Days 302 & 303: Burg to Salen

Where did the last 12 hours go? I woke once and watched the stars and lights across the loch. Now my head throbs so badly I don’t want to move. Did I sleep too long, lie with my head down the slope or not drink enough water yesterday? The weather forecast is atrocious, predicting torrential rain and strong winds. Where did that come from? Ben More, the only Munro on the island, is now out of the question as it’s 10 miles to the start of the ascent. Better to enjoy this tranquil spot, savour my Good Friday hot cross bun breakfast and set off later when I’m hopefully feeling better.

It’s midday before my head clears, breaking camp, chatting to a young passing couple — the first hikers I’ve seen in 24 hours — and retracing my steps to Tiroran.

A track through the nascent Tiroran Community Forest allows me to avoid the main road for a while. A farmer on a quad bike bounces down the hill towards me.

“There are cows ahead. I’ll drive you through them if you’re anxious.”

Yeah, right. That’s all I need — a photo of me riding pillion through a herd of cows, my wilderness hiker credibility shot. I’ll pass.

We chat for a while. He’s met other round Britain coast walkers, including ex-service guys hiking for mental health charities — probably some of the people I know — and is surprised to hear I’m doing it for fun, as though I’m mad. He’s not the first. He may be right.

When I reach the cows, they are circling three tiny calves. Did the farmer mention this? Deer fences and a tall steel gate corral us, limiting my options. I move slowly, talk to them in what I hope is a soothing voice and keep to the far side of the road. They seem chilled and only move to allow the calves to reach the hay. Still, fumbling with the gate, I imagine being crushed against the metal by angry mothers, so it’s a relief to open it and step through.

The track eventually joins the main road to the other side of the peninsula, where impressive tiered cliffs loom under a darkening sky.

I’d hoped to explore MacKinnon’s Cave, the longest sea cave in the Hebrides, but it’s late, the weather is worsening, and I’ve no idea where I’m pitching.  

The road runs along a narrow gap between the foot of the hills and the loch. I’m reluctant to camp near the road.

The rain starts to fall, so I need to make a decision. I climb up the slope, about 100 feet above the road and search for a sheltered spot. There’s a small depression, but I’m worried about flooding from the rain down the mountain. I settle for a small grass ledge, tight up against a gorse bush to provide some protection from the wind. It’s far from ideal. I’ve not brought my special pegs for soft and peaty earth. There’s not enough space to fully extend all my guy ropes in the right direction. It will have to do. Fingers crossed.

Next day

What a wild night. The wind and rain woke me frequently, checking the tent with my headtorch for any water penetration. It’s now 6 am and the tent has lost tension, poles rattling badly. Peeking under the edges of the tarp, both pegs securing the long guys to the top of the poles are slowly wriggling out of the earth as though drawn to a giant magnet in the clouds. I lean out in the rain and bash them back in with a rock, only to watch them inch up again with each gust of wind. Finally, one pops out before I can reach it, which is the signal to pack quickly and hit the road before the tent blows over the edge.

A brutal start to the day as the road is badly exposed, the wind driving the rain hard off the sea into my face. One photo and on with the waterproof gloves, head down and work my way to the pass through to Salen.

It’s a long, long road. Camper vans dot the shore, doors closed, curtains drawn, occupants still abed, warm and dry. For once, I would accept an offer of tea or coffee, but I’m dreaming. Who would invite in a soaked, hooded stranger?

The rain eases off round 11 am. Determined to get something out of the day, I leave the road and take a path over the hills and forests to Salen.

It’s good to see the weather hasn’t dampened young spirits.

This is much more enjoyable. I’m able to linger rather than the head-down route march earlier.

The path fades a little among the trees and the bog, but I’m not lost for long.

The Coffee Pot in Salen was a highlight of my last visit and serves one of the best crispy bacon baguettes I’ve had, followed by a hot cross bun and coffee. There’s only outside seating, but I find a dry table under an awning. It’s so pleasant that I order a second coffee and cake. Well, I need to restore the calories for a tough hike tomorrow. Four men sit next to me, all loaded with expensive cameras and huge telephoto lenses. A lot of photographers come to Mull to capture the otters and eagles on guided wildlife tours.

The nearby campsite is nice, but one of those where a small camping circle of grass is surrounded by camper vans. I always feel like a zoo animal when I’m the only tent. Last time I walked down to the shore in a beautiful golden hour to watch cormorants on poles. What a difference the light makes.

Pitched, it’s back into the village for food and a pint. The barman comes out from behind the bar — I’m the only customer — and we chat for a long time about hiking. He gives me some tips about the Orkneys.

I mention my plan to return to Mull for a third time to hike in the North and take a boat to visit Fingal’s Cave on the National Trust-owned Isle of Staffa, currently closed for restoration work on the jetty. He laughs. A local construction firm repaired the jetty only for the next high tide to wash it away. My return may be delayed a little longer.

Lying back in the tent, looking up at the roof, there’s not a ripple in the tarp — so still. You never know what you’re going to get in Scotland from one night to the next. I need an uninterrupted sleep before a hard day tomorrow. The forecast is for glorious sun, and I’m going to make the most of it, catching the first bus to Craignure and hiking back along the mountain tops.

Date of walk: Friday 18 & Saturday 19 April 2025.

Walk distance: 23 miles.

Total distance: 4,985 miles.