A gorgeous morning, woken at 4:30 am by the light and a dawn chorus.
What a difference the weather makes. Everything seems possible.
I stroll down to the jetty in shorts and a t-shirt. An early fishing boat glides across the glassy surface.
A woman feeds horses outside her cottage-with-a-view. We delight in the absence of rain.
After a pleasant start, there’s no avoiding the A816 — a nasty road with 60mph lorries but thankfully quiet at this early hour.
It’s only 9 am when I reach the safety of Kilmelford and a minor road snaking along the shore of Loch Melfort. An old chap strims the grass, pausing as I approach, which is usually the signal for a chat. He was born on Jura, and I mention wild camping near the house where Orwell wrote 1984. His name is Iain McKinnon, and by some extraordinary coincidence, his grandfather owned the boat that the author took out with his adopted son, Richard, and nearly drowned in the Corryvreckan Whirlpool, being forced to abandon the vessel and scramble to a small, rocky island to be rescued by a passing fisherman. He knows Richard well. I’m a little awestruck, shaking his hand before walking on with a big grin. You never know what will turn up on an adventure.
“Don’t forget to visit the cafe up the road. Tell Sally that Iain sent you.”
The Melfort Village holiday complex is charming, but Sally does not open until noon — no coffee and cake then.
Back on the road, it rises and falls, flanked by trees limiting views across the loch. It’s tiring, especially in the heat, and I’m grateful for a seat under a replica of Saint John’s Cross.
The Kilchoan House spiritual retreat looks beautiful down by the shore, but my path lies up and up into the hills.
After a long and sweaty climb, I reach a broad plateau with fantastic views across to familiar Mull. The weather is glorious. Scotland always does this. Just as I’m leaving, she pulls out all the stops to lure me back.
Clachan Bridge is an old friend now. The nearby pub is open and serves Highlander Fyne Ales. My bus to Oban, which I can flag down outside the pub, is not due for a couple of hours — a perfect finish to sit in the sun with a cold beer.
Although Knapdale has several excellent places to visit, such as the Taynish National Nature Reserve, the towpath along the Crinan Canal and the neolithic sites in Kilmartin Glen, I imagine it’s best to be toured from the deck of a yacht, meandering in and out of the wonderful bays. There are too many roads for the long-distance hiker. I did not meet another backpacker.
I’ve now walked a continuous route from John O’Groats to Corrour Station, just shy of Fort William, apart from two small gaps on the East Coast, which I hope to complete in July. Then, to the Highlands and islands for the next few years. Exciting times.
Total distance: 5,216 miles.
Fancy! – Orwell connection – think I’d be a little awestruck as well. Statues of horse and stag – horse is metal I think but the stag?
I Googled him afterwards to check he was genuine and, sure enough, there’s a Youtube interview with him and some other links. The horse is definitely metal as it was close to the road. The stag was much further down the hill. It might be a wood carving.
What a beautiful day. And what an interesting tent you have.
The rainy days make a dry day full of joy. My tent is one of these super-lightweight, very durable, long-distance hiking tents, where your hiking poles double up as the tent poles. The tent itself only weighs 550 grams. Nothing at all. Allows me the luxury of a paperback. 😉
I have an ultralight but yours seems a much more traditional shape. I like it and Ilike the double work of the poles.
It’s a Zpacks Duplex. American import, so expensive, but I spend a third of my nights in it. 😊
“a perfect finish to sit in the sun with a cold beer.”
Now that’s my kind of finish!
We are kindred spirits. 🙂