A new year and the train rattles north through unfamiliar landscapes: wet, grey, rivers in spate, snow on the mountain tops, and stags watching from hillcrests. A handful of passengers burrow under layers and woollen hats in the cold carriages. Scotrail is saving the pennies again.
Our local library in Orpington was recently refurbished and, keen to support it, I’ve joined and taken out my first library book in over 50 years, Whale, a Korean novel shortlisted for the 2023 Booker Prize. A surreal tale with too many bawdy fixations for my liking, but entertaining enough for the journey.
The Mission Bunkhouse in Mallaig is home for the next nine nights, with my own room and the usual shared facilities. It’s basic, but all I need and the hosts are helpful and friendly. A perfect weatherproof base from which to explore the local coastline and venture across to the Small Isles, Skye and Knoydart. I expect to spend a long time in the area over the coming months.
Today
Heavy rain delays my departure until noon. The plan is a short there-and-back local walk along the north coast of North Morar, a warm-up to shake off the Christmas mince pies, before the more challenging hikes ahead.
The outward leg has limited views as clouds obscure the far shore of Loch Nevis and the islands. Visibility begins to improve at the end of the track, where a cottage nestles in a bay. I move down to the shore and sit on a wooden sleeper in front of an outhouse that is falling into disrepair. I’ve remembered to bring my thermos flask for this winter tip, already glad of the warmth to go with my large stash of chocolate bars.
I push on beyond the house, climbing past ruined crofts to find a better view of Knoydart.
The crofts are fitted with the latest modern conveniences.
A jet screams down the loch, practising for the defence of Greenland from Trump.
My efforts are rewarded with the first proper view of Knoydart, often referred to as “Britain’s last wilderness”, a land between Heaven and Hell. Loch Nevis and Loch Hourn are sometimes translated as “Loch Heaven” and “Loch Hell”. The local roads are not connected to the UK road system, meaning the only way in is a 16-mile hike through rough country or by boat. I will walk in and explore the peninsula on a separate trip.
The SNP underinvests in emergency services.
Retracing my steps, I arrive back in town to see the ferry from Skye return.
This is the main commercial fishing port on the west coast of Scotland.
There are few places to eat and drink in winter, leaving the Chlachain Inn as my regular refuge. It has a nice ambience and decent pub grub, but the good ales are off until the tourists return, so I have to make do with a pint of the ubiquitous Caledonian Best. You can’t have it all — a small sacrifice for being in such a wonderfully remote location.
Total distance: 5,514 miles.
When I’ve had time for a walk before catching the ferry I’ve done the short circular route, taking the footpath up through the little glen behind the town and coming out at Courteachan.
That’s a lovely landscape. I did a section of that as part of a longer hike later in the week.