Day 270: Iona (South)

Returning to the, hopefully, midge-free West Coast, I’m hopping north from Tarbert to Iona and Mull, using their campsites before they close for the winter.

It’s a lengthy journey up from home, with a two-hour wait between trains in Glasgow. Amy Liptrot’s The Outrun somehow finds its way off the shelf in Waterstones and into my pack for the long nights ahead. I enjoyed her writing in Caught by the River.

The Queen Street Station toilets demand a 50p toll, which is a problem as I have no change. A young lad places a hand on each barrier and vaults over the offending gate. Inspired, I push down, swing, and barely raise my legs off the ground, forgetting I’m carrying a 12 kg backpack. Chastened, I wait for someone to leave instead.

A tabletop cover on the train to Oban brings back fond memories of the West Highland Way … and less fond memories of a freezing early-morning train from Fort William. I’ll get to know this line very well over the next few years. I suspect I’ll jump off at various stops to explore the non-coastal areas.

It’s theoretically possible to travel from home to Iona in a day, but this requires all the trains to run on schedule — as likely as Willy Wonka’s Golden Ticket — so I’m breaking the journey at Oban, spending tonight at the Corran House hostel on the harbour front. The drinkers are a little noisy out front but that never stops me from sleeping.

Next day

The early morning ferry from Oban to Craignure on Mull takes about 45 minutes — a glorious beginning.

The A849 runs across the Ross of Mull, from Craignure to Fionnphort, where the small ferry takes you to Iona. A bus links the two ferries, and I sit upstairs in the front seat with my backpack beside me. An American couple from Tennessee sit in the seat opposite. Sue, from Texas, is also keen to sit at the front, so I move my pack and the four of us spend a pleasant hour chatting about the wonderful scenery we pass through, including beautiful Glen More.

The small ferry to Iona is busy with day-trippers and coach parties. I would not want to visit in the height of summer. The island is only 1.5 miles wide and 3 miles long, with around 70 permanent residents. It is well-known for its religious significance — “the birthplace of Celtic Christianity in Scotland” — St Columba came here in 563 to establish the Abbey. The strong community offers a place for people to worship, reflect and heal.

I’m not a religious person but would like to attend one of the community services. Unfortunately, they run daily at 8 am and 9 pm, both times I’d struggle to make, as I’m camping over a mile away.

I need some fuel before I set off hiking. The St Columba Larder serves hot haggis vegetarian pies. Not something I’d normally try, but in the fresh air, walking down the road, it tastes like heaven.

Passing my campsite, too early to pitch, I head west, across the machair to a beautiful white sandy beach beneath a huge sky.

Port Ban Beach lies just north beyond the next headland — a lovely spot to rest, sheltered from the wind.

Retracing my steps, a path runs south to St Columba’s beach. Spray rises from a blowhole in the cliffs. Keen to find it, I leave the path, cutting across the bog and moorland, but struggle to get close to the cliffs so trudge back to the path.

A stone maze lies just off the beach, although there aren’t any decision points. Walking round feels like stepping back to my childhood.

Sunset is around 6:30 pm, so I head for the campsite. I’m surprised to find another camper, a young woman at the end of a six-week hike round Scotland. She had a rough time last night in the strong wind and abandoned her tent for an empty hobbit hut. She moved her tent to a sheltered ring of rocks and invites me to share the spot, for which I’m grateful given the forecast. I’m a little worried that rain might pool in our hollow but let’s see.

Tent secured, I walk back into the village for a drink at the St Columba Hotel. Texan Sue appears again, and we chat for an hour before I leave for the Argyll Hotel, where I’ve booked a table for dinner.

My table in the small conservatory overlooks the sea. Colin, a 70-year-old Aussie, also dines alone at the next table. A keen bushwalker, we are soon discussing the New Zealand trails I’ll be hiking with my daughter, Hayley, in February.

“Do you mind if I join you?”

He picks up his plate of venison and glass of red wine, moving across to my table.

It does not take long before we are quoting our favourite lines from Zulu and Get Carter, falling about laughing:

You’re a big man, but you’re in bad shape. With me, it’s a full-time job.

A superb meal and great company, but it’s time to put on my head torch and walk back to the tent in the dark, ready for a wild night.

Date of walk: Thursday 10 October 2024.

Walk distance: 5 miles.

Total distance: 4,583 miles.