coastlines are sheer beauty. The beaches can be vast and pure. And when the winds are up the stormy seas are a sight to behold. This coastline is also sprinkled with little gems of harbours, complete with fishing paraphernalia.
Fishing was a huge industry along the north and east coast. The county town of Wick was built on herring and is a stunning town to view. A wonderful place to visit is the distillery of the world-renowned Old Pulteney whisky, known as the maritime malt, nestled amongst the flagstone buildings immortalised in the paintings of L.S. Lowry. The famous writer Neil M. Gunn spent his formative years south of Wick on the east coast, with this area and his fishing upbringing greatly influencing his writing.
Heading west into Sutherland as we’ll see, it gets pretty mountainous too. But I want to take you to the interior; the part of Scotland that's certainly not on the shortbread tins!
This is a magical, unique land. It’s called the Flow country. My father once said to me, “It’s simply tundra, without the permafrost.” This is a land he loved, and a land I continue to love and hold dear to my heart. This vast ecosystem is the largest blanket bog in Europe, and is aptly described as a ‘rolling expanse’.
While many are disparaging of this expanse (using such words as bleak, empty or barren) I feel comforted by this particular blanket. We’re tiny specks within this vast
wilderness and I am heartened and humbled to be so insignificant and small. Insignificant is good for the soul!
And this region is in no way barren or empty. The acidic peat bogs and lochan pool systems are full of insect and plant life and support a wide variety of rare bird species. Black and Red-throated divers breed in these dark, peaty lochs, as do the Common Scoter (not so common at all). I have many childhood memories of seeing and hearing the magnificent black-bellied Golden Plovers and Dunlin peep-peeping, seemingly atop every hummock enveloped within a sea of bright-white bog cotton (colloquially, and beautifully, named arctic snow cress in more northern climes!) Birds of prey such as Golden eagles can be seen here, but I have to admit to preferring the rarer Hen Harriers and Merlin. These birds and many others form part of an ecosystem here which contains many species found in the Arctic countries, giving this region another kinship with the north. Indeed, the endangered Greenland White-fronted goose uses Caithness as a winter feeding destination from Greenland and Iceland and makes this region extremely important for this and many other protected species. Often animals are hard to spot but something I still cherish while riding through the Flow is stopping, taking my helmet off and simply enjoying the sound of silence and space. To rest beside the pools, the swaying bog cotton and simply listen to the breeze is paradise.
Perhaps I'm not selling it very well? Caithness and parts of Sutherland are indeed flat, windswept (and therefore treeless - most plants don’t really grow very high) and lacking the grand mountains...but to me, it’s perfect. Travelling farther west across north Sutherland will deliver your fix of mountains if you’re suffering from altitude deprivation and we’ll see these later.
Caithness is flat for a reason. Most of northern Scotland and the northern Isles was a series of lakes and shallow seas, collectively called Lake Orcadie. Vast quantities of
sediment were deposited around 370 million years ago to form the sandstone beds which provide us with one of the great exports of Caithness: flagstone. This versatile building stone is found throughout the county. Look out for the stunning drystone dykes and the simpler flag walls, as well as entire houses of course.
With its unique landscape and simple but beautiful flagstone building material, Caithness has enough attributes to feel a bit different. Something that also makes us feel separate, and perhaps more akin to Orkney and the north, is the Norse history in this part of the world. We are part of the mainland, but in many ways people feel we’re more like an island.
Hundreds of years ago Caithness was briefly in limbo between being Scottish and being part of the Norwegian Earldom of Orkney. Many of the place-names up here are of Norse derivation: Wick (from vík, meaning ‘bay’); Thurso (from Thorsá, meaning ‘Thor’s river’), to name just two.
Fast forward several hundred years and the counties of Caithness and Sutherland are perhaps more famous for the brutal expulsion of local peoples as part of the highland clearances. Put simply, in the 18th and 19th centuries whole straths (glens or valleys) were cleared of people to make way for livestock, as it was seen as a more profitable use of the land. Many of my favourite riding routes are sprinkled with extinct communities of ruined flagstone crofts; a reminder of darker days.
In the present day, the north’s low population density and unspoilt lands have made it open to a different type of exploitation. Firstly, large tracts of Flow were destroyed by draining for spruce plantations encouraged by tax loopholes for the rich.
Sanity has finally prevailed and this practice is now viewed as idiotic to put it mildly. Now however, some of this open land is being targeted for wind farms. It was perhaps due to the low population density of Caithness which dictated the location of a nuclear power station at Dounreay, a major employer in the county. It does sometimes feel as if policies are carried out at the expense of the area, but in terms of Dounreay it has helped bring people into the county and indeed keep people here. My parents were teachers and wouldn’t have come up here if there wasn’t the demand and the increase in families.
The Flow itself is protected, and more areas are in the process of being restored. Hopefully it will be safe for generations to come.
My first big bike was a KTM 990 Adventure. My choice certainly raised a few eyebrows at the time and I can understand why; it could be a bit of a beast. But it was also an ideal bike for the winding, gravel-strewn single-track roads I often traversed. Its handling was perfect for my needs. I’m tall, ride all year round and I like going off the beaten track. Riding to and from work through deep snow on these exposed roads certainly honed my clutch and rear brake skills in the early days. Now with my Triumph Tiger 1050 I can experience riding a little more comfortably perhaps.
Whatever bike you ride, these roads will be appreciated. In certain areas it does help having a tall machine with long suspension (and I can really enjoy the 
routes when I stand up on the pegs and let the bike ‘float’ beneath me), but take it easy. All my concentration is focused on the roads and possible hazards, so I have to stop frequently to take the sights in. But what sights!
One of the hazards often mentioned up here is sheep. There are fewer fences out here so sheep are more likely to be on the roadside, but aside from the occasional wanderer they’re pretty nonchalant; they own the road though so keep an eye out. Deer, even Highland cattle, can be found out on the roads equally as relaxed when it comes to road safety. These beasts can be quite a sight up close.
Every biker is different. Some dislike the prospect of being alone on remote, crumbling single-track roads but as long as you take it easy (and take your camera!) it is your own personal adventure. I really find joy in rounding a corner or topping a hill to yet another sublime vista, finding somewhere to stop and take it all in, as well as taking a photo. Looking at a map of the area doesn’t give the impression of an unspoilt wilderness, but when you discover the A-roads are mostly single-track, it gives a different perspective on the B-roads...and the unclassified roads ‘less than 4m wide’!
The roads south from the coast follow rivers, narrow strips of greenery and even trees. The link roads between these north-south spines are the real fun routes. The views open up as you rise over the watersheds and exposed moorland. Looking around you can see where you’ve been and where you’re going, before dropping down into another strath.
One of my favourite routes takes in the Flow, exposed moorland, scintillating lochs and majestic mountains. Having gone west from Thurso, I turn south following the Halladale River and eventually the railway line. The water helps support the relatively lush vegetation here and on sunny summer days one can forget this is a harsh and exposed place. Forsinard (and the RSPB reserve centre) is where the Flow country starts and seeing it brings a smile to my face every time.
Instead of continuing south I turn east off the ‘main’ road at Kinbrace, south of Forsinard. It’s an east-west route over to Syre, which then snakes along the shores of Loch Naver to Altnaharra. As you head west you can see beyond the relative flatness of the Flow, the mountains of the west and south. When meandering alongside Loch Naver (the road’s proximity to its shore leading to thoughts of wet wheels) Ben Klibreck, 38m shy of 1000m, looms high above. It’s still classed a Munro as it’s over 3000ft (914m).
It is tiring riding these roads, but I feel like I’ve had to work to get somewhere and this makes the ride more rewarding. I’m constantly looking ahead for any oncoming traffic (not often seen, but when a car is met it’s where I least want to meet it!); livestock; and ever-changing road conditions. Many of the routes are still used by heavy timber lorries taking wood from the spruce plantations and the roads simply can’t cope. A crumbling road atop soft, boggy ground in an area hit by harsh winters means nasty camber and serious undulations...as well as dirty great potholes and gravel-strewn surfaces. But this is what adventure is all about for me. It’s not just about the views; it’s about working hard against the elements, feeling the road beneath, and being rewarded with these breathtaking
Whenever I am stressed or feeling low, I venture out on my bike, camera in pannier, to witness the ever changing views of this northern extreme. My photographs perhaps don’t do it justice. The feeling of space, solace and beauty has to be experienced. These landscapes wouldn’t look out of place in a Tolkien-based epic, but they’re often unseen, overlooked and under-appreciated. I will always know what’s on my doorstep and I’m so content I can call this home.
I’ll leave you with Neil M. Gunn’s words.
‘This is the northland, the land of exquisite light. Lochs and earth and sea pass away to a remote horizon where a suave line of pastel foothills cannot be anything but cloud. Here the actual picture is like a picture in a supernatural mind and comes upon the human eye with the surprise that delights and transcends memory. Gradually the stillness of the far prospect grows unearthly. Light is silence. And nothing listens where all is of eternity.’
