Runrig

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When the weather cleared in the afternoon, we set off for Duirinish. A herd of cows and calves had occupied the road. An Australian woman left her vehicle and tried to persuade them to move by clapping and urging them. They set off at a gentle pace. At a fork, they chose our route, towards Plockton. Soon we had a queue of cars behind us. Feeling the responsibility of being at the front, we took action. David shooed them, but instead of moving aside they broke into a trot along the road. "There's a big layby coming up on the right. Get them to go in there," called the Australian driver. Unfortunately there was nothing to entice fifteen beef cattle to assemble voluntarily in the layby. Half a mile or so down the road, one stopped. When we looked back it had joined the procession of cars. A few broke ranks and munched at grass on the verge. Three others took up positions in front of our car, faced David and snorted. One began to scrape a front hoof on the tarmac, as of threatening to charge. Eventually, we reached a level patch of green and drove them onto it.

From the row of railway cottages, by the platform and gate that make up Duirinish station, a grassy track leads to a coastal path. Here we passed wild honeysuckle, irises and small strips of runrig farmland, with its pattern of alternating runs (furrows) and rigs (ridges).

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