Day 275: Carsaig to Craignure

Sharing yesterday’s waterfall adventure with the Mull Facebook group, Mullman responded with a lovely story, reminding me of Bella, our beautiful English Setter.

The sheer drop near the waterfall is called Kelp’s Leap. When my stepfather, Iain Moody first came to be the manager for the Pennyghael Estate, he got lost in thick cloud on the tops. He did the sensible thing and followed a stream which led to the waterfall. He was on all fours, looking over the edge to see if he could figure out where he was, when Kelp, his English Setter, came running out of the mist and straight over the edge to fall hundreds of feet to the beach below. He found the gully and went down expecting to find his dog dead, but to his surprise, Kelp was still breathing although not moving. He carried him back to Carsaig and got a lift back to the keepers cottage in Pennyghael. He called the vet who advised him to put a bullet in Kelp, which he couldn’t do. A few days later, the dog was up and about and went on to live to a grand old age. He was a very charming dog. One of those that used to laugh when it greeted you! So, instead of Gory’s leap (another story) it became known in our family, as, Kelp’s Leap.

My tent is a cold morning haven for the wild beasts prowling the woods — until they drool on my sleeping bag and claw my micro puff hoody. Out you go, buddy.

Setting off east along the rocky shoreline, the cat pads at my heels. A couple of houses are nearby, and I assume he belongs to one of them. Not wishing to entice him several miles to Lochbuie, I shout and wave my hiking poles. He thinks this is great fun, leaping up into the tree branches, peering down at the strange human and following again once I walk on. We repeat this little dance several times. Thankfully, he stops at the edge of the woods, presumably the limit of his territory.

I ran out of water last night so kneel next to the first waterfall tumbling down the cliffs to refill my bottles and wash.

The sun struggles to break through the heavy cloud cover, but it’s a fine day for hiking.

The cliffs are wonderfully sculpted and coloured, draped with lush vegetation.

The striking An Dunan sea stack contains a small cave, fully furnished with a bench.

The autumnal trees – oaks and birch — thrive under the sheltering cliffs. Exploring off the path, I’m soon lost in a tangle of trees.

Something moves behind the branches — a stag — only feet away. I’m not sure who is more surprised.

A pebble-filled cove would be impassable at high tide. I haul myself up the wet rocks using a well-placed rope.

Leaving the rough terrain behind, a grassy track runs from an abandoned farm, left to support biodiversity.

The final stretch into Lochbuie is very pretty, bringing me to the Old Post Office cafe, where I’m lucky to get the last table, as several people are turned away.

Fortified and rested, I swap coastal walking for a hike north through the hills.

Gunshots echo down the valley — deer stalking?

I forget to check my map — again — and find myself on the wrong side of a loch. I thought the path was a little wild. I have to make a bus connection on the main road at the top of the valley, and there’s no time to backtrack, so a well-practised bit of stone hopping sees me across the river and up to the road with minutes to spare.

There was no need to worry about reaching the bus stop as the driver says he would pick me up anywhere — I love island bus services. There’s one other passenger, a woman, sitting up front next to the driver, possibly her partner. They recognise me, having dropped me off yesterday morning, and the journey to Craignure campsite flies by as we chat about the island. I could do without all the tick horror stories though!

Date of walk: Tuesday 15 October 2024.

Walk distance: 10 miles.

Total distance: 4,621 miles.