Day 358: Kinloch Hourn to Runival

A wild night, but I slept for an incredible 12 hours, recharging after yesterday’s exertions, the rain falling on the tarp drowned out by the roar of the nearby river. Unsurprisingly, the other tent is long gone.

There’s no gentle easing into the day, stiff legs forced into a brutal climb, tracing power lines up and over the mountains. A wash in an icy burn and a refill of my water bottle. I’ll not be short of sources today.

Rain blows in once more as I reach the top of the pass and look back at my camping spot by the river.

The new landscape is all mist, rain, river and bog, a bleak palette of grey and brown. Pylons march like invaders across the barren ground, a hard place to love.

How much rain has fallen over the past few days, swelling the burns and rivers? A sturdy bridge helps at the first crossing, departing from the Cape Wrath Trail, and turning west to Corran on the coast.

Descending into Gleann Dubh Lochain, the river roars down the glen. Where is the next bridge? Checking the OS map, my heart sinks — this beast must be forded, and this is the place. The water is above waist height in places and flows with a deadly strength. I’ve waded across a river this deep in Greenland using my hiking poles, but it had a fraction of this force. I’d likely be swept off my feet and possibly drowned with my heavy pack, not being much of a swimmer, or suffer hypothermia. What now?

There’s no path on this bank. I explore upstream, but the river stretches up the glen, roiling white, and the terrain is increasingly difficult. Checking the map again, it flows down into Dubh Lochain over a wide, meandering plain. The force should lessen, and it might be possible to cross the broader sections, perhaps using an island to divide the flow.

It’s tiring work, picking my way down over hilllocks and waterlogged ground. Unfortunately, as I descend, more tributaries strengthen the flow.

The lochain appears through the rain.

Progress is slow and energy-sapping as I’m constantly working round deep feeder burns, balancing on raised tussocks of grass between a network of water channels.

I reach the lochain but, to my despair, the water is deeper and stronger than the original ford point — all this way, all this time, all this energy, for nothing. I’ve overcome tough obstacles in the past, but this is a difficult moment, a low moment.

I check the map again. Dams are marked at the far end of the lochain, but even if I can make it along the slopes, who knows if they are navigable? I’m tiring, and the deeper I go, the harder it will be to return.

I can’t just pitch somewhere and hope that the water level drops tomorrow. I have no phone signal. If I can’t cross the river and make it to the booked youth hostel at Ratagan by tomorrow night, when I told Jude I’d be back in contact, there’s a risk of someone calling out the rescue services unnecessarily.

The only option is to abandon my plan for the week and retrace my steps all the way back to Inverie by tomorrow night. This means recrossing two mountain passes and hiking the tough section from Kinloch Hourn to Inverie again in a day. I can do this.

Returning to Kinloch Hourn, it’s tempting to pitch in the same spot as last night, but I want to take something positive from the day, and it would be lovely to pitch on the shore at Runival, which means another two hours of tough hiking.

The fantastic views pull me along, and I’ve recalibrated my definition of a tough path after my hours in the swamp.

Every hill I summit today is one less tomorrow!

After the final killer climb, my sanctuary lies on the shore far below. Unfortunately, four tents are pitched already.

There’s no path down, but gravity helps me reach the camp.

“Room for one more?”

Despite the late hour, there’s a warm welcome. Four men, around my age, are on the Cape Wrath Trail, having lost one of their party already.

“Look out for a tall guy with a huge pack!”

It’s dark by the time I’m pitched and fed, but lying in my sleeping bag, I have beautiful views across the loch. Someone wanders over to ask if I need anything. Just sleep, but these small gestures always reinforce my overwhelmingly positive view of the hiker community.

I’m exhausted but content, pleased to have remained resolute and made sensible decisions despite my weariness and low spirits, and not recklessly trying to find an alternative route to Shiel Bridge via the Cape Wrath Trail without a path marked on my map.

The day I learnt to respect the Highlands.

Date of walk: Saturday 18 April 2026.

Walk distance: 15 miles.

Total distance: 5,716 miles.