Knoydart Adventure

Garry, my travel adventure buddy from my last visit, picked me up early Friday morning. By early, I mean forty minutes later than arranged, so he's not allowed to give me any slack about being late. He's also likely to read this, so take note!

After a short stop in Stirling, we were on our way North, headed out for a camping trip in Knoydart. The weather was miserable, and the forecast for Saturday wasn't much better. We made a decision to delay the hike by a day, and catch the mountain-friendly weather on Sunday. While we waited for my friend to get back to me from Skye, we took a walk in the Woodland Gardens, just past Kyle of Lochlash.

The woods were an odd combination of bamboo, rhododendron, larch, and native trees such as birch. Not a great example of local forest, but it came with a beautiful view over the loch and a tonne of

yellow gorse flowers.

We camped the night in Sligachan, and like the last time I was there, it was a full moon. It was also a hell of a lot colder than my last visit, and while Garry pitched the tent, I stood around shivering and shuffling from one numb foot to the other. It was minus 2C overnight, and I woke up with no sensation in my toes. It took a while to massage the feeling back into them, and again, I was incredibly grateful for the heat patches Orley had sent me. I wore them the next two days straight - there's a lot to be said for warm feet! Also, a shout out to Sligachan Pub for the delicious barley and broccoli bowl. The atmosphere was lacking that night, but the food was ten out of ten.

The morning was a series of poorly timed boat rides and one hell of a journey to Knoydart itself. The boat from Armadale was cancelled due to tidal issues (and nothing to do with the wrong boat being in use for that route), and we had to wait until 3pm for the next one over to Mallaig. It was a full moon though, and that would have affected the tides more than usual. We went for a six mile walk around the Aird of Sleat while we waited, where I discovered that cows (and bulls) close up aren't quite as frightening as they are big, and that Skye is every bit as beautiful as I remember.

Down on the beach front, things weren't as they appeared. There's a huge amount of plastic waste which has washed up, and the large tubs placed for collection were overflowing. It was right alongside hundreds of shells stuck to the rocks, piles of seaweed, and the most incredible view of the Sound of Sleat. A strange juxtaposition, and a very clear reminder on the plastic problem our world currently faces.

After a pleasant boat ride from Armadale to Mallaig, we discovered that the last boat from Mallaig to Knoydart only had one space left.

The next one didn't leave till the next day, and we were already on a tight time schedule. After a lot of thought, Garry splurged on a rib and we arrived at Inverie on the back of a speedy little boat which zipped across the loch in no less than fifteen minutes. It was an unplanned expense, and a hell of lot of fun! Pretty sure I grinned the entire trip over, trying hard to take photos while we bounced about like a fair ride.

The walk to the campsite was only a mile, but it took a while as Garry seemed to know every second person there. Knoydart is the most remote part of the UK, accessible only by foot or boat. By the time we'd made it to the campsite, we'd already greeted a couple of people including the pub owner and a man called Tommy, who wore yellow gumboots.

Garry pitched the tent on Long Beach, with the most incredible view of the mountains around us. We dined in the Old Forge Pub, which proudly markets itself as the "remotest pub" in the UK. For only £20 you can even buy the t-shirt. It's not the most vegan friendly place, and I settled for hot chips and salad. JP brought over some mustard for Garry, warning him it was a "man's mustard, not a woman's". I

took it to mean it was a hot mustard, and JP's charm was suddenly lost on me.

JP is a Belgian man who comes from a well to do family in Europe. He runs a successful business in Knoydart, despite grumbling from the local community. The pub has split the town, with some of the small population boycotting it, and others banned. Out the front is a small structure known as "The Table", constructed by those who want to socialise without going to the pub. It's more like a shed, but the view is good!

The Knoydart population is only around 60 during the Winter, and creeps up to a massive 120 in the warmer months. They're spread over 175000 acres of the estate. The pub closes for the three coldest months of the year and still does quite well for itself, thanks to regular tourism. As one of the tourists, I made the most of the sunset across the loch, and gave my little phone camera a good workout.

Next door to the pub is the local hall, where an all female band was performing for a ceilidh that night, and the locals all gathered especially. It was great to sit in the middle of the foot stomping, swirling, twirling, and clapping! A ceilidh has great rhythm and energy, even with half the dancers bumping into each other. I was one of them when Tommy asked me up to dance, and it was only later Garry told me that he'd been set up to do it. Cheeky move, but a lot of fun.

It was well past midnight when we headed back to the campsite, where I stuffed myself into the sleeping bag and didn't budge until the frost met the inside of the tent the next morning.