Clammy sea fret presses in on all sides. The view is gone but not the midges, clustering as I pack and head back down the trail, keen to move and leave them behind.
I don’t mind walking in the haar. It’s cooler than yesterday and makes for a moody moorland crossing.
The sun burns away the mist as I leave the path and cut west across the boggy landscape, following the tracks of ATVs transporting fishermen and deer stalkers to their quarry, fine hunters that they are.
Something slithers across the grass in front of me — an adder — our only venomous snake! It’s about a foot long and well-camouflaged among the dead brown ferns. Although a bite is rarely fatal, I’d rather not be forced to limp several miles to seek treatment. My pace slows, eyes scanning the ground.
Cresting a hill, Loch a Gheoidh spreads out below.
The tracks rise and fall steeply, sometimes splitting to find firmer ground. I try to stay on the clearest track, but the ruts create the boggiest patches.
Loch Doire na h-Achlaise feeds Glengarrisdale River, running down to the sea.
The small river meanders through bluebells coating the valley floor.
Glengarrisdale bothy sighted.
Crossing the river, I resist the local entertainment.
There are two rooms in the deserted bothy. One has a bunk bed, which suits me fine, as I’d like to sleep as high as possible, away from any mice or other long-term residents.
It’s only 2 pm, so I strip off and wash in the river, before filtering a couple of litres of water. It flows from the boggy hills, so the water is yellow and warm, which is a shame as I’ve carried a can of beer since Craighouse to celebrate, but the water is making it warmer not colder.
The welcome sea breeze dispels any midges. I pull a chair outside and sit in front of the house, admiring the view and flicking through the pile of visitor books since 1980.
There’s a fascinating account by Neil McKechnie, who lived here in the early 1930s until he was seven.
Sometimes my father would walk over to Lealt just to listen to a wireless in the evening and then walk back again – a round trip of about eight miles.
In early October we had the harvest dance at Ardlussa. The Hargreave-Browns were there with all their servants. They brought ten or twelve girls, a couple of footmen, a butler and so on.
I imagine that was quite a party.
Scanning the shoreline, a figure detaches itself from the rocks and moves through the long grass towards me. It seems to be wearing antlers.
Chris, from Manchester, is a big lad carrying a huge pack, topped with an antler. He’s hiked and worked round Scotland for four years, sleeping in a bivy bag — winters must be brutal. He takes the second room. Swapping stories, I’m slightly envious when he describes the bays and caves along the coast from Corryvreckan.
He tries to live off the land by fishing and collecting vegetables, brewing the most delicious mint tea I’ve tasted, although I’m less keen on the salty dried seaweed.
After dinner, I head down to the beautiful bay and sit on the rocks while it’s still warm.
I want to explore Maclean’s Skull cave but choose the wrong one.
We sit outside as the sun sets. Deer watch us from the hilltop behind the bothy, wary of intruders. Two tiny birds chase a cuckoo across the bay. We’ve heard the cuckoo for hours. Chris makes a fine impression: “Cuck-oo Cuck-oo Yaargh!” as if it taunts the other birds, followed by a cackle as it leaves a parasitic egg in the nest.
It’s been the best of days — fine company in a wonderful wild landscape.
Date of walk: Saturday 18th May 2024.
Walk distance: 7 miles.
Total distance: 4,251 miles.
A perfect Scottish day. Just like I remember.