It was a fairly chilly night but as with most nights recently cocooned up in my goose down sleeping bag I found myself slowly removing layers for fear of boiling in my own sweat.
It was quite mild the following morning, I made breakfast and packed up ready to take on Ben hiant - the blessed mountain. I wasn't able to go around the front of the mountain because it was simply an impossible task which meant the only way I could stick close to the coast was to go over it. I had been told of a footpath leading around the back but looking at it from my campsite it didn't appear too difficult to simply make my way up one side and down the other. Ok so it was steep but by zigzagging and through shear determination I slowly hauled myself and my pack to the top. The almost panoramic views over the loch and Kilchoan were amazing. It was a good day for hiking too with a slight breeze and almost clear skies.
Naturally coming down from the top was considerably quicker than the mornings ascent. Making it to the bottom I came across the ruins of a village, there wasn't much left except the outlines of what was left of the cottage walls. A stream ran alongside the village and towards the coast. I decided I would follow the stream down to the coastal shores hoping it wouldn't lead me to a cliff and waterfall. Thankfully it didn't, it ran down a reasonably easy slope to the shores. The waters were calm and there was a tranquil peace, not even the ripples lapping at the shore made a sound.
The beach I had arrived at was stony with a grass verge. To help my progress I hiked along the short grass up above the stones. Coming across another stream I decided to stop and treat myself to some rehydrated custard with berries. The custard in these packs often end up a little lumpy and don't resemble the smooth creamy custard you would make at home or order in a restaurant but they taste like custard and always lift the spirits.
Continuing along the beach I had to make my way over a small ridge and down to the next stony beach, it looked thr same as the one before with a stony shore and grass verge. At the far end I made my way through a gap in the rocks and found myself on yet another stony beach. At the far end this time was a small sandy bay. To my left were the ruins of a small stone village and across a small river behind the sandy shore was a field of lush green grass. In the centre of the field was what looked like a tall gravestone. I couldn't see any discernable markings on it but at the far side of the field I could see a track leading up a slope to a road above.
My pack was beginning to feel heavy, I was probably hungry and tired but unable to continue along the shore I headed across the field and made it up the slope to join the road which began to follow the coast line anyway.
A little way down the road as it began to descend towards the water I passed a spring so I decided to fill up my bottles in case I didn't find any more fresh running water later. The day was nearly over, the sun was slowly sinking and was out of view. Without knowing what lay ahead I began looking for a place to camp.
It didn't take long to find a reasonable spot amongst the trees in a small woodland near to the road opposite a small bay. It was a perfect place to get the tarp strung up, gather firewood and settle in.
With the fire burning nicely and my belly full I lay back on my sleeping bag and relaxed. It was, as winter nights go, reasonably warm and calm.
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