The travel sections of the weekend papers are suddenly full of advice for getting the best out of travel within Britain. Yes. Of course. We aren’t allowed overseas yet, are we? But I can’t say I was thrilled to see an article about the Knoydart Peninsular last week. Like many people who’ve been there, I feel a little… possessive, I suppose.
Knoydart has legendary status as one of the last bits of wild Britain that has no road access. If you want to go there, you either take the ferry from Mallaig to Inverie, or you walk in from the north.
We couldn’t resist doing it the hard way.
On a blustery afternoon we left the car at Kinloch Hourn and made our way west along the side of loch.
We were carrying our tent, as well as food for that night and the two following days.
Our first objective was to find a secluded spot for the night and celebrate a birthday – for which I’d packed a bottle of red wine and a couple of steaks, to be fried on our trusty Trangia.
What we hadn’t bargained for was just how steep the side of the valley was. We wanted to be near running water – rarely a problem in the Highlands, especially in May – but struggled to find a patch of level ground large enough to accommodate a lightweight two-man tent. This was the best we could do.
We cooked our meal, drank the wine, and decided to leave our dishes to soak in the burn which tumbled down the mountainside. I say it tumbled. During the night we were puzzled to notice that the sound occasionally changed to a roar, then subsided, then roared once more.
We understood next morning. Overnight showers had fuelled the sporadic torrents, one of which had washed away our precious cooking pots.
After scouring the length of the burn, right down the edge of the loch, we found two of them, wedged between boulders and slightly battered, but had to give up on the third.
Our destination for the second night was the bothie at Barrisdale – not to sleep there, but to use the washing facilities, and, after a thoroughly wet day, warm up in front of the fire.
It took a while to find a suitable camping place. Everywhere we looked, the ground was sodden, and we were suddenly aware that the floor of our ageing tent was no longer waterproof.
After setting up camp, and with the weather clearing at last, we took a stroll down to the inlet.
Next day’s weather was a lot more favourable. We set off on a long climb to the ridge from which we would descend towards Inverie. The view from the top, with the skies now clear, was hugely uplifting.
We lunched beside the burn and spread out our wet things in the sun.
A long, gentle descent brought us past the loch…
…and eventually to a rough track that led towards Inverie
There’s not a lot to see in the village. I believe the entire peninsula has no more than a hundred houses. But at least there is a shop, a post office and a pub that hardly every closes. We had a treat in store, having booked at a rather splendid B & B. A night of luxury, a hearty dinner served in the proprietor’s dining-kitchen, and then the return slog to the car.
Walking into Knoydart can be a challenge, but it was for us a hugely rewarding experience. Highly recommended.
