Rain is forecast all day. Perfect for a wild camp on the remote Morvern Peninsula.
Waiting in the stone shelter for the ferry across Loch Linnhe to Corran Lighthouse, six raucous women appear in huge overcoats over swimming gear, clutching mugs of steaming coffee and post-wild-swim cigarettes, roaring with laughter at the expense of various men at a beach party last night. I’m outnumbered and outgunned.
The road along the side of the loch is quiet apart from the occasional burst of ferry traffic, passing through beautiful scenery, despite the rain.
After a few hours, I’m beginning to feel damp beneath my waterproof jacket and overtrousers. Unfortunately, walking in constant rain while carrying a full pack makes it hard to dump enough heat, so sweat condensation is a problem. The jacket does have armpit zips to vent heat, but I closed them as it felt like rain was blowing in. Other advice is to slow down, but I’m not a particularly speedy walker to begin with.
The rain grows heavier. Both my upper base layer and hiking trousers are soaked, making me uncomfortable and chilled.
Glengalmadale River joins the sea loch at Camasnacroise. There’s a flat area of sandy machair. I pitch as quickly as possible, desperate to be out of the rain, before diving into the tent, trying not to bring in sand and water, stripping off my wet gear, putting on a t-shirt and burrowing into my sleeping bag. Once I’m dry and warm, I think about cooking and collecting rainwater running off the tarp.
It’s been a hell of a day. Now, time to relax and enjoy the view across Loch Linnhe, free of midges!
Next day
When I woke in the night, lights from a large vessel shone across the water. It’s still there. It looks like a support ship, complete with a helipad.
I’ve a long walk to Lochaline and the sanctuary of a bunkhouse, so it’s an early start to make the most of the short daylight hours and beat the forecast rain. I put on my spare dry top and wet trousers, thankful for a fine morning.
The terrain may be challenging today, so I make the most of the initial road walking round peaceful Loch a’ Choire, fringed with a crescent of hills and pretty holiday cottages on the Kingairloch Estate.
A stone sculpture stands alone in the wetland. I pick my way between the water channels for a closer look. Adrian Gray is “the pioneer of Stonebalancing art”. Circling it several times, it seems to defy the law of physics. A hunched eagle perched on a rock? Whatever, it’s striking and perfect for the setting.
A salmon farm sits at the entrance to the loch.
The road becomes a track. The track becomes a boggy path. Progress slows. Machines idle on a muddy shore, the land cleared for construction — a swamp. My boots sink deep, forcing me to higher ground.
A stony track offers hope before petering out. It’s hard to find a path through the long grass. I choose the rocky shoreline rather than follow faint trails up the hillside. Someone lived here long ago.
The sun comes out, so I stop for lunch, a respite from the shingle, and lay out all my wet gear to dry off a little. A delay means I’ll definitely finish in darkness, but it’s too good an opportunity to miss.
Further along the shore, warning signs appear on the perimeter of a vast industrial complex. Glensanda is the largest granite quarry in Europe, only accessible by sea. It has its own small airstrip. It also contains a public right-of-way. I contacted Calum, the quarry manager, a couple of weeks ago, who replied helpfully:
“We would normally offer a lift to anyone walking this route to make sure they are safe while crossing the operation. However, if you would rather walk, we can suspend operations and provide an escort while you are in the operational area. Let me know what you prefer, and I can make the arrangements for you.”
I’ve no wish to suspend operations, but I do need to walk to complete my circuit of Britain.
A 4×4 approaches, and the driver waves. Ally is expecting me. He describes the route I can take, passing under a huge conveyor belt. He will meet me on the other side. There are dark, flooded tunnels, wide enough for vehicles, burrowing into the hillside.
Ally leads me to the canteen, where two kind ladies have prepared a packed lunch. We chat over coffee. No more than half a dozen hikers pass through each year. They recall some of the more well-known ones, including Chris with his dog, Jet.
Leaving the site, Ally points me up the glen.
“There’s a good track out once you reach the bothy, but you’re on your own on the way in.” He smiles. That’s not good.
The path soon vanishes. The ground is tussocky and saturated after heavy rain. Faint trails come and go, most of them false. It’s hard going, but most importantly, the rain holds off.
Higher in the glen, rather like my hike from Corrour Station, I’m surrounded by hills with only the river as my guide, alone but for a curious hind watching from the top of a rise, silent apart from the bubbling water and the breeze. Some would call it desolate. For me, it’s euphoric. What a contrast to yesterday.
The long climb ends at Caol Lochan.
Descending, the ford marked on my map is not quite what I expected. Rain does that. My boots keep my feet dry as I cross and scramble up the far side.
There’s an hour until sunset, and I’m still not at the bothy. Helpful marker posts appear, which is just as well, as the path disappears into long grass. I can’t see my feet and stumble over the uneven ground, at one point falling into a channel. A year ago, I would have worried about adders — days long gone.
Despite weary legs and being a long way from my bed, with the light fading, I feel peaceful and a little emotional. There’s so much beauty in the world if we look for it.
One final push through the tall bracken, followed by a quick check for ticks, and I reach Leacraithnaich Bothy, perched on the hillside above Loch Tearnait.
A good road runs west as Ally promised.
The sun drops behind the hills. I’m happy to take my time and soak it up, comfortable in the knowledge that I’ve no difficult navigation by torchlight.
Silence and a fiery light in the darkness.
The Addams Family watch from the trees.
Reaching the A884, there are still two miles along a pitch-black road to Lochaline. Only one car passes.
My bunkhouse room with a private shower at Highland Basecamp feels as luxurious as any hotel room. There are a couple of guys in the communal kitchen, and they kindly spare some milk for the best cup of tea I’ve enjoyed in a long time. Telling them about my rough day on the road yesterday, I’m quickly put in my place. They are on a long-term contract to erect deer fencing on the hills, all year round, in all weather.
A hot shower and into clean sheets. What an epic day. I would have struggled in poor weather. I need to have more respect for this landscape and the weather conditions. A change of plans, as I’ve only given myself two days to hike and wild camp round the rough Morvern coastline to Strontian. I’m not sure that’s manageable given the heavy rain and wind forecast tomorrow. I’ll sleep on it — soundly.
Total distance: 5,407 miles.
What an adventure that second day was, I love venturing into remote country like that. And what a sunset!
I think you would love the Artic Circle Trail.
Sorry about the weather Tony. I tend to find no clothing stands up to hours of heavy rain no matter how expensive, so you just have to accept in conditions like that, you are going to get wet. I also find the walks through the remotest areas the most memorable too, I think you will enjoy Knoydart in particular when you get there.
Well done for going through the quarry. It sounds like they are nice people there. The only other coastal walker I know that went that way was Quintin Lake and I got the impression they were very keen for him to be escorted through rather than walk through, which was the main reason I decided not to go that way. Though like you they also treated him to lunch, so they seem very helpful. Perhaps I’ll have to revist that part of the coast to take the most coastal route rather than the road route I followed. I already plan to go back to walk around Lismore and Mull so that will be a good oppurtunity.
Glad you found somewhere to stay too. I ended up in Fort William crossing via the ferry each day (which is expensive) or in a static caravan at Shielfoot as there were so few places to stay around there.
I think you are right about gear. I’m really looking forward to Knoydart.
The chap at the quarry also offered to carry my backpack in his car. He said I’d still be walking the coastline. 🙂
Glad to hear you will be walking round Mull. You will love it. I still have the north section to do, but I’m waiting now until I can take a boat and land on Staffa. I may do the missing section of Morvern as part of that trip next year.
Indeed there is much beauty if we look for it, sadly we often rush by it without noticing
I won’t be doing any rushing in the Rough Bounds.
Sometimes I think you coastal walkers might be a wee bit bonkers! that sounds like a really tough walk.
Oh, definitely! 😂
Tough walk – respect! Heartwarming that the quarry was prepared to shut down operations for your royal visit – and throw in a packed lunch! 🤣
Haha! The bunting was missing though. 😉