Around Britain

The Caledonian Hotel overlooks Ullapool and is the town's most striking building. I'd booked a room there last night for £25 and expected nocturnal walks to a toilet shared with many other residents. Surprisingly my small single room had a toilet, basin and shower. Why then was the hotel so cheap? Later I saw that my end of the hotel appeared to be supported by a metal structure close to my window. Perhaps the true cost of my cheap night's lodging included the risk of being buried in a heap of rubble?

This morning I shunned the Caledonian's offer of a breakfast for £5 as I just didn't believe it could be any good at that price. I walked round the town in search of an alternative before admitting defeat. The Caledonian's breakfast turned out to be more than adequate. Cereal and fruit, sausages and beans, toast and tea certainly set me up for the day. The Caledonian may have seen grander days but its offering now is a bargain.

As I left the town on the A835, I passed a sign “Red squirrels for three and a quarter miles.” I escaped from the main road on a lane which climbed high above Loch Broom. There were several houses on either side but the road became a rough track. I passed farm buildings and the track entered a wood. Gradually I lost height and I could hear the traffic again. A final descent on a series of hair pin bends returned me to the A835 just north of Leckmelm Gardens. Now I had a slog down a fairly busy road until I was able to take the right turn, beyond the head of Loch Broom, that led to Croftown.

A sign post indicated the start of the Coffin Road. Apparently the people of Dundonnell, on the far side of the hills to the west of Loch Broom, had nowhere to bury their dead. The nearest church was at Clachan near the mouth of the River Broom where it flowed into the loch. The coffins containing the Dundonnell dead were brought over the hills for burial at Clachan. As I discovered, this must have been very difficult. The Coffin Road can still be followed quite easily even though, as a local man told me, it probably hasn't been used for its original purpose since the time of the first world war.

The ascent above Croftown was so steep I had to make frequent stops. At first the way proceeds south west alongside a wood but then it turns north west above some crags. Many sections are waterlogged. Once I'd surmounted the 380 metre contour, the land flattened out. I was able to check my position as I passed Loch an Fhiona and Loch an Tiompain. As I began to descend on the far side, I saw my first walker of the day. He was looking down on the track immediately in front of him so he didn't see me until I was just a few feet away. When he'd recovered from the shock, he told me of a French woman he'd passed earlier with a rucksack three times the size of mine. She thought she was on the West Highland Way and planned to reach Fort Augustus in about seven days. He said that I'd overtake her but I never did.

To the south, distant trees marked the route of the Allt a' Chairn, a tributary of the Dundonnell River. An Teallach, a formidable Munro, now dominated the view ahead, its blackness streaked with snow. Just before the steepest part of the descent to the river, I passed a spectacular waterfall which is marked on the map. Not long after that I arrived at a road bridge over the Dundonnell River. I needed to decide whether to cross the bridge and walk along the main road (A832) to the hotel or take the minor road on the eastern side of the river. This was a dead end but the map showed a footbridge over the river not far from the hotel.

At the bridge I met a local man who seemed friendly. I asked him whether I could safely take the Badrallach road and cross the river further downstream on the bridge at Eilean Darach. He told me that Eilean Darach meant “Island of Oaks” and that I'd be able to cross if I didn't mind the dogs on the farm. I asked him whether he'd climbed An Teallach. He said there was no point as there was nothing to shoot up there apart from hill walkers. He was a bit of a joker but I didn't doubt the advice he'd given me.

Almost as soon as I left him, I came up to Dundonnell House. The building was close to the road, perfectly white and superbly proportioned. It's rare to see a house as sublime as this.

When I reached Eilean Darach, the Badrallach road turned sharply to the right and I was confronted by a gate beyond which stretched a drive. Although it appeared to be a private estate, there was no notice to deter me from entering. I proceeded cautiously, passing a few houses which probably accommodated estate workers. Every path I took led into someone's garden so I had to retreat to the gate through which I'd entered the estate. Nearby was another gate which gave access to a garden. However, the house was too far away for me to be visible. I was determined not to retrace my steps so I entered. After a few hundred yards I reached another gate. On the far side of this was a notice informing me that there was no admission as this was a private garden. I pressed on and soon reached the river. Of the bridge there was no sign and I couldn't see any way of progressing further downstream in search of the bridge (assuming it existed). My desperation forced me to consider fording the river. At one spot I could see the stony bottom through the clear water almost the whole way across. I made it almost to the far bank with nothing worse than wet trousers. Then I encountered a deepish pool but I was so close by then to the far side it hardly mattered.

I clambered out onto an anglers' path and made it to the main road through a wood. Soon after I reached Dundonnell and then the Dundonnell Hotel.

Distance 15.16 miles. Total: 2033.24

The taxi came at 7.50 am to take me from the hotel to the ferry terminal in Ullapool where I caught the 9 am bus to Inverness. By 11 am I was on the train for home.

The taxi driver's father had worked at Dundonnell House as a 16 year old. He'd lived at Blarnalearoch (called Loggie locally) on the west side of Loch Broom. He'd walked to work which meant he covered the Coffin Road twice a day. That makes us seem like midgets descended from giants.

The Dundonnell Hotel still didn't serve breakfast until 8 o'clock so I had a tray in my room and started at 7.12 am. Today's distance was about 30 miles and I didn't want to arrive late at the Old Inn, Gairloch.

Twice I was seized by the thought that I hadn't checked this or that so I had to stop, extract an article from my rucksack, examine the contents of pockets before being able to continue. When there was nothing left to check, the faffing stopped and I picked up the pace.

Almost at once I came upon a memorial that was marked on the map. It was almost inaccessible being on top of a high rocky bank several times my height. Should I bother? Miles can go by without anything of interest so I scrambled up to find at the top a path of gentle gradient providing access from a point further down the road. It was a War Memorial commemorating 8 men of the district who'd “made the supreme sacrifice for King and country in the Great War.” They did this, the text continued, “for the Glory of God and the good of humanity. Their names endureth for ever.” The one local casualty of World War 2 was also mentioned.

I pursued my course along the south side of Little Loch Broom, passing through Camusnagual, Ardessie and Badbea. The next hamlet was Bad Caul which suited my mood. I never wanted to walk this far but there was no accommodation to be had before Gairloch except for a £140 room at Poolewe Hotel which I thought excessive. At Bad Caul a minor road split off to the right to serve the crofting communities of Durnamuck and Badluarach near the sea end of Little Loch Broom. There was a Primary School and Dundonnell Stores along this road.

There now followed a gentle ascent before the A832 descended toward Gruinard Bay and Gruinard Island, the latter, catching the sunlight, gleamed ochre, yellow and green, belying its sinister history. This island was the site of a biological warfare test by British military scientists from Porton Down in 1942. The Government was then investigating the feasibility of an attack using anthrax. Since the tests would cause widespread and enduring contamination of the immediate area by anthrax spores, a remote and uninhabited island was required in order to restrict contamination. Gruinard was requisitioned by the Government. The anthrax strain chosen for the trial was a highly virulent type developed by a Professor at Oxford University. Eighty sheep were taken to the island and bombs filled with anthrax spores were detonated close to where selected groups were tethered. The sheep became infected and died within days. Scientists concluded after the trials that a large release of anthrax spores would thoroughly pollute German cities, rendering them uninhabitable for decades afterwards. The spores are highly durable.

Near Gruinard House there was a small cemetery set well back from the road, between the road and the sea. Unusually the cemetery was not marked on the map. Maybe it was just used for the residents of the house.

After 15 miles I reached Laide where there was a Post Office with Petrol and Diesel pumps. A notice observed that it was the last chance to refuel before Ullapool, 41 miles away. I bought The Times and a bar of chocolate. Shortly afterwards I sat on top of the steps leading to Laide House. An iron railing on the steps had rusted through its covering of green paint. The path to the front door was untrodden and overgrown. It was quite a large house and it was slightly unnerving to feel it behind my back, empty and abandoned. I turned once to check that the front door was still shut.

Another 2.5 miles on I reached Aultbea. This was the World War II base for the assembly of the Arctic convoys to the U.S.S.R. Aultbea is on the shore of Loch Ewe and this was sometimes covered with the merchant ships as preparations were made. It was relatively easy to defend the shipping from German attack by sea (U-boats) or by air. There were anti-aircraft batteries around the loch and an underwater barrier stopped the U-boats. However, once the convoy entered the Atlantic, all hell broke loose and the losses were dreadful.

A strange thing about this road is the lack of directional and mileage signs. At Aultbea there was a sign to Gairloch 12 miles but, apart from signs to villages on turnings off the main route, I saw nothing else. A cyclist approaching me at great speed shouted “Is this the road to Ullapool?” He didn't slow down at all, speeding past me. I turned and bellowed “Yes!” I heard him say “Thanks” but he didn't turn round. So I wasn't the only one affected by the lack of signage.

At Poolewe I passed the entrance to Inverewe Gardens and I stopped in the village centre for tea and a scone. A final stint of 6 miles saw me to the Old Inn in about 11 hours.

29.6 miles. Total 2062.84.

I decided to delay my start in order to eat a full breakfast not served, as in the Dundonnell, until 8 am. I left the Old Inn at 9.10 am in the rain. It eased off but only after I was soaked. That set the day's pattern. I must have been soaked about 8 times with a sufficient gap between showers for me to dry off each time.

I turned off the A832 onto the B8056. This road served a number of villages and ended at Red Point after 9 miles. At Badachro a man sitting in his front porch greeted me. I wanted information about the path beyond Red Point so I went up to him. He had a friendly Alsatian whose head I scratched. The man was late middle-age and probably local but he knew nothing about the coastal path. He might not even have been aware of its existence.

The last village was South Erradale. I think the pub marked on the map down a side road there had closed as there was no sign advertising its existence. There had been an Inn at Badachro and a hotel at Shieldag but little sign of other commercial activity. I didn't see a shop in any of the villages over the whole 9 miles. There was, however, a surprising amount of traffic for a dead end. Much of it was made up of tourists but there were also commercial vehicles indicating the presence of a working site somewhere off the through road.

At the end of the road I found a car park and a new footpath sign indicating 7.5 km to Craig and 12 km to Lower Diabaig. This was a relief as I'd rather doubted the existence of the footpath shown on the map. Initially the footpath led to the Fishing Station. On my way to that I met a couple who said they'd seen me on the road the previous day near Inverewe Gardens. They'd last been here 20 years ago when they saw fishing nets hung up at the Fishing Station. Now there were just three ruined buildings and the path was erratic indicating infrequent use. The couple were in the area to see friends but they wanted to check how much things had changed. I enjoyed my talk with them.

The path beyond the Fishing Station was usually clear but had a tendency to disappear amongst boulders and in waterlogged sections. By concentrating I never lost sight of the path for long. However, I couldn't maintain any momentum on the rough ground. At least I couldn't get lost as I never lost sight of the sea to my right.

At Craig the path turned inland up the north side of the Craig River. On the steepening slope above the river the path was overgrown and strewn with boulders although just discernible. It took me to the wooden bridge over the river. An abandoned house stood on the far side. From now on the path was much more clearly defined. Trouble had been taken over its construction. In particular, at every watercourse, substantial stones had been placed on either side to prevent the water eroding the path. It kept to a line following the high points and the sea was now mostly hidden from view.

It seemed an age before I sighted the first house at Lower Diabaig. It felt like the worst was over but I still had 8 miles to do over undulating roads. The climb up from Lower Diabaig was long and steep. At the top I was confronted by Loch Diabaigas Airde in a huge landscape with not a dwelling to be seen. Further along the road I discovered a small group of houses concealed by trees at Upper Diabaig.

At the far end of the loch the road climbed diagonally upwards. I could see what was in store as one of the very few vehicles to pass me was white so I was able to mark its progress up this road to the top.

Soon after I started the descent on the far side I saw Upper Loch Torridon but I still had a long way to go. When I reached the point near Torridon where the road started to track the loch's edge two people strolled by. At the end of my walk I realised that I hadn't passed a single walker except for those who were strolling close to their house or car.

As I approached Torridon I passed a memorial stone headed “1912”. This was placed by the widow of a local man. When he died a hundred estate workers, unbidden, volunteered to carry the deceased's body some distance to the place of burial. By erecting this stone she demonstrated her appreciation of what they did.

I arrived at Torridon Youth Hostel at 8.10 pm after another 11 hour day. I was glad that I'd booked a room to myself. It meant that I could spread my possessions around without concern for others. I purchased a frozen curry with naan bread, rice and samosas which I then cooked for myself in an enormous kitchen simultaneously being used by several other hostellers. This proved quite difficult as, for different items, I had to use the microwave, the gas hob and the oven. Each item required a different period of time to reach a minimum acceptability. It didn't matter that my starter, the samosas, were not ready until well after I'd started the main course. I was just glad to eat something as I'd had nothing all day except for the fruit and nuts and coconut macaroons that I'd carried with me.

25.71 miles today. Total 2088.55

YHA provided an ample breakfast for £4.95. Today being 21 miles I made a sluggish start at 10.10 am. YHA required everyone to be out by 10 am so I complied with that and then made a phone call.

I now had to walk the south side of Upper Loch Torridon along the A896. After the village of Annat I passed the expensive Loch Torridon Hotel with rooms starting at £470 a night and going up to £590. Next to it was the Torridon Inn offering rooms at the more affordable £120 a night. I believe the two were in the same ownership and it seems to me to be an enlightened policy to cater for two markets in the same place. Incidentally, during my four days in the Highlands, I saw a number of expensive looking sports cars, hugging the road with advanced streamlining. I wondered whether the drivers were the customers at Loch Torridon Hotel.

The first place of any significance today was Shieldag after 7 miles. The village runs along the shore of Loch Shieldag. It's quite a significant community spread along the loch side with a hotel, a store and Nannie's Café. Having bought the Scottish Times, I settled in Nannies over a latte and a cheese sandwich for an hour. It was good to give my blisters a rest. I had an agreeable conversation with the waitress. She told me of a walk she'd done from Lower Diabaig to Craig, a stretch I'd covered yesterday. This was quite something as I hadn't met a serious walker during the entire three days of this trip. The only encounters I'd had were with people ambling around their homes or cars.

I could no longer postpone the long grind of 14 miles to Lochcarron so I started out again at 1.40 pm. Early on I passed the road turning to Applecross not without a pang of regret. This was the coastal route which I had planned to do. However, the inn at Applecross was fully booked on all possible dates. It would have meant an extra day and I'm not sure my feet would have coped.

The ascent up Glen Shieldag was gradual and interminable. There were no dwellings to be seen, not even ruins. The first house I saw was the Lodge on the Kinloch Damph Estate. It was far away from the road, just at the point where the road began its descent. The rain started in earnest as I passed Coulduran and I was soon soaked. I upped my pace but began to feel the cold. Suddenly there was a sign I could hardly believe announcing “Gallery 300m with Café.” How could such a place exist in this wilderness. As I approached I realised the building was at the junction with the far end of the Applecross road at Tornapress. Outside the café I hesitated. Might I not get colder if I stopped but I still entered. It was new and expensively fitted. There was waitress service but I went up to the counter, asked for a pot of tea and a piece of cake and said I was in a hurry. The waitress obliged. A woman entered whom I took to be the owner/artist. When I'd finished I went up to her and said “Thank you for being here; it was so unexpected.” She reacted by holding my arm and saying “Thank you so much for saying that.” Sometimes one says the right thing and both parties feel much better for it. It's a pity it doesn't happen more often.

The sign at the junction outside the café indicated a further 6 miles to Lochcarron. At Sanachan there was a sign nailed to a tree outside a house “NO Politicians, Parsons or Pedlars Thank You.”

Now I faced another climb up a valley to a mountain pass. A sign with the European flag suggested that the Project had been the result of cooperation between Europe and Scotland but there was no clue as to what the Project might have been; perhaps road improvements. At Lochcarron I found Lochcarron Retreat where I was welcomed by the priestess. I so describe her as that's how she signed herself off in a welcoming email sent several days beforehand. The use of the word “Retreat” had suggested something out of the normal run of B&Bs. Apart from small statues of the Buddha outside the front door and in the hall I could see no other indicators of religious activity. Of course, these might have been revealed to me if I'd expressed any interest.

Mileage today: 21. Total 2109.55

Last night I enjoyed an excellent dinner in Lochcarron Hotel. This morning I had an equally excellent breakfast in the café of haddock and poached eggs on toast. Then I walked to Strathcarran station where I caught the second train of the day at 12.52. This carried me to Inverness where I was to catch the Caledonian sleeper.

Mileage today: 3. Total 2112.55.

Last night I stayed at the King's Highway, a Wetherspoons' Pub/Hotel/Restaurant, in the Inverness city centre. For the extraordinary price of £2.75 I was served scrambled eggs and a Latte for my breakfast in the hotel. The 8.55 train took me to Strathcarran. At 10.50 I started out from where I left off last year.

The A890 road often followed the railway but it made occasional excursions uphill. This gave me excellent views over Loch Carron to the town of Lochcarron strung out along the far shore line. The road descended to rejoin the railway at Attadale. A notice at the station there announced that there were no taxi ranks or buses in the vicinity. The Lochcarron Highland Games were to be held in July on a large field just beyond the station.

After the road crossed the Attadale River, I started a two mile section threatened by rock falls. There was a telephone number to ring if falls needed reporting. I later learnt that this road was prone to being closed whilst rocks were cleared. The wall of rock above the road was cloaked in wire but there was no protection against boulders coming down from the cliffs higher up. At one point these massive rock faces seemed almost to overhang the road.

I approached an avalanche shelter in a section of particularly high risk. The railway line and the road passed through the same shelter. The idea of entering this caused me some slight anxiety. Had any provision been made for pedestrians? Fortunately the shelter was open on the loch side so there was some natural light. The path for pedestrians was uneven and very narrow. However, the road was not busy so I got through without much difficulty.

I stopped for ten minutes at a lay by above Strome Ferry to have a snack. The ferry was important for about a 1000 years. The village was at a narrow point in the loch just before it opened out into the sea. By taking the ferry, travellers could avoid a detour of roughly 17 miles around the loch on a poor road. When the railway came to Strome Ferry, the village grew in importance. Trawlers landed their catch to be taken by rail to the markets down south. Then the railway was extended to Kyle of Lochalsh and Strome's significance faded. By 1970 there was a new road and the ferry closed. To avoid confusion, the sign to the village said “Strome Ferry (no ferry).”

I came off the A890 near Achmore after which the road returned to the hillside above the loch and the railway. A two carriage train went by beneath me on the single track, one of the four trains each day. I passed close to Duncraig Castle but didn't see it. A notice said that it was closed for renovation until 2018 and that accommodation wouldn't be available until the work was finished. The road passed near Plockton and I glimpsed some houses across an inlet. The wind had become strong but I was on the home straight, passing through Diurunis, Drumbuie, Erbusaig and Badicaul to reach Kyle of Lochalsh and my bed for the night at the Kyle Hotel.

Distance 17.75 miles; total 2130.3

The hotel served breakfast at 7 o'clock which gave me adequate time to reach the ferry terminal at Armadale on Skye. The ferry sailed at 1645 and foot passengers had to buy their tickets 10 minutes before that. I ate my breakfast kipper in the company of five silent men sitting at separate tables. All of them probably had work to do locally but lived elsewhere. Breakfast was served by the same Romanian waiter who'd served dinner the previous evening. Then he'd impressed my by speaking Italian to one of the guests.

This was the first time that I'd ventured onto an island during my journey. The alternative of heading south on the mainland didn't look feasible. There are no roads crossing Knoydart and no accommodation.

I could see the magnificent span of the Kyle Bridge from the town but I knew that the bridge was in two sections linked by an island called Eilean Ban. As I approached I could see no sign of the other section before I realised that I was already walking on it. It was flat and unremarkable compared with its partner, which leapt from high up on the island over cliffs on the Isle of Skye.

I now had a bad session on the busy A87 on its way to Portree. The road had only two carriageways so the fast moving traffic didn't want to deal with unexpected walkers. Every time I saw vehicles ahead, I stepped onto the grass verge. It would have been dangerous to do otherwise as there were heavy lorries that occupied the whole of one side of the road. If there'd been an alternative route I'd have taken it but there was nothing.

It was a relief to reach the junction just before Broadford where I turned onto the A851. I soon discovered a path running alongside the road. At intervals this path, made of asphalt, would widen and I realised that these were passing places when this was the main road to Armadale. Later on I discovered that the new road had only been completed in 2007 and had been funded (at least in part) by the EU.

The path often took me out of sight of the road into the vastness of the bog. There was hardly a splash of green in the landscape. The grass was almost white, the heather brown and the lichen grey or yellow. Occasionally I saw Sphagnum moss which thrives here. It's able to absorb water eight times its own weight. Small streams flowed everywhere and there was an occasional river. A bridge under the road allowed through the Allt Alrigh na Suirghe. There was another bridge for the Allt Cul Airigh Lagain just at the point where the road reached the forest on its eastern side.

I continued on the path until well after the start of the forest but then I was forced back onto the road. I ignored the offer of refreshment at the Kinloch Lodge Hotel as I didn't want to run any risk of missing the ferry. Armadale is a dead end. If I missed the ferry I'd have to return to Kyle of Lochalsh. After I passed the turn off to Isleornsay there was a series of showers accompanied by high wind. One shower was of hailstones. The wind was head on and I was forced to drop my pace. However, I never felt in danger of missing the ferry.

I stopped briefly at an animal pen, hoping to find shelter from the wind by sitting down inside to eat my usual snack of biscuits, dried fruit and nuts. My hands were becoming numb with the cold so I put on some woollen gloves. In five minutes these were soaked by one of the showers.

I passed the National Centre for the Gaelic Language in Kilbeg and when I reached the Armadale Post Office I was almost there. At the terminal there were plenty of cars parked but no sign of the ferry. A worker there told me that the ferry had been cancelled. Earlier there had been gusts of 40 and 45 knots and the ferry didn't sail if gusts exceeded 30 knots. I told him that I was a foot passenger and that I'd booked a room in the West Highland Hotel on the far side of the water. He immediately offered to drive me to Fort William where he lived. He would be coming off duty at about 1630 and was then taking a couple of days off. It was a drive of two and a quarter hours. I accepted his generous offer with relief. He even got the hotel on the phone for me so that I could tell them I'd be late.

John was a good companion and our talk ranged over running, walking, sport, Scottish independence, the EU and the countryside we were passing through. John had worked on the Kyle ferry until the bridge was built. Now he was thinking of looking for a job in Fort William, perhaps at the new aluminium plant.

John left me at Fort William station at around 1900. There was no train to Mallaig until 2214 which would arrive at its destination at 2330. The hotel said they'd let me in but I decided to take a cab and eat in the hotel. The cab was driven by a Bulgarian who had settled in the U.K. ten years ago. He now had a wife and two children. He drove quite slowly because of the deer and had to swerve to avoid a stag standing at the side of the road. Nevertheless I arrived at the hotel in time to order dinner, change and then eat in the company of one or two other late diners.

22 miles: 2152.3

The day began inauspiciously. My debit card had disappeared. I checked all the likely pockets several times before phoning my bank to cancel the card. They said I could draw cash from the Bank of Scotland. Seeing a Bank of Scotland in Mallaig I put this to the test. The person in front of me in the queue had left his wallet behind in his hotel and needed some cash. He was refused as he was not a customer of the bank.

I set out at 1030 in a steady drizzle but at least there was no wind. The rain continued until I reached the turn off to the coastal route near Morar when it stopped for the day. The minor road took me past several camp sites all but one sporting “Site closed” notices. A couple of golfers appeared to have sole possession of the golf course.

I reached Arisaig where a notice by the Catholic Church recorded the life of Alexander MacDonald, a Gaelic poet (1698-1770). He was a Jacobite whose verses were sent to Bonnie Prince Charlie to encourage him to come to Scotland to raise his standard. The poet became an officer in the Stuart army. The notice claimed that a volume of MacDonald's verses was the first non-religious book published in Gaelic. Can that possibly be true of a nation with the intellectual reputation of Scotland?

I needed to warm my hands so I made for the Arisaig Hotel only to find that it didn't open until 1500. Disappointed I moved on and immediately found an open cafe. After a bowl of soup and tea I felt restored although I now faced an unavoidable return to the A830. This road to Mallaig also owed its existence to part funding by the EU. The plaque said it was an example of Scotland and Europe working together. No mention was made of any British contribution.

After another 3 hours and 20 minutes I arrived at the Lochailort Inn. As soon as I entered I was told that John had found my debit card and was holding it for me. I was convinced I'd lost it in the taxi so I assumed that the taxi driver was also called John. For some unaccountable reason it didn't occur to me that I'd lost my card in the ferry worker's car. This mistake would later cause me much embarrassment.

The Inn had eleven rooms but I was the only guest. The local population is fifteen. One of them was at the bar but it was the first time she'd been in for a year. Travellers were the life blood of the Inn but it was a bit early in the year for them. The owner was also the owner of the local estate and he came from Shropshire. The manageress had lost her husband to a brain tumour last year. He'd been a gamekeeper on the estate. The only other person in the bar was the chef who prepared an excellent meal for me.

Distance 16.25; total 2168.55

The distance to Fort William was about 25 miles and the weather forecast was awful so I didn't expect to walk very far today, perhaps just to Glenfinnan. Accordingly my start was leisurely and I didn't leave the Lochailort Inn until 0910. Instead of incessant rain there were intermittent showers and I made good progress, reaching Glenfinnan at 1230. I thought of finding some soup and then deciding what to do.

Glenfinnan was closed down as if it was still mid-winter. The next train was due at 1654 and there was a bus about half an hour before that. The railway museum was closed until April and the Visitor's Centre for the Monument until late March. I staked my hopes on the Glenfinnan House Hotel. The board by the road announced that it was open to non-residents. It would have been considerate if it had also said that the hotel was closed until 24th March. It was quite a long walk to the hotel to read the announcement of its closure. I ended up in the bus shelter eating biscuits and drinking cold water.

Glenfinnan monument is at the head of Loch Shiel. It was built in 1815 to commemorate the clansmen who fought and died for Bonnie Prince Charlie. The Prince's standard was raised here in August 1745 after he was met by a sufficient number of supporters to start his campaign. This was the last attempt to reinstate a Stuart as King of Great Britain and Ireland. Despite initial successes, it all ended bloodily on the battlefield of Culloden in 1746.

I had no option but to continue. It was about 16 miles to Fort William and there were a few stations on the way if I wanted to bail out. Apart from some hailstone showers and one burst of rain the weather held. Much of the journey was by the side of Loch Eil with Ben Nevis and attendant peaks an awe inspiring presence on the far side of the loch. I was tempted to catch the train at Corpach but missed it by 3 minutes. It was just as well as I only had another 4 miles to Fort William. I crossed the Caledonian Canal near Banavie Station and reached Fort William station at about 1845.

At the hotel I found that my missing Debit Card had been handed in. I telephoned the number I'd been given, thinking that I was telephoning the taxi driver that had taken me to Mallaig on Tuesday night. Having thanked him I said that I'd considered calling him that day to pick me up at Glenfinnan before deciding to carry on walking. I also said that I was planning to return to Fort William later in the year so that I might need his services again. The person on the other end of the line didn't seem overly enthusiastic about this. After I'd concluded the conversation I realised that I'd been talking to the ferry worker and not to the taxi driver. I immediately phoned again and explained my mistake with profuse apologies. The response again was cautious as if John had already concluded that he'd been lucky to emerge unscathed from his encounter with someone so deranged.

Distance 24.84; 2193.34