Ladhar Bheinn and Scotland’s last wilderness

Scotland, 7:37am. I wriggle out of my sleeping bag, find my boots, and open the door of the truck. I feel the crunch of frost beneath as I tread upon the grass, on this final day of October. Jessie runs alongside me as I trot to view the lake in the pretty morning hues, having seen it only in darkness when we arrived just a few hours before. I return to the truck, where Henry makes us a brew on the stove. It’s early, it’s cold, and we’re running on about three hours of sleep. But none of that matters; we are on an adventure!

Our route lies to the North. Loch Hourn sits on the northern coast of Knoydart. Nestled in a glen some distance along its shore is a bothy, and still further along from there lies the highest point in Knoydart: Ladhar Bheinn. 

It feels impossible to travel through Glasgow without stopping to see Denise, so luckily we were able to meet her for breakfast en route. We spent the rest of that day driving steadily onwards. Leaving behind the city for the towns, then leaving those behind, the further north we travelled, the further apart our sightings of houses and people became. 

The final stretch, a 22 mile single track, was a no-through road; we literally drove until the road ran out. Its easy to understand why Knoydart is known as Britain’s last wilderness. By this point it was dark. We had slowed to admire the countless deer in the twilight, and now the daylight had run out too. 

The End of the Road

The following morning we woke up in the tent. We had no more road left to travel, but what we did have was a kayak, and just metres away from us the loch, with its waters at their highest… ready to push us out with the tide. 

It was an interesting paddle, for many reasons. 

One, it was really a coaching session for me, as Henry imparted his knowledge of techniques required. It’s a huge learning curve, how to hold the paddle, how to dip it into the water and pull it through, how to read the water, how to time strokes, and how to work as a team and pull together. (Oh how I did not realise how crucial this efficiency was yet to become!) 

Two, we had to play an exciting game of bag/human/dog tetris within the kayak. It would seem that neither of us are light packers (it’s here that I will mention that the potatoes, onions, broccoli and other seemingly extravagant items, in terms of weight and space, have never failed to justify every gram when it comes to tucking into a proper dinner made on the stove!). And so we somehow managed to squeeze all of our items for the next three days into Henry’s inflatable two-man craft, with regular mid-loch rearrangements whenever Jessie decided she would like to change her position in the boat! 

Thirdly. And I’ve experienced this feeling before. The feeling of absolute awe that I am given by mountains. As we travelled down that valley, those impressive slopes rising up to either side of us, I felt just how small I am, everything instantly put into perspective. They are mighty, and I am but a small creature, moving amongst them. I am humbled by mountains, every time. 

We float through this vast and remote landscape, slopes sweeping up to snow-dusted peaks on either side of us, as we make our way steadily along this body of half-salt, half-freshwater. 

The Bothy

This was a first for both of us. It is only in more recent years that I have really learned about bothies, these mystical, almost-secret buildings hidden in the wilderness. 

And now here we were stood inside one, Henry hanging out the last of the gear to dry, and I peeling the potatoes for dinner. The final effort to get here was one of dragging, pushing and paddling, in alternating stretches up the shallow river that runs from the glen into the loch. Once we had turned onto this river I had taken to the land to scout for the bothy, and looked back at one point to see Henry proudly astride the ribs, punting his way upstream! 

The Mountain

The following morning we set off to conquer our mountain. Our route followed a path to start off with, and then our navigation skills were required. It was a sporting ascent, with low visibility along the ridge that leads steadily to and from the summit. There were some scrambly sections, that I imagine were quite exposed… imagination being necessary as we were not able to see very far at all at times! By mid afternoon, our party of three, a dog and two humans, had made the summit. Jessie confidently led the way down. We were following a circular route, but she still seemed to know exactly where we needed to be heading. Our headtorches were needed for the last part of the descent. We had just about reached a narrow track by the time it got dark, so we were able to find our way relatively safely. I had found this walk tough, and had to dig deep to push myself. I was incredibly glad when we reached the trail and knew our bothy was soon to be reached. 

Our journey for the morrow is to retrace our steps, return to the kayak, and row the 10km back to the road. We will set off early, at dawn, to catch the incoming tide that will push us to where we need to go. 

The Return

The day starts off calmly but efficiently, as two bleary-eyed and tired adventurers wrestle themselves from the comfort of their sleeping bags and set to loading their gear. Jessie, having rested from the moment we got back to the bothy, is now refreshed and excited to see what this day will bring, and she runs between us as we carry our things to the boat. As we reach the point where the river flows into the loch, I look westward. Today the skies are much clearer, and, in the distance, I can see across to Skye, and above it the sky glows pink where the dawn light catches the clouds. 

Our wetsuits on, and our boat again loaded, we begin our return to the east, the waters just a little choppy to begin with. Paddling up the loch definitely feels tougher, or maybe it’s just that my body is still recovering from the journey in? The time passes as we row, and it seems that with each corner, each little island we pass, the wind comes at us stronger, trying to push us back, and we have to push a little harder. This continues to worsen, bringing big splashes of water into the boat as the waves meet the bow. I can taste the salt in the spray as it hits my face. My breath sounds as heavy as my arms feel – that is, it would if I could hear it properly over the wind. The wind that seems to have no care for the three bodies in this little inflatable craft, fighting their way up the loch as its surface is now churned into white-capped waves. Something is wrong. I’ve been watching the tide lines on the rocks, and the water level is worryingly high, it has been for some time. We need to be going to the head of the loch with the incoming tide, and now, after a couple of hours of steady paddling, it feels alarmingly like it’s on the turn. 

“Ten hard!!” 

Henry’s voice breaks through the squall, and I respond to the instruction by driving my paddle with all my effort. Henry, undoubtedly our powerhouse with a much stronger stroke, counts aloud and pulls in time, and suddenly, amazingly we are moving forward steadily again, fighting through the rise and fall of the water. It is in this fashion that we make it far enough to catch sight of our goal; the tiny bay that we left just two days before the point where the water-based part of this journey finishes, and dry clothes and the warmth of a truck await. That sight seems to bring a magic over us. Our bodies, long-since tired from the effort of the paddle, seemed to suddenly have discovered an energy reserve. We steadily close the distance, until that reassuring feel of our paddles touching on the bed of the shallows; we had made it. 

It wasn’t long before we were in our warm, dry clothes. It’s incredible how perfect these feel when you’ve spent time in always-slightly-damp gear… those who know, know! Henry was braver than I and took off his wetsuit for a dip in the loch! We later discovered that we had miscalculated the tide times, and we were indeed setting against the turn of the tide in that final stretch!

The drive back down the country felt like the gentle closing of our story. Through the rest of that day, and well into the night, and back to our homes. 

For me, this was an adventure of epic proportions. From bothy stay, to summiting a munro, kayaking down a tidal loch… these are all incredible moments in their own right. 

When I got back it was all I could do to unload the wet things from my car, and just about fall into bed. I slept well that night, with dreams of high places… 

… and the next adventure…