Soothing rain pattering on a wooden roof. I sleep well, only to be rudely woken by a crow pecking at the door, ensuring I catch the only bus to Achahoish.
The driver is as chatty and cheerful as on every other West Coast Motors bus. Someone recruits well. The bus slows to a crawl for baby rabbits on the road, followed by a weaving pheasant, the driver throwing his arms up in mock exasperation as the bird stubbornly walks in front of the vehicle. Seals laze on rocks at the edge of the loch.
This is the school run, and two tiny children are deposited by their mothers. The driver knows them by name. They regale him with stories, and he chuckles, encouraging them like an indulgent uncle. Gentle times, lost to most of us.
He drops me off at the start of a forest climb into the hills. I’m avoiding the B8024 after a day of walking on the road yesterday. I’ve no idea what to expect as the OS app chose the route.
Cows mill on the road ahead before turning and running south, gathering strays until the entire herd vanishes over the brow of a hill. Perhaps to a feeding spot, awaiting my arrival?
Another gloomy day, compensated by lush scenery, glowing with the overnight rain. Water roars nearby, yet nothing is visible from the road. I pick my way across boggy ground, reaching the lip of a deep gully with waterfalls cascading far below — a hidden gem. How many people have seen this? A perfect spot for lunch.
Back on the trail, I meet a welcoming committee.
“Where’s our food?”
Once I fail to deliver, they lose interest, apart from one stubborn beast that refuses to give up hope and trots after me for some distance, making me glance repeatedly over my shoulder.
It’s so peaceful up here. I’ve not seen another soul.
Loch nan Torran has a fish farm. Interesting footbridges cross the water below, but they’re too far to explore.
The good news is that all my back problems caused by gardening and sitting at my PC at home have vanished. That’s what hiking does for me.
My luck runs out as the heavens open, soaking me over the final few miles back to the main road. I can’t face an extra three-mile round trip to the Kilberry Inn, heading for the sanctuary of my hobbit hut.
After a couple of hours, the rain clears, and I venture down to the gorgeous beach. Sitting on a rock, a mysterious bank of cloud rolls across the water from Jura.
On reflection, watching the tide come in on a lovely evening is far nicer than sitting in a pub. All is calm before the forecast deluge tomorrow. Of course, it would be the day I’m wild camping!
Total distance: 5,138 miles.
Great description of the bus ride Tony, yes the highlands and its people sometimes seems like stepping back to a different, kinder age when people had more time for each other.
It certainly feels like that as a casual visitor, especially on the islands. I’m sure every place has issues beneath the surface. A little like Japan.
Looks particularly wild there. Maybe this is why communities knit closely together.
As night falls and the wild beasts roam. I may head to Orkney next month which will have it’s own character.
Lovely wild country.
And that photo of the Paps is gorgeous.
Thanks Richard. I was pleased to spend a day off the road.
Tony – what do you mean when you say your OS map chooses the route for you? I have the app but I create the route myself following footpaths and national trails. Is it because a lot of Scotland is unmarked territory? Great post – loved the image of those tiny children chatting away to the bus driver. There was a short period when my daughter went to school on a ferry across Copenhagen harbour and I know the ferryman kept an eye on her and had time for a chat.
That conjures up a nice picture. There’s something reassuring when you can trust people with your young children.
I normally plot my own routes as you do. However, as you suggest, in Scotland it seems to pick up routes that are not always marked on the OS map. But even when there is a network of paths, now and again I let it choose the route for fun.