Achmelvich beach

Beach facilities

View map of beach Parking available Toilets available Scottish Coastal Path Dog friendly Good water quality for swimming

Season: summer

An elemental tranquility pervades Achmelvich beach.  You notice it on your approach over the macchair from the car park and as you reach the beach via the dunes, you are surrounded by evidence of its volcanic origins, granite outcrops looking as if they had cooled only yesterday. The sand is white and as fine as powder, on this occasion plentiful at low tide.  The Scottish school holidays had brought children and kayakers to this part of the coast, so excited young voices mingled with the sounds of nature, a real pleasure.

Summer visit photo gallery

 

The generational appeal of the beach.

 

A beach in the Highlands.

Season: summer

Achmelvich beach is one of three  Assynt peninsula beaches in the manonbeach series.  Like the others, it is stunningly beautiful and all facilities are at hand, including toilets and a beach side campsite.  The quality of the bathing water here has been judged as first class, allowing this beach to display the prestigious yellow flag.   The surface of the beach is white sand and there are acres of space at low tide.

Summer visit photo gallery

 

What brings Tony to the beach.

 

A view from the back of the beach…

 

…and from closer to the sea.

One thought on “Achmelvich beach

  1. Phil Jones

    If you’re heading as far North West as Sutherland you must pay a visit to Achmelvich Beach. Here’s a wee poem inspired by this beautiful part of Scotland.

    THE TRESPASS

    This is my beach;
    this strand of white
    unsullied by another’s words,
    unruffled by the morning breeze,
    unstained by rouge of blushing dawn,
    all evidence of last night’s hectic fever
    ebbing with the tide.

    I wipe the grit of sleep aside
    and search for rhyme beyond the green-stone point
    where hulks of rusted rock
    lie sulking, anchored to the deep.

    I watch the day unravel,
    picturing the palette’s tilt
    as dabs of summer sunshine
    verdigris the shallows,
    spilling bands of burnt sienna,
    persimmon, sinopia and icterine
    across the flawless canvas of the shore.

    This is my beach
    and yet I give each season leave to make its mark
    then note the scars and scabs of storm,
    the dazzling spray, the gulls’ reluctance to draw near,
    or snowfall where it frills the shoreline. . .

    But now
    today some other force intruded on the scene
    with nerve enough
    to pad across its virgin sand,
    to scribble verse in stilted lines
    and daub a patch of jazzy pink
    to break the spell of solitude;
    five toes, one heel,
    paired off in symmetry,
    two feet so small
    my hand could hold both imprints
    in my palm.

    I came too late to see
    her spindrift hair tied back,
    or hear the squeal of shock,
    or watch the grin spread wider
    floating skyward out of reach. . .

    this is my beach.

    Phil Jones

    Reply

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