Day 339: Strontian to Acharacle

Heavy rain falls all morning. I’m content to scan the treeline for wildlife from the warmth of the bunkhouse lounge, relaxing with an endless supply of tea and buttered toast, one of the benefits of diverting to Acharacle yesterday to pick up fresh provisions.

An older builder, Paul, pulls up a chair to discuss the colourful press stories about the castle next door. It was bought a few years ago by a self-styled mystic guru before being evicted with a mountain of debt. He offered “spiritual guidance” to women in the commune, which, in true Carry On fashion, prompts Paul to mention the spiral staircase winding up to Svengali’s turret room with a large four-poster bed. They found tinfoil lining the walls, intended to prevent electronic eavesdropping.

Paul tells me I can pop round to look at the castle, as all the lads know me now. However, the gated entrance to the grounds is intimidating with vehicles coming and going. I suspect the estate management team will not be pleased to find me here, so I wait until the coast is clear and slip into the gardens. It’s not a great view of the building, screened by trees, but still impressive. Leaving quietly, a large lorry appears at the gate, prompting me to vanish into the bushes, circling round a pond to the main gate for a swift exit.

I spend a couple of hours in the afternoon sitting on a rock, listening to music and scanning the bay with my binoculars for otters. Scoters dive down beneath the water, a heron stands motionless on the far shore, and a seal pops its head up further out in the bay. The incoming tide slowly submerges rock after rock. The sun and clouds cast changing colours and patterns on the water. Tiny movements catch my attention. A ripple. A splash. Time slows. I could float away.

Eventually, cold tendrils find their way through my layers as the sun begins to dip, and I retreat to the bunkhouse, where the builders yell at the TV screen as Scotland qualify dramatically for the World Cup.

Next day

It’s time to fill the gap from my disrupted first day, catching a bus back to Strontian and walking along the road to Acharacle. A light dusting of snow fell overnight. One of the builders is brewing coffee in a cafetière and kindly offers a cup, which is a treat before stepping out into the cold.

Snow begins to fall as I wait at the bus stop. The school run is my only way off the peninsula. Will it be cancelled? I’m encouraged when a father appears down the driveway with his young daughter. The bus duly arrives, with the now familiar red-headed driver, a formidable woman determined to beat the weather.

We pass laughing children with sledges, cars crawling like snails, and a lorry struggling up a hill before sliding back down, but the driver revs the engine and puts her foot down to attack the slope and clear the crest.

As the children are dropped off at school, roaming deer leave hoofprints on snowy lawns. The driver’s dog, snuggled in a basket on the seat behind her, is deposited with a friend before the long journey to Fort William and back.

The bus leaves me at Strontian, where Cafe Sunart serves up another fantastic cooked breakfast, avoiding the Belly Buster. The owner recognises me from my last visit, and we get to chatting again. She tells me that the expanding population of white eagles are now stealing lambs and Shetland ponies. Shetland ponies! That sounds like a tall tale.

There are more stories about Glenborrodale Castle. Her mother worked there under the previous owners.

“Those walls have seen things that would make your hair stand on end.”

Maybe I won’t stay there next year. Reluctantly, I leave our conversation and the warmth for the road skirting Loch Sunart.

A stylish hide at Garbh Eilean overlooks seals basking and hunting. They bob upright, heads above the water, before flipping over and diving down, tails in the air. An otter dashes along the rocks in the distance. A robin hops hopefully at my feet. I’m finally forced back as the icy wind is funnelled through the viewing window.

Back on the road, snow drops in large blobs. A woman drives past and offers a lift, which I decline.

The snow clears, and the sun shines brightly. It changes so fast.

The snowflakes on my waterproofs begin to melt. I’m currently rereading The Wild Places by Robert Macfarlane, as I’ll soon be exploring some of the places he writes about so elegantly.

A flake fell on the dark cloth of my jacket, and melted into it, like a ghost passing through a wall.

I turn inland at Salen and retrace the few miles to Acharacle. The bus passes on its return trip from Fort William — the driver waves.

More snow falls, just as I arrive at my luxury pod. This is the life!

Another enjoyable day, despite the road walking, and it feels good to come through tough weather feeling upbeat. The accommodation helps. Would I feel the same setting up my tent in the freezing snow?

This should be my template for future winter trips. A small amount of wild camping, bookended between nights in a pod or bunkhouse, makes it easier to cope with rough weather and tough terrain. I look forward to hiking out to the end of the nearby peninsula tomorrow, immersed in a snowy landscape.

Date of walk: Wednesday 19 November 2025.

Walk distance: 13 miles.

Total distance: 5,500 miles.