The following morning was still, not even a breeze. It was quite lovely. I lay in the tent listening to the silence and enjoying the soft sound of waves lapping at the shore. My tranquility was soon disturbed by a voice outside "hello" it sounded foreign so I poked my head out "Hello" I replied. "Sorry, I thought you were my friend. We are here winkle counting" he said. He sounded polish and I think he meant "winkle picking". He turned away and headed off to the beach below and disappeared.
After hydrating a breakfast meal and drinking my morning coffee I packed up, the plan was to get around the end of the peninsula and make my way along it to a point I could use hoolley to cross over to the island in the middle of loch moidart. If that plan failed then I had decided to traverse the coast as far as a causeway that led to the island although it was only accessible at low tide.
The day ahead was going to be considerably more challenging than the day before and considerably harder than I'd anticipated. At the far end of the beach was a high rocky outcrop. I had the choice to climb a slope and try to get over it or hop over the large rocks along the shoreline to go around it. Not knowing if I would be able to go round I opted for going up and over. The climb was relatively easy but when I got to the top I found myself peering over a sheer drop. It did however give me the opportunity to see what lay ahead. It was obvious the only way to get to the bay on the other side was to turn around and go back down to the beach and hop over the large rocks to get around. I still had no idea what I would find or even how I would get out of the next bay but at least it was a little progress.
At the end of the next bay again I appeared to be cut off, this time though there was no way to climb up and the only option I had was to scramble over the rocks and make my way round the headland. The terrain was now getting more and more challenging and it became apparent that in order to continue I would have to climb up onto the slopes of the hills and make my way along that way.
To start with the way was surprisingly easy but the further I went the harder it became. The ledges I was usibg to traverse the slopes narrowed and rock falls, giant boulders, began to obstruct my progress. I'd only managed to cover a few miles and it had taken hours, the sun was already beginning to disappear behind the hills across from me and it became apparent that I wouldn't make it to the causeway that day. I was in a bad situation, being up on the steep slopes meant I had no where to camp.
Below me there was a very small bay but no sign of any where remotely level to pitch the coffin and certainly no trees suitable to erect the tarp. I continued going hoping for better luck a little further along. I carried on and the landscape got tougher still. I eventually, and not much further along I found myself stuck. I couldn't go any further, I would have to go back and either head up the slope higher or head down to the bay I'd passed and paddle across to the island the following morning. That would mean having to spend the night there.
Scrambling back along the slopes and very aware that I was running out of time I climbed down to the small bay I'd passed hoping that I'd come up with some kind of plan to facilitate accommodation for the night. Thankfully there was a stream running off the hill which meant I had fresh drinking water and if absolutely necessary I figured I could sleep in the bivibag wedged behind a rock or tree to stop me rolling down to the stony shore below. A plan was slowly hatching and falling into place.
The sun had now almost completely set and I still had nowhere to sleep. Scouting every inch of the slope leading down to the bay I found a very small, not perfectly level by any stretch of a wild imagination, ledge like shelf just wide enough and long enough for me to lay across. Using the tarp was out of the question as I was sure I would end up rolling down the slope eventually at some point during the night. The tent however, if pitched right, is substantial enough to hold me in place.
With camp setup I sat on my pack and had my evening meal planning the crossing I'd have to make the following morning, watching the water looking out for any disturbances caused by underwater obstructions and checking the flow to ascertain the strength of the currents.
It soon got dark but it was a mild evening. Across the loch I could hear a quad bike. With not much else to do I looked over and watched as the headlights followed a track running along the loch side. That was my entertainment for the evening, a kind of eye spy. Then a voice called across "are you ok? Do you need to be rescued? I can see your torch!". At first I wondered who he was calling too then realising that the calls were directed at me I stood and went closer to the shore to reply. "I'm fine thank you, plan to paddle out of here in the morning" I replied. "Ok, no bother" came the reply.
With the tent pitched on a healthy angle It wasn't the best camp site I'd had but for just the one night I figured it would do and having running water near by was a bit of a bonus.
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