SEEIN as oor Margaret gets the schuil holidays an we’d aareadies hud a bit o Mediterranean sunshine this year, we ettled tae dae somethin a bit mair adventurous wi oor simmer afore it wis ower. Bi chaunce ah’d bin watchin the telly an there wis a feature wi some o the waither fowk reportin frae around the North Coast 500 route. That luiks lik fun ah thocht! We hud a bit craic aboot this an decided that this wid be a guid wey tae explore some airts o Scotland that tae oor shame we hud ne’er seen. Mind, thon’s no strictly true – as a young man ah’d toured the Hielants wi a pop group an we’d played the likes o Tain, Invergordon, Portmahomack, Wick an Thurso, tho we wir aa that steamin oan the Merrydown cider nane o us remembered bein there!

A quick swatch oan Trip Advisor an some braw advice frae Facebuik contacts (thenks Phil Conlan!) an ah hud oor Hielant odyssey buiked up! Nane o yer slummin it in a mingin tent – we buiked twa or three hotels an e’en begged a couple o nichts wi friens tae “buik-end” the thing, an we wir aa set!

Big Phil gien us the great tip o daein the NC500 route anti-clockwise. This wis a braw norrie as daein it that wey meant that the scenery juist goat better an better as ye went roun! Tae brek the trip frae Ayrshire we steyed wi friens in Dundee the first nicht. This wis alsae a serendipitous event – insteid o gangin straicht up the A9 til Inverness, as we’d ettled, wir friens advised us til gang the Deeside road whilk wis faur mair scenic! Thus we drave throu a sunny Glenshee (wi tourists lowpin oot their camper van tae tak photies o red deer stags bi the roadside), up throu the fawmous Cockbridge tae Tomintoul road (that’s aye shut wi the snaw) royal Braemar – wi a detour throu the Linn o Dee (weel warth a luik!) – oan throu Grantown-on-Spey an Nairn til oor first offeshul pit-stoap at Inverness. We’d aareadies seen some byordnar braw kintraside – an werenae e’en oan the offeeshul NC500 route yet!

In Inverness we bade at the Premier Inn, an hud a richt guid nicht oot in the ceetie centre pub The Gellions (three deep at the baur oan a Tuesday nicht!), in the company o Asif Khan (the Scottish Poetry Library’s new director), Brian Ó hEadhra (the Gaelic singer-songwriter an arts entrepreneur) and the makar Mark Spencer Turner. The baur hud a gleg session o tradeetional musicians playin, an then a braw singer-guitarist, Andy Duncan, wha alloued fowk tae cam up an gie a sang or twa gin they likit an kept the nicht rockin wi his graund Scots sangs an clatter. We saftent a wheen o Highland parks. Craic wis craiced; sangs wir sung; an haivers wis spaken. A braw launch-pad fir the main event.

Neist mornin we taen anither wee detour an explored the new Culloden battlefield veesitor’s centre. This wis hoachin wi tourists frae aa airts o the globe; ah haurdly heard a Scots accent there! It wis an enlichtenin an muivin experience tae steg athort the battlefield itsel, wi its wee bunches o wild flooers at each o the clan commemoration stanes. The hale thing fir certes brings it aa tae life. We then pit the hood doun oan oor wee twa-seater an set aff fir the faur north o Scotland; nou oan the rael NC500 route.

Dingwall, Alness an Tain flew by. The roads o the NC500 are generally aa in guid nick. An abune Inverness an Fort William we ne’er foun ony o the roads ower thrang ava. The Cromarty Firth kythed its big oil platforms; whaither a sign o the future or the past ah’m nae shair... Ower the picturesque causeway o the Dornoch Firth we horsed the wee caur up the windin coastal road past Brora, Helmsdale an Neil Gunn’s birthplace o Dunbeath. Wick (the heritage town) is a trig wee mercat toun, biggit o braw naitrel stane that saftly glows lik hinny in the late simmer sunlicht. It is the hame o Old Pulteney whisky – a fine dram. It seemt maist o the touns oan the NC500 route hud a whisky connection! Ochone! Gin ah anely wisnae drivin.

Oor next stey wis in Thurso, but afore that we ettled oan veesitin John O’Groats. It wid hae bin daft no tae hae duin this whilst in that airt. John O’Groats is aye-an-oan a Mecca fir traivellers (ah daur say syne the days o Jan de Groote hissel!) an agane, this place wis hoachin wi tourist coaches an camper vans an the twang o Americans an fremmit Europeans fill’t the air. There seems nae shortage o accommodation there; whit wi the multi-coloured “Natural Retreats” luikin kindae incongruous neist the auld John O’Groats House Hotel, an the weirdly beguilin Scandinavian “Eco Lodges” biggit o naitrel wuid. Fir connoisseurs o ice-cream (lik oorsels) they hae a braw tourist information place wi a collection o ice-cream flavours that wid e’en ramfeezle Heston Blumenthal., We lickt oor pokey hats, dipped oor taes in the sea, syne saddled up fir oor next owernicht stoap; Thurso.

Wi the gloamin sun still shinin bricht, the hood doun an the wuin in oor hair we horsed the wee caur past the muckle sea cliffs o Dunnet Head, alang the undulatin switchback o the A836 intil Thurso toun. Pairt ane o oor NC500 adventure wis duin, an the best wis yet tae cam.

Rab Wilson is a Scots poet