“This is the farthest North you have ever been.” Andrew pronounced as we arrived in Durness, the wind was wild outside and we scurried into the Mackay’s B&B. The next morning was an introduction to Black Pudding for Dylan, vegetarian haggis for me and a lesson in charisma from Andrew. He spoke to the waitress like she was a valued new acquaintance, asking her name, what her plans were giving suggestions for places in France she should consider working at for the best ski slopes. We could see why women fall easily for Andrew’s charm, he was very good at making people fee special and interesting, and it all came from the heart not some slick ulterior motive.

Outside it was still whirling and we took Sanna, Andrew’s Hungarian Vizsla to investigate Smoo Cave. Pigeons flapped above as the darkness enveloped us and our ears were filled with the sound of falling water. We drove on, and stopped at a wild beach for Sanna’s run. There was an old cemetery and I went searching for our family name Buchanan. When I got to a particularly old section with broken tombstones, my skin started to crawl and my overactive imagination took over unsure whether I was standing on top of graves and tiptoe danced my way out of there with sudden urgency. I ran to join the others on the dunes, shoes filling with sand.