1st November

During the early hours of the morning the tarp was getting pulled violently as strong gusts blew in from the sea. It was raining heavily. Ignoring it and hoping that the tarp would still be there in the morning when I got up, I buried my head in my sleeping bag and closed my eyes.

An hour or so later with the light now penetrating through the taught fabric of my tent and through a small gap in my sleeping bag I woke from my absent slumber. Time had passed yet it felt like I had closed my eyes for a second or two. I pushed my head out from the comfort of the sleeping bag followed by an arm. Rubbing my eyes a sudden gust of wind blew part of the tarp down onto the tent. Wondering if the tarp had ripped in the night or just come untied I unzipped the fly to inspect the damage and asses the weather. The tarp appeared to still be in one piece and had simply become untied. It was an over cast sky that welcomed me back to the challenge and reality soon struck my dazed perception of the morning. Still feeling full from the meal the night before I decided to quickly pack my gear away in case it began to rain,  skipping breakfast and eager to get going once again.

Trapped in the garden of the inn I climbed the wall into the car park and began walking towards the main road. I knew I was soon to be entering an isolated part of Scotland but felt confident that I had enough supplies to get me to the landlocked village of Inverie on the far side of knoydart. What I didn't realise at the time though was that the nearest post office after Inverie was in fact in Mallaig a good  couple of days hike further on.

From the inns car park I began to follow the road ascending what appeared to be an endless hill towards sandaig. It was a gradual incline that continued for miles. Nearing the top I stopped for a break to give my back and shoulders a break and to look back over the coast I'd passed by the day before. It was quite a spectacular view of the village, forest and the interestingly shaped stony bays. I hadn't made a lot of progress to get there but felt good as long as I knew I'd at least knocked a few miles off the trek. I could have sat there all day, the weather was fine and the sun caught the autumn colours of the hills around me. I couldn't stay there though I had to keep moving.

Reaching the top of the hill the single lane road began to enter a woodland, a green van pulled up alongside me,  the drivers side window wound down. Billy lived in a small hamlet at the end of the road. The road led know where except to Carron. Being a games keeper and member of the mountain rescue team, billy knew the local coast line extremely well and was full of helpful advice,  recollecting a couple of hikes he'd taken his dogs on before.  You could see by the look in his eyes he'd seen what I was about to set a task of tackling. "It gets a bit wild down there" he exclaimed.

Giving me a few tips and a couple of warnings about parts of the shore line he continued on his way to Carron and I set off to find the forestry tracks that would take me to the start of another wild adventure.

I only had to hike about half a mile before I came upon the familiar green sign that said "ceum, path". Beside the sign was a silver car and two keen walkers putting their boots on. "Hello" they said, it was a chap and his wife I had chatted to briefly before leaving the inn the night before to set up my tent. I couldn't remember their names and didn't want to appear rude so returned the welcome and began to start a conversation about the challenge that lay ahead of me that day. Sandaig was one of their favourite spots in the area and had been visiting it for many years,  otter watching. As we all made our way down the gravel forestry track I commented how it felt like a bomb had devastated the area. The trees had pretty much all been felled, trunks laying scattered around the hills. Apparently it used to look stunning through along the walk to the bay but deforestation of the area to make way for new growth had given the place a cold feel.

As we hiked towards the bottom I was told that I should branch off at the next junction.  It would take me to the same place as the couple only on the other side of a river that split the bay in two. Shaking hands and bidding each other a good day I followed the directions they'd given me and followed the track off, round and down.

At the end of the track a small muddy path with water trickling down off the hills took me to an old cottage, its doors and windows closed off with sheets of rusting steel. This was where the author gavin maxwell used to live with his otters, the subject of his books. Across the river heading towards some small islands just off from the shore I could make out the couple and catching their attention I waved to acknowledge I'd found my way.

Spending a little time to take in the gorgeous secluded haven I boiled some run off water and made a mug of coffee, sitting on a large driftwood log and gazed along the coast looking for a way to follow the shore. The first part was easy walking but at the end of the bay felled trees and a high tide would simply stop me in my attempt. I had no other option but to head back to the path and ascend to the forrestry track and follow it along the cliff top until I could negotiate a way down on the other side of the outcrop.

You would think that having no forest in the way would make my life easier, unfortunately this was not the case. The felled trunks of the old pine forest lay strewn among lobg grasses and hiking over the slippery bark was worse than the many stony bays I'd negotiated on my journey. It was treacherous and I had to be extra vigilant about where I trod for fear of slipping and causing myself injury. Branches snapped beneath my weight revealing the marshes below but I did eventually manage to make it through the minefield of obstacles towards the next bay around from the headland. Just one more obstacle to tackle. An adam proof fence, 7' high with two rows of barbed wire strung between broken fence posts.

My first attempt was hopeless, fence folding back on me almost throwing me to the ground, my pack weighing me down. Could I throw the pack over the fence I pondered. Considering I had trouble throwing it onto my back I conceded to the fact I would probably only end up with a bad back and probably the pack ontop of me. I had another go, pulling myself in close to the wire fence next to a more sturdy post. Swinging my left leg over and hoping not to catch myself on the thorns of the barbed wire I got half way. All I had to do next was try and swing my right leg over and transfer the weight of my pack to the same side as me. This was not so easy but after three attempts hanging precariously to the top of the fence and unhooking my crotch from some barbs I eventually managed it and climbed down the other side.

Leaving the fence behind I ventured into the bay ahead, the first thing I noticed was that the rock that formed the most part of the bay was different from any rock I'd come across before. It looked like slate but I don't think it was.  Before leaving Southampton I'd never considered how many different type of rock I would encounter along the way but I can tell you know,   our fine country is laying on the foundations of a vastly varying mantel of interesting bed rock. From volcanic to sand and everything in between.

The bay was stony as with many shores I'd crossed and hiked along down the west coast and like many bays eventually it ended with a protruding rocky challenge. This particular time I was able to make my way around the front over the solid slate like rock to a tiny bay on the other side. Again I crossed the stony shore till I was confronted by a vertical cliff that dropped into the water.  I would be lucky if I could traverse the rock face witg my hiking boots and pack. The alternative was to head up the near vertical slope and over the top. Neither option was particularly appealing to me and getting my feet any wetter was simply not going to happen.

I began my ascent inland and up towards the hilly cliff that stood between me and my journey. At the base of the slope I spotted a faint trail, my friends the deer had been this way. The trail led up and appeared to go round behind the summit. They hadn't let me down so far so I figured it was worth a look.

The trail wound up and around the bump in the coast and through a small birch wood ans continued on along the edge of the cliffs and down into a valley. Fir trees were beginning to become scattered among the birch and before long seemed to dominate my journey.

Eventually I appeared in a clearing. It was a gravel turning circle, a small footpath led off ahead between the firs and swept down towards another secluded little bay.

The stony bay was covered in rancid smelling seaweed. It smelt like decaying flesh. Well thats what I thought it smelt like not that I know what rotting flesh smells like. At the end of the bay, to my right, just over a small stream was the remains of an old cottage. I went over to investigate. It would have been a nice spot to camp up for the night, being sheltered by the bay and forest surrounding it. It was still a little too early though to be thinking of camp so I decided to head back up the track and follow a small trail I had spotted as I'd headed down to the bay on my way in.

The trail, which at first appeared to be man made soon became apparently dominated by deer tracks. Battling my way through the thick forest and having a splinter of wood in my right eye I carefully followed the trail till I reached another bay. Billy was right, it was wild along here.

The sun was beginning its daily ritual of setting.  It seemed to vanish behind the mountains quicker and quicker each day, as if it was getting better at it the more times it did it. It would be crazy to go on any further that day, I was in a reasonably sheltered bay with plenty of fallen trees and driftwood.

Deciding to make camp in the bay I took my pack off and pulled out an empty water bottle from the top of my pack. I always carried two bottles now since my hydration bladder had punctured. One had about half a cup of tap water and the other completely empty. I needed to find a fresh water source so that I could reheat my evening meal and settle in with a mug of coffee so I set off along the bay looking for a small waterfall from the clifftop. I'd passed over so many brooks and streams that day but here in the bay I couldn't find anything. Frigging typical, I muttered. I wandered back along the shore trying to remember where the last place I'd seen water running,  it couldn't have been far. Reaching the woods I'd come into the bay through I began to retrace my own trail and ahead if me heard the welcoming sound of running water.

It wasn't a torrent but more like a tap left open. The source of the water was a little way from the trail and up a slippery muddy bank but it was reachable and I needed to catch the water in my bottle. Looking through the clear plastic I inspected the water,  it was slightly tainted in colour but I felt sure that if I boiled it as I had with water all throughout Scotland I'd be fine.

The light was fading quickly now and I needed to setup camp and collect wood for a fire that night. The plummeting nighttime temperatures were something I'd have to watch out for, it was just rain and cold winds that can bring on hypothermia and I didn't want to go through what I'd experienced in Plockton again,  ever, and especially not while on the trek.

Looking around for my pack, that I had laid beside a fallen tree, I began to make plans about how I would construct a temporary living space. I decided I would lay some long heavy branches up and tie my tarp to them then gather large stones to build a fire place beside it. Finding an old plastic box, suitable for a seat I set about making my home.

Once my shelter was constructed I went off in search of fuel for my fire, dry wood was reasonably plentiful and easy to find. Treading in an upturned nail hidden by grass I felt the foreign object penetrate the sole of my boot and into the bottom of my foot. This could be serious,  I didn't know how bad the injury was and fearing the worst I immediately sat down and unlaced myself for a visual inspection. Unbelievably the toughened skin of my sole hadn't been broken and there was no blood. I was lucky. I continued to collect a nice pile of branches nearby making a mental note of where the rusty nail lay so as not to repeat the accident.

It took several attempts to get a fire going,  the wind which was picking up now battling to prevent my tinder from igniting the kindling I'd carefully prepared. Eventually and with perseverance I got my fire going and it wasn't long before the shelter warmed up. As I sat on my bivibag and ate my evening meal I glanced at the challenge I had for the following morning.  A steep scramble up out of the bay and onto unknown challenges.

It was still early but the sun had now disappeared completely.  I climbed into my sleeping bag and settled in for the night wondering what the weather would be like the following morning.