A Scottish Story – Day 39, A very unassuming finish. But a great cheese and pickle sandwich.

This is it! Final day. As always it is that mixture of excitement and loss that pervades my mind when I wake up. It’s early. Much earlier than I have been waking usually. My body knows a conclusion is coming. One way or another. I’m ready. Let’s go.

It’s a beautiful day. Sunbeams dancing on the water. I make my way slowly across the beach and begin the climb for the final test.

It’s not far, but it is like this last section is designed to test everything you have learnt on your journey and to put it all together in one final challenge.

Firstly, have you learnt to do all your online homework? Have you worked out whether the military area is going to be open or closed? Have you made contact with the bus driver, the ferry operator, the lighthouse on the other end to try and work out how you are getting off the trail? Do you know how you are going to leave this place?

Secondly, are you prepared physically? Are you able to climb numerous huge mountains? Walk through bog? Climb over barbed wire fences? Walk trackless for the majority of the day?

And speaking of, are you able to navigate through this landscape? Can you look at the map and identify the lochs? The mountain ranges? The general path that you should try and follow? Can you cross swiftly flowing creeks? Or, slide down muddy, slippery slopes to reach them?

It turns out I had mastered all these things. I cruised along, overcoming one obstacle after the next, moving ever closer to my final destination. The Lighthouse.

I arrive around lunchtime. It is like a ghost town, broken down cars and old metal fences singing in the wind. I walk into the cafe to find it empty. Take a couple of snaps with a plaque on the wall related to the Scottish National Trail. It is a very unassuming finale to an epic walk. And that’s okay. At the end of the day, there is only one person that the walk needs to live up to, and that’s me. Has it lived up to my expectations? My word it has.

This wee walk has delivered it all and I owe a debt of gratitude. It has loved me and stretched me and made me live outside my comfort zone on many occassions. That is, after all, why I do this. To live in joy and discomfort, and be redefined by it. Made resilient and strong.

I yell out politely in the cafe, and an owner arrives. She explains that three of the four sandwich options are unavailable. A cheese and pickle sandwich is the only choice. One of the finest tasting sandwiches I ever had.

There is still no definitive answer in relation to the whole bus / ferry combination required for leaving this place.

I decide my best bet is to walk halfway to the ferry, stay in a final bothy tonight, and walk the rest of the way tomorrow and hope for the best.

The final bothy is incredible. Right on the ocean and salubrious in nature. I have my own little room with bed pad and tables. There are a group of six other friendly “bothy hunters” in their own room, and they congratulate me on my achievement and pass the whiskey around. It’s nice to celebrate with anyone, even strangers.

On a whim I decide to walk up a massive mountain, hoping to look out to sea. The mountain is potentially the largest I climb on the whole walk! I get to the edge of the sea, and magic. Just magic. Sheer cliffs, inundated with seabirds. Inquisitive puffins, their little orange beaks and feet so recognisable, fly in close, buzz around me and fly off again. The sound of the seabirds is deafening. It reminds me so much of home I could cry.

I head back to the bothy and there is one last thing to do. I pull out my headphones and walk onto the beach. It’s 10pm, but the sun is just starting to set. There, on the beach, in front of the golden sky, I dance. Proud of myself. And made all the better for this experience.

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