Late March/Early April 2009
With no early morning ferries to Arran scheduled, his mind was made up for him to return to Tarbert and then head on through Knapdale. It was ironic that he'd managed to see the isle well in excellent detail from all sides, and now that he was so close it was cloaked in mist.
He went by way of the road back to Tarbert and it was a mostly nondescript walk through low cloud and depressing drizzle. Showing his face at the post office again, the man there recognised him instantly and quipped that he must have made it safely over the hill last week then. Suitably refreshed and stocked up, it was time to head into an unknown and exciting territory, Knapdale. Once he was off the A83 and heading along West Loch Tarbert it really felt like a whole new place again. Unlike anywhere else yet visited so far on the journey.
*
It was at this time that spring had at long last found its way northwards. Trees were now starting to show signs of turning green with leaves budding. Daffodils were in flower, after seemingly retreating into the ground as he started up through North West England. The vernal equinox was over a week ago and it was most noticeable how the nights were getting shorter in a hurry. The milder weather was certainly welcomed by all. A seal was seen basking on a rock at Loch Caolisport, as Alex progressed from Kilberry to Achahoish.
On the way to Ellary he set some time aside to investigate St Columbas Cave. The cave was the most dreary abode, but the scene outside certainly would befit such a pious person. On a charming, dainty beach Alex sat while having lunch. Totally absorbed in the landscape. The small island Eilean nah-Uamhaidh nearby in the sparkling loch waters. The track up from Ellary was good, and got even better as it surveyed the area with an elevated view. He walked by the tiny village of Kilmory, looking particularly unique with a few houses placed around the ancient central churchyard.
Aiming to get somewhere near the head of Loch Sween that night, Alex postponed his evening meal as he got to Castle Sween. Which seemed to be surrounded by caravans. The evening's walk was a good distraction for a rumbling stomach. He looked out at a picture perfect view of many neat wooded hills, across the calm, clear waters of the loch. The sky was turning orange in the west and not a single other soul was to be seen for hours. The light was fading rapidly and reaching a bridge one kilometre shy of Achnamara, the obligatory noodle supper was cooked up. A somewhat aged farmer stopped for a quick talk. Alex learnt that though he'd lived here all his life he'd never been over to the Isle of Jura. Despite seeing it practically on a daily basis. Over an hour later, it was pitch black when Alex made do with a forestry track to spend the night on.
*
The morning walk into Tayvallich began on a pleasant mountain bike trail through forest and lakeside. Succeeded by the road which afforded views of Faery Isles. The juxtaposition of land and water appeared in contrast to everywhere else in the Highlands he had passed through. Usually rough mountainous ground beside deeply indented sea lochs before. With many small wooded islets now, it brought to mind images of Alaska.
The previous night he'd spied glimpses of the harbour through the twilight and this gave him a little idea of what to expect. But, rounding the corner of the bay and seeing the village unveiled, Alex was mightily impressed. Again multiple islets and rocks raised themselves from the water of the bay's entrance, providing a safe anchorage for the many boats. The well kept houses and gardens stretched around the curve of bay, while sizeable hills provided a grand backdrop.
Alex called into the post office where he was allowed to leave his pack in their storeroom. Nourished by a spot of elevenses, he set out on the road to Danna Island and back. Walking for several miles, he noticed his back and shoulders aching now that he'd taken some time to recuperate. After taking a left turn for the road onto the "Island", there was no traffic at all except for a lady cyclist. There was a bridge onto Danna with a little trickle of sea flowing below. Then, after a gentle hill, a wonderful panoramic view of Jura and Knapdale was revealed. He couldn't help but pause here, engrossed in the tranquillity and pervading solitude. Everywhere appeared untouched by human hands and the profusion of assembled islands set the mind racing about adventure unbounded.
The long return walk wasn't a chore at all, and in fact he was now in good stride, feeling revitalised by a less strenuous afternoon. Getting back to Tayvallich with plenty of time before the post office closing, he collected his wares and had an early dinner on the nearby bench. Now up to full weight once again, a little walk over to Carsaig Bay set him up for the evening hike to Crinan. Locating the correct track on the second attempt. This started off steeply, but was mostly level afterwards.
A few miles along, he noticed a boardwalk that led off into a small clearing, piquing his curiosity. Preserved there was a cup and ring marked stone. The first such one he had located. Further along there was a superb viewpoint high above the sea at Ardnoe Point. Where there was an early sighting of Mull, with its highest mountain Ben More clearly visible to the north. The day was rounded out nicely with the descent down to Crinan, and as day gave way to night he settled down at a discreet spot near to the start of the Crinan Canal.
*
It was a bright sunny morning as Alex walked the tow path of the Crinan Canal and the prospects were very favourable for the day. To keep off the main road, he then detoured along lanes and a muddy track, ultimately passing through Slockavullin. On such a day one could be mistaken for thinking they were in the South of England. With a profusion of blossoming colour about the village. Further along came the inevitable reuniting with a busy main road, at Kilmartin. Alex took some time here to see the medieval carved stones in the churchyard and noted how well they'd been looked after through the centuries. He made one more detour, to see Carnasserie Castle and then grudgingly followed the A816 over the hill.
The past few days had been the most consistently peaceful. Entering into Knapdale had given him an experience of a land forgotten. So having to avoid heavy traffic now was certainly a bind. After reaching the turn off for Ardfern he perked up greatly however. All the boats and golden sunshine gave the locale a rich Mediterranean essence. Alex utilised the post office store room for the second day in a row and headed off to Craignish Castle. He came back by the way of a footpath on the west side of the peninsula. But soon lost its indistinct route. This left him trampling over rough ground and following animal tracks, beside the isolated Loch Mhic Mhairtein. Amongst the vegetation it was a heat trap, making the sweat pour. He was now philosophical about all the freezing mornings, not very eager to do treks like this in the coming summer heat. Joining up with the track back he tore off his dank T-shirt and cooled down, drawing some water from a burn.
The stroll from Ardfern to Croabh Haven wound the day down nicely. The smart marina there reminded Alex of Conwy's marina back home. He bivvied down further along at a picnic site and was joined by a cruise ship also sheltering for the night in the bay. The sound of its anchor drop echoing through the still air of evening.
*
He was up sharpish for another early start. This time it was Loch Melford to be negotiated. He got to Kilmelford just before the post office opened and waited on the promise of venison pies, having seen mouth-watering signs a mile back. Unfortunately, the cafe there wasn't open until ten o'clock, but the lady kindly heated some homemade carrot soup for him. He found an interesting book for sale there about Argyll and The Islands, so he bought a copy and sent it home straight away. Having many of the places he'd passed through featured, it would be an ideal birthday present for his dad.
At Fearnach Bay he met a man who was in the area that week to climb the last few Scottish Munro's needed to complete a round. Alex had to confess that he hadn't bagged any peaks this time, but had a haul of island visits that was still on the increase. The Isle of Seil was to be next. A place he'd heard all about from his granddad, who visited gardens there which he described as heaven on earth.
On the approach he could see from across the Sound of Seil that it promised to be all he expected. The Gulf Stream effect noticeably evident. The flora was as verdant as anywhere he'd seen so far. First of all was the incongruously named Bridge over the Atlantic crossing. Followed by a cheerful pub scene, with many pints being consumed in the sunshine ... But then, HORROR!! For the next few kilometres Alex endured an interminable building site. Many plots lay levelled waiting to be developed. A procession of white vans coated the place with dust. Utility roadwork’s tainted the air with generators, even the verges were churned into submission. These scars can be blended back into the land after a few years, but a part of the island idyll here will be lost.
Beyond Balvicar the afternoon took a marked upturn, starting when he timed the ferry crossing to Luing to the minute. Not so sheltered as at the Sound of Seil, the tide was flowing through the Cuan Sound gap at quite a rate of knots. After a brief uphill walk Alex ambled along through the heart of the island's interior. Which gave impressions of remoteness and splendour simultaneously. Reaching for some audio enhancement, he cranked up the iPod on random. Second to play was David Gilmour's On an Island. Back at home this was one song in particular that he had wondered about where he would hear it first. Then, an eagle took to the sky, soaring above the cliffs on thermals. An unforgettable moment among many that will stick in his memory from this venture.
Cullipool was a village with a great western outlook. The sea view from the front was dotted with a multitude of islands of all shapes and sizes. Outside the post office Alex enquired what the steep shaped one looming out of the mist was. As it happens the postman whom he was speaking to had been taken over there previously and had a very memorable visit. Alex asked if it would be realistic to visit by kayak, but he couldn't make a comment on the tidal conditions. And which island was it in question? Scarba.
Back on Seil the evening was still young. At the Balvicar crossroads, he hid his pack in a field and made an extra detour over to Easdale. Coming round to the bay there was a musical sound drifting over from the community hall. He went for a closer listen, hoping to find a drinking water tap there. After going all the way around, whilst taking quite a liking for the Gaelic 70's prog rock sounding local band jamming, he came to the front entrance. In the foyer were some toilets and through the doorway could be seen the band's guitarist. He would have liked to stay to hear more. Maybe even play along if they showed him the chords, but time was against him. So he filled up his bottles and set off once again. On the way back he had a quick look in An Cala Gardens. Even in the twilight he could see now why his granddad praised them so much. With spring just still in its infancy, the place was lush and already blooming. Whilst picture book cliffs created a perfect backdrop to let the rest of the day innocently slip away.
*
One advantage presented itself from heading back the same way the previous night; getting into a shelter spied out during the day, before some persistent rain set in for the night. He was on his way to Oban before anyone else was about. The sopping walk around Loch Feochan was the first in many weeks that felt like a chore. There had been no youth hostels since crossing the Clyde. Now in Oban there were four waiting and Alex intended to spend the night in one of them.
At length, he arrived at Oban town centre as the rain bucketed down. First port of call was the tourist information centre, where he found details of the ferry over to nearby Kerrera. It was just a short way from there over to the backpacker’s hostel. Where there was plenty of room. Also there early in the day was a student, who was looking into a yearlong placement on the island Coll.
With the whole afternoon at his disposal, Alex steered himself over to catch the Kerrera ferry. The first solely foot passenger one he'd taken. It was dry, but still bleak over on Kerrera. However at this particular time it seemed to enhance the isle's rugged qualities to meritable effect.
Back in Oban, he went to the ferry terminal to see when morning ferries were leaving. He hoped to spend some time on Lismore, before embarking on a multiday circuit around Mull. This intention was scuppered however because it was a limited service scheduled on a Sunday. So, a choice had to be made. Either: get the early Lismore ferry just for sightseeing and then return immediately to make the next crossing to Mull, miss out Lismore completely and go straight to Mull, or, take an extra day, by going to Lismore tomorrow and then Mull on Monday. Alex thought he knew which to choose, but for the time being was content to see what a new day would bring.
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