It’s 10pm and the windscreen wipers on Citylink Bus 978 are working overtime. Still dusky thanks to Scotland’s far-north evenings, the rain hasn’t got the memo that it’s meant to be summer. Each drop hits the windscreen like a hailstone, and we finally grind to a halt in Tyndrum after two hours on the road from Edinburgh.
Tyndrum means “house on the ridge” in Gaelic and, on a night as bleak as this, it feels apt. I’ve been driven right into the heart of the Scottish Highlands for the price of a fish supper.
Each year, nearly 1.5 million drivers head into the Scottish countryside, and according to Scottish Transport surveys, the number of drivers on Scotland’s roads are up by 15 percent. Locals describe congestion so bad that it resembles a motorway traffic jam, so, as a non-driver, I decide to put Scotland’s public transport to the test and see if I can experience an authentic Highlands and Islands trip without a car.
Buses run late into the evening from Glasgow and Edinburgh to Oban and Kingussie, while trains to the Cairngorms and beyond leave Waverley Station long after office hours. I buy a £60 CityLink explorer pass, which gives me three days of unlimited travel.
Tyndrum is the perfect place to hike Ben Lui. Its knife-edge peak is famed for winter climbing, but when I start my hike the next morning, it’s just damp with no snow in sight. I grab my four-season raincoat and begin the 16 km hike. I snack on a teacake at the summit, and make my way back to the bus with sore legs, having befriended a Belgian hiker who’s also taking the bus to Oban. We wait together, and when it finally arrives, both settle into our seats to snooze our leg aches away.
We arrive at Oban just in time to catch the last ferry to Mull, and when we arrive after an hour I’m delighted I can finally set up camp right next to the CalMac ferry port. A wander around the villages shows that there’s a bus service which loops around Mull (Westcoast Motors) which is just as well because Mull is a huge island. A day ticket costs £18 which gives me 24 hours of unlimited travel.
The air feels crisper on the Islands, and I wake bright, early and damp to head to the Instragram-favourite Langamull Beach, famous for its clear water and the herds of cows that sometimes drift down to the beach. I stock up on a coffee and breakfast roll at Arlene’s in Craignure before hopping on the bus to Calgary Bay. I’m expecting a village, but instead there’s just a few buildings and the Calgary Woodland Art walk (with an epic little tearoom), where I warm up before starting the half an hour walk to Langamull Beach.
Even on an overcast June day, the water is almost luminous green. There are views of the Small Isles, and although it’s hazy, I think the mountainous coastline of Skye is just about visible. On the return walk I loop through the abandoned 18th century town of Kildavie, which was originally a Bronze Age settlement.
Back at my tent I start preparations for travelling part of the North Coast 500 (NC500): a 516 mile road trip around Scotland’s remote coastline. It’s surprisingly accessible via public transport, and can be travelled by bus, train and ferry in a week.
A spokesperson for the NC500 says: “Planning ahead [when using public transport] is recommended and [we recommend] embracing slow travel to fully enjoy the journey and engage with local communities. By choosing sustainable travel methods, visitors can help reduce congestion whilst protecting the natural beauty of the North Highlands.”
I don’t want to rush the whole NC500, so I pick the East Coast and retrace my steps back to Tyndrum by CityLink the next day, and then up to Fort William, colloquially known as the gateway to the Highlands.
From there, I take the bus that follows the route of the Great Glen Way towards Inverness – the 919. The Way follows a natural line across Scotland so sharp it’s like the country has been creased in two.
I earmark Fort Augustus as my next stopping point, with an overnight stay at Morag’s Lodge, a hostel with a big communal breakfast room and during winter evenings, a cracking fire. Fort Augustus has a great chip shop and is the trailhead for a number of snappy day hikes, so I fuel with carbs from the Monster Fish and Chip shop, before heading into the woods above the village.
The path weaves its way along Loch Ness towards Invermoriston, with views of the pink heather-covered shore. At times, gasping for air, I stand with my hands on hips, using the view as an excuse to pant.
The brief sunshine is fast disappearing behind a raincloud, and I press on to Invermoriston along an open logging road and descending into woods as the path returns towards the village. I buy some cheese and oatcakes from the community-run Invermoriston local shop to munch on as I wait for the hourly bus back to Fort Augustus.
I’ve heard good things about ScotRail’s Far North Line. Chris Taylor, from VisitScotland says: “Providing rolling views of some of our most famous scenery, many routes such as the West Highland and Far North rail lines are considered among the best in the world.”
I decide that taking the Far North line from Inverness to Thurso is a good way to get deep into Scotland’s remote Highlands. I watch as Gaelic replaces English on roadsigns and place names become trickier to pronounce as the train heads north. Inverness drizzle gives way to bright, cloudless skies, while the train zips past places I’d love to properly explore if I had more time.
“You should stop at Dunrobin Castle,” an older woman with a Highland lilt says as we pull into the station. “My son worked the grounds there.”
She produces a fruit cake from her bag and offers me some. We’re the only two people in the carriage on the morning train. “I go to town once a month to sort my affairs.”
By town she means Inverness, and she says she could drive it, but the roads are busy.
The train pulls out of Dunrobin Castle and I strain for a glimpse of the wedding-cake style stately home which offers discounted entry to those coming by train. There are enough woods (Balblair), art (Invergordan’s Highland-life murals) and villages (Tain) to keep you jumping on and off the train the whole way north. Thurso is a satisfying endpoint, just four hours away from Inverness, and I could easily continue up into the Orkneys and Shetlands if I wanted.
Travelling by public transport forces you to pare everything down: from packing to the itinerary, to your expectations.
There’s no back-of-the-car primus stove for a post-hike coffee or bundling in extra layers just in case. It also means being fully reliant on a timetable, which can be frustrating, but also freeing. Having to use public transport across Scotland gave me non-negotiable times to finish hikes, while waiting for buses forced me to chat to fellow tourists.
The train speeds past white campervans trundling along the NC500. At times I envy their freedom to stop whenever they fancy, but as I wake up after a short nap, brush the fruitcake crumbs off my sweater, and pick up my dog-eared paperback, travelling across Scotland this way feels just right.