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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

Distance: 25km

I sleep incredibly well. At some point, around 4am I guess, I get up to go out to the “outside bathroom” and the sun is just starting to rise. The mountains glow in an otherworldly yellow and I linger outside the bothy, just watching. It reminds me how lucky I am. It is beautiful in it’s vastness and remoteness.

The reminder is needed, because in the morning, rain. There are four of us now. Nicholas from Germany having arrived later in the evening. He tells me he saw the young fellow from yesterday at the top of the Falls, information which gives me much relief. We set off together. Immediately, we have a river to cross. The floodwaters have eased a little though, and one by one we navigate through the rocky stream.

The words “We are a team!” are shouted into the wind. Twenty minutes later, after a hefty downpour, I am alone. Too slow to keep up with the rest of the team. I don’t blame them. The wind is biting, and I am moving slowly, feeling lacking in energy today. I’m going to have to rely on myself.

I walk around a loch. It is beautiful even though it is grey and windy and bleak and pelting down with rain. The easy to follow track eventually peters out and I am navigating through the trackless moors. Water, bog and stone are everywhere. The giant peaks look on, unimpressed, as the rain batters down. It’s a hard slog. I reach the pass and look down. Mist and cloud obscure my vision. I do my best to keep to the barely discernable path.

After an age I finally reach the bottom. A swollen river. With an impossibly ridiculous single trip wire bridge to cross. I’m definitely not elegant enough for that. I find a place where I think I can ford successfully and go for it. Level achieved!

I could kiss the rocky 4WD track on the other side. I eat, drink and plough on. I’m heading to Craig. I hadn’t been planning it, but over the last few days I had heard about a hostel called Gerrys which was right on the path. “It’s…..an experience” was the general vibe. I was wet, exhausted, needing relief. I was determined to stay. I had emailed a couple of days ago, but no reply. I would have to deal with Gerry myself.

I arrive around 4pm. There is the sound of wood chopping in a shed. “Hello!” I yell out. A scruffy looking fellow with a beard, died blue and tied in two plaits emerges from the shed. “Hi! Are you Gerry?” A look. “No. I’m his friend Spartacus. I’m looking after the place for a few days”.

I know very well this is Gerry. I’ve heard about him. And I am determined to stay. I smile my best smile. “Well, is the hostel open?” “Well. I suppose so, but you’ll need to pay cash”. This I don’t have, and I tell him so. He suggests I catch the train, get the cash, and return via train. I tell him I’m not doing that. I tell him what I’ve been doing, how far I’ve come, and about my home. This piques his interest, I can tell. I press my advantage. “I’ll pay you an extra 5 pounds if I can send you the cash in the post as soon as I can”. And just like that, Gerry agrees.

My relief is palpable. I try not to let it show. I am told to sit in the woodcutting shed for 5 minutes before coming inside. This I do. Inside, I am stripped of my wet gear and told I must wear a pair of scruffy slip on shoes. No, I can’t wear my sandals. I am led to the 10 bunk mixed dormitory room and shown my bed. And, the EXACT location I must put my bag. I do all of this with my utmost charm. I know I’m turning him. I ask for a towel and am initially denied. I talk through my ordeal of the day. I am granted a towel.

Eventually, I come to find Jerry very endearing. Others arrive. Jac, a little pocket rocket who only has 52 Monroe’s left to bag (mountains over 3000m, there are 282 of them), and Robin, who is at Munroe number 200. Later in the evening, sitting warm and content by the fire, which Jerry tends to ardently, drinking hot chocolate and listening to Chopin and Mozart on the record player, I feel incredibly at ease.

My last thought of the night is looking up at the springy wires of the bunk bed I am sleeping in and remembering all the times as kids I repeatedly and consistently pushed my unfortunate brother or sister with my feet. It makes me smile. With that splendid memory, I drift off to sleep.

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

Distance: 28km

I’m sitting in the Maol-Bhuide bothy, a heavenly white structure overlooking Loch Cruoshie tucked up in all my layers, in the sleeping bag and trying to decompress and think about the day.

Definitely the hardest day of this trail so far, and by a considerable margin.  But I’m here, and I made it, and I can reflect on what happened.

Firstly I tossed and turned all night thinking about risking the descent of the Falls of Glomach whilst the rain pelted and the wind howled.  I decided I couldn’t do.  I didn’t think I would be able to hold my nerves in these conditions which would mean a considerable risk of doing myself grave harm.

I had met a lovely chap, John, last night who has walked the length of England and now Scotland raising money for cancer and with a personal story to tell.  We had decided we would walk together and help each other get through the precarious drop. During the night, I resolved that I needed to tell him I couldn’t do it, and that I was going to try an alternative route.

It was a happy coincident that Dave had decided exactly the same thing during the night. Resolved, we set out to walk an alternative.  The alternative was by no means easy.  A steep ascent and an even steeper, longer descent.  Periods of sunshine interspersed with gusting rain, hail and wind strong enough to knock me over.  It wasn’t easy, but I never felt unsafe.  A good decision made.

Confounded by a raging river at the bottom of the descent, we hauled overland for a considerable distance in search of a bridge that would take us across the torrent.  Such relief to get back on the trail, cross the river and continue on our way.

Whilst I stopped to have a break, Dave headed off, eager to reach the warmth of the bothy.  My reverie was interrupted by a young fellow in a panic. After spending some time calming him, it became apparent that he had tried crossing the river and his phone had gotten wet and died. His tent had been destroyed in the night and he had been intending to leave the trail by using the alternate route we had just taken.  With no map guidance however, he was stuck.  We talked through the options (I thought he should come with me), but he was set on going back over the Falls.  With much concern, I asked him to use my Satellite phone to contact his parents and let them know the plan.  He was to sit, have something to eat, and get his mental fortitude back before attempting to climb.  And then we left each other.  I sincerely hope he is okay.  Another hailstorm passed through shortly after we left each other.

The second part of the walk proved just as difficult as the first.  This time, it was the water that was the issue.  Tiny creeks had turned into swiftly flowing rivers, and the track itself was inundated with water.  As someone who is relatively inexperienced with river crossings, this really tested both my nerves and decision making skills.  Some creeks I wouldn’t cross, instead going cross country around the long way to meet up with the track elsewhere.  

I was quietly pleased with myself and filled with gratitude to see the white mirage of the bothy come into view.  Imagine my disappointment and disbelief to realise that the river I needed to cross to get to it looked dangerous to me at the crossing point!  I searched upstream for an easier crossing.  Nothing.  I was retracing my steps to sit on the bank and either look downstream or wait for Dave to see me stranded when a figure popped up in front of me.  Another hiker had arrived whilst I was scouting! Without further ado we worked together to make the crossing, holding hands to make a raft to get across. Once across safely, we exchanged names.  Such is hiking.  I was very grateful for Ethan’s assistance, as he was mine.

So now I sit here, warm and toasty, contemplating my day.  I did it.  And I did it safely.  But I really hope there isn’t another day like this one to come…

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

Distance: 14km

Spoiler alert – NOT the romantic drought!

There is rain. It is raining! Drizzling in flurries all night long. I emerge from the bothy into a white wilderness, trying to be enthusiastic about this change in fortunes. I mean, it had to happen, didn’t it?

Outside, it’s not too bad. Not cold, and the rain is misty rather than heavy. In a way the timing is perfect, as the water boosts all the many waterfalls along the trail. The track is easy to follow, rocky and not slippery, so really it is ideal.

The highlight of the day is Grannda Falls, an area in which multiple falls cascade down into a cauldron like environment, the track spiralling steeply around the outside edge. The wetness of the environment brings out the intense green of the ferns and grass. It really is spectacular.

Onwards and it’s down, across a number of rivers on little bridges and a straightforward track into the town of Morvich.

The rain holds off just enough to set the tent up in a reasonably dry manner. With a shower and a can of Spaghetti Bolognese heated to boiling and in my belly, it’s been a lovely afternoon to catch up on a few adminstrative tasks for the upcoming days.

On my mind is what is renowned as being one of the most hair-raising parts of the walk – the Descent of Glomach Falls, which I am set to do tomorrow. I’m going to have to sleep on this one. I like you rain, but couldn’t you have held off for just a couple more days?

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

Distance: 37km

I really enjoyed the Eagle Barge last night. Picture an eclectic bar with currency of all varieties hanging off the ceiling, home drawn pictures on the wall and a huge map with pins stuck into it from all over the world. I take great pride in pressing a pin into the tiny part of the world I call home.

As it’s a windy night, everybody is crammed into the small bar area and it is a group conversation. There are dogs running round, and I even end up with a dog lying on the bar in front of me, soaking up the attention I very willingly provide it. A very lovely evening.

The walk today was not a highlight. In fact, it wasn’t until late in the day that the best part of it wasn’t the route I was re-doing from the camp site back to the track! The morning consisted of forestry walking, lots of bare, open spaces where the trees have been taken and little remains.

I also encounter my first very boggy, “off-road” type area following a barely there trail alongside Loch Garry. Honestly, it was a bit of a slog, so much so that I wished I had taken the alternative road walking route described in the trail guide. Essentially, a lot of work for not much viewing reward.

I arrived at Paulary , the end of the stage at about 5.00pm. I didn’t like what I saw. A potential camping spot, but right by a reasonably busy road. No shade and a tiny trickle of water. I decided I had another couple of hours left in me. It was a perfect evening, and I’d rather sleep on top of the mountain than right by the road.

So it was that at 5.30 I pushed on up and over the Mam na Seilg pass.  It was the best decision I could have made as I thoroughly enjoyed the physical exertion late in the day.  On the other side, I was rewarded by an amazing view.  A moody, mystical valley with sheer walls, mountains on all sides and a creek running through the middle.  Perfect for setting up a tent. With a cheer, I continued down to the valley floor eager to spend the night in this wondrous landscape.

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