From Kishorn to Applecross on the North Coast 500.

At a curve in the road, we got out to take in the view. We stood there in the quiet, conscious of every breath and movement. The land was old and tired but the heather shook and shivered in the wind and the hills seemed to roll beneath their soft blankets of green.

Behind us stood the mountains in the mist and the silver loch far below. Ahead of us, the road whipped across the mountainside, twisting and spiralling as it crept up into the clouds.

I saw the countless hairpin curves and dramatic bends that awaited us. The road had carved sharp, jagged edges into the cliff and as my eyes followed it up, each curve appeared more treacherous than the last. Guardrails either disappeared into the mist or fell away entirely, leaving unsuspecting drivers to the mercy of the wind. As a light rain began to fall, I feared that we were about to meet our own dark, slippery fate right there on the mountainside.

Bealach na Ba’ — The Pass of the Cattle. It’s difficult to imagine anyone braving this narrow, single-track road on foot or horseback. Add a herd of cattle to that and it’s a wonder that anyone has ever survived it. Since 1822, it has tested (and bested) the fearless and reckless alike with the steepest ascent of any road in the UK.

We had it easy in our little car, I knew, but as each curve took us closer and closer to the edge, I watched the world fall away from my little window. I felt the power of the wind and the pull of the valley far below. The earth hummed and rumbled in the deep beneath us and my heart skipped a beat.

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