Day 246: Campbeltown to Southend

The next two days take me round the Mull of Kintyre. I’m eager to explore the most remote part of the peninsula.

Sitting on a bench by the harbour, enjoying an early morning coffee and bacon roll, passers-by are friendly and chatty.

“You’re carrying some load there mate.”

This is true. My backpack extends to the top of my head, burdened with three litres of water. The Machribeg campsite at Southend is silent and the local store will be closed when I arrive. I have a filter but prefer to carry water where possible.

Campbeltown Loch hosts a large fuel depot used by the Royal Navy and the US Navy. Military assets shadow the West Coast path.

Davaar Island is majestic in the morning sun. I move down to the water’s edge to take photos along the rocky beach, pausing every few minutes to admire the view.

A lady stops to tell me two young otters are playing along the shoreline. She’s only seen half a dozen in 50 years of living on the island.

“I’ve walked over 4,000 miles round the coastline of Britain and still to see one.”

A small black head pops up among the rocks. A second further out.

I hold my finger up to my lips and point.

At last! I’m a small child once more. They swim out to sea before I can take a picture. Fortunately, I’m prepared, carrying binoculars for the first time since I began my coast walk. The view is perfect — so much detail. Captivated, I kneel, lean on a stone wall and enjoy them for half an hour, diving and playing in the water, tails glistening in the sun. One catches a fish and the other tries to steal it. I’ll never leave my binoculars at home again. They’ve earned the right to consume precious weight capacity.

Neil Ansell, writing about his journey through The Rough Bounds — remote areas to come from Moidart up to Knoydart — in The Last Wilderness, wrote something that moved me and comes to mind now:

Nothing can compare to the joy inspired by even a brief encounter with a scarce and beautiful wild animal in its nautral element. It is not about what I have seen, it is about forging a momentary connection with the wild, and finding a place in the world for my own wild heart.

Although today is mainly road walking, it’s deserted and a relaxing way to enjoy the wonderful views across the glassy sea.

Cute milestone markers announce my progress.

Bidding farewell to Arran, I turn west, under the menacing gaze of The Bastard. Actually, it’s hard to be menacing on such a beautiful day.

The path leaves the road, down to pretty Polliwilline Bay and a small cluster of weathered beach huts and caravans. Turning a corner, Macharioch Bay is lovelier, with another collection of caravans, well spaced out. I almost stumble upon them, hidden in the coves, many with large solar panels.

Gazing down from the dunes, a woman sitting on the beach with a couple of dogs shouts a welcome, asks if I’m walking the Kintyre Way and invites me to join her for a cold beer. I’m sorely tempted but the day is passing and I’ve still a long way to go, with an uncertain destination, so I move on.

A family enjoy the empty beach with Ailsa Craig still on the horizon.

There are fine views from a small hill, the site of a memorial in memory of the 8th Duke of Argyll.

Descending to the shore, the caravans become a little more permanent, surrounded by ramshackle outhouses and old vehicles. There’s no phone signal and I’ve not seen a Kintyre Way signpost for some time, but I keep to the wet sand and rocks, fencing barring my way inland. The terrain is a little rougher and if the tide was in then I’d struggle to find a route, so I suspect I’ve missed the correct path off the beach.

With a tall headland approaching and still no sign of a path, I turn inland, climbing over a fence and passing Pennyseorach Farm, eventually returning to the road into Southend.

The Machribeg campsite looks to be only for caravans and there is no warden around so I push on to St Columba’s Chapel, covered in ivy. There is room to pitch a tent behind the chapel, hidden from the road, but I have an aversion to camping in graveyards.

There are several caves nearby, including the Piper’s Cave. Legend has it that you can hear the ghost of a piper playing the pipes. Ghosts and graveyards do not make for a good night’s sleep.

I decide to pitch as far away from the spirits as possible, just above the beach at Carskey Bay. A chap in a nearby camper van has sausages cooking over a fire and cold beers on the table but does not acknowledge my presence, so I leave him be.

What another glorious day. I’ve been blessed after the trauma of the first day. I need a good night’s sleep as the toughest day of the trip awaits. It’s not hard to fall asleep, with the tent flaps open and a full moon over the sea.

Walk distance: 18 miles.

Total distance: 4,133 miles.