Day 243: Glenan Wood

It’s a glorious morning to explore a rainforest.

A small group of people wait for the ferry to Portavadie. One man has a backpack, which leads to chatting on the open deck. Stuart is also walking the Cowal Way, skipping the middle section due to ranger warnings about the collapsed bridge. I explain the possible detour. He kindly offers a place to stay when I reach Kinloss on the Moray Firth.

He always wears a blue Inverness Caledonian Thistle hat, which is not a good idea in a Celtic fans’ pub at a Rangers v Celtic match. Recovering from a headbut, the assailant apologised for mistaking the blue for Celtic. I’ll stick to rugby.

Leaving the ferry, wishing Stuart well on his journey, a sharp left along the shore takes me to the entrance of Glenan Wood.

The wood features in Guy Shrubsole’s The Lost Rainforests of Britain, bought by the local community in 2019 under a wonderfully enlightened piece of Scottish law, the Community Right to Buy, which gives local people the first option to purchase when land is offered for sale. Friends of Glenan Wood are committed to the ecological restoration of 146 hectares of ancient woodland.

One of the goals of the restoration work is to eradicate invasive rhododendrons and guard against re-infestation. The lower signposted paths are clear, but the higher path still requires much work. There are lovely views of birch across the valley.

Tree lungwort, sensitive to air pollution, indicates ancient woodland.

Linking up with the main trail, Glenan Burn is a perfect place to rest, lying back on the soft grass, the warm sun on my face. Closing my eyes, the only sounds are the gurgle and rush of small waterfalls and birds singing in the trees — peace.

It’s a perfect day for lingering and learning, so I download the Merlin app, which identifies birds by their calls — a chaffinch, a blue tit and a robin. A good way to learn is to try and mimic each call. Perhaps it’s just as well I have the forest to myself.

An abandoned village, reclaimed by the trees, sits on a hill above the burn.

Common polypody ferns sprout from the trees.

I return via the shoreline, through a magical grove of twisted oaks.

The afternoon is warm and the air heavy among the trees. Stripped to one layer, my pace slows to a crawl. The last time I felt so languid was walking in The Undercliff in Dorset, which cast a similar spell. I’ve not met another soul in the woods.

Water tinkles down the rocks into a tiny pool, the relaxing sound amplified in the grove.

A small cave entrance sits above the path, so I take off my pack and put on my headtorch to squeeze in, water dripping down my back. It does not go far.

Oyster mushrooms anyone? I’ve no idea if they are edible or poisonous.

After several pleasant hours wandering in the woods, I catch the ferry back to Tarbet, enjoying fine views of Arran above the salmon pens.

A beautiful day. I’m building up a list of places to visit as I work my way north.

Next day

Kintyre will have to wait until April as I return home early for family matters.

Waiting for the bus and the three-hour journey to Glasgow, I chat with a South Korean lad about his whisky tour and my hiking. On the bus, he’s horrified to find that his debit card doesn’t work and he’s short of cash. I lend him £10 which he promises to pay back when we reach our train connection on the outskirts of Glasgow.

Arriving at the station, my train pulls in, not giving him time to go to a cashpoint. I tell him not to worry but he’s determined to keep his promise. I tell him to use a bank transfer when he gets home but he’s worried about the compatibility of our banking networks. He’s frantic as my train is about to leave so shoves an Oyster credit card in my pocket and a couple of pound coins, bowing and thanking me. Honour and respect are important in South Korea — something for us to aspire to.