We woke around 8:30 to the ever changing drama of the west coast. Overnight, a blanket of cloud had settled over the mountains, softening yesterday’s sharp ridgelines into moody silhouettes. With the scenery shifting by the minute, we eased into the morning with a plate of scrambled eggs on sourdough, lifted beautifully by a dash of Levi Roots sauce — a surprisingly perfect start to a long day on the road.

Today’s route would take us from Ardmair Point, just north of Ullapool, all the way down the west coast to Lochcarron. A mammoth drive, but one of the most spectacular stretches of the NC500.

Scrambled eggs on sourdough to start the day Moody morning cloud over Ardmair Point Ready for the long drive south

Our first stop was Ullapool, a postcard pretty harbour town and gateway to the Hebrides. Even in the early morning, it buzzed with life — fishing boats, ferries, walkers, and holidaymakers drifting between cafés, bars, and independent shops. We grabbed a coffee at the stylish Rhidorroch Distillery café, bar and eatery, a modern space with a relaxed vibe, before wandering through the town’s many boutiques.

Ullapool harbour Coffee at Rhidorroch Distillery

Somewhere between the gift shops and the drizzle, Mel decided it was finally time for the van to have its own mascot. Enter the Highland Coo: a soft toy that immediately took pride of place on the dashboard, joining the ranks of virtually every other motorhome we’d seen on the route. Better late than never.

The Highland Coo mascot Taking pride of place on the dashboard

By now, the weather had turned properly wild. The temperature dropped sharply, the wind picked up, and sheets of rain swept across the landscape. The west coast scenery remained as dramatic as ever — not that we could see much of it through the thick fog that now enveloped us. Hunger kicked in hard; breakfast felt like a distant memory.

The weather turning properly wild

We pushed south to the tiny village of Shieldaig on the banks of Loch Torridon. The weather was now biblical: sideways rain, 60mph gusts, and visibility reduced to a grey blur. We dashed into Nanny’s Café, dripping and half frozen, and immediately spotted Cullen Skink on the menu — a traditional Scottish soup of smoked haddock, potatoes, onions, and cream. Paired with homemade crusty bread, it was exactly what the day demanded. Around us, cyclists with enormous backpacks thawed out in the warmth; we could only imagine what their journey had been like in this storm.

Shieldaig on the banks of Loch Torridon Cullen Skink at Nanny’s Café

From Shieldaig, we continued toward Applecross — a remote outpost famous for marking the start of the legendary Bealach na Bà. This historic pass, built in 1822, climbs over 2,000 feet using old drovers’ routes and is one of the highest and most dramatic roads in Britain. We tried to grab a quick half at the Applecross Inn before tackling it, but they were fully booked and operating a tables only policy. No luck.

After a quick stop, we began the ascent — and immediately met a group of wild deer standing calmly in the road, unfazed by the storm. It was a magical moment, but from there the experience became increasingly intense.

The Applecross Inn Wild deer on the road at the start of the ascent Beginning the climb up Bealach na Bà

As the road began its near vertical climb, the weather deteriorated into a near whiteout. Visibility dropped to almost nothing. Mel clutched the Highland Coo and fought back tears, while I pretended not to be scared and pressed on. Sheer drops on either side, no passing places, and the knowledge that a single oncoming vehicle would leave us stranded made every metre feel like a test of nerve. Thankfully, no one else was foolish enough to attempt the pass in these conditions.

The near vertical climb of Bealach na Bà Whiteout conditions on the pass Almost no visibility

After around 30 minutes, we began the descent — only to be greeted by the unmistakable smell of burning brakes. Mel was convinced they were about to fail entirely, sending us off the cliff. I reassured her that at least we wouldn’t see the fall through the fog.

Eventually, after an hour of tension, adrenaline, and total concentration, we reached the bottom. The relief was immense.

The descent from Bealach na Bà Fog on the way down Nearly at the bottom The relief of reaching flat ground Safely down from the pass Bealach na Bà behind us

We rolled into Lochcarron around 6pm and checked into The Wee Campsite, where the friendly owner pointed out the most important local landmark: the pub. We hooked up the van and made a beeline for the Lochcarron Hotel, where the first pints of Guinness disappeared in about six seconds. A few more followed, along with Mel’s classic cheesy chips, before we wandered back to the van around 8:30pm. Mel whipped up cheese and ham toasties, and we collapsed in front of the TV until 10pm.

Arriving at The Wee Campsite, Lochcarron Hooking up the van The Lochcarron Hotel The first pints of Guinness Mel’s classic cheesy chips Cheese and ham toasties back at the van Collapsing in front of the TV

It was an exhausting, exhilarating, terrifying, and ultimately unforgettable climax to the NC500 — a day that captured the wild spirit of the Highlands in every possible way.