Rosslare Harbour to Dublin

Mid February 2010

As I stepped out of the ferry terminal the temperature was falling rapidly, and by the time the luggage truck eventually came around it was fully dark. I really didn't want to start off by walking along the main road, so attempted to try and follow the coastline instead. A dog walker did his best to direct me, but soon I found myself in a rough field not knowing how near the sea was. First of all I had to get across a ditch and then climb over a fence. What I hoped would be a road was in fact the railway line. After following it for a few minutes I found a suitable place to climb the next fence and ditch. I reached the cliff top at last, but the tide was too far in to be able to climb down to the shore. The fields were really uneven and boggy and I soon took a break to regroup, tired and dirty after less than an hour of arriving. I came out onto a now welcome road but had to follow it inland a short way, before at last reaching Rosslare Strand.

I tidied myself up somewhat and kicked the loose mud off my boots, prior to entering an Irish shop for the first time. Centra, a chain store I would soon grow very familiar with. I built myself up with expectancy as I walked in. Of course it was just like anywhere back in Britain, but with many enticing different brands. Club orange fizzy pop, Tayto crisps, Goldgrain biscuits and Denny's sausages. I easily could have filled my basket. However, I still had most of the food I'd brought with me from home. To compromise I grabbed a cheap tin of baked beans and a delicious Wexford Creamery branded litre carton of milk.

I stopped in the middle of the village and ate the beans cold with a sandwich. There were very few people about even though it was still early and I was able to enjoy my 'meal' in peace. Well fed, I left the comfort of street lighting behind, looking to make up for some lost time. At Woodtown I realised I'd missed a turn to the left, so had to head back a few hundred metres. Double checking the map, I jumped a gate onto a little used green lane. Which was fine for the first few metres until it became completely swamped with icy water and deep mud. Undeterred I pushed on through the worst of it. Things seemed to be improving once the track bed became solid again. Around the next bend however, my hopes of navigating the coast to Wexford were dealt the final blow, when an impassable drainage channel brought me to a complete stop. I'd had enough by this point, so just pitched the tent right there, wisely waiting for the morning instead.

*

After a quick look around in the daylight it was clear that this way certainly was a lost cause, so I retraced my steps and then followed the fast N25 road. This wasn't as bad to walk along as I feared. On the left hand side there was a wide lane painted with a dotted yellow line, which only slower cars used to let others overtake. Otherwise everyone else was driving in the centre, so there was room enough for me to relax with one foot over on the grass verge. I turned off onto a lane a few miles further, but a lady sent me back saying it was a dead end. I'd lost a lot of confidence in the restricted byways marked on the map already by this point and resolved to follow either only public roads or the coast from then on.

I crossed the railway line again coming into Wexford. It runs unfenced for some way alongside the harbour and I nearly tripped up taking in the view. Lingering a while at the impressive Crescent Quay to study the John Barry memorial statue, I then headed along the bustling high street. Here I bought a pretty postcard, the last one they had of the Saltee Islands. They're in the opposite direction to that which I was headed, so when the shop lady told me it's a lovely area really worth visiting, I had to say unfortunately it won't be this time for me, but next month I'd love to go over there.

After visiting the ruins of Selskar Abbey I walked along the south bank of the River Slaney, moving at an unhurried pace for Ferrycarrig. The tidal waters were high and I spied a heron stood in the shallows waiting for its next meal to swim by. Then, I saw an elephant half hidden in the reeds. The afternoon was bright and sunny so I could easily tell that it was just a sculpture, but I don't know what I would have thought if I'd glimpsed it later in the twilight. Crossing the bridge at Ferrycarrig stuck in my memory as one of my favourite experiences of this trip. With an enduring castle tower guarding the narrows and densely wooded banks upriver, it appeared all so timeless and unspoilt.

Feeling settled into my new surroundings now, I stopped a while at The Frying Irishman cafe in Castlebridge. Over the radio the town received a mention in the regional weather forecast, recording a current temperature of 4°C. I must have taken longer in the bathroom than I realised, because the sun had gone down already when I came out. Nonetheless it brought me a good photo opportunity stood on the bridge, with a neat pointed marquee in the foreground. Afterwards, I spoke to a man in the petrol station who struggled to believe I was out walking. He looked at my map and confirmed I could still get to The Raven Point that night.

I had to walk on an overgrown flood bank through the nature reserve because the tide was still in and unfortunately disturbed a large flock of geese feeding on the North Slob. After a taxing walk I reached a track leading me into eerie and forbidding forestry of The Raven. The sky was moonless and a mosaic of constellations stippled the spaces between the trees. I stopped for the night near to the car park and sat out eating a panful of Lidl chicken curry in the peaceful calm, but soon after had to rush into the tent when I inevitably became perished.

*

There was a heavy ground frost overnight, even down here at sea level and a layer of frost coated the tent. I waited for the sun to rise before setting off and then headed directly to the beach. The sand was soft and the tide was in so I didn't progress too quickly, but it was nice now to be on a direct coastal route. Once I’d left the beach I followed lanes into the peaceful village of Blackwater, passing a few horse riders along the way. After getting something for breakfast at the shop I stopped to eat, across the road from an electrical goods store which seemed to be shut. Shortly after, a car pulled up and the owner went straight in as the premises had been left unlocked. Obviously he had no concerns about anything going missing.

I then followed the quiet road further to Kilmuckridge. At this point I was out of water and was considering interrupting my walk to stop at a bar or cafe. However I was glad to find a tap unexpectedly in the centre of the village, thoughtfully provided for everyone to use. I followed the R742 some more and then returned to the coast briefly at Cahore Point. Here I found a display for the Wexford Coastal Path and took a picture for later route planning.

It was now night as I passed Ballygarrett, so I needed to turn my head torch on as there was no pavement. There was little traffic though and even less as I went down a road with diversion signs pointing away from it. Soon I was at a junction with a ‘Road Closed’ sign in front of me. I was worried that I'd have to detour, so sat down at a newsagent stand to prepare myself for disappointment. A man walking his dog came by and I asked him if there was any way to get through. He said it was fenced right across the road, but I should be able to get by if I was determined enough. The roadworks were only a short way beyond. I got beside the first barrier by climbing along the wooden fence of a field boundary. There were several hazardous deep excavations in the road, but I found my way around them safely by torchlight. The next barrier was a bit more awkward. I needed to pass my backpack over on one side and squeeze through the gap in a hedge on the other.

It was nine o'clock and bitterly cold when I arrived in Courtown. I really had to get indoors somewhere to warm up for a while. I found my way into Ambrose Molloney's bar, after nearly walking past. I had a pot of tea and a toasted sandwich and was talking to the landlord Michael about my walk before he went outside for a short while. When he came back he asked me if I was looking for somewhere to spend the night. There was a flat beside the pub for summer staff and after showing me up there he kindly gave a key for the night. I returned to the warmth of the bar to finish my tea and watch Fulham secure a 2-1 home win over Shakhtar Donetsk in the UEFA Europa League. I then quickly headed back up to the flat, and was soon snuggling into my sleeping bag on the soft double bed.

*

After a hot Beechams drink in the flat and a breakfast roll from the shop, I was ready to get a good day’s walking done. I found my way out of Courtown on a pleasant woodland walk before following the shoreline for some way. High tide waters then forced me inland, up past the golf course to Ballymoney Crossroads. On the way down from Tara Hill a jovial farmer in a Land Rover pulled over for a chat. Where he had stopped he was blocking the road and remained quite oblivious to other road users trying to pass. He was the first of countless friendly characters I would meet on the road all over Ireland who would instantly strike up animated conversations, as if they'd known me for years. Soon enough though the man in the car behind, spoiled the moment beeping his horn at us and I had to part company with the farmer, but now feeling the most cheerful since arriving on Tuesday.

After sitting down for a little bit of lunch on Ahare Bridge, I directed myself back to the coast through Clones Upper. After a short walk along the beach I climbed back up onto the tranquil little road. I was taken unawares by the sudden sound of hooves on tarmac and a horse with a thick blue rope trailing behind it came racing round the corner. My gut instinct told me to hold my ground in the middle of the lane and the horse stopped abruptly a few metres in front of me. I was thinking that it had just escaped from a nearby field and maybe if I distracted it, the owner would come and lead it home. Yes. A man with a dog was walking my way and a car following too. However, when the car caught up with the man the driver casually wound down his window and they just started chatting away, absorbed with their own things. The horse was giving me an agitated sideways look at this point, so I stepped aside and with a toss of its head, it galloped on along its way once again. I was a bit lost as to what was going on. The two men just said 'Hi' to me as I passed by and nothing more. For all I knew, the horse had been let free for a run and it was commonplace around here.

Next, I had just a few kilometres to cover along the beach and through dunes to get to Kilmichael Point, but somehow managed to find a waterlogged route between thorn bushes, which was unavoidable without returning the same way. I slopped on through, with the fetid water finding its way over the top of my boots. I was halfway into the thorns from then on, my backpack acting as the pin cushion instead of my right arm. I emerged on the landside of a large sand dune and kicking my boots through the warm sand soon dried them off. There was a lovely view northwest here to Croghan Mountain just below the cloud level. The water I'd come through was in fact a little lake trapped behind the sand and the quaint scene revitalised my clammy extremities.

Kilmichael Point marked the end of the Wexford Coastal Path and I was faced with an awkward half mile of rough coastline if I was to continue forward directly into County Wicklow. All the diversions inland were becoming frustrating, so I decided to take a risk and keep going straight on. I made my way down to the first stony beach, which proved slow going. I soon needed to climb back up the overgrown bank when a small headland was obstructing the way along the foreshore. I walked on a rabbit trail through long grass until the coastal scrub became impassable. I squeezed through some trees, finding a little space between them just large enough to then be able to climb into a field. I slipped through here as quickly as I could and managed to climb another fence by a farmhouse without drawing attention to myself. A little more barbed wire still needed negotiating and then I was back down on another rocky beach. This time however I could see a good path leading up from the far end.

Something bulky stood amongst the stones caught my eye. Strangely, it out turned to be a large gas canister, balanced ready to offer me a seat while I took a picture of the arch in the headland. I could see a gate at the bottom of the path and it looked like it was for private access only, but I had to go up with no other alternative. There was an old couple out in their garden but not looking in my direction, so I could slip by unnoticed along the long track back onto the road.

I came around Arklow Rock and down through a huge quarry approaching Arklow. I'd timed it well, because the gates at the entrance would have been locked for the night an hour later. It was very dusty, with a fleet of trucks and earth movers thundering around the site. A holy well with a flower covered shrine was marooned in the middle of it all, helplessly surrounded by the work which transforms God.

The low sun pasted a vivid glow across the rooftops as I found my way through narrow streets to the Nineteen Arches Bridge. I didn't want to leave the town too hastily, so whilst the light faded gradually, I nipped into the Arklow Bridge Hotel. With a large pot of strong tea to keep me going I settled down to get some writing done. I had a great time recalling an unforgettable day walking south on the Trotternish Peninsula, Skye, as two hours seemed to flash by here in Arklow.

Now that it was dark enough for my torch beam to come into full effect, I was more than ready to return to the open road. It may have been the Irish tea they were serving in the hotel that night, but my eyes seemed to be playing tricks on me as I walked several more miles towards Mizen Head along the lonely deserted road. I first noticed this stopped at Pennycomequick Bridge for a length of time I couldn't estimate now. Maybe it was five minutes or maybe fifty. I was having difficulty deciphering between the fanciful notions in my head and what was real and genuine, perched there befuddled in the cold.

Walking once again, I kept imagining that there was somewhere to camp ahead on the other side of the road. After rushing over and scaling a gate it would be plainly obvious there was nowhere to pitch the tent, or even lay my bivvy out. I called on myself to show mental discipline and just concentrate on maintaining a controlled march, knowing that inevitably the campsite would find itself. I'd just rounded a bend in the road and overlooking Brittas Bay, a little path led to a viewpoint. Flattening some long grass, I berthed with just enough space to raise my flysheet and even though I was in clear sight of the road, it was plainly apparent that I could tuck away there for a few hours as secure as in a hotel room.

*

Three days out in the crisp fresh air had me sleeping like a pharaoh and I cherished a sacred pan of steaming porridge sat in my own private pyramid, watching lazy faint stars vacate the dawn sky. As I was wrapping away my tent pegs, the chubby sun peeped its nose over the distant horizon. It was a rare treat for me to capture an east coast sunrise, so I snagged a couple of photographs and stood there a moment longer very satisfied.

I spent some time at the local store seeking out postcards, however it was too early in the year to start displaying them, I was told. Dismayed, I bought a packet of Fruit Pastilles and sat on the wall outside brushing my teeth, having lost impetus for the moment. The occasional car would stop by, as locals collected their Saturday morning newspapers and the cheery folk gave me heart to tackle the final miles into Wicklow.

Where the R750 turned right, keeping to the coast into Wicklow, I decided to carry on straight up the hill along a quiet country lane. I was thinking I had made the wrong choice at first, but as soon as the view to the north opened out I knew that this was the better way to go. I could: see right along the coast as far as Bray Head, look down over the whole of the town; and inland, scan the best part of the county's mountains and countryside. I couldn't help jogging most of the way into the town centre, but put the brakes on quick enough to swerve into a traditional cafe and order some seafood soup with wheaten bread for lunch.

For the second time in the day I chose an inland route leaving town. The railway line now ran right along the coastline for over ten miles to Greystones and I didn't want to take a risk of needing to cross the tracks again. With a litre bottle of red lemonade bought at Rathnew to fuel me, I enjoyed a relaxing stroll right through into the late afternoon, reaching Kilcoole at dinner time. I was aware that it was one year to the day that I had left Prestatyn train station, setting out to walk around Scotland, so I couldn't begrudge myself a plate of cod and chips to mark the occasion. The Molly's public house was serving food, so in I went. The old world charm of the place was striking immediately and I learned later that scenes of the popular RTÉ series Glenroe were filmed there.

I took my sheet of scrawled jottings out while waiting for my meal, but when I couldn't find any words coming to me I moved my stool to get a better view of the sports roundup on the large screen TV. Just in time to see Everton applauding their fans after a memorable win over Manchester United. I couldn't see the score sat so far away, but did hear an Irish voice shout 'Blimey 3-1', though with a less polite choice of words. My meal was soon served and I couldn't have wished for any more that night.

Quite a crowd had gathered in the bar by the time I had finished, it was certainly time now to leave inconspicuously. Coming into Greystones the extended period of dry weather came to an end and I snuck out of the rain into the shadows of a gas fire showroom frontage. I couldn't delay as long as I would have liked to, but did put away two pots of yoghurt for an impromptu pudding.

The rain intensified as I continued again along the main road and just short of Bray Head I stopped again. This time in a vandalised bus shelter. It was a good deal colder now and not as a result of the hundred metres height gain, but because of coal black clouds stuffing the air with a thickening flow of sleet. I sat there a while considering my options. I was unsure whether wandering around snowy Bray Head in the dark would be wise. Maybe it was to my advantage that the shelter's glass was smashed in, because I had a look in the field behind and could see enough space for my tent partly concealed in the corner.

After cautiously negotiating the broken glass, I climbed into the field and set about pitching up the best I could with little feeling in my fingers. The large compartment on the front of my new Arcteryx backpack had been proving a useful feature this week as I could store the tent in there loose. Not needing to remove it from its tight bag sped things up a good deal for me now. Again I'd found another unlikely place to camp, but didn't deduct any points lost for style. Drawing up the tent zip and climbing into my sleeping bag fully dressed, I was simply content to let tomorrow dispatch another wakeup call of the unknown.

*

It only snowed for a few hours in the night, but there was still enough lying on the ground to give the hilltops a gentle fingerprint dusting of white. Four hundred metres on my feet and I came upon a picture perfect winter view of Little Sugar Loaf hill at a road junction. Indeed, another early riser had just parked up and was out taking photos. I headed over to the fence to do the same. He snapped a few more before approaching me. 'There's a cock pheasant just over the fence.' He told me. The oblivious bird was sat there motionless, its senses probably dulled by the cold. The bold plumage looking rather unnatural amid patchy snow. After one more silent moment it finally flew off. And so did I.

The sun was shining brightly down on Bray promenade and I was quick to take the opportunity to dry my tent in a southeast facing shelter. Now mid morning and with plenty of colourful activity around the seafront, I motivated myself to finish the final twenty kilometres into Dublin city centre. Part of the way along the promenade something on a railing post coming up caught my eye. A poor little fish had been stranded on top of it. I have no idea how it got there or what relevance it held, but it was left facing seaward and pointed out the direction home for me.

I had come slightly inland again to Bray Bridge crossing the Dargle River, just before passing into the Dún Laoghaire-Rathdown district of County Dublin. In Shankhill I saw two youth teams energetically contesting a Gaelic Football match. At first I thought they were playing rugby, but when they bounced the ball between each other I realised not. The coast road led me down to Killiney Bay and here I got my first good view of Dalkey Island. The railway line however hogged the best position. Trains whizzing out of the tunnel through the headland were treated to a chough's eye view directly over the strand. After climbing up a steep hill I had the whole road to myself for the next kilometre, as roadworks had closed it off to motor vehicles.

Coming around Sorrento Point the semicircle of Dublin Bay was becoming ever more visible, revealing a heavily urbanised landscape. Here though, looking out across Dalkey Sound I still felt I had a good chance of seeing interesting wildlife like a seal or rare sea birds. The town centre of Dalkey was positively bustling without being hectic this Sunday afternoon and I made sure I passed the splendid old castle on my way through.

I had to take an unforeseen rest stop soon after. I'd progressively aggravated an old injury to my right knee over the course of the day. The whole week I'd not used my walking pole at all and was suffering for it at present. I would depend heavily on it now to carry me over the final section. I ate my last two yoghurts whilst giving the complaining ligament a rest and took stock of the situation. It was still early, so even if I made slow progress I should be able to easily reach Dublin before nightfall.

Standing up ungainly I recommenced. I needed to walk with a juddering step, but was able to continue without making the problem any worse. With all the commuters Dún Laoghaire was still very busy for a wintry weekend. Groups of day-trippers gathered around the ferry terminal and the N31 brought a ceaseless stream of cars too, but it was the impressive architecture across the road that kept my attention. From here I found a cycle track running parallel to the DART line through Blackrock.

As Merrion Strand became Sandymount Strand I really started to struggle. Many people out for a stroll were overtaking me, but I wouldn't stop for a break until I'd reached the northern end of the path. I sped up as much as I was able to to claim the last bench before anyone could beat me to it. From here there would be no more places to rest up to the River Liffey in the centre of Dublin. Knowing that I was about to head into the claustrophobic inner city I drew out my time as long as possible, taking in all the activity around the spacious bay.

It wasn't too long before I had passed buildings of the renowned Trinity College and was stepping out across the Liffey. I'd avoided the notorious tourist hordes that flock to Ireland's attractions all week long, and now suddenly every last one of them seemed to have squeezed together, forming a tight line along the rails of O'Connell Bridge. I was laughing to myself as I took up a place of my own near the opposite bank, next to a group of camera snapping Japanese. Definitely a case of 'If you can't beat them, join them' for the time being. Dusk had advanced stealthily across the city skyline. Bringing with it a slide show of colour smudged delicately upon the water, projected by a kaleidoscopic array of bright lights along the vibrant riverside.

I turned left onto Bachelors Walk and didn't have far to go to find budget accommodation for myself. Abbey Court Hostel still had beds available that night, leaving me with plenty of time to wander along O'Connell Street at my leisure. As I prepared to head back home in the morning I was sad to be going after such a wholly enjoyable week. I felt so comfortable already. I knew that I'd be leaving a little part of me behind here in Ireland, and until the time came to return for the next epic coastal adventure I would not think about anywhere else that I'd rather be.

Self compiled list of Ordnance Survey Triangulation Pillars on islands in Great Britain and Ireland

England - 36
Isle of Man - 15
Republic of Ireland - 17
Scotland - 442
Wales - 25

Italics denote Republic of Ireland

Slieve More - Achill Island - F650086
Ailsa Craig - Ailsa Craig - NX019998
Bwrdd Arthur - Anglesey - SH585812
Mynydd Llwydiarth - Anglesey - SH540786
Penmynydd Anglesey - SH514748
Fodol - Anglesey - SH499684
Porthamel - Anglesey - SH499684
Rhuddlan Fawr - Anglesey - SH486812
Llaneilian - Anglesey - SH472917
Mynydd Bodafon - Anglesey - SH472854
Parys Mountain - Anglesey - SH443905
Hafod - Anglesey - SH440795
Cefn-Cwmmwd - Anglesey - SH433740
Craig Wen - Anglesey - SH398947
Hermon - Anglesey - SH390687
Carmel - Anglesey - SH388824
Llanol - Anglesey - SH380882
Aberffraw - Anglesey - SH346685
Pendefig - Anglesey - SH343736
Graianfryn - Anglesey - SH325839
Mynydd-y-Garn - Anglesey - SH314906
Cluidaniller - Aran Island - B661160
Clauchland - Arran - NS046338
Garbad - Arran - NS024237
Maol Donn - Arran - NS018405
Sannox - Arran - NS003477
Sheeans - Arran - NR998328
Tighvein - Arran - NR997274
Goat Fell - Arran - NR991415
Bennan - Arran - NR984216
Laggan - Arran - NR977497
An Tunna - Arran - NR967361
Ard Bheinn - Arran - NR944328
Monyquil - Arran - NR936372
Catacol - Arran - NR917498
Corriecravie - Arran - NR911248
Bharrain - Arran - NR901427
Lochain - Arran - NR901371
Torr Righ Mor - Arran - NR888310

Balta - Balta - HP662081
Heaval - Barra - NL678994
Ben Tangaval - Barra - NL638990
Ben Scurrival - Barra - NF696089
Rueval - Benbecula - NF825533
Anaigh - Benbecula - NF797496
Aird - Benbecula - NF760544
Moor Hill (Berneray Island) - Berneray (Uists) - NF928832
Aith Ness - Bressay - HU512447
Brassa - Bressay - HU502387
Out Skerries - Bruray (Out Skerries) - HU689722
Burgh More - Burgh More - NM305447
Burray Ness - Burray - ND504964
Little Wart - Burray - ND461963
Rothesay Golf Course - Bute - NS099644
Kilchatton Hill - Bute - NS098547
St Blanes Hill - Bute - NS095526
Birgidale - Bute - NS082590
Barone Hill - Bute - NS069630
Cranslagmorie Hill - Bute - NS066664
Windy Hill - Bute - NS043698
Torran Turach - Bute - NS009706

Caldy Island - Caldey Island - SS142959
Carn A'Ghaill (Canna) - Canna - NG263064
Sron Ruail (Canna) - Canna - NG208045
Northwick - Canvey Island - TQ759839
Cnoc Bharr (Monach Island) - Ceann Iar (Monach Islands) - NF616625
Knockmore - Clare Island - L669861
Clear Island - Clear Island - V971220
Druim nan Carn - Coll - NM264640
Chrotha - Coll - NM230591
Ben Hogh - Coll - NM181580
Ceann Fasachd - Coll - NM170531
Calgary Point - Coll - NM110525
Carnan Eoin - Colonsay - NR409984
Beinn nan Gudairean - Colonsay - NR388949
Croaghnakeela - Croaghnakeela Island - L685325
Barbay Hill - Cumbrae Island - NS167570

Dursey Island - Dursey Island - V472403
Dutchmans Cap - Dutchmans Cap - NM243387

Red Head - Eday - HY569405
Stennie Hill - Eday - HY562355
Greentoft - Eday - HY552300
Onziebist - Egilsay - HY470287
Dunan Thalasgair (Eigg) - Eigg - NM482902
An Sgurr (Eigg) - Eigg - NM463847
Eileach an Naoimh - Eileach an Naoimh - NM638097
Ascrib - Eilean Garave (Ascrib Islands) - NG299646
Crowlin - Eilean Mor (Crowlin Islands) - NG699340
Coinein - Eilean nan Coinein - NR545684
Eilean nan Ron - Eilean nan Ron - NC638656
Eilean Shona - Eilean Shona - NM649741
Ensay Island (South) - Ensay - NF977857
Ben Scrien (Eriskay I) - Eriskay - NF795112

Fair Isle - Fair Isle - HZ208734
Baa Neap - Fetlar - HU673914
Fetlar - Fetlar - HU622935
Gillis Field - Fetlar - HU616885
Kirk Knowe - Fetlar - HU586936
Flotta - Flotta - ND352938
Foula - Foula - HT947395
Fuday - Fuday - NF734082
Fuiay - Fuiay - NF740022

Gairsay - Gairsay - HY441223
Creag Bhan - Gigha - NR647509
Mullach A'Charnain (Gighay Island) - Gighay - NF764048
Glims Holm - Glimps Holm - ND473990
Gometra - Gometra - NM361414
Croaghmore - Great Blasket Island - V246957
Carrignafoy - Great Island - W803673
Groay - Groay - NG002792

Handa Island - Handa Island - NC130482
St Kilda - Hirta - NA099000
Holy Island - Holy Island (Scotland) - NS063297
Rhoscolyn - Holy Island (Wales) - SH263753
Tre-Arddur - Holy Island (Wales) - SH252801
Holyhead - Holy Island (Wales) - SH218829
Greenhead - Hoy - ND298995
Kitloch - Hoy - ND280944
The Berry - Hoy - ND247907
Trowieglen - Hoy - ND239984
Moor Fea - Hoy - ND190999
Bring Head - Hoy - HY269020
Ward Hill - Hoy - HY228022
Sui Fea - Hoy - HY192031

Inch Top - Inch Island - C313252
Inchmarnock Island - Inchmarnock Island - NS019601
Eochaill - Inishmore - L861097
Mountain Common - Inishturk - L605751
Dun Island - Iona - NM284252
Island Davaar - Island Davaar - NR757199
Ardmore - Islay - NR472506
Cnoc Rhaonastil - Islay - NR434485
Beinn Bheigeir - Islay - NR429564
Rhuvaal - Islay - NR426788
Beinn Dubh - Islay - NR422637
Persabus - Islay - NR419697
Sgarbh Breac - Islay - NR406766
Beinn Sholum - Islay - NR398499
Mala Bholsa - Islay - NR378777
Coil a Ghuail - Islay - NR373611
Sgarbh Dubh - Islay - NR370754
Beinn Bhreac - Islay - NR355716
Carn nan Gillean - Islay - NR353673
An Curran - Islay - NR346464
Cnoc Donn - Islay - NR338585
Gortantaoid Point - Islay - NR336745
Cnoc Grianail - Islay - NR331526
Maol na Coille - Islay - NR308681
Maol Buidhe - Islay - NR303457
Beinn Mhor - Islay - NR294404
Cnoc Iolairean - Islay - NR287635
Laggan Point - Islay - NR280553
Creag Mhor - Islay - NR273699
Mull of Oa - Islay - NR270415
Sunderland Hill - Islay - NR247638
Turnaichaidh - Islay - NR219625
Cnoc Uamh Nam Fear - Islay - NR218709
Beinn Tart A' Mhill - Islay - NR210569
Cnoc Mor - Islay - NR204648
Ben Cladville - Islay - NR182545
Beinn Seasaimh - Islay - NR179579
North Barrule - Isle of Man - SC442909
Ballig - Isle of Man - SC431807
Howstrake Golf Course - Isle of Man - SC414781
Snaefell - Isle of Man - SC397880
Sartfield - Isle of Man - SC349990
Clybane Farm - Isle of Man - SC344766
Slieau Freoaghane - Isle of Man - SC340883
Ballacregga Farm - Isle of Man - SC336721
Slieau Ruy - Isle of Man - SC328823
Dreswick Point - Isle of Man - SC284657
South Barrule - Isle of Man - SC257759
Corrins Hill - Isle of Man - SC234831
Cronk ny Arrey Laa - Isle of Man - SC224746
Cronk ny Arrey - Isle of Man - SC192670
Ballawhannel - Isle of Man - NX436011
Isle of Harty - Isle of Sheppey - TR011661
Shurland - Isle of Sheppey - TR001716
Elmley - Isle of Sheppey - TQ943683
Broomlands - Isle of Wight - SZ627896
Bembridge Fort - Isle of Wight - SZ623861
Queens Bower Resr - Isle of Wight - SZ571847
Dunnose - Isle of Wight - SZ567801
Wroxall Down - Isle of Wight - SZ565785
Haven Street - Isle of Wight - SZ564908
Arreton Down - Isle of Wight - SZ547872
Appuldurcombe Down - Isle of Wight - SZ536796
Dean Farm Whitwell - Isle of Wight - SZ533768
Lion Field - Isle of Wight - SZ518891
Lode Hill - Isle of Wight - SZ509831
Mount Joy - Isle of Wight - SZ493879
St Catherines Hill Isle Of Wight - Isle of Wight SZ493772
Crockers Pit - Isle of Wight - SZ489924
Broadfields Farm - Isle of Wight - SZ488949
Chillerton Down - Isle of Wight - SZ475834
Middle Down - Isle of Wight - SZ473879
Shepherds Hill - Isle of Wight - SZ437922
Sutton Cliff - Isle of Wight - SZ437807
Brighstone Down - Isle of Wight - SZ432847
Street Place - Isle of Wight - SZ418883
Five Barrows - Isle of Wight - SZ390851
Cranmore - Isle of Wight - SZ389908
High Down - Isle of Wight - SZ324853

Cruach na Seilcheig - Jura - NR684980
Cnoc a Chuirn Mhoir - Jura - NR683944
Carn a' Lomain - Jura - NR649884
Ben Garrisdale - Jura - NR633945
Beinn Sgaillinish - Jura - NR619841
Beinn Bhreac (Jura) - Jura - NR598908
Craig Mor - Jura - NR589794
Ardfernal - Jura - NR562716
Cruib - Jura - NR559842
Leac Fhola - Jura - NR559771
Tom Uaine - Jura - NR529865
Creag nan Caina - Jura - NR517630
Jura - Jura - NR498749
Dubh Beinn - Jura - NR489682
Beinn na Doire Leithe - Jura - NR460661

Carn Breugach - Kerrera - NM815278

Lady Isle - Lady Isle - NS275293
Knockbane - Lambay Island - O316510
Lettermore - Lettermore - L891285
Uiseval - Lewis/Harris - NG221988
Grose Clett - Lewis/Harris - NG139939
Ceann Reamhar - Lewis/Harris - NG118990
Rudha Quidnish - Lewis/Harris - NG100866
An Coileach - Lewis/Harris - NG086926
Clett Nisabost - Lewis/Harris - NG042959
Roneval Harris - Lewis/Harris - NG042860
Bleaval - Lewis/Harris - NG030914
Chaipaval - Lewis/Harris - NF972923
Campar More - Lewis/Harris - NB536597
North Tolsta - Lewis/Harris - NB528473
Butt of Lewis - Lewis/Harris - NB520661
Bayble Hill - Lewis/Harris - NB507305
Muirnag - Lewis/Harris - NB479489
Tom a Mhile - Lewis/Harris - NB439573
Raerinish Point - Lewis/Harris - NB425244
Tom a Mhinisteir - Lewis/Harris - NB372523
Eitshal - Lewis/Harris - NB305304
Feirihisval - Lewis/Harris - NB301146
Ben Bragor - Lewis/Harris - NB266433
Roineval - Lewis/Harris - NB232212
Toddun - Lewis/Harris - NB210029
Ben Laimishader - Lewis/Harris - NB179427
Teahaval - Lewis/Harris - NB166299
Clisham - Lewis/Harris - NB154073
Gillaval Glas - Lewis/Harris - NB149021
Scalaval - Lewis/Harris - NB142198
Stulaval (Lewis) - Lewis/Harris - NB133122
Benisval - Lewis/Harris - NB096185
Nisa Mhor - Lewis/Harris - NB090354
Beinn Dubh - Lewis/Harris - NB089006
Cleiseval - Lewis/Harris - NB079083
Tirga More - Lewis/Harris - NB055115
Taran Mor - Lewis/Harris - NB033154
Mealisval - Lewis/Harris - NB021270
Sron a Ghoirtein - Lewis/Harris - NB016112
Griomaval - Lewis/Harris - NB011220
Fennaerochan - Lismore - NM865446
Barr Mor - Lismore - NM814388
Longa Island - Longa Island - NG739779
Bardrishaig - Luing - NM743131
Aird Luing - Luing - NM743062

East Denwick - Mainland (Orkney) - HY591096
Deerness - Mainland (Orkney) - HY568073
Fea Hill - Mainland (Orkney) - HY532097
Warthill Farm - Mainland (Orkney) - HY525012
Hamley Hill - Mainland (Orkney) - HY494042
Markstone Moss - Mainland (Orkney) - HY456059
Wideford Hill - Mainland (Orkney) - HY411116
Enzie Hill - Mainland (Orkney) - HY407207
Vishall Hill - Mainland (Orkney) - HY387250
Mid Twr - Mainland (Orkney) - HY358207
Cuiffie Hill - Mainland (Orkney) - HY358151
Mid Hill - Mainland (Orkney) - HY335248
Akla - Mainland (Orkney) - HY335079
Midland Hill - Mainland (Orkney) - HY320048
Costa - Mainland (Orkney) - HY311297
Hundland Hill - Mainland (Orkney) - HY300271
Greenay Hill - Mainland (Orkney) - HY297235
Kirkness - Mainland (Orkney) - HY280187
Linga Fiold - Mainland (Orkney) - HY262155
Brinkies Brae - Mainland (Orkney) - HY251096
Vestra Fiold - Mainland (Orkney) - HY241221
Miffia Hill - Mainland (Orkney) - HY237134
Outrabister - Mainland (Shetland) - HU515726
Lunning Head - Mainland (Shetland) - HU510671
Kebister Ness - Mainland (Shetland) - HU470467
Watch House - Mainland (Shetland) - HU467576
Finnister - Mainland (Shetland) - HU460517
Helli Ness - Mainland (Shetland) - HU460287
Laxowater - Mainland (Shetland) - HU449643
The Coall - Mainland (Shetland) - HU441337
Burraland - Mainland (Shetland) - HU441234
Swinister - Mainland (Shetland) - HU439726
Hill of Fitch -  Mainland (Shetland) - HU438415
Laxfirth - Mainland (Shetland) - HU430471
Scrae Field - Mainland (Shetland) - HU417361
Veester Hill - Mainland (Shetland) - HU413267
Sumburgh Head - Mainland (Shetland) - HU406078
Hill of Berry - Mainland (Shetland) - HU399402
Souther Hill - Mainland (Shetland) - HU396667
Royl Field - Mainland (Shetland) - HU395285
Scalla Field - Mainland (Shetland) - HU389572
Sneugie - Mainland (Shetland) - HU388629
Ward Hill - Mainland (Shetland) - HU388124
White Ness - Mainland (Shetland) - HU387453
Scousburgh - Mainland (Shetland) - HU387188
Lanchestoo - Mainland (Shetland) - HU375916
Hostaberg - Mainland (Shetland) - HU370492
Hill of Ollaberry - Mainland (Shetland) - HU360812
Skelberry - Mainland (Shetland) - HU353881
Fitful Head - Mainland (Shetland) - HU346135
Hurda Field - Mainland (Shetland) - HU339697
The Dudd - Mainland (Shetland) - HU336563
Hamars of Burraland - Mainland (Shetland) - HU334757
Sand Field - Mainland (Shetland) - HU321483
Ronas Hill - Mainland (Shetland) - HU305834
Shoostran - Mainland (Shetland) - HU301416
White Grunafirth - Mainland (Shetland) - HU275807
Neeans - Mainland (Shetland) - HU269585
Browland - Mainland (Shetland) - HU267515
Culswick Hill - Mainland (Shetland) - HU266459
The Faither - Mainland (Shetland) - HU254854
Scollan - Mainland (Shetland) - HU254562
Esha Ness - Mainland (Shetland) - HU210780
Sandness - Mainland (Shetland) - HU191557
Bocking - Mersea Island - TM032142
Carnan (Isle of Mingulay) - Mingulay - NL552828
Beinn Airein (Muck) - Muck - NM403791
Muckle Green Holm - Muckle Green Holm - HY527273
Muckle Roe - Muckle Roe - HU320647
Muldoanich - Muldoanich - NL688940
Duart - Mull - NM751348
Carn Ban - Mull - NM721289
Maol Ban - Mull - NM684238
Mainnir Nam Fiadh - Mull - NM676353
Thorcaill - Mull - NM666423
Druim Fada - Mull - NM647225
Meall nan Capull - Mull - NM642276
Beinn Talaidh - Mull - NM625347
Beinn nan Lus - Mull - NM592403
Beinn nan Gobhar - Mull - NM583248
Corra Bheinn - Mull - NM573321
Tur Mor - Mull - NM557457
Beinn Charsaig - Mull - NM551225
Ben More (Mull) - Mull - NM525330
Ben More (Mull) - Mull - NM525330 (replacement pillar)
Meall nan Gabhar - Mull - NM522429
Speinne Mor - Mull - NM499498
Torrans - Mull - NM481251
Beinn na Drise - Mull - NM475427
Dunan nan Nighean - Mull - NM470354
Meall an Inbhire - Mull - NM465565
Chreagach - Mull - NM459206
Dervaig - Mull - NM443521
Beinn nan Clach Corra - Mull - NM426471
Maol na Sgurra - Mull - NM422189
Ardchrishnish - Mull - NM421241
An Leacann - Mull - NM419291
Mingary Ard - Mull - NM412566
Beinn Liathanach - Mull - NM355242
Caliach Point - Mull - NM348542
Cruachan Treshnish - Mull - NM347473
Ard Mor - Mull - NM322177

Nave Island - Nave Island - NR292760
North Ronaldsay - North Ronaldsay - HY753532
Crogary na Hoe - North Uist - NF974724
North Lee - North Uist - NF930663
Eaval - North Uist - NF898605
Beinn Mhor (North Uist) - North Uist - NF897761
Blashaval - North Uist - NF891714
Ben Langass - North Uist - NF842653
Ard a'mhorain - North Uist - NF831790
Claddach - North Uist - NF815622
Marrival - North Uist - NF808700
South Clettraval - North Uist - NF749716
Ben Scolpaig - North Uist - NF737759
Noss Head - Noss - HU553398

Beinn Oronsay - Oronsay - NR350892
Orsay - Orsay - NR163514
Moylemore - Owey Island - B709231

Pabay - Pabay - NG671269
The Hoe (Outer Hebrides) - Pabbay (Bishop's Isles) - NL593872
Beinn A Charnain (Pabbay I) - Pabbay (Sound of Harris) - NF893884
Papa Stour - Papa Stour - HU152619
Mull Head - Papa Westray - HY498549
Gayfield - Papa Westray - HY487500
Langstone - Portsea Island - SZ684998
Salterns - Portsea Island - SU676017
Aerodrome - Portsea Island - SU673037
The Bastion - Portsea Island - SU652043

Beinn Na H-Iolaire - Raasay - NG599502
Dun Caan - Raasay - NG579395
Suisnish Hill - Raasay - NG566346
Ramsey Island - Ramsey Island - SM696234
Meall Acairseid - Rona - NG622575
Ronay - Ronay - NF889563
Knitchin - Rousay - HY429288
Keirfea Hill - Rousay - HY423321
Brae of Moan - Rousay - HY376332
Askival - Rum - NM393952
Orval (Rhum) - Rum - NM333991
Mullach Mor (Rhum) - Rum - NG386015

Saltee Island Great - (An Sailte Mór) - Saltee Island Great - X945963
Sanda Island - Sanda Island - NR730043
Lopness - Sanday - HY764438
Tres Ness - Sanday - HY710375
Backaskaill - Sanday - HY642403
Warsetter - Sanday - HY630377
Gump of Spurness - Sanday - HY604355
Cairn Galtar (Isle of Sandray) - Sandray - NL640915
Cruach Scarba - Scarba - NM690044
Scarp - Scarp - NA968158
Meall a'Chaise - Seil - NM753178
Ness of Ork - Shapinsay - HY538218
Court Hall - Shapinsay - HY505177
Skomer Island - Skomer Island - SM726094
Sgurr Na Coinnich - Skye - NG762222
Beinn na Seamraig - Skye - NG728177
Sasunnaich - Skye - NG722259
Carnach - Skye - NG656196
Sgorach Breac - Skye - NG651132
Dhughail - Skye - NG617090
Beinn Na Caillich - Skye - NG601233
Leoid - Skye - NG599159
Caorach - Skye - NG587029
Meall A Mhaoil - Skye - NG553307
Blaven - Skye - NG529217
Elgol - Skye - NG527134
Culnaknock - Skye - NG518627
Glamaig - Skye - NG513300
Ben Tianavaig - Skye - NG511409
Chumhaing - Skye - NG508466
Capull - Skye - NG499354
Storr - Skye - NG495540
Bealach - Skye - NG463492
Bruach na Frithe - Skye - NG460252
Beinn na Greine - Skye - NG459416
Meall an Fhuarain - Skye - NG456350
Beinn Edra - Skye - NG455626
Quirang - Skye - NG446695
Beinne Brice - Skye - NG438287
Beinne a Sga - Skye - NG437562
Ben Volovaig - Skye - NG435760
Roineval - Skye - NG418350
Creag Chragach - Skye - NG412612
Beinn a Bhraghad - Skye - NG410255
Suidh a Mhinn - Skye -  NG403685
Ben Duagrich - Skye - NG398389
Beinn a Ghlinne Bhig - Skye - NG396452
An Cruachan - Skye - NG381225
Speireag - Skye - NG369313
Ben Uigshader - Skye - NG368490
Torr a Chruidh - Skye - NG366562
Ben Scudaig - Skye - NG357409
Heilla - Skye - NG349343
Skridan - Skye - NG343267
Ben Aketil - Skye - NG327463
Ben Toirlean - Skye - NG321394
Beinn nan Dubh - Skye - NG312323
Beinn na Boineide - Skye - NG294520
Ben Horneval - Skye - NG283495
Ardroag - Skye - NG266436
Ben Geary - Skye - NG253614
Ben Bhreac - Skye - NG246544
Healaval Beg - Skye - NG224422
Beinne na Creiche - Skye - NG201481
Dunvegan Head - Skye - NG158549
Waterstein Head - Skye - NG145470
Soay - Soay - NG462154
Grimness - South Ronaldsay - ND491927
South Ronaldsay - South Ronaldsay - ND455886
The Wart - South Ronaldsay - ND433935
Sandavig - South Uist - NF826431
Roneval - South Uist - South Uist - NF816140
Beinn Mhor - South Uist - NF808310
Ben Tarbert - South Uist - NF807395
Stulaval (South Uist) - South Uist - NF806241
Meall Dubh - South Uist - NF787194
Drimore - South Uist - NF779404
Haarsal - South Uist - NF775358
Sheaval - South Uist - NF766270
Pollachar - South Uist - NF747145
Ardivachar - South Uist - NF741459
Hallan Cemetery - South Uist - NF733219
Rudha Ardvule - South Uist - NF709299
Aithsdale - South Walls - ND304895
St Martins Head  - St Martins - SV941160
St Ninians Isle - St Ninian's Isle - HU361218
Staffa - Staffa - NM323351
Steep Holme - Steep Holm - ST229607
Stronsay - Stronsay - HY688231
St Johns Hill - Stronsay - HY635287
Rothisholm - Stronsay - HY617216

Ben Raah (Taransay Island) - Taransay - NB033019
Unknown - Tawin Island - M303190
Texa - Texa - NR398439
Harbour - Tiree - NM083476
Vaul - Tiree - NM045490
Ben Hynish - Tiree - NL967401
Beinn Hough - Tiree - NL948462
Tory Island - Tory Island - B887461

Beinn Chreagach - Ulva - NM403402
Clibberswick - Unst - HP662127
Saxavord - Unst - HP631166
Ramnageo - Unst - HP627003
LIbbers HIll - Unst - HP586138
Valla Field - Unst - HP584078
Gallow Hill - Unst - HP575007

Vaila Isle - Vaila - HU228458
Heishival More (Vatersay I) - Vatersay - NL626963

Hare Hill - Walney Island - SD203629
Kettla Ness - West Burra - HU351292
Whitelet - Westray - HY505403
Langskaill - Westray - HY484451
Breck - Westray - HY456525
Fitty Hill - Westray - HY429448
Noup Head - Westray - HY391497
Challister Ness - Whalsay - HU572666
Clett - Whalsay - HU549614
Wiay (Skye) - Wiay (Skye) - NG293355
Wiay (South Uist) - Wiay (South Uist) - NF870463

Burra Ness - Yell - HU556954
Hill of Quheyin - Yell - HU531862
Heights of Ramnageo - Yell - HU529806
Hill of Lussetter - Yell - HU521900
Yell - Yell - HU500850
Knowes of Bratta - Yell - HU484989
Evra Houll - Yell - HU457839
West Sandwick - Yell - HU443873
Rulkies Hill - Yell - HU442928
Ward of Grimsetter - Yell - HP538007
Scordabach - Yell - HP509037


www.trigpointinguk.com
http://groups.yahoo.com/group/trigonomy/

A week in Wester Ross (Broadford to Ullapool)

Late April/Early May 2009

He leapt out of bed at first light and brought his backpack and boots straight down to breakfast so as to not disturb his roommate. That was two hours ago now however and he'd only just set out from the hostel ... For the second time in the day already. A short while earlier, after passing the BP garage, he realised that he'd forgotten about the mobile phone still set on alarm under his pillow. So he found himself treading the way back one final time, glad at least that he'd not gone several miles further. When he departed before he'd carelessly mistaken two packs of energy tablets in his pocket for the phone. Over half an hour later, after eventually leaving the now very familiar sights of Broadford, he set about putting the last few miles of Skye behind him.

It was a mild Saturday morning and the unbusied road off the isle matched the calm of the sea as he approached Kyleakin. Normally Alex would detest walking across any lengthy road bridge. For some time he had contemplated heading for the Kylerhea ferry and walking right around Loch Duich instead to avoid the Skye Bridge. However once beyond the last roundabout and fully committed to the road crossing he could see it would actually be a novel brief voyage over water. The useful little island Eilean Ban gave support in the middle of the span and from a considerable height it banked round to make physical contact with mainland Britain again at Kyle of Lochalsh. Even though he was already well supplied, he couldn't resist going into the supermarket there to find himself a treat for elevenses. A plump packet of Eccles cakes did just nicely. He set out comfortably loaded now, ready for one final big effort up to the far northwestern corner of the kingdom.

The first stop off would be at Plockton. Until recent years this delightful village was regarded as one of the best kept secrets on the west coast. The television series Hamish Macbeth has since brought wider recognition among the general populace, and on this bright afternoon the place was positively thronging. Alex was happy to join in with the rest of the sightseers, sampling the temperate surroundings with an entranced eye. Oddly, it felt like he had sidestepped into a state of vacation himself, so noticeably sheltered was it compared to where he'd spent the last week. Skye and Raasay were devoid of trees for the most part, and as he headed on along a winding woodland path to Duncraig Castle it was a pleasure to see all suddenly out in full leaf.

Half a mile after rejoining the road another long distance hiker appeared, completely unexpected, approaching from the opposite direction. It transpired that after spending the past fortnight on the go, he just had to reach Plockton Station Bunkhouse tonight, and was then begrudgingly heading home and back to work on Monday. He had now covered nearly half of the British coast in sections, having started at London.

Between the two of them it seemed that they had amassed similar experiences up here in Scotland. Thirty minutes quickly flew by as they swapped tales along this road. The other man recently had some hairy moments in steep ancient woodland above Loch Reraig just to the north, and Alex recalled some scrapes of his own too from Morvern and Mull. Most likely they could have chatted the evening dry standing there, but both needed to journey on. So with a firm handshake they parted company with their days' each made.

The evening was set up perfectly, and at the compact village of Achmore he sat out a dozen motionless minutes on a wall, wallowing in the blissful idyll. Somewhere far beyond a faint motor engine spluttered up the hill, but it intruded no more than a mouse's cough into this bucolic reality. Eventually another person was there, out with a dog, but Alex was gone already, rolling out of sight along the road like an elusive gypsy wagon.

The once promising evening threatened to turn into a washout, when grimy black clouds mangled the fresh view across Loch Carron like dusty shutters drawn down from a high place. At a picnic site he took his tent out, ready for pitching up in a flash, but the ground was so stony he couldn't sink any peg more than a few millimetres. He plodded on down the road some more and at the bottom of the hill found another better area. There was a table to cook his meal on, and more conveniently it stayed dry from then on to bivvy the night away cosily.

*

Setting out there was a strong mobile phone signal down on the loch side, so he took the opportunity to make a lengthy phone call home walking along the A890. Back in February he'd prepared a package of maps addressed to Durness Post Office on the north coast and was giving advanced warning that he would now need it sooner than previously planned. He finished the conversation in good time, just before the yawning mouth of an avalanche shelter swallowed him and any wandering airwaves there too. On a bench outside the Strathcarron Hotel, he had taken a little time for a sit down when a man came out to offer him a cup of tea. He felt rude to decline the kind gesture, but it was still a long way to get over to the west coast of the Applecross Peninsula that same night, so he pulled himself to his feet and got moving again.

As he called in at Lochcarron village there was quite a gang of middle aged motorcyclists gathered outside the general store. Kitted out in expensive riding gear and straddling shiny new touring machines, they were most likely here for a weekend outing testing their courage on the nearby 600 metre high Pass of the Cattle. Before this year's walk he had already headed into oncoming cycling, walking and running races a few times, but as he walked out to Loch Kishorn it was unnervingly like being back at the Isle of Man TT mountain course on Mad Sunday. He thought it would be wise to delay his own ascent to let the last of the riders pass through, so he took a break at the River Kishorn bridge which marked the start of the climb. The channelled wind was gusting head on in the valley bottom and it promised to be an exhilarating but arduous walk up.

The pass started off with a long gentle slope, and he had gone well over a mile already before feeling like he'd gained any sort of height. It was not until the road swung around up a deeply glaciated valley side that the distant top could be seen. The gradient started to increase now, but he kept going with the same rhythm to not lose momentum. It proved all wasted effort in the end anyway when a sudden fierce wind brought him to his knees. It pinned him to the crash barrier with his backpack dangling over the brink. He could only just slump there like a toppled mutant turtle, unable to move for a long minute until it calmed enough again once more to continue. The road doubled back on itself up the final section. He expected a seemingly never ending hill here, but, that was it. He'd done it. And without meeting any motorbikes too!

There was an overweight grey cloud lumbering over to the west, but just beneath, the long rugged shape of Raasay was ever present. Plain to see in delicate pastel shades blended with rippling fluidity. The full panoramic view around Wester Ross would also have been grand on a clear day of course, but he was content to just take it as found, pressing on again along his way. Shortly after, a man in an open top sports car pulled up by him. He parked right in the middle of the road and cheekily stepped out to take a picture, saying 'Nice view!' with a grin, as he drove off again. Alex also had plans for a speedy descent too.

With five miles still to cover to Shore Street he quickly put the upper section behind him with no effort, jogging along with bouncy feet. Several people stopped to offer a lift, the last being a van full of guys from Edinburgh asking how far it was to Applecross, which he found quite amusing. He made it down to the village just as an annoying rain shower set in, so he ended up dining on a tasteless meal guarding the doorway of the public toilets. A man came along whilst he was drying his pan, the only other person out that night it appeared. He asked Alex if everything was alright. 'Just having my supper here out of the rain before walking some more', he replied and left it at that.

Back on track again, he noted a 25 miles to Shieldaig signpost and thought to himself 'That's a nice round number.' as he would stick to the road for the full distance tomorrow. Approximately one mile on, he feared he was in danger of greatly reducing that figure already this evening before finding somewhere secluded to camp. It had stopped raining for the time being, and at the very nice sandy beach of Applecross Bay he took a quick look at a display board off the road. It was partly covered with a small roof, giving a modicum of shelter. So, always the opportunist, Alex just had to decide where to settle himself for the night. Land side or sea side?

*

Awake at dawn, he could sense dampness seeping into the gore-tex bivvy skin. The soft morning wind was fizzling a dense drizzle mist seaward from the mountains, drenching all underneath the shelter. As it was not going to improve any time soon he pulled on his already wet boots and set off right away without ceremony. To make the day a little more interesting, he challenged himself to complete the eight hour walk through to Shieldaig without taking any breaks.

The first three hours passed in a routine fashion, there being little to distract him anyhow until the traditional craft house of Croft Wools at Cuaig. The place appeared to be closed and the only signs of life outside were the fleece bearers themselves, scattering around the fields to his disappointment. From Fearnmore onwards a whole new inlet subtly presented itself as the mist slowly lifted ... Loch Torridon. There were no mountaintops to see below the brooding cloud, but the immediate coastal features alone held intrigue enough to bring the day to life after a squalid start.

Still keeping a steady pace, including a run down the steep hill to Loch Beag, there was just one smallish climb to go, overlooking Shieldaig Island. Thankfully it wasn't any bigger as he honestly had not one more ounce of energy left to give. Almost on his knees in the end, staggering madly over the brink. Now having made it onto the final mile along the main road, he was too masochistic to grant himself even the shortest of rests just yet. Feeling like broken glass was grinding behind his kneecaps, he did the only thing he could in the situation, and that was to soldier on. The fastest he had all day.

Browsing the shop in Shieldaig his legs hadn't quite registered the fact that he'd finished the march. Heading past the tinned food he needed to check his feet hadn't sank into the floor. The numbness through them made it feel like walking in deep sand. He stopped and pretended to study some tins of soup a while, giving his circulation a minute to recover. Circling the store, his eyes and arms still proved trustworthy, and soon he stood before the cashier, pricing up what amounted to a sizable feast. After some small talk, he gathered up his groceries and then shuffled away unsteadily to the door, somewhat resembling an infant gazelle on wet linoleum.

A much brightened sky greeted him outside, and as it was not quite three o'clock yet he had time aplenty to air his wet kit. It might not have been the most discreet place he chose however. Hanging the dripping bivvy and sleeping bag from a wall outside the public conveniences, he had a moment of déjà vu when a brash old man strolled up and asked him if he was staying there. Cheeks flushing red with embarrassment, all he could think of in reply was 'Not this early in the day.' with a shrug. There was somewhere else much more accommodating along the road he would reach shortly anyway.

After the extended lunch stop he continued heading east, now in the intimate space of Upper Loch Torridon. It was pleasant to walk along at a relaxed pace, knowing that he could finish early this evening. Easing back into a comfortable step, he passed a succession of notable little bays. The first, known as Ob Mheallaidh, translates from Gaelic to the 'Bay of Deception'. Even in the full light of day there was no masking that it was a mysterious, sombre place, and the passage of recent history has observed many curious folktales gathered from its shores. By the time he reached Annat the cloud base had risen just above the top of Liathach, as if the mighty mountain itself had shrugged off the cloak to pose its washboard torso of Torridonian Sandstone through sheer vanity.

The walking just about done for the day, he turned off the main road and approached the youth hostel, surprised to find the car park outside holding an array of vehicles. As this region justifiably swarms with walking and climbing fanatics he was now a bit concerned whether there would be any bunks left available for him. There was a notice in the doorway requesting all boots to be removed. Checking his, they were spotless after two full days treading tarmac and he was not willing to prise them off until he'd secured lodgings. The public area was deserted and he had to ring the bell at reception to summon a member of staff, who told him that his luck was in for the night. Being midweek they actually had a choice of rooms still available, with only a handful of other paying guests booked in.

Although it was still not yet seven o'clock he wouldn't get much time for himself this evening to unwind, having a whole host of chores to complete before bedtime. Immediately he dumped his boots in the drying room and hung up his damp bivvy, sleeping bag and ground sheet alongside, before venturing into the members section of the hostel. He found his dorm bright and cheerful, and with only one other person to share the kitchen with he set about fixing up a high-carb dinner, boosted with extra goodies from the spare food shelf. Seriously bloated after a hearty panful, he returned to the reception to buy some internet time on one of their terminals. He managed to upload a selection of his latest photographs, but then only got as far as typing in the World Snooker address before his pound's credit ran out. To console himself he had a chat with the helpful warden for a little while, getting some background information about places coming up in the next few days.

Back in the dining room he just about managed a tin of peaches before getting started on the pile of dishes by the sink he'd avoided up until now. He felt uncomfortable stood still too long wearing just socks on the hard kitchen floor, so it was a relief to move again and prepare for a reviving hot shower. Grabbing his miniature bottle of shower gel and clean T-shirt he ventured into the male washroom; wherein he promptly gave himself a sharp fright when he looked in the mirror. It was somewhat traumatic catching his reflection for the first time in weeks. His visage now a quite wretched sight, even though he did still feel reasonable inside: dark shadows below bloodshot eyes, weather-beaten lips cracked in several places, cheek bones showing through poor diet, and his wild beard didn't even bear thinking about. All this taken into consideration, he still felt happy about putting in another long day tomorrow.
　

Washed, dressed and feeling quite human again, he went to get his bivvy and sleeping bag and packed them away nice and dry, ready for the next night out under the stars. Just before turning in he adjusted his alarm time forward to avoid a repeat of the Broadford Youth Hostel fiasco. 4:44 AM, most definitely earlier than he would wake up by his own accord.

*

The sun slowly crept above the mountainous skyline, bringing seasonal warmth to the lower slopes as he found his way along to Inveralligin. He'd just taken a short cut through the grounds of Torridon House and now continued on a direct course to Alligin Shuas, taking a partly concealed path leading uphill between two nice looking houses. Morning had dawned gracefully as he set out an hour ago, with barely a cloud across the whole sky. Yesterday's mystique spawned amid the dreich weather had long since vaporised against a charge from the sunlight cascade, which swept any miscreant phantasms scurrying into the darkest corners.

After a steep walk to the viewpoint at Bealach na Gaoithe, he had the pleasure of following the most enjoyable upland road he'd been on all these recent weeks. The sharp downhill gradient gave him a head start to jog effortlessly through Upper Diabaig and past the twin lakes, before arriving on the scene at Lower Diabaig. The view here had so many intricate layers and textures. Down below, the harbour seemed most comfortable in the sheltered space of Loch Diabeg, which itself, conversely, was harassed by a stern crescent of nefarious rock outcroppings that crenelated Loch Torridon as it washed across to the north shore of Applecross. All in all it summed up many of the best features that he’d seen so far in the Highlands. This was turning into one of those extra special days which came along every once in a while to remind him that he wouldn’t swap what he was doing for anything.

At the end of the road he continued along a well defined path for two miles to the former youth hostel, Craig; now adopted by the MBA as an open shelter. A father and son were just packing away as he entered. They too were MBA members, who were in fact the last of a large work party to leave the bothy. If he was a day or two earlier he would have met twenty people busy sawing and malleting away and he’d have probably soon found a paint brush in his own hand too.

The father revealed how he was unimpressed with one of the other work party members, who had walked out that morning wearing his boots, despite having different sized feet. He faced an uncomfortable return walk to his car with half the contents of a toolbox strapped to the outside of his rucksack. Alex profited out of this situation however by accepting one last tin of sardines neither could possibly cram in anywhere.

Before too long they left and he sat down to relax in the main room, where the stove was giving out the last of its heat. He soon became restless and went outside for a look around. Around the back there was a bucket flush privy and he took a picture of the wild view looking out the door from the throne. Unless it rained soon, the next visitor would need to go to the river to fill up the bucket, as the water butt had been drained empty after the recent heavy use. By now he had already stayed longer than he’d planned, so, with much walking still ahead of him, he got his things together and set off again.

He crossed the river near to the bothy, but then faced a tricky quarter mile stretch over boulders to get out onto the coast path. Once on it, he enjoyed far ranging views to Skye, and a jaunty walk through to Red Point under the midday sun. After catching his breath at a quiet beach, he followed another walker through Redpoint Farm and to the start of the road. He'd only been walking a few minutes when some tourists stopped to ask him where the road led to. 'It's a dead end, but there is a nice beach there.' he told them. They drove on, but before long they passed him once again, heading back the way they'd initially come from. Obviously they wanted to see the sights, but not if it meant there was any hard work involved.

It was now late afternoon and mile after mile of road walking was soon piling up behind him. South Erradale, Opinan and Port Henderson passed by in a flow of pleasant scenery, with school kids on the bus in Opinan waving him on for extra encouragement. The next hamlet in the line was Badachro. It deserved much more than the quick cursory look over he gave it, but at this point he just couldn't spare the time. His priority was to get to Gairloch before the local store closed and there was still over six miles to cover.

The last part of the way along the main road from Charlestown was hard going, but it was effort well spent getting to the shop in time. With a couple of items to supplement the tin of sardines now, he set out again at a more relaxed pace. He made a point of closely studying the mountains rising up beyond the opposite side of Loch Gairloch. There amongst them were the Torridon Hills, looking far off and distant already even though he'd only just set off from the foot of them this morning.

Thirty more minutes passed before he arrived at Gairloch Carn Dearg Youth Hostel. There was a large group already in, consisting of National Trust volunteers who were here for a week clearing rhododendrons from the nearby Inverewe Garden. Otherwise there were no other guests staying and he had the comfort of a top floor dormitory all to himself. The others were finishing their meal by the time he came down to the kitchen and one of the ladies was up quick to portion him out a generous bowl of bread and butter pudding for afters.

Once he was well fed and had begun to wind down after the long day, he retired upstairs for a shower and to prepare for the morning. As he was drying his shoulders his upper back started seizing up and he was close to going into a full body cramp. He was well used to having aching feet and ankles, but now the weariness had spread throughout his entire body and there wasn't a single part of him that wasn't sore and tender. All he could manage to do was just stoop over onto his bed and whimper himself off to sleep.

It was still dark and now he found himself downstairs in the toilet emptying a bladder almost filled to bursting. He shuddered to think about how he'd just sleepwalked down those nasty steep stairs in the pitch black, when something came back to him about the murky time before waking up. This night, and many nights previous, just about an hour after dozing off, he would roll over onto one side and an overpowering sense of dread would take hold of him, numbing his throat and swelling his hands. As if warning him somehow that there was something grossly not right about what he was up to.

There was nothing particularly unusual about being here he was quick to remind himself. Even though this place was far away from home, this was what he thrived off doing, wasn't it? So there was no reason to be apprehensive. He just had to put those niggling doubts to the back of his mind and tomorrow would be another day. One more chance to shine.

*

He had a quick bit of breakfast and was gone from the hostel before anyone else was up and about. The first couple of hours along the road swept by in a daze. Already remembering very little of Longa Island and Big Sand from the start of the walk, he decided on an early extended break upon reaching Melvaig to give himself time to wake up properly. He sat himself down in a bus shelter. There was no point in continuing any further half-zombified like this. Week after week of early starts had caught up with him finally, and now, in all honesty, he wanted nothing more than to just be able to climb back into bed.

He made himself comfortable and let all concerns about walking massive distances slip away. Half an hour hurried by before a passing local drew him out of his reverie. ‘You’ll have a long wait for a bus sitting there.’ Long indeed, there was not one running all day today this Wednesday. Thirty minutes soon became sixty, and then before he knew it sixty became ninety. It was definitely time to up sticks and move on, no more dilly-dallying. The break had done him a world of good and he felt much better back on his feet.

The public road soon came to an end and then it was a few more miles to Rua Reidh Lighthouse. Once the light became automated in the Nineteen-eighties the buildings were then turned into a hostel and outdoor centre. He poked his head in to see if anybody was about. The main reason being to acquire some water, but also out of blatant curiosity. One of the owners was on the premises and she was very amenable; letting him fill up his bottle and offering advice about the cliff path to Camas Mòr.

The track continued a few hundred metres further to Port An Amaill, and then it was a rougher path up and over the headland. The sea views were superb from here and the whole place couldn't have felt any more remote. Just the way he liked it. Before too long he descended to the ruins of Camustrolvaig, where there was also an open fisherman’s bothy. It certainly had its own special character when compared to other bothies he'd visited on his travels. With old nets hanging from the ceiling, plus: plastic floats, creels and an assortment of fishing paraphernalia filling the place, it was the perfect ocean hideaway.

He stayed inside for the time it took to casually munch down a tin of chickpeas, and then re-emerged, somewhat mole-eyed, back out into the bright midafternoon light. At this point he opted to turn southeast on the marked footpath instead of continuing to follow the coast around the head of the peninsula. Straightforward enough at first, but soon he was deep into Coille Loch an Draing ancient woodland and losing all sign of the path. The further in he went the denser the trees became. Most other times and places he would just plough on through regardless, but here he checked himself and doubled back to the edge of the loch. It was certainly the wisest move in this instance, and before long he was comfortably back on his way again.

The remaining miles to the main road were long and tiring over difficult rocky ground, where he found it a struggle to build up any sort of momentum. He had to rely heavily on both walking poles to steady himself as his tried and tested fleetness of foot was now found wanting. There always seemed to be an awkward placed rock just where he was about to plant his boot and his knees and ankles were taking a pounding. He gritted his teeth through the discomfort, let his hips take the strain, and stopped caring about what lasting damage he was doing until well after he reached the first farm in Inverasdale.

With the prospect of a ninety minute walk from Midtown into Poolewe still in front of him he automatically reached for his iPod for some atmospheric music to help sooth his mindspace. One particular Eastern European gothic metal track 'Lonely' managed to take him as close to the spiritual plane as his patchy consciousness would allow. The scenery was the perfect medicine for his ails now whilst the searing female voice that followed the chorus swooped down upon him as if unleashed from atop these very hills.

The sluggish start to the day meant that the store in the village was closed by the time that he arrived, so he carried on a little way further, stopping at a campsite on the way out of Poolewe. Leaving his rucksack unattended on a picnic table he went in search of water. The toilet block was easy to locate and as another camper exited it Alex slipped in behind him. The water was cool and sweet and he must have downed nearly a pint before filling up both his bottles to the brim. With hot water provided also, the temptation was all too great to risk a quick wash as well while he was there. Ah well, in for a penny, in for a pound.

Dinner tonight was a Spartan affair given the pathetic remaining contents of his food bag. Super Noodles and Cream Crackers. Completely bland, but at least it gave something to chew on. He packed away his pan and set off again, hoping to get several more miles walked before sunset. He was curious to get to have a quick squiz into Inverewe Garden but unfortunately as he passed there was very little to see from the road.

Less than a mile away and his legs finally began to start to fail him. It was his right knee that was the main problem as it was painful when he tried to push off for each stride. He had to stop and rest briefly beside the loch at Tournaig otherwise he was sure to do some serious harm to it. If he could make it two kilometres further there was a viewpoint marked on the map overlooking Loch Thùrnaig. The only problem was that it was going to be uphill.

This proved to be the toughest walk of the day, but by hoisting the weight of his rucksack onto his left shoulder and bearing the majority of the weight on that side, he got up the hill just about alright. There was ample reward awaiting at the top of the hill. No, not a packed lunch left behind by somebody, better than that. A comfortable bench to bring on speedy recuperation, enough space in front of it for a luxuriant nights' bivvy, and, once again, a landscape of such grandiosity to immerse himself in that when he would awaken at dawn he'd probably have to pinch himself to believe that he still wasn't in a dream world.

*

This morning he was not in any great haste to make a start. He waited until the scarcely noticeable rush hour was over and then set out. The little village of Aultbea lay three miles northward overlooking the Isle of Ewe. Here he was able to stock up on provisions and made short work of devouring a tin of All Day Breakfast with several oatcakes crumbled in for extra crunch.

There was soon more eating in store back on the main road as he passed a butchers shop and couldn't stop himself from going in for a pie. The lady behind the counter sussed out straight away that he was on a big long distance walk. 'Are you walking around Britain?' she asked. Was it really that obvious or was she just extra perceptive? He filled her in with his plans for the rest of the year, before bidding her farewell and carrying on up the road. Every rapidly passing minute filled with a sum number of steps taking him always that little bit closer to his objective.

At Laide he stopped at the garage for a bottle of milk as there would not be any more shops before Ullapool, nearly forty miles away. Between the hamlets of First Coast and Second Coast, above the shore of Loch Gruinard, he made a phone call to book a hostel bed for the following night. It was a Friday so he wanted to make sure of his place in advance. That done, he had little time to regain his breath before a steady hill brought him to a great vantage point overlooking Little Gruinard. A German couple were parked up there and came over to offer him a cup of tea, but whilst he had momentum on his side he just wanted to keep going.

A bit further on there was a longer, more taxing, hill. This rose to a height of 180 metres over four kilometres and he definitely was not dealing with these drawn out slogs with the same ease of a few weeks gone by. He stopped at an empty car park at the top to take in the view over Little Loch Broom. It was dreary and overcast; threatening rain, but something undefined about the landscape before him seemed disturbing. Actually, thinking about it more, the problem was within his own mind today instead, with his courage and with his motivation. Making the decision already to take the quickest route to Ullapool along the road meant that he would avoid these intimidating hills, but, if truth be told, he was mightily relieved that he wasn't obliged to have to find his way through them.

Just about visible in the northeast, as a moody backdrop to the scene, was the rough outline of Ben More Coigach, and in the foreground, the long, narrow peninsula that lead to the isolated community of Scoraig. It stuck out like a sore hammer smashed thumb on the map but would have to wait for certain now this year to be explored. He was getting to realise one important lesson of distance walking, where it often really is true that discretion is the better part of valour. When certain choices can potentially affect the ultimate success or failure of an entire trip then there is no disgrace in taking what might be considered by some as the softer option.

Soon, he sped up to a virtual jog downhill. He thought that seeing as he was taking the easy way out he might as well get a crack on. A couple of hours later and he arrived at Dundonnell and the Dundonnell Hotel at the head of the loch. He took advantage of their takeaway food service and bought a bag of chips for an early supper. Pressing on then into the evening to burn off the calories, a police car pulled over on the open road and the officer wound down her window to speak to him. She informed him that there had been a serious car accident up ahead and that the road was closed to through traffic, though it would still be possible for him to get by on foot.

Less than a mile more and he could see blue flashing lights and a recovery truck up in front. It was a bit of a shock to see the crumpled wreckage of the car that had run off the road at the foot of a big hill. This could have been somebody that had driven past him at some point earlier on in the day. With the road completely traffic free now it seemed all rather eerie as he continued on his way in the muted silence.

Almost two miles uphill he stopped at a picnic table near to Dundonnell River. The plan for tonight was to wait here for it to get dark and then carry on over the moor into the wee hours of the morning. Before long some tunes were called upon to help pass the time. Wrapping himself up warm against the evening chill he embarked on a musical journey of random mp3 play. One of his all-time favourite Yes songs soon came on, climaxing after twenty uplifting minutes with the unforgettable lyric.

What happened to this song we once knew so well
Signed promise for moments caught within the spell
We must have waited all our lives for this ...
Moment

Times like these he just needed a little extra reminder that he was in the best shape he'd ever be in, and to make the upmost of this very special juncture of his youth, because, inevitably, it could only last so long.

With daylight now fully departed he virtually flew up the rest of the hill, crossing over the babbling river, which had kept him company for a mile and a half, on Fain Bridge. The conditions really were ideal for a midnight walk; mild, no wind, and the only lights to be seen anywhere were just a few stars up in the sky. It was quite a few weeks ago now that he last had the need to walk in the dark at all. Since February he'd gone from having to dodge traffic and scallies every night, to this, where he'd be more likely to encounter a red deer stag by moonlight than any shape or form of urbanite.

Westwards was An Teallach, one of the most popular mountains in the area. There was nothing of its ridge to be seen upon the night sky, which made it just that little bit more cryptic about what was actually out there, invisible to insensitive eyes. A short way on he had a quick look through the window of the abandoned house Fain, though it didn't appear quite so inviting close up. A couple of miles further, and now over the crest of the moor, he came to a wide area of lay-by near to a bend in the road. There was a camper van already parked up, but he wasn't bothered about that. If it was good enough for them then surely it was good enough for him too. He moved just out of imminent snoring range, and with a quick swoosh of his ground sheet and bivvy bag he let the day finally fade away to black.

*

The night was a cold one, with a bit of light frost. He was still quite high up, nearly 300 metres, and also away from the warming influence of the ocean. The camper van people were keeping themselves to themselves. He had a quick bite for breakfast, and then, with nothing to hang around for in the morning chill, he loaded his rucksack and promptly set out.

It was an easy walk to get going. Downhill, following a new river, the Abhainn Cuileig. Soon the road took a turn to the east whilst the river continued ahead on its course. With an eye for making a short cut he descended to a suspension bridge spanning the 200 foot deep Corrieshalloch Gorge. Apart from arriving in Ullapool later on, this unexpected dramatic landform was easily the highlight of an action packed week. Halfway across he stopped to take a picture of the view, but wouldn't dare lean over the side to look straight below. The bridge was already swaying slightly with his motion and it was a loooong way down. Even though it was well worth the adrenaline rush he was still glad to get across to the far side and climb up to the A835.

There were 20 k's remaining to town. The road was flat, the traffic light. Just ideal for a relaxing midday amble to take in the colourful surroundings of Loch Broom without a care in the world. On the final run in to Ullapool he caught up with the same police officer once again. They had a fun banter beside the road for a minute, her grim seriousness of the night before fully cast off with this new day. Her outgoing friendliness really summed up the spirit of each and every character he was shortly about to meet in the town.

To begin with he went into The Ferry Boat Inn for a drink because it was still a few hours before the hostel was due to open. The barman there agreed to let him leave his backpack behind whilst he went to do some shopping. The unassuming assistants in the local Costcutter store were extra helpful, as was the chipper butcher in Food For Thought. The hostel staff were young outdoors types and both enthused highly about what he was doing here up north.

After a brief trip out to Tesco's he spent most of the evening eating. His pudding would definitely have been off the chart for a Weight Watchers calorie count. A brimming pan of custard with Jamaica cake, digestive biscuits, bran flakes and some Dairy Milk chocolate too just for sheer piggishness. It left him unable to move for an hour afterwards, but he knew that come the morning he would be ravenous once again.

Eventually he dragged himself up to his dorm. His roommate, an older chap, was settled in by now. Another who was highly knowledgeable about the area; and so he and Alex soon found themselves deep in discussion. This stretched out to a couple of hours while he distractedly made his preparations for the morn. By this point he felt helplessly overtired and all talked out. But still, better to have it this way as he would soon feel despondent enough if every person he met just gave him the cold shoulder. Though, where he was bound he'd be lucky to just find any people at all. Sutherland. Most probably the remotest and most lonely corner in the whole of Britannia.

Skye and Raasay

Mid/Late April 2009

Late in the evening a man arrived at the hostel, prior to catching a rare ferry back to his home on Eigg. He advised Alex to could go over to the harbour at dawn and see if any fishing boats were scheduled to make the crossing. He had no trouble rising before the sun. Unable to sleep with anticipation, he'd just dozed in the lounge for a few hours. He must have been up before all the fishermen too, because there was nobody outside to be seen. It was nice to watch the daybreak in peace, however.

The ferry voyage was brief enough, but Alex could have been apt to dive overboard and swim the last metres, as it idled to the jetty. 'Just get me there already!' he was screaming to himself. Things weren't so speedy to begin with either once on the island. Firstly, he had a discussion with a local artist in the craft shop, after finding some highland knick knacks to send home. Next, at the garage he was halted for nearly half an hour whilst the shopkeeper got the post office records in order. He was then able to mail a shaggy gift surprise home. He liked the laid back ways of island life and was happy enough to float with the flow. Now though, with just a snappy hill's walk between him and the doorstep of the Cuillins, he was as a husky awaiting the call to 'MUSH'!

To mark the start of this fresh new island jaunt and the mild weather that it hoards, Alex had packed away his walking trousers. Releasing his pasty legs in the clean pair of shorts he now sported. The immediate walk over the moors eagerly blew any possible cobwebs away. Even with a retrospective into Knoydart to revel in, he found himself already unswervably drawn on by an invisible forcefield of the magnetic mountains ahead. The Strathaird peninsula was still in between and a humidty haze too, but this did nothing to dwarf wicked peaks that must have climbed down from the stars on one black night in time. Before he could comprehend where he actually was, he found himself moving on eastwards once more and passing the interesting scattered village of Tarskavaig.

On the hill down to Ob Gauscavaig there was a pair of photographers, who were taking advantage of contrasts in light today had offered. Alex heard a click from a lens to the right as he passed. He's still not sure if the man was unfortunate with his timing to capture a hairy monster in his wonderland, or just had a peculiar sense of what is scenic. This small bay was far too nice to rush past, so sat down by the shore, he ate a sandwich while content to study all around for fifteen minutes. Taking everything in, down to the minute detail of a sunlight slint shined through a hole in the mid distance castle ruins. It was quite a shame having to head back across Sleat so soon but the trek alongside Ord River lifted him with it's delightful sylvan spirit.

Now that he had found his way once again to the A851 there were cars for company amidst his latest joy. A train of odd looking three wheelers pittering along soon giving variation to the procession. After passing the Raphaelite Loch na Dal, a long inland walk let him contemplate the ethereal experience Skye had kept, awaiting his glide through.

In Broadford he heated some food up in the little park by the petrol station. A man walking through asked Alex if it was tasty and confessed that he was quite envious of his free ways. When it was almost dark he departed town to the south west, willing to bed down at the first available spot. He scaled a barbed wire fence seen immediately on his left, but knew he could do much better than the tatty rough pasture found there. A short step more along the B8083 and there was a convenient area far enough away from the road to be able to sleep comfortably.

*

The morning began bright and sunny once again and there was a good path along the dismantled railway track to chug up to full speed on. This led onto another fair trail, ending at the abandoned settlement of Boreraig. Like many others in the Highlands, it had been forcibly cleared to make way for sheep in the nineteenth century. Alex paused for a morning snack thinking he was the only ghost in the ruins, but strange voices soon tickled his ears. The apparitions were not translucent, but infact a friendly English couple who were enjoying a great morning in the hills. They gave him company for some of the way to Suisnish, then he was on his own as far as Loch Slapin. Smack in front of him Bla Bheinn faced down all opposition with a bullish pose. Consequently the benevolent village of Torrin couldn't pass by fast enough, as he walked a giddying loop around the loch head into the early afternoon.

Later at Kilmarie he had a choice of routes to get to Elgol. The road raced directly in and could likely help him just about beat the local store's closing time, certainly improbable via the coast path. Aware he'd been so fortunate with perfect weather conditions, Alex wholeheartedly settled on the golden path, scooting forward in an instant like a spinning top. This little coast walk was lovely enough on its own, with open sea views improving all the way. However, the day's crowning moment undoubtedly came at the final descent into Elgol. Here the complete Cuillin Ridge was seen stretching its legs without a kilt of hills intervening and he continued almost weightless, knowing that the definitive experience of his spring was unfolding.

Having no reason to linger in the village, Alex tucked himself into a fat slice of Loch Scavaig. Feet nibbling precisely along the airy route with a pine marten's bite. There would be no trouble finding Camasunary Bothy, a belittled doll's house placed in front of Sgurr na Stri. On arrival three kayaks were already parked outside. Certainly this was a haunt of all lovers of the outdoors. As he traipsed in the paddlers popped out and gave him a kind welcome, but he could tell that they had already settled on having the glen for themselves that night.

It was enjoyable to share the company of others his age for an evening. They'd earlier come in from the sea and had a day up the mountains planned tomorrow, before spending a final night at the bothy. Each scuttled off into separate rooms quite early and Alex immobilised himself in the kitchen, making quite a dent in the free bags of pasta and porridge. He spent an unrefined night on the cold concrete floor there, but it was great! Wild Scottish dossing at it's finest.

*

It was a different start to this weekend. Alex sat out in the early sun, pouring over an OS Explorer map until after nine o'clock, when the last guy emerged from the bedrooms. He wanted to pick his brain about Ollisdale Bothy, over in the northwest corner of the island. Quite possibly near enough to reach the following night. From his account, which was a foggy decade old, there would be a cliff top path most of the way from Idrigill Point. It did sound promising as Alex held bold intentions of following the coast around the Duirinish Peninsula.

He eventually left the bothy on the track leading northwards. An easy way around the lethal mountain barrier, which would rise and fall with many improbable pinnacles. To be fair, there was zero adventure to grasp down in the confinement of the valley bottom, but Alex had exercised self control with his route plan here. Electing to just let the ridge ride the sky solo, with far distanced targets still paramount.

It was suprising that he had progressed most of the way through Glen Sligachan before meeting anyone else on such a glorious morning. There was no shortage of people at the car park though, with a coachload fresh out for some mountain air. Alex held back for a little while at a gate before entering the welcoming shade of the famed Sligachan Hotel. He took his time over a glass of fresh orange juice whilst paying particular note to the FA Cup semi-final preview on television. Unfortunately that day's match was between Arsenal and Chelsea. Alex's team Everton weren't playing Manchester United until the following afternoon.

Outside in the heat once more, he quickly left the main road behind, selecting the mid level path to Glen Brittle and a return to the peaceful west coast. Snow on Sgurr nan Gillean had buried itself deep into the high corries, but the many rock pools of Allt Dearg Mor were still almost tempting enough for a cool plunge. The mountains soon started a shrinking act and it felt like the same force which had once dragged him to them was now evicting with equal vigour.

It could have been all very anticlimactic now, but Alex carried on unflappable with his continual explorations. At present he'd crossed over into Glen Brittle Forest and the alpine mountain tops had been replaced by smaller hills that were no less memorable. He improvised a dinner table with a log next to the track and the ten minutes after eating were filled in marvel. The subject of his attention, An Cruachan, demanded such devoted scrutiny that he was fastened to the point until its image was engrained upon his retinas and digital memory card as well.

Still too early for camping down in silent Glen Eynort, Alex took chase of that great orange ball which smothered the hills ahead with peeling radiance. A game he shouldn't play with hopes of winning and inevitably, just before a quarter to nine, the sun was set on one more everchanging day. May was a couple of weeks away yet, but with the twilight lingering so long it seemed like a mild summer's evening and Alex was content for the moment to keep on walking.

He entered Glean Oraid conscious of some presence there lurking in the dark. Stockval, a mountain now of murky character. So far out here, the shadows dance before your eyes. The evening scene animated with supernal castings through depths of gloom. Shortly, he had cocooned himself in his sleeping bag. Snug to the skin whilst shivers travelled highways of his spine, when an unseen peacock's cry echoed eerily about the moonless ampitheatre of crags. Heralding night's eventual conquest of day.

*

This innocent new morning did begin as the epitome of tranquility. The peacock soon found its voice however and not to be outdone, Alex clunked away an empty gas canister. He jettisoned it into the bin with delicacy he thought, but it crash landed with a cacophonous maximum. He scarpered up the hill to Huisgill before the community had any time to pull back their blinds.

It was routine now to be savouring sunbeams as the first few miles digested breakfast. Walking along to Carbost, a substantial island out there, Wiay, floated in Loch Bracadale like a waffled dumpling before him. Crisped brown to the sharp edge of columnar basalt. He passed a couple of youth hostels on route which certainly would have been pleasant to rest in, but now the sun was beaming on him he knew it was imperative to heed the beacon of progress.

Three local ladies out for a stroll overtook him in Fernilea, but he jogged ahead of them before long down a steep hill, just prior to passing the aromatic Talisker distillery. His luck was in at the village general store, now doing business on Sundays. With some salty snacks he sat on the step outside, drinking fruit juice like a desert bound pilgrim. Sparkling from all the vitamin C, the time was well due to complete the walk around Loch Harport and get going up to the northwestern corner of the isle.

He was waiting for a shoreside path to lead him away from the A863 and it did initialise as a great track down by Meadale Burn. At the bottom however there was a complex of sheep trods snaking away. He soon ended up on the very rough foreshore, struggling to cover any sort of distance. Getting back up the slope was not going to be easy now and against his better judgement, he had an attempt at hauling up the steep overgrown bank anyway. A few metres from the top he'd reached a virtual impasse, but with the way down no more inviting he commited himself to forcing through by whatever means needed. Boots dug trenches in the unstable soil, branches snapped away in the hand, roots showed similar frailty and thorns crisscrossed scratches onto his forearms, but Alex's will to power over the crest saw him negotiate this needless hazard only just.

Out in the open once again there was still no path to follow through the long grass and ahead a burn cut a rocky channel through more trees. The ways above and below were either blocked or inundated by the cascade. Right in front of him, either as a blessing or a curse was a decaying tree which spanned the gap. It was just a few metres to the other bank, but he wasn't able to launch his backpack over safely. So after a rudimentary weight test he shimmied across Bear Grylls style. He felt it warp slightly when his full load was over the middle, but thankfully it held strong for the meantime. It was then a relief to clutch one vertical, live branch, clambering upwards with shaky knees back on terra firma.

Now that he was across the going would be more straight forward, wouldn't it? Not a bit of it! In fact after running into thick gorse up to his shoulders and with seemingly more of it up the hill, he was resigning himself to going back the way he had come. Determined to make passage somehow over here, he ditched his pack and bumbag, then sniffed out what appeared to be a seldom trod sheep trail. It went through the whole of the gorse patch and led him out onto open hillside, albeit with a good deal of crawling on hands and knees involved. Coming back he took ten minutes to snap or bend away undergrowth and clear enough space to return with all his gear. Before setting off again he spent a short while sitting in the shade as he'd started to overheat on this roasting hot, west facing lochside. It was mid afternoon now and quite out of his stride, Alex sensibly decided not to push the pace anymore today pursuing another bothy stopover.

The following kilometre gave him the chance to enjoy the view across the loch and he was unhindered, until Sumardale River. Getting across was to be as chancy as the sections he'd passed earlier, but this time he went by his own free will. The marked route was shown to go further inland, however Alex took the direct line, straight over the quite sheer sides of this minature gorge. There were a few unsteady moments here, especially crossing the river itself, but how the day had developed it didn't seem to matter anymore at this point. Over an hour later than expected, he stepped foot back onto the road, just a mile and a half along from Inver Meadale where he had struck away.

He turned on his mobile phone at the Loch Beag picnic site to find out that the big match had already kicked off. The curiosity was too much, so he called up his sister's house where his family were all cheering on the Blues. From their report of no goals it seemed inevitable that the game was bound for extra time, which he actually would have settled for beforehand. As he was walking away he found some edible jewelry. Somebody had left a candy watch there, still in the wrapper. This was worth keeping to hand and would give a symbolic sugar pick up along the way.

Sat outside the shop in Struan, Alex readied himself for either the best or worst news. By his reckoning the extra time period was almost over and he felt a flutter of nerves when he found the phone number in his contact list ... Before dialling. The suspense would be drawn out further yet though. Two hours of football had ended in stalemate. Also to make him feel even more helpless, he was stuck with second hand commentary of the penalties over the phone.

It was an agonising start when Cahill missed his opening spotkick for Everton. Mercifully Berbatov and then Ferdinand as well returned the favour, failing to score for Manchester United. Baines, Neville and Vaughan each found the back of the net to put the Toffees into a commanding position. With all hopes of the blue half of Merseyside resting on his shoulders, Jagielka stepped forward and blasted Everton into the cup final for the first time since they won the competition in 1995. Even though he was relieved and elated, the surrealness of the situation at his end stopped him from joining in with the others' celebrations, so he gave off a stifled w00 and was on his way again.

He had not made any progress while all this unfolded, just in case he lost the mobile's signal. Only five minutes more up the road at Dun Beag Broch viewpoint he elected to stop once again. Now it was to piece together a much needed supper. Eaten whilst the broch watched his back and he, the onset of evening.

Finally on his way at last, the time and place created a unique scene that caught his interest. As the sun sank it seemingly melted into a crucible. Shaped on the western horizon by twin hills, Macleod's Table North and South, which rose skywards to form a colourful arrangement. Continuing around the final section of Loch Bracadale the day noticeably became very old. He wasn't satisfied that he had progressed far enough to call it a night however. Not until he was well off the main road, bedding down near the village Roag.

*

The weather changed drastically in the hours of darkness. Awakened by the rhythm of rain, he unzipped his bivvy hood to find all nearby hills disfigured with an ugly mist over halfway down to him. It really was a grim morning through and through, so with his tail between his legs Alex set about covering the short distance into Dunvegan. A scrumptious pie bought at the bakery there lifted his spirits no end, being the first he had savoured since back on Mull! Feeling much more smiley now and with a bag of fresh cakes under his arm, he enjoyed an easy but longer walk over to Glen Dale. The sky improved it's mood aswell now, bringing a great reward once the view out from Loch Pooltiel unfolded across The Little Minch. There Eaval was set within a string of several bright hills, highlighted just fifteen miles away, on the supposedly distant island North Uist.

A concoction of oddly moulded hills, emotive coastline, wildlife and alchemistical atmosphere formulated a curious difference about the whole locality, far removed from the core solution of middle Britain's fission. He knew geting here meant that he had come as far west as was realistic, today. A silent moment, spent without dwelling on a milestone reached, gave more freedom to experience the place a little longer. Eventually he made an about-turn, glad that he'd still put in the effort after the weather had tried it's upmost to thwart his planning.

The return walk to Dunvegan took a couple of hours but seemed to pass by even quicker this time along. Firstly he headed right through town to get a view of the castle, but was left frustrated finding it hidden completely from the road. Late afternoon now, it wasn't worth paying the entrance fee for the briefest of visits, so he found his way back into Dunvegan one final time. After collecting his backpack from the cobblers shop, he treated himself to a generous chip bap supper from the bakery, which also doubled as a cafe.

Unfortunately progress throughout the day had been very disjointed, but with the evening still young, Alex was back on the main road trying hard to finish on a positive note. The cloud came back once more and sure enough the twilight soon dissolved the air into floating fractions of fine rain. Lights of Edinbane were flicked on a short way ahead, but he didn't relish carrying on past to find a place to sleep. With relief he rode his luck into a lay-by that had an emperor sized picnic table secreted beyond a heap of gravel. He managed to get quite comfortable there stretched out on the table top, eating his pudding en-bivvy with the hoop up against the rain. All would be snug and snoozy on the table top, just as long as he didn't roll about too much in his sleep!

*

It must have been the rainy morning or unroutine pack up which diverted him, but he was lucky to have only walked for five minutes before noticing the Therm-a-rest missing from his pack. He jogged back up the hill and sighed a puff of relief, seeing it still there below the bench. Even though showers chucked their worst at him all morning, Alex had no cause for complaint because he'd been expecting this most of the time. At this point he was walking out of habit and planned to continue all the way to Uig if the rain held up.

Something made him stop at a bus shelter which he almost walked past. It turned out better, because once he saw the map he realised he'd just gone past a short cut to the A87. He took the opportunity to put his waterproof trousers on and typically, this was a cue for the rain to ease off. After midday and walking northward up Loch Snizort, Alex gloated as the sun displayed it's fathomless mastery across the sky. Just like it had done every day at some point all this past week.

Completing the extended walk against ferry traffic, Alex edged himself to a point overlooking Uig Bay and stood back briefly, just adoring the simplicity of its prettiness. He set aside a long hour for relaxation in the village. After calling into the post office, garage and cafe, he draped his bivvy bag over a bench to dry. Workers appeared busy outside the ferry terminal, weeding and then jet washing the area. Elsewhere, there were very few signs of activity. A touring cyclist disappeared into the cafe, an old couple milled by and occasional noises clattered around the harbour.

A quickly darkening sky brought Alex round to action with immediate effect. Cramming the bivvy away whilst making a dash for shelter in the toilets. Dollup sized raindrops bombarded most surfaces. All exposed paving was waterlogged now, but an ant's sundeck just a moment previous. Fifteen turbulent minutes passed before he hatched out of the gents, fresh as a newborn butterfly, taking the opportunity to warm his wings up the hill. As the cloudburst already bumbled its way inland, he set about climbing the switchback road out of the village, with his lungs softened by the soothing smell of rain.

After passing the very interesting looking (but closed) Skye Museum of Island Life at Kilmuir, he got an early view of where he would be spending the night. The old lookout bothy above Rubha Hunish. Clear to see on the headland, but still an hour of walking away. The next mile of coast road into Duntulm stuck in his memory as a particular favourite. Well shaped bouldery crags sank to the road as it traced the rough shoreline of Lub Score. Alex, seeing a group of four returning to a car from the castle ruins, waited to ask if they had been to the bothy. English wasn't their first language, but he did understand that they'd only been out to visit the castle. They showed some interest in what he was doing there himself. He revealed that he was headed around the island, but didn't give away too many more details.

He now opted to take a slightly inland line up to the bothy. So, just a little way along he turned left onto a farm track. He could see somebody outside already, tending to a flock of sheep. Alex entered the field sensitively, asking from a distance if he'd be free to roam across their land. A jolly Irish shepherd, he was all too glad to describe the best way with enthusiastic detail. Giving the sheep plenty of room to fluff out, Alex shortly reached the boundary fence he was told to expect. Once over, he could move more directly across the open heath and only stopped to collect some streamwater for the night's cooking.

Halfway up the slope onto the headland he stumbled upon a well worn path. This was easy to follow, except for some waterlogged parts he had to manoeuver around. Now that he stood outside the bothy, he was taken aback by the whole grandeur of the Western Isles, spanning the visible horizon's width. On this crystal clear evening, the distance across the water again appeared to be much less than the sixteen miles it was in actuality.

Inside the bothy it was quite cramped in the main observation room. Two young lads were staying over. They looked only just over the legal age to drive, but were really eager to be here. Also two older men out for a walk had popped in for a chat and Alex sat with them all for a while. He gratefully received a ham sandwich, but soon his stomach was petitioning for a proper meal. He boiled water up with pasta in the little cooking area and left it to stand with the lid on while he went outside.

He needed to bathe his feet before it got dark, but with no running water around a savory puddle had to do. In the few minutes out here, the main Outer Hebridean Isle of Lewis and Harris coyly made a subconscious appeal to the adventurer in him. After travelling amid so many epic and inspirational landscapes already this year, he now pondered new wisdom that this region of undulating mountains before him sheltered many forgotten qualities. Imbued with an untamed spirit, freely able to conjour its elusive essence, lost mostly around the mainland or inner isles. He wasn't too disappointed knowing he could not find himself there any time soon. Deep in his bones a rumour confirmed that he would indeed see those remote glens up close one day. Tonight's viewing demanded it ... From a tantalising glimpse.

When he went back in his meal was ready for eating. The pasta had steam cooked in the boiling water. From now on he would use just half the amount of gas through this method. The others soon went for some early Z's in the bunkroom and Alex was left in the sea-facing room by himself. He mused that this was almost an ambition realised, to spend a night watching over vulnerable mariners like a lighthouse keeper or coastguard. About half of the room was glazed and facing the west it stayed warm well after sunset, when colours on the panes had deepened through to purple.

It was still quite light at ten o'clock, which was something unique against every other bothy he'd known. For the first time this year he was off to sleep before it was fully dark, after he'd lain awake a brief while. Thinking about how every day was moving along nicely and with this, felt quite unperturbed now about turning back towards the mainland in the morning. He shifted onto his side, slunk deeper into his sleeping bag and let all thoughts drift away, because tomorrow would bring another prompt start.

*

He wasn't well placed for watching the sun rise, but it was still bright for the first part of the morning as he started out. He followed the footpath back to the main road without difficulty. From a little car park he only needed to follow the quiet A855 and he would end up in Portree by the evening. This would give him the luxury to keep all his attention on the Trotternish landslip. This remarkable geological feature, the longest of its kind in Britain, extends for nineteen miles and the road would keep him somewhere below for the duration.

About when he was headed south down the coast, past Flodigarry, a raw wind steeled against him, siegeing the sky with miserable cloud. Alex found the shade compelling now however. Slashing drama vividly across the grassy, green curtains draped between buttresses of the Quiraing. A perfect backdrop to renowned rocky curiousites, named: The Table, The Needle and The Prison. It really is quite nature's own theater of the absurd set up there. Staged free indefinitly, all comers can visit and manage to awaken a different scene every time.

The course of the road soon diverted from the ridge to round Staffin Bay, a beautiful stretch of coastline in it's own right. Alex enjoyed a tin of fruit cocktail from Brogiag Post Office, slight recompense for his woeful lack of 'five a day' fresh fruit and vegetable portions. An old man soon came out of the shop to stand at the bus stop. It seemed like he would have a long wait because a rare bus had already been and gone. Only two minutes went by before a Royal Bank of Scotland mobile service pulled up. With much travelling required between towns it is easy to see why this facility is so important for many isolated communites. In Staffin itself he found another nice looking store, which tempted him in. With lemon biscuits going cheap he was a happy boy.

Now that it had gained altitude, the road was giving excellent views across to Raasay and beyond. Alex side tracked slightly to have a good look out from a viewpoint. Interwoven ranges of mountains lined up. From the Five Sisters of Kintail, into Applecross, then Torridon and as far as could be seen up to Loch Gairloch. He carried on once again. With an intense week's worth of walking in view, a new sense of purpose took over. He could be in Gairloch right now this second, about to round Rua Reidh, the way he was perceiving days, hours and minutes recently. With the road below just a rolling conveyer belt from one town to the next. 'Time what is Time?' he chortled. Spontaneously devouring the candy watch he'd rescued. As if a black hole's mass had dissipated from his pocket, he felt strangely empowered by the ritual gesture.

Today was a rare day, with Alex on schedule for an early finish. He wanted to stay at a Portree youth hostel and was over half way there already. So, he didn't mind taking a break at Lealt River to properly wash the treacly residue from his feet, after last nights poor effort. A long gradual hill brought him level with The Storr. As happens many times, the slope was easier on the legs than it appeared at first glance.

Half an hour later, beside Loch Fada, there was a small parking space where Alex stopped one last time. Gathering his efforts for the final few miles. A gabion cage took the weight of his backpack, while he caught a memorable photograph from the north. Silhouetted under a pale grey sky, The Old Man of Storr's bony finger pointed away defiantly, beckoning lunar confidants. He slipped back into his stride easily, a downhill tilt of the road pinging him along. Almost gone from Trotternish, but not disappointed with a simple day that has probably filled a thousand postcards.

There was plenty of room at Portree Independant Hostel that night and Alex had a whole dormitory to himself. He didn't get too comfortable before heading out into town once more. After bagging a wide selection of provisions, he had a pleasant little walk down by the colourful harbour, where sheltering boats waited to navigate the seas of Skye. He sat on steps in an alleyway by the hostel to make a phone call, but was soon back inside to claim his early night.

The quick journey through the Highlands so far, had placed him up here already still only mid spring. So, with reasonable weather forecasted, he would snatch the opportunity for a considerable detour in the morning. A big Brucie Bonus island venture was there to claim. Across on wild Raasay.

*

As it turned six thirty Alex had just put the town behind him and was enjoying a tranquil walk alongside Portree Forest. On his way through Glen Varragil the morning 'rush hour' began, making this otherwise lonely road seem almost crowded for a period. After nine o'clock the waves of traffic settled down to an intermittent flow. Around a corner, the reappearance of hills familiar from last weekend helped him consolidate momentum. He was quick to descend from the plantation and then pass through Sligachan once again, drawing an imaginary X with his paths. Skye's unique winged shape had him playing along as a zig zag wanderer now, apparently.

A footpath on the north side of the loch was clear to see as he moved on. He didn't berate himself over his earlier choice to follow the road, sensing it would be better to save the time and effort for Raasay instead. He arrived at Sconser with time to spare before the eleven thirty sailing, which was useful because otherwise he'd have to wait until one o'clock for another to set out. It was clear already that the island was going to be quiet, with very few others travelling over.

The ticket collector was a cheery guy with a song. Ready to help out Alex, as he was looking at a poster displayed about the island. He was interested in visiting the eastern coast and hoped to complete the walk from Hallaig to Screapadal. The collector thought it could be done, but as there was also another crew member onboard with better local knowledge, he brought him in aswell. He confirmed that there was definitly a way to get through, but recent landslides covering the path could make it awkward in places. Alex thanked the two of them and when they docked, the ticket collector walked with him up the jetty to point out the quickest way, on the disused railway track.

The steep incline was a nice welcome to the island and straight away, the elevated view brought the best of the area out on show. When he reached the road, the path carried on to the north, leading to Dun Caan and high moorland. By now his mind was set on the challenge of a wholly new coastline, so he turned right and set off up the tarmac. He passed through North Fearns in comforting solitude, the road soon grassing over into a soft track 'plush with moss'.

The man he met at Penmeanach Bothy had made a specific point that night. Telling Alex that this was one very special place he could not pass by. Now he stood at the Hallaig memorial cairn himself, reading the evocative poetry of Sorley McLean. The words swelling with their power, freshly caught at the scene of the rhyme. He could see several miles ahead now and the walk promised to get him wholly involved with this surprising coast. The isle was in a great hurry to climb straight out of the sea. Streaking steeply to an immediate height over two hundred metres, Dun Caan capped the total of that twice again. No traces of any paths were visible at this point, but Alex was already plotting a theoretical line through.

The message of the poem had impacted deeply upon him and from the moment trees surrounded in the woodland onwards, all memories of the modern world were irrelevant. He followed a path briefly down by a quaint stream, but it was leading to the shore. His way was to go higher to begin with. After a sharp ascent he was up, looking about what little remains of the vilage of Hallaig. Not depressing himself about the loss, he concentrated instead on a vision of the community in its prime.

As he carried on to the north, the ground became much rougher and he trudged a mainly pathless route past Loch a Chadha-charnaich. At the outflow the way forward was obvious but steep, following the burn. He could make steadier progress for the last section, where the fence proved itself useful as a banister. It was not too long until he was back near sea level and now the fun coast walk could really get going.

The little walked path ahead had indeed been ravaged by landslides and great care was called for, to painstakingly traverse them step by step. At one point he went above on the slope to bypass the worst slumps. It was one of those situations again when he could see right in front where he was aiming for, but with such slow progress it didn't appear to get any closer. Just a selfless mechanical approach brought him steadily to the far edge of open ground, without a dint in his besieged morale.

The path through trees didn't get easier, but at least the change kept it interesting. Several times he had to avoid sections blocked off by thick branches. Forced to totter ungainly across the steep bank, with a quite nasty landing threatening below. When it got more overgrown, he doubted whether the path was still open, but managed to get through each time. There was a point soon when the hillside was obviously impassable anymore. He tipped himself onto the boulder beach and made a few hundred metres more headway down there. Glad that it was dry when he needed to balance between the unsteady rocks.

Now he'd covered a couple of miles the path became more defined, as a greater number of people had walked it, starting from the north. He still needed to be attentive, but could enjoy the surroundings better from here on. The sheer cliffs of Creag na Bruaich gave a satisfying visual reward after dangling in the distance like a juicy carrot to tease him. At the burn in Screapadal he was content with his lot and went on to finish the track through Raasay Forest without any fuss. When he got back to the comfort of a road he continued just one kilometre further, before granting himself a deserved break near Brochel Castle. He could spare a half hour here and still make it to the north tip of the island for sunset.

The next few kilometres of road were special as they were engineered solely through the determination of one man. Using only hand tools and dynamite, Calum McLoed created the road to give access to his house in Arnish. The single laned road road was as fun to walk as it must be to ride along. Tearing around corners with steep nerve-jarring cambers, it didn't shy away from an immediate drop into the sea. He turned left onto a rougher track above Loch Arnish and then followed a notable footpath up into the hills from Torran.

He quite urgently needed to find some water, as both of his bottles were nearly empty. There was nothing better than stagnant puddles, or a faint trickle on the path as he scanned around ruined shielings approaching the isle's northern tip. He was even preoccupied enough to barely notice the peaceful Island of Rona beyond, as the land rapidly ran out in front of him.

Daylight was extinguishing now after a sanguineous sunset and heavy rain clouds crept over from Skye, as he explored the northwestern extremity. With nothing more to see there he turned, about to start heading back. Over by the shore some unidentified black creature caught his eye as it speedily ran out of sight. It moved like a cat, but was larger and from a distance in the poor light he couldn't be sure what it was.

He returned on a direct line over the rough ground and from upon a knoll he spied the roof of Taigh Thormoid Dhuibh Bothy, hidden east of the path before. There was a pathetic, half submerged stream there, which he followed for a little way. Until it sprang out of a conveniently placed pipe in a slow, but consistant flow. The bothy was empty and very basic, but was a godsend when rain started hammering on the metal roof. Another user had left two eggs behind, so he boiled them simultaneously with some noodles for a stopgap supper. Not even bothering to clean the pan before zonking out for the night.

*

In the morning rain was still tinging off the roof and he lay there for an hour before making any movements. Now that it was light he had a quick nosey around the bothy. There was an interesting newspaper clipping on the wall about Calum and his road, so Alex delayed leaving by another ten minutes to find out more about the remarkable man.

The footpath was a stream now on the way back uphill and he waded directly through with an obsessive determination to get the miles covered today. He was doing fairly well, but didn't seem to have the usual overflowing cauldron of excess energy to help him along this morning. After the top of Calum's road he was soon passing the unique road sign depicting a pig over two humps. He'd certainly seen strange things, but mercifully no flying swine!

A couple of hours passed and even fewer cars by the time he got to the Alan Evans Memorial Hostel. It hadn't opened for the year yet but looked to be a fantastic little rustic place to stay. He went through the forest and village of Inverarish without stopping, to get half a mile from the ferry. A few cars came past in a row so he convinced himself that a sailing was due. He half ran, half stumbled round the last corner to find the ferry waiting there, but not ready at the jetty yet. He sat in the waiting room for quite a long while, glad of a break indoors before the time came to board. The same crew member from yesterday was there on the deck. He asked Alex if he managed to get through to the bothy, who replied that he did indeed, just about. The drained look all over him probably told the rest of the story.

When he got back onto Skye it was nice that he could leave the A87 soon by the golf course and follow a quiet road round to Loch Ainort. At Luib he phoned ahead to Broadford Youth Hostel, reserving himself a bunk. He planned to go to the supermarket and having conveniences of a kitchen for the night would be a little treat after such an awesome week.

The final few miles alongside the privately owned island Scalpay felt almost like a half marathon in their own right. Walking a really long straight before entering forest reminded him of the 1980's video for 'Road to nowhere' by Talking Heads. Alex stuck it out though, telling himself he'll be there in under an hour. Once at the hostel he left the backpack behind in his dorm room and soon felt much better going about his shopping. The earlier hard work paid off for him, because he was well fed, showered, packed ready for the morning and tucked up in bed comfortably at the clock's turn of midnight.