Month: June 2025

Distance: 8km and 34km

It was a straightforward walk into Oykel Bridge where I was incredibly fortunate that a staff member, upon seeing me standing forlornly at the locked front door at 11.30 in the morning, opened up and proceeded to let me into my room.

Rest and relaxation.  That’s what I really needed. A shower.  What a treat.

I made my way to the little Fisherman themed bar, and was soon joined by the Cresseys, where we did have our much anticipated celebratory drink and catch up.  There are people that just exude warmth. This was these two. They reminded me of a young couple on a first date, the attention and care they gave each other, rather than a pair that had been married for more than 30 years.  It was lovely to be included in their circle for a while.  We were soon also joined by Gavin, a lad from Leeds, also looking to complete the Cape Wrath trail.

The following morning I said goodbye to my new friends for the final time.  As a solo hiker, I’ve always found that at some point, you need a champion to help you through. Dave was that for me.  Arriving right when I needed a little support, a friendly face, and a sounding board. He has been posting daily videos of his epic hike that are well worth checking out (here) …nice to have a little cameo appearance or two as well! And of course, the cause he is raising money for is one that has affected all of us in some way.  I wish the both of them all the best, in both finishing the trail, and enjoying a happy retirement together.

Astoundingly, it is not raining.  Grey, but clear.  Light breeze. Perfect. I’m feeling good, and I get cracking. The first 10km offers a lovely creekside trail, dotted with fishing huts and solitary figures in waders looking to cast a line.  Gavin soon joins me, and we chat for a while.  Turns out we were both at the same Blues and Roots concert in Byron Bay many, many years ago.  Small world.

I soon leave Gavin behind though, as I’m feeling energentic and exhilarated and the landscape is amazing. As I have become accustomed to, it’s towering mountains on all sides, with the soft banks of the river snaking it’s way through the middle.  It’s soggy, but not as boggy as it has been the last few days, and I relish enjoying the day.

Eventually, I start a climb, powering my way to the top of the pass, where I stop to take a break.  I realise I’ve travelled about 24km and I’m only just taking my first rest stop. That’s the power of a nice day, spectacular scenery and a large pub meal and breakfast!

On the other side of the pass I can see the blue waters of Loch Assynt, surrounded on one side by Scottish fir trees.  It is so reminiscent of one of my favourite views from home, that I can’t help but feel a little homesick.

To end the day, another creekside track. This one narrow and rocky and requiring a little concentration, but it is easily negotiatiated. I am surprised and pleased when I finish up my 34km in just over 8 hours. It has been an absolutely wonderful day of walking.  Perhaps my favourite day. What a feeling to regroup, regather, and surge forward once again.

This article was first published on The Trek and can be found here

Distance : 18km

Different day, different scenario.  I woke up ready to right to right the ship.

Despite the rough day yesterday, it did what it needed to, which was put me in a position in which I had a number of options today.  All of them reasonably good.

Firstly, it did start raining during the night, though not as heavily as what had been predicted. Still, I followed through with my intention of getting up early to cross all of the rivers I needed to before things got out of hand.  I was away by 6.30am. No coffee.

I did have a plan though.  Get through the next 10 km, enjoy it, and get to the Knockdamph bothy. There, in the comfort of the indoor environment, cook up all the dinner I was supposed to have last night and as many coffees as I required. That was goal number one.  And I’m very good at chasing goals. Instantly my head switched from troubled to motivated.

The walk to the bothy was beautiful.  Cascading waterfalls eventually opening up into a steep sided gorge, orange rocks glistening in the wet, green trees sheltering the depths of the pools, serpentine in it’s nature.  It really reminded me of the amazing desert gorges of central Australia. Unexpected wonder.

Along the trail I enacted what could potentially be option 2. I emailed Oykel Bridge hotel, where I am booked to stay tomorrow night, to see if they had any space available for tonight also.  That is a wait and see option, but it gives me a frisson of excitement to know that I might be getting a hot shower tonight!

I arrive at the bothy at around 9.30am. It is empty, and I select the space that might suit me best if I’m to stay, and go about cooking up a storm. With a full belly I am able to complete other small tasks that add to my overall positive psyche. Drying the tent and packing it up properly.  Writing up my daily notes from yesterday. I feel like I’m getting back on top of things.

People begin to come and go, stopping in to get out of the rain briefly and have a bite to eat.  I’m pleased when a couple come in with three dogs in tow, all looking for treats and a pat! A familiar voice, “hello”, and I turn to see Dave, the surprise even greater because I hadn’t expected to run into him again.  We catch up on our stories.  He’s been taking an “easier” route than me the past few days – carrying a day pack only, going to accommodation in between days, and taking a less difficult route.  He sincerely tells me how unbelievable it is that I did what I did yesterday.  That I made is so far in these conditions and in this terrain. That I should feel very proud of myself.  Almost makes me cry. He leaves, knowing we will see each other at Oykel Bridge tomorrow where I will meet his wife (for whom he is dedicating his cancer walk), and we will have a celebratory drink together.  Our paths will diverge at that point, each of us left to finish our adventures on our own. 

I still haven’t heard back from the hotel, and so, having seen a big, fat, half tame rat running around the bothy, I decide to enact option 3.  I will walk another 7km to the School House bothy.  If I haven’t heard from the hotel, I’ll forget that plan and stay at the bothy. That is how it works out in the end.  The bothy is lovely however, and I have my own little room that I have been snuggled up in, reading, for the afternoon. I feel rested, well fed and relaxed.  I’ve got this. (I think.)

This article was originally published on The Trek which can be found here

Distance: 33km

The bothy was full last night.  A group of female bike riders competing in a race and some younger blokes hiking, all trapped by the rivers and unable to progress. I got the impression they weren’t that thrilled that another person had shown up.  Later, another solo female hiker (the first I have come across this whole trip), Anne Marie, arrived as well.  It was nice to have somebody there that was willing to converse.

All five of the girls had beds on the floor upstairs.  I must admit to feeling somewhat grateful for this female cohort of sleepers and remember thinking how inspiring it was that all of us were out here toughing it out in the wilderness.  Not long after that…cacophony.  Absolute cacophony. Those bike riders sure could snore! I really hadn’t been expecting this level of loud. Sleep, was not a possibility.  In the morning they roared awake at the crack of dawn only to find that the creek was still too high to cross, so back they tromped, not bothering to keep their voices down.  Anne Marie and I stared blearily at each other, packed up our stuff, said goodbye and goodluck to each other, and left.

So it was that I was in a very different headspace today.  My plan, such as it was, was to basically go twice as far as I had been planning on, to ensure that I could take advantage of a light rainfall day.  I had a creek crossing I was aiming for, knowing that rain was set to stream in again overnight. That thought, on no sleep, was a little depressing.

I set off.  Uphill and across the moors.  The landscape, as usual, was amazing.  The track and terrain, a wet mess.  Imagine just trudging through a half filled bathtub full of grass and mud and stones.  That’s what it was like.  Every step takes effort and concentration.  The going is tough. And the tough are not going very fast at all.  It takes almost 4 hours to do the first 10km.  I have a couple of day hikers pass me in the opposite direction, but then see nobody else for the rest of the day.

It is lonely and draining.  I’m trying to keep my spirits up, but I’m slipping and sliding and crash to the ground a couple of times.  Luckily, no injury. The second 10km finishes up with a long, steep downhill on a rocky scree slope and made even more treacherous by the waterfall that’s pouring down the path.  Again, it is incredibly slow going.

I reach where I had originally intended to stop for the day, exhausted and somewhat strung out.  I consider what to do, and in the face of no particularly easy option, decide to push on.  “I’ll just see where I am at 6pm” is my thinking. Up, up, up I go again. Despite the gradient of the slope, I’m enjoying a little respite on a well maintained forestry track.  That peters out though, and suddenly I am left to my own devices to contour around a mountain range.  It’s already well past 6pm, but the grass is a swamp and stopping not an option.

An old song by Shawn Mullins that I haven’t thought about in years starts running through my head repeatedly. “Everything is going to be alright. Rockabye. Rockabye”. Over and over and over again. Carrying me along.

I push on. My nerves are starting to fray. “This isn’t fun”, my brain is saying. Wet feet all day, sludging through the wet grass and mud, no track, can’t see where I’m supposed to be going, getting hungry, heavy bag, tired, getting late, nowhere to camp, struggling. Everything is going to be alright. Rockabye.

Suddenly I see the creek I have been aiming for. The old ruins in a spectacular setting. I can tell, even from right up high, that I will be able to set up camp.

I reach the ruins and quickly ascertain that I was right.  The ground is dry and flat enough to camp.  I pull my tent out and am accosted, absolutely annihilated, by a swarm of midges in a bilious rage.  I had been beginning to think that I had some sort of superpower in keeping midges away, having gotten this far without encountering them. Now they showed me who’s boss. I get the tent up and dive in.  As quick as I am, there are hundreds of them in the tent.  It’s now after 8.30pm.  I’m so tired and despondent that I don’t even feel like eating.  I snack on a sachet of tuna, but that’s enough. All I want to do is lie down, wrap myself up, and hope things improve.

Everything is going to be alright. Rockabye.

This article was originally published on The Trek which can be found here

Distance: 30km

I feel pretty proud of myself this evening.  I put the work into a plan for today, and it feels like it paid off.  A hard day made easier.  Success. Though still very hard!

The forecast for today was a little grim.  Heavy rain throughout the night and into mid morning.  And so many rivers to cross.

The plan was simple:

1. Expect to be wet all day

2. Walk on the good track through the heaviest period of rain, aiming to arrive at a known to be tricky navigation point as the rain is expected to ease, approximately midday.

3. Hope that the forecast was correct, that the rain will ease and I have the opportunity to cross the first major river crossing (at the top of two waterfalls) following a little bit of a downpour lay period. Be prepared to camp in the area if the crossing is going to be too dangerous and wait it out.

4. Assuming I can cross, navigate slowly and carefully around the mountain contour, leaving the designated track and descending to the creek to cross again where I can find a good spot.  Follow the creek on the opposite side to meet the track again later on at the loch.

5. Maintain composure and concentration for all water crossings, making sure I secure my phone properly each time.

That was the plan.  And it worked! I split the day into little sections, aiming to complete the previous task prior to thinking about the rest.  I left the hotel in the pouring rain at 10am. It never let up for the next 12km whilst I reached the navigation point at Loch Fada, but then, a clearing. Just as had been predicted.

With the fog dissipating, I followed a series of little white cairns upwards, eventually reaching the waterfall creek crossing.  I took my time with this, following the river further upstream.  Eventually, I found a spot to cross that I was more than comfortable with. Stage 3 completed.

I navigated around the contours, the sunshine occasionally beaming out from behind the clouds.  The landscape was magnificent in it’s remoteness. I left the track early and descended down to the creek where I could see it was still narrow enough that an easy crossing was possible.  On the other side, I started a bit of a slog to walk creekside towards Loch an Nid where I would pick up the trail again.  It might have been a slog, but the relief I felt to be across the river and know that I could continue was well worth it.

And from there, all it took was a lot of resilience, physical exertion and concentration to eventually reach the Shenavell bothy.  

It takes quite a bit for me to admit when I am proud of myself, but I don’t mind saying it for this one.  I crossed countless knee high creeks, slogged through mud and had wet feet all day, but made it to the bothy without a negative thought. That’s a straight up win in my books.

This article was originally published on The Trek which can be found here

Distance: 17km

It may have taken some haggling, but the sleep under the comfortable, heavy doona was well worth it. I’m feeling somewhat revived today following the last couple of draining days. What’s more, it’s a relatively short hike into the town of Kinlochewe where a single room, and a rest day, at the hotel awaits me. It’s supreme motivation to get cracking.

It is still showery, though interspersed at times with moments of dazzling sunshine. Looks like I’m going to have to just get along with the rain, as the forecast is predicting more of the same until the completion of the walk. I guess I’ve had a lot of practice recently in this sort of weather!

It is a steep climb out of the valley through forestry plantation to begin with. At the top, the track widens into easy trail for a long, gentle descent. There are mountains all around, but none are as magnificent as the white quartzite stack of the the Beinn Eighe massif.

Just as I am about to start another steep climb I spot a friendly face. It’s Dave coming up the track. He suggests walking together which would have been nice, but I’m fixing for a break and recognise that I’m significantly slower than him on the hills. I don’t need that pressure today, so we wave each other off and continue.

On the other side of the hill, I can see the road / track I am on leads straight on down to a bitumen major road leading into town. The trail is telling me to turn right though, and follow a path all the way into town. I trust the trail and turn right. I shouldn’t have.

I am soon faced with an overgrown and spectacularly boggy path which eventually leads to several calf height creek crossings. It is a pretty miserable way to end what has generally been a spectacular day of walking. I straggle into town wet and muddy to find that the hotel won’t open until 4pm for check in.

What to do? What to do? It’s raining and there is no shelter. I head to the toilet block across the road (luckily open!), strip off the wet gear and pull out my waterproof socks. Feeling much more comfortable, I backtrack to the service station and settle in for some lunch, coffee and book reading.

What a relief to get into my room though and collapse onto the bed. I’m going to enjoy a shower, dinner and wine (and not necessarily in that order) immensely tonight.

This article was originally published on The Trek which can be found here