The last leg of our long drive from Loch Lomond was from Glencoe to Applecross in the Highlands. After experiencing the Jacobite Steam Train on the Glenfinnan Viaduct we headed towards Applecross which was a long long way from there.
All the Lochs
Apart from the Glenfinnan Viaduct the highlight of the journey was a whole day of Loch viewing. Mile after mile, the roads rolled past an endless chain of lochs—Loch Lochy, Loch Oich, Loch Garry, Loch Cluanie, Loch Duag, Loch Eilt, Loch Loyne, Loch Arkaig, Loch Bà—each bend in the road revealing shimmering waters and another postcard-worthy, pull-over-worthy Highland vista. To tell the truth I’ve just given the names in random order and don’t even remember which loch was which.
Yet it was the final loch we saw shimmering under the dying sun that remains etched in my mind. And I don’t think I even remember or actually know its name -it could be Loch Kishorn or Loch Katrine or Loch Ba or Loch Cluanie for all that I cared ! But its beauty is one I would never forget.
We hadn’t planned to stop, but that’s the thing about driving through the Scottish Highlands—the views decide for you. Just as the sun was beginning to dip, we pulled over beside a long, narrow loch that looked more like a river stretching into the distance. Though it was only 3 in the afternoon it seemed more like evening. A couple of tiny islets sat quietly in the water, with undulating hills rising behind them, their slopes covered in dark conifer forests.
The sun was setting somewhere behind those hills, throwing a soft glow over the trees and the loch .We got out of the car and stood there for a while, just taking it all in. I didn’t even know the name of the loch at the time—and honestly, it didn’t feel important. It was one of those unexpected stops that stays with you long after the drive is over.
Later, I realised we were likely looking at Loch Cluanie, just along the road near Skye. But in my mind, it’s simply ‘that loch at sunset’ — the one that made us pull over, slow down, and remember why road trips through the Highlands are so special.
Strathcarron
Though it was summer and the days were long, a kind of cloudy haze had settled into the atmosphere making it seem like the end of the day. Accompanying us were low clouds clinging to the hills and waterfalls appearing out of nowhere . We passed Eilean Donan Castle, half-wrapped in mist, wet from rain. Heading forward, we left our visit to this magnificent castle for later. Soon we reached the village of Strathcarron , settled on the banks of the River Carron .
Strathcarron is a small, tranquil village tucked into the rugged northwest Highlands of Scotland, along the A890 road , nestled at the head of Loch Carron inWester Ross. To the north is Applecross and towards the south are Kyle of Lochalsh, Eilean Donan Castle, andSkye.
Strathcarron was historically a crofting village. A croft is a small rented farm with rights to graze animals, especially very common in the Scottish Highlands. Key features of a crofting village are simple, scattered, stone cottages, sometimes with whitewashed walls and slate roofs, arranged along a single road or nestled in a glen. While each family had its croft, much of the surrounding land was shared for sheep grazing. Life revolved around the rhythms of nature—weather, seasons, and soil fertility shaped daily work. Crofting communities preserved Gaelic traditions, local storytelling, and historic farming practices.
We stopped at Strathcarron to stock up and refuel before the hour-and-a-half drive to Applecross. Our BnB host had made it clear that Applecross had no provisions, so we relied on the only Spar in Strathcarron to gather everything we would need for our stay. With bags loaded, we took a moment to admire the empty village’s whitewashed cottages, the gentle River Carron -wide enough to be a loch- and the hills rising behind Loch Carron at a distance.
Bealach na Ba
From here, you can glimpse the winding roads leading toward Applecross and the famous Bealach na Bà, one of the most scenic and hair-raising mountain passes in the UK ; also known as ‘the cattle herder’s road’ because of these series of hairpin bends up a steep hillside.
The sky was slowly turning dull -indicating a heavy onset of rain but not at all preparing us for what lay ahead. The roads were bereft of cars and people ,all probably enjoying the warmth and safety of their homes avoiding the impending weather.
At Strathcarron, refreshed and ready, we set off along the winding Applecross Road A896, the road climbing toward Applecross, onto the Bealach na Bà .The single-track climb was truly scary with tight hairpin bends , sheer drops, and clouds thick enough to swallow the views entirely. Soon enough it started pouring heavily. Rain streaked the windshield, and each bend revealed another moody, cinematic stretch of Highland wilderness.
The road ascended higher and higher totally devoid of any cars or humans. The only animal we saw on this solitary stretch was a lonely deer, probably taking a break from its herd, frolicking on the mountain ridges ,staring at us with its large doe eyes as we passed by, interrupting its joyful rain dance. The rain became heavier and the clouds intensified more . With every turn the drive became scarier ,us not being able to see anything in front and on both sides. The only saving grace was ‘passing places’ built on the side of the roads for vehicles to pass safely.
Built in 1822, this historic, Alpine-style mountain pass climbs from sea level to approximately 630 metres over a distance of about six kilometres ,in a dizzying series of hairpin bends, featuring steep gradients approaching 20 percent before plunging down towards the coast, ,making it the highest road ascent in the UK and the third highest mountain pass in Scotland. Its name—translated from Scottish Gaelic as ‘Pass of the Cattle ‘—hints at an older, tougher way of life, and the drive remains weather-dependent, thrilling, and unforgettable. Due to its steepness and weather exposure, the road is unsuitable for learner drivers, large vehicles, and is often closed in winter.
Finally, descending toward Applecross Bay, the rain eased, and glimpses of the sea appeared through the mist. The village felt like a hidden treasure, framed by mountains and water, quiet, wild, and utterly worth every mile of twisty road. We parked, stepped out, and let the damp wind, the scent of pine, and the dramatic views sink in—the kind of place that makes even a rainy day unforgettable.
