5th November

That night before going to bed I went outside.  The sky was clear, orion was looking down on me, which I always found comforting, and I could feel the crispness of the air as it entered my lungs. The dampness had gone and there was a full moon hanging above the silhouetted peaks. Feeling butterflies in my stomach I hoped for good weather and calm waters. Climbing in to bed I was eager for dawn to break and set off along the loch to continue the adventure. As I tried to get some rest I laid listening to the clock ticking the seconds away.  It was quite frustrating, each tick followed by a tock, one for every second counting away till it was time for me to leave.

I don't know what time I eventually got to sleep but in the morning I woke around 7am. It was light outside and cold inside.  I dressed and went into the kitchen to make my morning coffee and rehydrate my smooth oats and raspberries.

Outside there frost had formed on the grass outside the caravan. There was a fresh nip in the air, the sun was casting light upon the mountains of knoydart across the loch and the sky was clear. It was perfect weather for tackling the journey I had waited in anticipation for.

Billy was up to and popped over to say goodbye again commenting on the weather and reminding me about a small hut at the mouth of the loch,  johns hut. Billy was tempted to take the morning off to join me for the first part of the trek,  a four mile ancient footpath built by locals during a famine hundreds of years before. The path was never finished because the famine ended and the locals no longer needed to rely on the land owners payments of food in exchange for their hard labour.

I gathered my things from the caravan and checking that the caravan was clean and tidy I headed out through the gate onto the stony shores. About 100 meters from the gate I could see the trail, the beginning of the footpath.
As I walked towards the start of the trail I began making decisions as I did every day. These decisions were based around a plan and everyday I had a plan, sometimes two and on rare occasions three. To day was one of those rare occasions where I had a hat trick to choose from.

Initially the plan was to hike up the length of the loch to Kinloch Hourn and make my way to Barrisdale and stay in the bothy there before continuing on the following day to the hut, johns hut. Because of the good weather and calm conditions of the water in loch Hourn I was able to consider not one but two alternative strategies. Firstly I could hike along the footpath following the loch until it ended opposite Barrisdale. From there I could utilise hoolley and paddle across the narrow stretch before continuing on foot along the loch hoping to arrive before nightfall. My final choice was to simply unpack hoolley,  paddle across the loch and save myself the four mile hike to Barrisdale as well as the four mike hike from Barrisdale ending up opposite where I was currently stood.  That would then mean I had less distance to trek and would arrive at the hut in plenty of time.

I hadn't paddled hoolley in a while and certainly not with the new bag and additional kit I'd been given. I didn't feel confident about the long crossing from billys to the opposite side of the loch. So I poo pooed the third plan in favour a field test. The shorter crossing would allow me to see how things went and hopefully give me the confidence to attempt longer paddles at a later date. I continued towards the start of the ancient footpath, the unfinished footpath that led nowhere.

As I entered the woods and began following the trail I pondered over the two plans I'd conceived. Both had there dangers but the water looked inviting. It was perfect weather for hiking and it was perfect weather for paddling. I kept following the trail which in places did in fact resemble a footpath but for most of the time it was a narrow muddy trail through long grasses and heather.

Above and to my right I saw the mountain rescue helicopter fly in low over the water and land somewhere just out of sight on the opposite side of the loch. A few minutes later it appeared and headed off over the mountains of knoydart until I could niether see nor hear it any longer. Either somebody was injured or somebody was missing, I couldn't decide which was worse and hoped for the sake of whom ever it was the helicopter was looking for that they'd be alright and things would turn out ok.

I continued to follow the trail, the footpath.  I continued to weigh up the risks of the two plans that were jumping around in my head. I even reconsidered my third plan, again poo pooing it as to risky even though the conditions were perfect.

After climbing over a couple of fallen trees, through the mud of the path and over the rocks that had been lain to form the path I found myself opposite Barrisdale. The tide was out and on a large kelp covered boulder I could see two otters with one swimming in the water. I had been on the lookout for otters for some time now but only ever come across their tracks in the sand. They were fascinating animals and appeared oblivious to my presence.

The water was calm, it was a perfect sunny day, not too hot and not too cold. There wasn't even a beeze, everything was still. I looked around the bay to find a good place to unpack hoolley and set off on an experimental paddle across loch Hourn. After getting hoolley inflated and the back pack into its drybag and attached to her front I was left with the day sack, too large to put in the drybag along with the backpack. It would have to ride in the cockpit with me. I laid it down in front of the seat. It was going to be a tight fit, I wasn't even sure if I'd be able to get my size ten boots in. This was a little cause for concern. Should,  for any reason, I need to bail from the pack raft it was likely my feet would get trapped, this was dangerous, I could end up drowning. I squeezed my right foot in, it was tight. I lowered myself down awkwardly instead of tge usual plop. I then squeezed my left foot in, twisting and pushing as I did. Getting out in an emergency was going to be tough and I wasn't even sure if that would be possible at all.

Back home before leaving Southampton and embarking on the trek I'd checked that all my kit would fit into the pack, I checked everything worked in unison together but now half way round I had different gear,  it hadn't been tested and it was becoming apparent that it didn't work together like a well maintained machine. It was adequate with the adaptions that had been made and I was thankful to those that had stepped up and helped out by giving me the gear but it was far from perfect and I feared could potentially cause considerable problems later on.

Pushing away I gingerly began to paddle, the water was calm, the sun was out and the views spectacular,  I just wished I could have taken a photo or video to share with those following my progress from the comfort of their homes.

It didn't take long before I had landed on the shores beside a boat shed on the other side of the loch. The crossing had gone well although there wasn't really much that could have gone wrong. Hoolley appeared to be stable in the watet, the backpack had stayed attached to the front and the daysack sat in the cockpit without moving and provided me with just enough space to fit my feet. I felt a little happier although still concerned about what might happen should I get tipped over or puncture the inflated tubes that kept me afloat.

Climbing out onto the stony shore was not as simple as getting in. My boots caught on the rim of the cockpit brace and it took several attempts to free myself.  This compounded my concerns about a quick exit should it be required. There was nothing I could do about it though I would simply have to hope that at the moment disaster strikes I remained calm and hope that the abandonment would run smooth-ish.

Stood in the other side of the loch I looked along towards the mouth. It was too good a day to waste. My crossing had gone smoothly and I felt considerably more confident about paddling further. I was out on the shore and the explorer in me was seeking adventure. I'd planned to stay at the bothy a short hike from here and wondered what it was like so I decided to drag hoolley away from the rising tide and rest her against a rock along with the rest of my gear. Without having the weight of my pack I could move more quickly and figured a quick interlude to go find the bothy was in order. I set off away from my kit along a gravel track around the bay towards Barrisdale.

It was a pleasant walk and didn't take me long to reach the campsite and bothy billy had told me about. The bothy sat next to a small cottage, two blue doors at the front were the entrance so I went in. It wasn't quite what I'd expected. To my right was a plumbed in toilet next to two rooms with wooden bunks. To my left was the living area and kitchen.  It felt cold and uninviting.  There was a table in the middle of the room with old battered and broken chairs around the walls. That was it. Unlike the bothys at craig, uags, friesgill or even sandys bothy at Sandwood this bothy was characterless and unfriendly. There was a notice by the door and a large metal box. The notice specified a charge for the use of both the campsite and bothy. £1 per night per tent or £3 per night for the bothy. As I left I felt glad that I wouldn't be stopping the night and made my way back to collect my kit. In the interim I'd decided I'd have a go at paddling the length of the loch to reach the hut billy had told me about, johns hut.

Climbing back into hoolley seemed more difficult this time, the eyelets of my boots catching on the spray deck brace. It was quite a cafuffle. The waters were still calm though and the sun was still casting its warm rays of light uninterrupted, there was not a cloud to be seen. It was about 1pm now and I knew I had about another 4 or so hours of light left.

As I paddled away from the bay i could see starfish laying on the bottom beneath me, fish swam between the kelp and around the limpit covered rocks. It was going to be a nice leisurely paddle surrounded by amazing views of the mountain ranges that dominated the skyline.

After about an hour the sun began to disappear behind knoydart to my left. Without a watch to tell the time and the sun out of sight I had no way of knowing how much longer I would have light. Keeping an eye on the shadows the mountains of knoydart cast across the lake I figured I could potentially estimate when sunset would be.

Another hour passed and I found myself opposite billys cottage and the caravan I'd stopped in.  I was now part of the view that tormented me for two days. My left bum cheek was also going numb and it was uncomfortable. How could you possibly get a numb bum cheek sitting in an inflatable kayak on an inflatable seat.

I was coming up to a small stony beach and decided I'd stop for a break and to stretch my legs. Ten minutes later I was back on the water. It was imperative now that I either found the hut or a good place to build a shelter,  the weather reports for that night warned of sub zero temperatures as low as -5°c and the following day would be wet with potentially 30+ mph winds. I now knew what a bad combination this would be. I was becoming more experienced with trekking in poor weather and under poor conditions.

As I paddled I looked up at the coast I'd planned to hike, it was tough and unforgiving. In places vertical climbs would have been difficult and dangerous, the adventure would have made quite a story but I was quite content sitting in hoolley and observing from the comfort of the calm waters below. I did feel though that I would have to attempt a hike along these shores sometime in the future, the challenge to go where very few, if any indeed had gone. Next time though I'd make sure I was packed light without the weight of a pack raft and that it was summertime.

Ahead now was the fish farm I'd seen a few days previously. At first I didn't seem to be getting closer but it wasn't long before I passed it, a huge ominous looking cliff ahead almost marking the end of the loch.

As I paddled passed the cliffs there was a noticeable change in the water. I was now leaving the loch and entering into open water. If something was to go wrong during the paddle it would be here. I began to gain speed as the tide turned. I'd been paddle against the waters flowing into the loch all afternoon as it reached high tide. The water was now flowing out of the loch and it was taking me with it. I'd have to be more vigilant now,  watching out for waves that could potentially flip me. I'd have to keep close to the shore and watch the current didn't seize hoolley and drag her, with me as a passenger out to sea.

The cliffs began to drop in height and I began to keep an eye out for the hut. It had to be here somewhere,  billy had said that once I'd scrambled over the cliffs, these cliffs,  that I'd see it. All I could see was the sound of sleat, a stretch of water that separated the isle of skye from the mainland,  and a small stony spit jutting out in front of me.

As I paddled round the spit I noticed three seals had joined me. They were always there somewhere when hoolley came out for a dip. On the far side if the spit was a stony bay and set back from the bay was a rather large wooden hut. It had to be johns hut.

The sun was most definitely beginning to set. I didn't need to see any shadows cast to know that. My hands were feeling the sudden drop in the temperature. Nightfall was just around the corner,  maybe an hour, possibly an hour and a half away. To see the hut filled me with gratitude I just hoped it wouldn't be locked and that john wouldn't mind me taking shelter in side out of the cold.

Leaving hoolley up away from the receding waters on the stony shore I went over to take a look at the hut. There was a metal chimney stack petruding from the side and a small wooden building attached to the end  it was quite some hut. A man den.

Finding the door unlocked I let myself in. It was dark inside,  a thick blanket covered the doorway, feather filled duvets hung from a rope strung across dividing the hut in two. There was a kitchen and living space. In the rafters a makeshift ladder led to a matress. This was a well used and isolated homely escape from the trivial world normal people bustled about in.

Bookshelves on the walls carried a library of mountaineering and walking literature. Ice axes hung behind an asian cloth and antlers screwed to the walls. John was obviously a person of adventure himself. Hiking boots and socks stored in various places along with towels and jackets.

I went back to the shore, it was getting colder and darker. I packed hoolley away my fingers becoming numb from the cold. I attached the day sack to my back pack. I couldn't feel anything the nerves in my fingers senseless. I slung my pack on and picked up my paddles, I didn't feel like wrestling them into the backpack in the cold and decided I'd wait till morning.

Back in the hut I lay my pack on the wooden floor and pulled out my head torch. I then began searching for a candle, I'd lost mine sometime ago and had neglected to replace it when I was given the chance. No candles. I then took an empty bottle from my pack and headed down to a small stream I'd spotted to collect some water to hydrate my evening meal and make a coffee. On the way back I gathered driftwood to get a fire going. The small shed attached to the hut had a saw inside so I was easily able to cut the wood down small enough to fit inside the stove inside the hut.

With a fire going I soon warmed up and settled in. It was cozy by the stove so I decided to pull out my sleeping bag and sleep on the sofa next to it. I switched on my phone and surprisingly picked up a signal in the corner of the hut after waving it around pointing it in various different directions and praying to the phone god giffgaff. Now connected to the worldwide web I felt less alone and had a look at what my social media friends had been up to that day. Brik was his usual, unsettled and unhinged self, posting amusingly odd statements that brought a smile to my face and which I found myself uncontrollably clicking "like" on. Jen was feeling focussed again after having a hard time dealing with internet trolls and cyber bullies and pretty much everyone else was either bitching and moaning, congratulating someone or reposting some kind of motivational image that sported some kind of strap line or a statement with the words "like if you agree" added  to the bottom.

It was bonfire night, fireworks would be launching into the air all over the country celebrating the failed attempt to blow up parliament by guy fawkes. Having met a descendant of one of the brothers who'd joined with guy fawkes to bring down the government I felt that this year the celebration was less of an old folk story but in some way more real. It then occurred to me that only the British could celebrate failure in such spectacular fashion.