Days 272 & 273: Fionnphort to Traigh Gheal (and back)

The wind swirls round the tent, as it has all night. I sail back to Mull today before hiking south to Traigh Ghael Beach, regarded as one of the finest on the island and the most inaccessible. Sixty mph gusts are predicted tonight, so a sheltered pitch is my priority. There’s no fallback refuge when wild camping.

Will the small ferry brave the sound today? The indicator board warns of disruption and cancellations. Thankfully, there’s only a breeze, and the ferry soon appears, albeit rolling from side to side in the swell.

Reaching Fionnphort, a small group of women hug each other and promise to keep in touch.

Mull has a 300-mile coastline, so I’ll be here more than once, focusing this trip on the southern Ross of Mull. Unlike my mainland coast walk, I’m not creating a continuous route on foot. To manage my recovery from shin splints and avoid hiking on long main road stretches, I’ll use the bus network, branching off to explore more remote and challenging parts of the island — there is no shortage of these.

A ribbon of road undulates across the autumn moorland to Knockvologan.

I’d hoped to visit Erraid Island, featured in Kidnapped, where David Balfour survives for four days stranded before realising the island is tidal. Unfortunately, the tide times are a little tight and I don’t want to rush this trip, so head straight for the beach.

My route lies across Tireragan, a rewilding project set up in the 1990s.

Two Dutch artists are trustees and live next to the only path across the moors.

The trail is boggy and easy to follow.

The Ardmeanach peninsula is visible once more to the north.

After another rise, I descend into a valley, surrounded by an empty landscape. A bird of prey swoops from one post to another and then away before I can capture it — a hen harrier perhaps, as this is a favourite habitat or the more common buzzard?

A rocky gully, lined with moss-covered trees and ferns, leads down to the beach.

I emerge from the trees to white sand, ringed by sheltering cliffs to protect me from the strong north winds, a freshwater supply and soft machair to pitch on — my own paradise.

This is one of the best wild camping spots I’ve found. Pitched, I lie on my mat and scan the shoreline through my binoculars.

Given the weather forecast, I close the tent flaps as night falls and I’m soon asleep.

There is no wind. How strange. Perhaps it passed above me, down in my sheltered bay?

A loud cry in the night outside the tent, like a belching walrus, almost gives me a heart attack as I wake, bolt upright and freeze. It is repeated several times. I’d normally open the flap to look but there’s no way I’m leaving my sleeping bag to see what is making that chilling sound. I fall back into an uneasy sleep.

Date of walk: Saturday 12 October 2024.

Walk distance: 6 miles.

Total distance: 4,595 miles.

Next day

I’m woken by a red glow through the tent wall. What a fabulous morning. I grab my warm jacket and shorts and run barefoot onto the beach, finding the best spot to sit and watch the sunrise. These are the moments that stay with you forever, the reason you put up with wind, rain and frightening noises in the dark.

There are hoof prints in the sand. Of course — a stag — it is rutting season. I guess the deer fencing is not 100% effective.

Sharing the early morning images and stag story with friends and family on Whatsapp, my close friend Mike Ward makes me chuckle:

“It’s a good job you don’t snore like a doe!”

I’d planned to work my way east along the coastline, despite the absence of any paths marked on the OS map, but there is no other way off the beach without hard scrambling and pushing through dense undergrowth, so I’ll have a gentle day and retrace my steps back to Fionnphort where I have a B&B booked for the night.

The stag calls in the hillside above me. Walking back up the narrow gulley, I’m wary of meeting a testosterone-fuelled stag on his only trail down to the beach. There is little room for manoeuvre. Memories of our holiday in the Jasper National Park and coming face-to-face with a black bear. Perhaps I should start singing loudly again?

I relax on reaching the open moors

I hear the stag before I see it, blending into a far ridge. Then another and a third and a fourth. Each calling from a distant hilltop. A slightly unearthly call — “Ulla!” from War of the Worlds.

“Come to me!”

Good luck chaps. I’ve not seen a single hind.

I arrive early at the Seaview B&B, making the most of my night of luxury. It’s a lovely place with friendly hosts. John has fished here for 30 years and we discuss hiking routes on the island. He tells me the wind last night was stronger than forecast and knocked his boat off its stand for the first time. It’s hard to believe I slept through a calm night only six miles away.

The Stevenson Way is a 230-mile trail that starts on Erraid and runs to Edinburgh, following the journey of David Balfour in Kidnapped. A Swedish guest hoped to hike the trail. John had concerns, as the man was overweight and carried a 20-kg pack, but drove him to the start on Erraid. Later that day, he received a distressed call from the hiker, lost on the moors and struggling. From his description, John knew exactly where he was and helped him back. This terrain is not to be underestimated.

A leisurely day ends with a relaxing pint and meal at the Keel Row pub next door, with an interesting mix of drinkers. An American joiner has moved to the island to start a rewilding project. Another young lad lives in his van, touring round Scotland. I’m a long way from London.

Date of walk: Sunday 13 October 2024.

Walk distance: 6 miles.

Total distance: 4,601 miles.