Picturesque Plockton
Explore this pretty Highland village
IF you were to ask me what my choice would be for the most picturesque village or town in the Highlands, I’d have a fair number of places shortlisted.
Portree, with its colourful painted front and busy harbour, would be high on the list; Tobermory, too. Inveraray might also be a contender, but certainly up near the top of my list would be the Wester Ross village of Plockton.
Plockton sits on a sheltered bay of Outer Loch Carron just five twisting miles round the coast north of Kyle of Lochalsh and the Skye Bridge.
A visit to Plockton is always on the cards any time I’m out Skye direction. It may be overcast and raining on the Cuillin, but more often than not Plockton will be basking in sunshine.
Nowhere on the west coast enjoys more the benefits of the Gulf Stream, and that becomes evident just as soon as you reach its main street.
Curving round the islandstudded bay, colourful gardens with sub-tropical plants spill over on to the roadside, and hardly a garden is without its palm tree.
Nowhere like this, of course, can remain a secret and the village is well frequented by summer visitors. Most arrive by road, some by yacht, particularly towards the end of July for the Plockton Regatta, and others arrive by train on the picturesque Kyle Line.
There are a few good hotels and guest-houses but, as I’ve learned, this is one place it’s always best to book ahead. The throng of the busy waterfront is easy to escape, though.
Just put your boots on and take a climb to the top of the Plockton Crags. You definitely want to pick a nice clear sunny day for that trek.
This morning, before
heading for the crags, I’m first going to take a walk to another of Plockton’s quiet corners. It’s a walk that requires a little less energy, too – the Coral Beach.
Being fairly early in the morning, I’m hopeful of finding it deserted.
It’s an easy walk of just over a mile to the beach, starting from close to Plockton’s runway. Yes, this wee village even has its own airstrip. An amusing sign on one of the airfield gates reads, Please close gate after you – cattle on airstrip not a good idea!
The path to the beach is easy to follow, passing through whin and rowan with grand views ahead over to Skye and Raasay.
I arrive to find I’m not alone. A couple from France have beaten me to it. They tell me that if I’d been half an hour earlier I’d have seen several seals swimming in the bay.
The waters are crystal clear and perfectly still. Three yachts lie moored in the next bay. All is quiet except for the commotion created by a duck flapping and splashing its wings on an extended take-off.
Orange seaweed clings to the rocks above the shore. The beach isn’t sand but is formed from maerl – pieces of hard red seaweed that have been bleached white by the sun.
The tide’s out, allowing me to cross on to a wee tidal island for even better seascapes looking out on the Applecross Peninsula. A little extra height can bring great rewards.
From the front in Plockton we look across the bay and its own tidal island to Duncraig Castle on the opposite shore.
Raise your view slightly to the high rocky hills behind it and you’ll see a radio mast on the skyline. That’s where we’re heading next – the Plockton Crags.
Duncraig Castle was built in the 1860s by Sir Alex Matheson after making his fortune in the Far East in his uncle’s successful business of Jardine Matheson.
The Plockton we see today has evolved from the plans of the laird, Sir Hugh Innes, in the early 1800s. Prior to this, there would only have been the small crofting settlement known as Am Ploc. A “ploc” is simply a lump or headland.
These were unsettling times for crofters throughout the Highlands. Sheep were seen by the big landowners as more profitable than people.
Crofters were therefore cleared from the better estate lands and forced to move to the coast. For some the only option was to emigrate. These were the infamous Highland Clearances.
Sir Hugh recognised the potential for increasing the value of his estate by encouraging these displaced tenants to stay and become fishermen.
The west coast waters were, after all, teeming with herring. And so Sir Hugh planned and built the fishing port of Plockton to accommodate his new workforce.
All went to plan until the herring decided to abandon their age-old migration patterns and disappear. Then, in the mid 1800s another disaster struck – the potato famine.
Plockton was so badly hit that it became known as Baile na Bochdainn or “village of the poor”.
You’d never call it that now. The wee fishermen’s cottages that might each have held two families are all tastefully modernised and spick and span.
I wonder what the original occupants would think to see Jaguars and Bentleys parked outside.
At low tide we can walk across to the island in the bay for a look back to the village. Low tide also reveals a footpath causeway to the houses on the peninsula opposite.
Although the herring
have gone, a few smaller boats still fish for lobsters and prawns from the North Pier.
It would be easy to find a nice spot and just to sit down with an ice-cream and watch the boats come and go or to people-watch. Maybe later, but right now the crags are just too tempting.
Although you can start this walk from Plockton itself, passing Duncraig Castle along the way, I thought I’d begin from the start of the forestry road a mile or two east of the village and a little above the castle.
It’s easily found – marked with a sign pointing the way to Balmacara. A locked barrier means there’s no alternative to using your feet from here on.
Even at the start of the walk, we’re quite a height above Loch Carron and already the views over the loch shout out for their photograph to be taken.
Hardly have we gone quarter of a mile before we’ve a fantastic aerial shot looking down over Plockton and its yacht-filled bay. That view only improves the higher we go.
For about a mile we lose sight of the loch as the track rounds the hillside then turns down into thicker woodland.
This is where, seeing the crags looming ahead, you’ll very probably be thinking, “No way will I ever get up there!”
It’s an understandable reaction since, straight ahead, the mast rises above what appears to be an impregnable wall of cliffs several hundred feet high.
However, as is the case with most hills, there’s a hard way and there’s an easy way to the top. Keeping to this track, we’re led to a natural hidden valley that completely misses the cliffs to wrap round the hill and approach from the rear.
If you’re so inclined, you could go the whole way with your hands in your pockets!
Before you know it, we’re up standing at the cairn beside the mast. The best views, though, are from the edge of the crags just a hundred yards to the north.
Here, there’s nothing to interrupt the panoramic views that extend all the way from the far Cuillin of Skye and Raasay with its prominent Dun Caan round to the mountains of Applecross and Torridon.
This was the kind of view Dad could have looked out on and named every mountain for 360 degrees and, what’s more, have given a detailed account of the days he climbed each and every one of them.
Although from Plockton we’ve scarcely climbed 1,000 feet, you’d struggle to better this view even from a mountain top three or four times higher.
Looking over the edge, far below, I can see the track I’ve just followed and still can’t believe how easily it brought me to the top.
Yes, Plockton would certainly rate highly among the top candidates in my choice of most picturesque villages in the Highlands, and this view from the crags would surely be up there, too, in any competition for the finest view in Scotland.
With such a view, and on such a perfect day, you might well expect to have company. Believe it or not, I had the whole hill to myself. n