The Great Escape – hiking through the rugged highlands
It’s a unique feeling, waking up in a tent; the canvas above you illuminated by the rising sun, the chatter of birds carrying through the clean highland breeze. But then a smell begins to reach your nostrils. No, not the fragrant scent of Scottish heather but the noxious odour of three men, who haven’t had a shower in four days. A few sniffs of that will certainly wake you up.
Once you’ve made it outside, you realise it’s all worth it. Long Beach Campsite, where we spent the night, sits on the northern shore of Loch Nevis, a short walk from the village of Inverie.
The village, little more than a few houses dotted along a single-track road, is located on the Knoydart Peninsula, earning the title of “Britain’s last wilderness”. It is not connected to the national road network, so prospective visitors are faced with two options: a ferry across the loch from the tiny port-town of Mallaig, or a long hike through the rugged highland terrain.
Unsurprisingly for three men in their early twenties, we chose the latter.
We had set out from the Morar Hotel four days earlier with rucksacks on our backs, map and compass in hand. It was reminiscent of our Bronze DofE glory days.
Also true to the stereotypes of twenty-somethings, we took the unspoken decision that our well-planned walking route, pencilled onto our trusty Ordnance Survey Map, was merely a guideline. Why not simply trust our eyes for directions? After all, it would be far more fun.
Instead of heading high into the Hibernian peaks as we had planned, we set off hugging Loch Nevis’ shoreline instead. All well and good, we thought, until we reached a stream that had cut itself a deep ravine into the earth or a stretch of sheer cliff face forcing us to choose between a refreshingly ice-cold swim or the slow trudge back up the mountainside.
Far removed from the bustle of southern living, this part of the highlands makes the Essex countryside that I call home seem like a metropolis. The deep blue of Loch Nevis provides panoramic vistas of the paradisal, unadulterated hills that stretch beyond the water.
There aren’t a huge number of landmarks in Scotland’s back of beyond — there are only so many trees or rocks that a person can see before they all become alike. But there is one, and it isn’t something likely to be mistaken.
As we descended towards the shoreline on the morning of our second day, the unmistakable shape of a whale began to come into view. Beached on the stony shore, the great grey beast would be in danger were it real.
It is, in fact, a boat, and the brainchild of adventurer and ex-British soldier, Tom McClean. McClean, now 80, has crossed the Atlantic solo five times, something he one day hopes to do again, but this time in the whaleboat that he built with his own hands.
Upon reaching his Lochside home, we discovered that Mclean was unaccountably absent — perhaps off on some sort of adventure. Even so, “Moby”, the 62-tonne whaleboat, proved an impressive view for us to take in as we chewed on our sandwiches.
Later, finding ourselves on a long stretch of rocky beach, alongside a lush pasture and a couple of holiday lets, we paused in the sun for a much-needed coffee break. As we set about concocting our brew, attempting to shield the stove from the coastal wind, we were surprised by the first faces — that weren’t of sheep — that we had seen in days.
The two holidaymakers guided us towards the gently lapping water of Loch Nevis, pointing with excitement at what appeared to be a collection of moss-covered rocks. But look again, and maybe again, a bit harder this time. Suddenly you see them, and they are everywhere.
Mussels, masses of them. Before long, we had filled all manner of containers — pots, pans, mugs, the like — keen to secure some dinner that was fresh, and wasn’t tuna pasta, again.
There was more than just an immense sense of satisfaction that evening, sat around a campfire, enjoying the fruits (de la mer) of our labour, we felt something primal, as if we were part of the eco-system and the wilderness that surrounded us. Eight hours later, it was back to baked beans for breakfast.
At around the halfway point in our four-day hike, the promise of resting our heads at Sourlies Bothy is what kept us going. A bothy, to the uninitiated, is a stone hut, often nestled in some remote patch of the highlands — free to use for hikers and mountaineers.
However, Sourlies Bothy was not the restful retreat we might have imagined — there was no complimentary chocolate on our pillows, or pillows, for that matter. Or beds, water or electricity. Add that to the likelihood of sharing the hut with other hikers, and it was really little better than a tent.
The real sticking point, however, that removed all possibility of a good night’s sleep, was the mice. Just as we drifted into a troubled sleep (induced, no doubt, by the wooden benches we were sleeping on), they began their dastardly crusade, laying siege to whichever rucksack proves unlucky enough to be their first target.
In the end, with a flickering hope of clawing back the remnants of what had seemed such a promising nights rest, we suspended our bags to the rafters, guided only by torchlight.
Rejuvenated — to some insignificant degree — the last stretch of our journey, and the assurance of a pint at the end of it, beckoned us. Our triumphant home stretch was cut short, though, when my right leg vanished into the ground. With a yelp of disbelief (after all, my companions had safely traversed the very path into which I had sunk) I realised my right leg was immovable.
They pulled me out, thankfully, but with a significantly damper leg than I had previously, not to mention a noticeable squelching sound emanating from my boot. Pushing on, despite the injustice of being the only one with wet feet, we began to descend towards civilisation and beer.
At the heart of Inverie’s community is a pub. Not The Old Forge — designated by Guinness World Records as the remotest pub in Britain, and also where we were booked in for dinner — but the small wooden shelter on the other side of the road that serves as the pub for Inverie’s locals, who are at war with the Belgian landlord of The Old Forge. At least they were, until March of this year when the community pooled together to purchase their true local.
All this became clear, as we settled into the somewhat quiet pub, enjoying a delightful (if a little expensive) meal that was not pasta or tuna-based. This was washed down with a couple of pints each — given our recent diet, rationed to what we could carry on our backs, I imagine any more would have sent us over the edge. Nevertheless, it was a perfect end to a taxing trip.
Of course, you don’t have to hike for four days to get a chance to appreciate Loch Nevis, Inverie and the rest of Knoydart. By all means, hop onto the ferry from Mallaig, get yourself a pint of locally brewed ale at The Old Forge and then stroll leisurely to whichever one of the slew of holiday cottages you have decided to book. You won’t regret it.
There is something raw about committing yourself to the arduous hike, though. Maybe it’s the remnants of some primitive caveman instinct talking — the same one that makes men obsessive about barbecue control perhaps.
But that’s fine by me, it made that first cathartic sip of a cold pint feel like the reward for every step of our quasi-pilgrimage.
What to do
Take a hike
Hike across the highlands and take in the stunning views of Loch Nevis surrounding you. Forage for your dinner and enjoy the feeling of living off the land, surrounded by only mountains and lakes.
Spot Moby
Adventurer Tom McClean’s 62-tonne whaleboat “Moby” sits on the shore of Loch Nevis, awaiting the day it might finally set sail. In the meantime, it serves as the perfect companion for a sandwich break after a long day of hiking.
Where to eat and drink
The Old Forge
With no roads in or out, you face either an 18-mile hike or a 7-mile sea crossing to get to this pub — but the long journey will make your food and drink taste all the sweeter. The Old Forge is currently serving drinks only as the kitchen undergoes renovation but offers a wide selection of beers, lagers and ales, including some local specialities.
Where to stay?
Long Beach campsite
For just £10 a night you can camp with a view of Inverie Bay that spans all the way out to the Isle of Rum at this campsite. Waking up with the rising sun and chattering birds and taking in the crisp highland air, it couldn’t feel further from London.
Knoydart Luxury Pod
For those more accustomed to glamping, the Knoydart Luxury Pod sleeps two and offers stunning views of Loch Nevis, with its own private decking area. Small but cosy, the luxury pod is equipped with a shower, toilet, kitchenette and wifi and is located just five minutes walk from the pier, restaurant and pub. Rates from £130 per night, pets are welcome, 2-night minimum stay. To book email: knoydartluxurypod@gmail.com.