Map 21 – The Mermaid of the North

If you have ever been to Copenhagen, you have probably been underwhelmed by their famous Little Mermaid statue. If you haven’t, it’s a wonderful city; but the mermaid is not the highlight. Conversely, you might reasonably take the view that a very similar statue on the rocky shore of a small coastal village in Easter Ross, somewhere between the pub and the post office, is a matter of great local significance. All the more surprising, then, that I had no idea at all of its existence until this evening!

But first to the earlier events of the day. And what a day! It was ideal for cycling; but only in one particular direction: north-east. Luckily that is exactly what I needed to do to complete my coast to coast journey from maps 18 to 21. The wind all day long from the south west was ferocious. It blew at up to 40mph and if my journey back again hadn’t been possible by train, I probably wouldn’t have gone. But as it was, I enjoyed the sensation of riding at high speeds in dry weather under fast changing skies, with huge open vistas all around. It was mostly like that, anyway. As we will see, nothing is ever quite that simple.

After Edna’s generous breakfast and a slow start to my morning, I rode swiftly along the quiet, flat road that skirts the southern edge of the Cromarty Firth, where the tide was most definitely out. This is a very large body of salt water that separates the gentle Black Isle on its south side from the mountains of the Highlands on its north side for about 18 miles in a line south-west to north-east, with an average width of a mile. It broadens as it gets close to the top and then finally squeezes through a narrow gap between two precipitous headlands (known as “The Sutors”) into the broader Moray Firth opposite Nairn. It is a wonderfully sheltered expanse of water, used in modern times for the fabrication and repair of oil and gas platforms, for which a dry dock facility exists near the outlet at Nigg. As a result, the firth is full of at least ten of these huge dinosaur like structures, presumably waiting for their turn in the most bizarre and incongruous queue you will ever see. All this forms a jarring, oversized backdrop to the otherwise quaint and historical town of Cromarty, which sits at the very north-eastern tip of the Black Isle peninsula, literally at the end of the road.

We spent a memorable night in Cromarty on our 2008 end-to-end ride and I was keen to return. It felt like an affluent, slightly Bohemian place, quiet due to the lack of cars and home to interesting small delis, coffee shops, galleries and arts venues, including a new looking cinema right on the links between the town and the water. It hosts a film festival every December, apparently. There are many important looking sandstone houses and civic buildings for a place of its small size, and all kinds of passageways and nooks and crannies to explore, most taking you somehow out onto the grassy waterfront. I liked it all very much and stopped for a late lunch. Last time, we took the Cromarty ferry across the Firth to Nigg. I think it held two cars. I remember we had to get the ferryman out of bed to take us across. He’d been in the same pub as us the night before and it was a good night! I planned to do the same again; but not surprisingly the high winds had caused it to be cancelled for the day. And that meant me turning around and riding 18 miles back into the wall of wind to the only crossing point – where the A9 spans the Firth on a mile-long bridge – followed by 20 wind-assisted miles on the northern shore to reach the same point. On the plus side, I got to see much more of the Black Isle than I had planned, including the red sandstone ruins of Fortrose Cathedral, overlooking the Moray Firth. I still wanted to get as far up the map as I could; but time was now a factor and I knew I couldn’t risk missing the only train back to Dingwall, that left Tain at 7.45pm.

And so it was that I rode at speed through the small towns of Alness and Invergordon in the ever decreasing hope of reaching the lighthouse at Tarbat Ness. Neither of these settlements were terribly attractive or prosperous feeling; but in Invergordon there are a series of hugely impressive, brightly coloured murals on prominent buildings throughout the town. They had been left alone as painted, altogether unspoiled, and I thought they were superb. Each celebrated a different theme: sport, the railway, even cycling. In a rather down at heel high street they really gave the place a lift and a sense of pride and hope. Long may they shine.

I got to within 7 miles of the lighthouse and I would have made it, but probably not got back again in time. It would have involved several miles cycling back into the ceaseless wind in a flat, exposed landscape. Having seen many other lighthouses already on this trip, including one today in Cromarty, I wasn’t that upset. For my end point, I chose instead the much closer seaside village of Balintore on the Moray Firth, looking across at the Moray coast 10 miles to the south-east, and 7 maps away in my trip. I should be there in another week. For now though, a slight sense of anti-climax was suddenly replaced by a feeling of elation as I saw a brown sign pointing along the sea front to “The Mermaid of the North”. I quickly found her, a pretty convincing copy of her older Danish cousin, and left for Tain knowing that some things are simply meant to be, and that I would now have time to buy myself pie and chips to eat on the train. Which I did. 

Back at my airbnb, Edna regaled me with more of her life stories while Colin got out his special 13 year old Glenmorangie. I contributed some Orkney oatcakes and local Tain soft blue cheese, which seemed to go down well and was the least I could do to return their generous hospitality. A fine end to a successful day. I like it when things work out.