Lonewalker's Walking Diary

Many weeks ago, during our own separate preparations, Pete and I had arranged to meet up on the section of path between Dalavil and Ord. it would be his first day walking north from Armadale and my last, heading south to the same place; a bizarre coincidence that neither of us could actually believe, but one that we’d not planned at all.

As it turned out, I took advantage of my brother and bagged an extra day’s walking while he was here to chauffeur me around. This shuffled my schedule forward a day and although I could have delayed a day to meet Pete I decided that the weather window was closing rapidly and the forecast pretty much decided things for me – I wanted to do my last day in the sun instead of the rain that was predicted.

I still wanted to meet Pete though, and without the communications to tell him of my change in plans I didn’t want him looking out for me all day in vain.

I had a lie in, the first proper one of the holiday, and a leisurely breakfast, followed by a little blog writing and finally set out from the croft about 10:30. It was a 90 minute drive to Gilean, the place I was most likely to be able to guarantee Pete would walk through on the path to Ord.

Pete had said he was getting the 10am ferry across from Malaig, so he would be walking from about 10:30. Given it was 7.5 miles to Gilean from Armadale, I estimated he would arrive here about 13:30.

At 13:00 I put my boots on and set out along the beach to try and find the path I should have taken yesterday. Despite my initial reservations, the path became obvious fairly quickly and I followed it close to the shore for a few hundred yards before I was forced to climb away from the shore by a jutting outcrop of rock. The higher ground was better I figured, it would give me more chance of spotting Pete coming, as it wasn’t clear whether he’d be on the shoreline or on the higher ground.

The path hugged the cliff as I climbed and it’s very, very narrow in places. I was a bit nervous at one point, the path no wider than my boot and the drop to my right was quite severe. I decided sheep are so stupid they have no fear of heights whatsoever – it was clearly a sheep track – no walker would have chosen such a path!

Once on the top there is no path, but I had a great view ahead and I stopped at several high points in an attempt to see as far ahead as I could. I cursed myself for forgetting my binoculars today – the main reason for bringing them and I’d left them in the croft.

I walked for about 1.5 miles or so with no sign of Pete. I had almost decided to give up. Standing on a grassy knoll I could see for perhaps 1/2 a mile ahead. I saw a pair of sheep bolt out from behind a hillock on the horizon and thought they must have been startled by someone or something. No-one appeared for a minute of two though and so I turned and walked down off my knoll.

I kicked myself and convinced myself that sheep don’t bolt off across the hills for no reason, so I walked back up to the knoll and scanned the area they’d come from. Sure enough I saw a distant black figure coming down the hillock.

I walked out to meet him, it was almost certainly Pete, I couldn’t imagine it being anyone else. We met at a burn and shook hands as he jumped across. I think he was a bit pissed that the joke parking ticket he’d created for my car hadn’t found its mark in the Armadale car park. It was very authentic looking and I was quite pleased I’d dodged that practical joke, I’m not sure what my initial reaction would have been!

We walked back along the path, discussing the route ahead of him and his concerns for a wet week ahead. The weather today had, so far, turned out fine, a lot better than the forecast had been. In fact all week the weather had been significantly different (in almost all cases, better) than the forecasts. I don’t know why we bother predicting the weather when we are so bloody poor at it. Even 24 hours ahead the BBC forecast has been poor.

At my car Pete had a short rest and a drink I’d brought with me and then I waved him off as he headed out along the lovely minor road to Ord. I sat and had some lunch, watching the beach and the mountains beyond, wreathed in cloud. A few minutes later it started raining, hard enough to “join the dots”, so I think that counts as rain Pete!

I looked up the road and saw a lone walker at the summit, putting on waterproofs and taking a few photos of the magnificent mountains. I silently wished him well, good luck, fair weather and no ticks.

The Skye Trail is a wonderful walk and I was only sorry I wasn’t going with him.

I set out on the final day of the Skye Trail without the assistance of my brother, which was more upsetting than I thought it would be. I got to the car park at Armadale pier about 40 minutes before the bus arrived and I had some time to mooch around and take some photos, but I missed the usual banter and the companionship.

The little blue bus arrived dead on time at 09:20. Despite it being a Bank Holiday, he’s still running the usual Monday service, which was good news for me and something I’d taken great pains to ensure was the case, it had taken about 10 phone calls to different places to check that snippet of information.

I paid my £1.95 for a 15 minute journey, 3 stops up the road to the Drumfearn road end and the guy even dropped me right at the road end, rather than the couple of hundred extra yards up by the bus stop.

The sun was shining, but it was cold and a slight wind added to the chill in the air. There had been a frost on the ground this morning when I’d woken and looked out the window on the croft. As it was I set out in long sleeve baselayer and my Paramo Velez jacket. I had the mid layer in my pack along with a spare fleece in case things got seriously cold later. The weather forecast had pretty much determined my completion of this walk today.

I had planned to do complete the walk tomorrow, to coincide with Rambling Pete starting out from Armadale on the same day. We would pass each other at some point on the route and I would symbolically pass on the baton as it were. The weather forecast for tomorrow was awful though and for today it was good until later in the afternoon. there was also the consideration that there is no defined path for this section of the walk, certainly not for large sections of it. There was always the chance that we would not even see each other as we passed, choosing different routes along the trackless sections.

I decided to go with the weather.

It’s about two miles from the bus stop to the path at Drumfearn, but there was no other way to get to it than walk. I tried to hitch a lift with the only car that passed me along the road for those two miles. The lady driver looked very sheepish as she passed me and shrugged. I didn’t blame her, I would be quite upset if my wife started giving lifts to complete strangers in the middle of nowhere, you just can’t be too wary any more.

So I yomped it along the road, making the best time I could while I had a good surface. The previous section of the Trail had shown me how awful the conditions could be along the coast. At Drumfearm the temp had risen enough to shed my coat and don my mid layer. The sun had increased in strength too, so I stuck my Tilley on my head and struck out along the coast.

I don’t mind rough walking; if you do enough walking in the Yorkshire Dales you inevitably end up doing a fair amount of trackless heather bashing, crossing narrow rivers, finding your way up and down craggy faces and so on. The thing I hated about walking this section of path was the not knowing.

You never know which is the best route to take – higher up, inland a ways or hugging the coast and taking your chances with impassable rocky headlands. I started beside the sea, following a beaten path, but was soon forced up through the heather to find a path higher up. This then dropped down as I was faced with an impenetrable clump of trees. This process was repeated for about two hours.

As I climbed up I could see the Mussel lines down in the bay and I now realised the source of the huge barrels I’d seen littering the coast line. The Mussel lines are supported by them, huge plastic floats which obviously get loose during bad weather and wash up on the coast.

For a while I managed to roughly follow the deer fence, it cut across some of the headlands, essentially short cutting some of the coast. I had to drop into two or three very steep ravines and climb out the other side, but I think this was still better than struggling on the uneven, rocky surfaces along the beach and being forced inland to avoid impassable sections.

The views of the Cuillins improved all morning and the visibility today was excellent, with only a slight haze in the air. After a while the fence headed left up the hill and I knew I’d lost it’s assistance. Ahead was a fairly dense looking forest of natural growth trees, not pines (but that’s as much as I could say about them). I found what looked like a little path leading into them.

I had been following sheep trods all morning, as long as they were going roughly in the right direction I was happy to take any help I could get. The sheep seem to follow the coast too.

The path through the trees was intermittent and not a great help. I remember reading a couple of journals that said the higher route through the trees was better than the coast, so I stuck to my task through here. The only place I had a real problem was at Garbh Alt. This is a deep wooded ravine, the southern bank is sheer and the northern side I was on wasn’t much better. It was screened with dense growth so I couldn’t see an easy way down. I walked inland for several hundred yards, climbing higher to see if the ravine bottomed out. It didn’t, so I reversed back down the slope towards the coast. I eventually found a thinner clump of trees and scrambled down to the burn. A steep ascent was required on the other side, but I eventually made it.

At one point in the wood I found a green shady bowl with a hangman’s noose suspended from a branch in the middle. I thought about Deliverance and the Duelling Banjos song appeared unbidden in my head. I moved swiftly on.

I dropped down to the coast line again, but at Bagh an Dubh Ard I was forced inland. I saw a couple of walkers higher up the hill and made the best route I could towards them. I figured they may be on a path. I was right too. After a tricky scramble and a steep ascent I met them. We exchanged route information; they were walking out of Ord, just seeing how far they could go and were pleased to tell me of a little path running across Rubha Dubh Ard which I now followed until I reach the desolate beach house on the other side of the hill.

The house looks well maintained, it’s garden a sanctuary for sheep, but no-one appeared to be living there. Behind the house is a rugged 4WD track that cuts across the headland to the back of the village of Ord. I used this rather than the coast. About 12:15, before I reached Ord, I stopped for some lunch on a rocky outcrop. I knew there was nothing in Ord, so no point going further in the hope of a shop or anything.

Ord is a lovely little place, lots of tiny cottages and a tiny harbour. I followed the road – you have no idea how much I delighted at the thought of road walking – through the village and out the other side. There are 4 miles of road to Achnacloich and is not heavily used. It’s a bit like a roller coaster though, climbing and falling all the way, which makes for quite hard going, but still so much easier than the previous 4 miles or so.

I arrived at Achnacloich just as the weather started to cloud over. It became slightly colder too and I looked at the coast line around Sithean Beag with dread in my heart. I have to admit at this point I decided on the easy route, for the first time on the Trail so far (if you discount The Storr, where I had no legs for the ascent). There is a road alternative between Achnacloich and Armadale. It’s no shorter and if anything there is more ascent than the coastal route, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to spend another 3 or 4 hours hacking my way up and down between the coast and the high ground, avoiding headlands and trusting to luck to find the way. The road walk seemed like the much easier option and with the weather looking to start deteriorating I took the easy option.

As I was walking up the first steep climb out of Achnacloich a car pulled along side me and the passenger side window rolled down. “Are you wanting to walk?” the lady driver enquirer of me. “I am” I replied, “it’s a decision I’m probably going to regret when it starts raining, but I’m going to walk”. She wished me luck and drove off up the steep incline.

That’s the sort of place Skye is. People stop and ask you if you want a lift! It’s been the most friendly place I’ve ever driven. Courtesy is important, especially on the little single track lanes where you have to look out for approaching vehicles and pull over and let them pass. Everyone acknowledges that with a wave. Even people walking on he road wave as you pass, especially if you’ve slowed down for them. I love Skye. I love the friendliness of the place.

A couple more cars passed me on the road, but none stopped. They all waved, but none offered me a lift. I’m sort of glad too, my resolve was slipping as the weather seemed to worsen. The wind picked up and my Tilley became ever more precarious. Beyond Loch Dhughaill the road climbed steeply again , but after a while I reached the summit and could look down into the valley beyond.

It rained, for the first time on the walk it actually rained on me. More than a few drops at least. It wasn’t hard rain, just spitting and I didn’t need to put my coat on. It stopped after a few minutes and within a few minutes after that I was dry again. By Rambling Pete’s Rule, it hasn’t rained unless the drops have joined up, so in this case it hadn’t rained! I followed the road down to the A851 at Kilbeg and turned right towards Armadale.

The last two miles or so were done in increasing wind and cold. I watched the ferry from Malaig arrive across the bay and 20 minutes later I arrived there myself. Skye Trail complete.

Again I missed the presence of my brother, so I had a big ice cream to console myself and to celebrate. I took a self portrait with the front facing camera on my phone and got into the car as the rain began to fall in earnest.

8 days of mostly magical walking was over. 107 miles of some of the best scenery anywhere in the UK, possibly even the world. Some of the friendliest people you could hope to meet and what is instantly my favourite long distance walk of all the ones I have done.

All walks have something to endear themselves to me, but the Skye Trail is fantastic. The weather of course, had something to do with that. I’m sure if it had rained and howled for 8 days I would have different feelings for the place, but the weather was the icing on the cake. The route is awesome and the surroundings are majestic.

In some ways I wish I’d finished the walk in Broadford, a lovely village with all the amenities you need to celebrate the end of the walk and it avoids the hard sections beyond. In other ways I’m glad I continued down the Sleat peninsula, despite the rough walking it’s a more complete version of the Trail.

If you liked the West Highland Way, but didn’t enjoy walking in convoy along its length, then the Skye Trail could be the walk for you. If you don’t mind a bit of wilderness walking and don’t feel the need to have a path under your feet then definitely give the Skye Trail some thought.

Logistically it’s a difficult walk to complete, there aren’t that many places to stay outside the bigger towns, so having a car and a driver really helps, but it can be done. A combination of hitch-hiking, taxis and buses make it completely do-able.

One final thought – if you’re going to do it, go south to north! I thought this more than once. The roughest walking is at the start then, you get it out of the way and you train yourself for the tough Trotternish Ridge walk. Heading north you walk with the sun at your back, so your photos will probably come out better, but the mainly northerly winds on Skye may be in your face more often that not.

I’m happy to answer any questions people may have on the trail. If you find this blog through a search engine, then have a look at the main website where I’ll be writing up a more detailed account in the next few weeks.

Day seven dawned – well we assumed it dawned, we couldn’t actually see the sun and the wind was blowing a force seven at least; the waves were throwing themselves against our little beach like suicidal things. I’d heard the wind in the night, picking up from yesterday’s obviously quite tame levels. The house has withstood much worse though, that’s for sure, and no windows rattled and no doors shook, so I pretty much slept through it.

I had hoped the worst would be over in the morning, but I wasn’t that lucky. We packed the car and headed out on the long drive to Broadford. The wind was certainly freshening and the sky was all shades of grey and black. I decided that I’d ridden my luck as much as I as going to this week, and here was traditional Skye spring weather in earnest, I couldn’t complain though – 6 straight days of pretty much perfect weather was lots more than I expected.

The morning commute to these longer starting points is something of a joy too. There are few cars about, even at what would normally be rush-hour at home. Many of the lanes are narrow, with passing points, but most cars obey the signs that suggest you should pull over and let faster traffic pass. We are that faster traffic. The two tracks roads are great too, long straight sections abound and the reduced number of cars makes for some lovely clear journeys.

We arrived in Broadford about 8:30 and I set out into the biting wind with my long sleeve baselayer on, beneath my Paramo coat, a fleece and my wind proof in the pack, just in case things got worse (or better).

I only had about 9 miles to do today and the first 5 are along the road into Heaste, so I told Rog to expect me about 11:30, possibly 12:00. I meandered through Broadford and came to the turn off for Heaste and as I turned right into the lane I turned my back on the wind – I was having some more luck there too. At least I wasn’t going to be walking into the wind all morning, as I had all afternoon yesterday.

The road was quiet, it supports maybe 20 houses in Heaste and very few cars passed along it while I was using it. The road winds up and down through the surrounding moorland. It’s nothing like as charming as the road walk through the Braes and it has very little to offer, except for the most direct route to Heaste and avoiding a return down the same route I’d used yesterday.

I used the impetus of the wind and pushed hard all the way to the end of the road. I used my headphones for the first time to listen to some music, generate a pace and basically eat up the time.

The 5 miles to the little harbour at Haste took me 90 minutes. There’s a little pier here, with several small boats tied up along side it. There was a promising Scotways sign too; telling me Kinloch was 3.3m away. I wasn’t actually going all the way to Kinloch, but the fact that Scotways recognise the route suggested there may be a path along the coast.

There is a beaten track through the stones of the “beach” for the first few hundred yards along the coast, made by vehicles used by the fishermen to access the pier I guess. After a while this faced though and I was soon clambering over rocks and around little outcrops. It was hard to decide where to walk. There was no path. I had the choice to walk higher, up into the scrubby heather and tussocky grass above the coast, or stick to the coastline and hope that it was navigable. In the end I used a mixture of both, as they seemed appropriate. In some sections it was obvious that I had to leave the cost and head inland. Thin sheep tracks moved in and out along the coast and these helped to some extent. As long as they were going in roughly the right direction I followed them.

Towards the head of the loch it was obvious I needed to drop down, to find somewhere to cross the river (Abhan Ceann Loch Eishort). This had been a worrying section of the planning stage. The river looked wide at the head of the loch and Paterson hadn’t been very precise on the best place to cross, or indeed if a crossing would be possible, especially after rain. I was hopeful though, there had been very little rain and all the rivers I crossed so far had been low and easily passable.

In the end the crossing of Abhan Ceann Loch Eishort was also simple. It was so shallow I barely got the soles of my boots wet, using a series of small stones to cross easily to the other side.

The litter at the head of the loch was incredible. Dozens of large blue and grey barrels lay all over the place, like a container load had been spilled out in the loch and they’d all ended up here. Tons of smaller pieces of detritus were littered in amongst the barrels too. It was an awful sight.

I found a small flock of what looked like feral sheep too. Their coats were grey and matter and their horns were long. Not sure if you can have feral sheep or not, but these gave that impression.

On the other side of the river it was easier going. I stuck close to the shore as there seemed to be no major inhibitors to my progress. I passed some huge equipment, washed up, or possibly moored on the shore. They looked like flat bed lorries without the wheels or cabs, possibly some sort of fishing equipment maybe? In the loch at this point I could see the Mussel lines; long parallel lines of floats tended by a small boat.

Beyond the moored or abandoned machinery I was forced to head up and in, away from the shoreline. The ground was rugged, heather-clad and tussocky with thin patches of deciduous trees and rocky outcrops. Just outside Drumfearn I came across a fence in my path. I couldn’t see anyway round it, so I had to cross it, into a dense clump of trees. The ground dropped away rapidly towards the coast and it was very wet and boggy. I scrambled down through the trees, trying to avoid the worst of the wet sections and I eventually emerged onto the coast again.

A short hop along the coast and I arrived at the tiny harbour at Drumfearn. This is even smaller than Heaste, no pier, just a sheltered cove with a few small boats tied up in it. Loads of equipment littered the place, it looked like a dump for old fishing gear, chains, ropes, nets, huge grey and blue barrels , crates and even an ancient, rusting digger. Nice.

I found the road to the village and headed up it. It was only 11:15 so I expected to have to find somewhere to sit and wait for Rog. I was pleasantly surprised therefore, to find the car sitting at the gate at the end of the access road. He was asleep in the car and wasn’t best pleased as I banged loudly on the window to announce my arrival.

As I took my boots off I found a tick in amongst the debris that had gathered behind the tongue of the boot. Later that evening Rog had to remove two ticks from his dog. Our first encounter with the little beasts (and our last as it happened). Given a longer walk today I guess my passenger could have found his way to flesh, so I consider myself lucky.

We drove into Portree and had lunch and a mooch. We did some shopping in the supermarket and spent an enjoyable afternoon in the croft.

Something strange had happened overnight. As we left the house this morning we noticed that something resembling a huge grey blanket had obscured the sun! We were both shocked and dismayed. We asked a local what it was and he called it a “clowd”. He said it like crowd, but with an “L”.

Fortunately today’s start point was 45 miles from the house and during the drive and the change in micro-climate, normal sunny conditions had resumed by the time we reached the car park, just outside Kirkibost. The longest day of the walk so far was ahead of me and if the temperatures of yesterday were repeated, I could struggle.

I left the car with my short-sleeved baselayer on beneath my soft shell jacket which I think of more as a wind proof than anything else. I still packed my Paramo in my pack, just in case the conditions turned either cold or wet – you can’t be too careful in Scotland

The first mile or so was along the road, but as I approached the plantation at Keppoch I followed a line of power lines and a fence up the side of the trees. There is no path here, but the fence is easy to follow and keeping it to my left I made the height easily, through the heather.

I spooked a couple of young deer who bounded away ahead of me. Unfortunately they headed straight into a dead-end caused by the deer fence to my left and another fence that came in from the right. As I neared the dead-end they went completely ballistic. I’ve seen deer get spooked before, but they generally have an easy escape route and bound off. These two were trapped by the fence ahead and me behind. They threw themselves senselessly at the fence, as if it would let them through if they tried hard enough. One deer tried to jump it and after two or three attempts managed to get over, but it went over head first after catching it’s head in the top level of the fence – only it’s momentum carried over the top. It seemed unharmed though as it bolted off over the hill ahead.

The remaining deer continued to thrash about into the fence, dust, fur and heather were flying everywhere and I couldn’t help feel a bit guilty that I’d forced them down this cul-de-sac. I kept as far left as I could and eventually the deer figured out that it could run down the right hand fence and escape.

All this excitement distracted me from the ruins of Keppoch around me, the remains of the cleared settlement are still visible, but slowly being eaten up by the heather and Old Father Time. Better examples of cleared villages were ahead of me though, so I carried on, over the tall stile and along what was now a discernible path in the heather.

The view ahead was dominated by the double top of Beinn Dearg. The middle of the mountain was clad in a band of cloud, with the top and lower sections both clear – a most interesting view.

The path continues beside the plantation until an ancient, wire-wrapped post is met, at which point it cuts across an open section of ground that could be boggy after rain, but was lovely and springy for me. The path gets easier to follow once it crosses a little stream and the views of Beinn Dearg get better and better. Bla Bheinn (Blaven) appears to the left, looking absolutely massive and a bewildering series of ridges, corries and crags.

I reached a gate and just beyond that the path became excellent, apart from a series of fallen trees that caused me some problems. One or two completely block the path, and I had to scramble over, under and around them as best I could. The path eventually dropped down to the car park for Blaven. I’d loved this little section of the walk, that bypasses a very busy section of the road, but it was now over and I was back to walking beside the road.

This is busy, but there is room beside it to walk safely. The views are stunning. I was walking around the end of Loch Slapin, surrounded on three sides by high mountains and the loch on my right. I walked with my camera out, constantly amazed by the views, enhanced by the shifting clouds above and those clinging to the slopes of the massive hills, some of which were tumbling spectacularly over a corrie on Blaven.

After a while I reached Torrin. I got my most disappointing experience on Skye here. I had been hoping to sit in the Blue Shed Cafe and have some tea and cakes as an early lunch. It opened at 10:30 according to the sign on the gate and I arrived at 10:29 by my phone’s clock. So I walked through the gate and approached the front door, expecting to have to wait for a minute or two.

As I closed the gate behind me and crunched across the gravel a man came out of the cafe and said “Can I help you?”. In the sort of tone you reserve for annoying salesmen at the door, or someone who walks across your garden. I was a little peeved at his attitude. “I was hoping for a brew” I said. “We’re not open yet” he replied “we had some car problems this morning and we’re running late”. At that I expected him to say come in, sit down, wait a few minutes and we’ll get sorted out. But no, he disappeared back into the cafe and shut the door.

I was quite annoyed at this. I turned and walked out the gate. Another couple were waiting there and asked me what he’d said. I told them and they turned away as well. I hasten to add the guy was English, not a local. I couldn’t believe his lack of foresight, or hospitality. As we walked away he came back out and shouted “I can do you a take-away coffee if you like!” I ignored him and carried on up the road.

Perhaps he’d had a bad morning and didn’t have his best attitude on, but I was peeved at this. For a business that relies on passing trade, to turn us away in such a brusque manner was just foolish.

I left Torrin, still on the road and turned off, onto a much quieter road at Kilbride. From here the road heads to the coast of the loch where it becomes a rough 4WD track. The track climbs gently beside the loch with fantastic views back to Blaven, until after a couple of miles it drops down to the abandoned settlement of Suisnish. There are several old, ruined buildings here as well as a more modern ruined house and some modern farming sheds.

The 4WD track ends at the sheds and I headed up hill, through fields to find the coast path. It hugs the lower slopes of Carn Dearg, well trodden and clear to follow. There is a circular walk that takes in the whole of this peninsula and although I’d seen a couple of cars at the end of the tarmac road I’d only seen one walker, and him distantly on the route so far.

Like all the paths I’d walked so far (and indeed those to follow on the next two days), apart from those at Storr and Quiraing, I couldn’t help but think that they are “maintained” more by sheep than by people. There is plenty of good walking to be had on Skye but so few people walking the paths.

The next mile or so along the coast path from Suisnish was brilliant. Not as spectacular as Glen Sligachan, but the path is wonderfully exposed and rocky. It drops down to the beach and then climbs back to hug the base of the cliffs. Little sections have fallen away to leave tricky, narrow paths above the rocks. All the while the scenery ahead and to my right was breathtaking. The ever-present marine litter was here too. So many plastic bottles and the large grey and blue drums.

I collected some water from a stream that fell from the cliffs to my left and took a long, cool drink. I’d brought my water filter bottle especially for this reason. It saved me carrying a full bladder of water all day. There are plenty of water sources on most of the sections of the Trail and the filter in the bottle ensured that I could partake of almost all of it.

I soon arrived at Boreraig, another cleared village. Much more impressive in size and scale than anything I’d seen previously. The remains of the houses were mostly still clear. You could walk in and out of the houses, stepping over the low walls in places, or using the doorways. Other settlements I’d passed had been overgrown with heather or long grass, but these were much more exposed. The green pastures were kept short by sheep.

There is an obvious exit from the sheltered valley and I headed uphill towards this, passing the single standing stone that looks like it marked the centre of the village. As I climbed the path became more clear and left the green pastures behind for scrubby grass and heather. At a gate it changed completely, becoming a stony track through some of the most wonderful heather clad hills I have ever walked in.

The wind had increased steadily as I climbed away from Boreraig, and I was now walking mostly north, straight into it. I crossed a stile announcing I was entering the Beinn Nan Carn native woodland project. I couldn’t see any trees though, just a lovely path climbing through a wide, open valley covered in deep heather. I eventually reached the summit cairn and the views ahead became staggering. Beinn an Caillich standing head and shoulders above Beinn Dearg directly ahead and looking slightly left I could see Blaven in the distance, sitting above Torrin far below.

The more exposed path, now felt the brunt of the strong wind, and I dropped down to the old marble quarries that used to be worked here. Some evidence still remains, foundations for winch gear, old tracks for the trucks and other detritus. It reminded me of the old lead working remains in the Dales. Adding something to the surroundings rather than marring them.

Beyond the marble quarry I passed through a gate and the path changed into a well maintained 4WD track, now with small information signs telling walkers how far they had to go to various points of interest. The one I was most interested in told me I had 4.3km to Broadford.

I could see the path stretching out ahead of me, dropping gently to begin then climbing gently again. I was tired now. The wind was taking its toll on my reserves and my Tilley was becoming a problem. I couldn’t take it off because the sun was too strong. I don’t wear sun cream, I hate the stuff, its just not conducive to sweating heavily and it runs into my eyes and feels awful, so when it’s sunny I have to wear the Tilley. But the wind was adamant it didn’t want it n my head. I resorted to the draw cord around my chin – giving me that “special” look, all I needed was mittens on strings now.

At least the path was easy to follow, so I put my head down, using the wind to keep the hat on my head and plugged onwards. On the outskirts of Broadford I passed a tiny gypsy encampment, two or three caravans parked in a layby, the kids playing in a nearby gravel pile. I was soon in Broadford and looking for a cafe.

Roger had chosen today to take a boat trip into Loch Coruisk. I had a long day and the start point was close to Elgol, so it worked well for both of us. He was expecting to be in Broadford about 4pm, and I had about 30 minutes to kill before he arrived.

I found a small cafe beside the Post Office and spent an incredible £5 on a can of Irn Bru and two small cakes, which I wasted no time in polishing off. A couple of minutes later Roger arrived and I dropped happily into the passenger seat, allowing him to drive us back to the croft.

This had been a wonderful day, one of the best day walks of the year so far, only eclipsed by the previous day, but that’s the nature of the Skye Trail, it’s one fantastic day after another, different scenery with a common backdrop; high hills, beautiful lochs and (for me at least) blue, cloudless skies.

Inevitably, the start of each day now gets further and further from our base of operations and as such we have to get up earlier and set out earlier. The journey to the start point, the Sligachan Hotel took us about 40 minutes, but I was still ready to go by 07:50, setting out into a beautiful morning – yes, I know, another one – it’s getting tedious isn’t it?

Apart from Day Three, each day has been increasingly better than the last so far, and today proved to be another in that vein.

If yesterday’s track beside Loch Sligachan had become an instant new favourite path, then todays track down Glen Sligachan was an immediate candidate for “Stuart’s Favourite Path Award 2012″. It’s brilliant, especially in the morning light I was walking in today. The path is stony and rocky, a little boggy in places, and cut by dozens of tiny streams and some much bigger ones. It’s overlooked by huge mountains on all sides; rugged, towering and the most mountain-like mountains I’ve ever walked beneath.

To the right is Sgurr nan Gillean, complex, broken and craggy and (I think) the location for the scene in Highlander where Macleod and Ramirez are sparring high above the valley below. To the left is the immense bulk of the double topped Glamaig. Ahead and to the left is Marsco, with an inviting ramp of an aspect that is begging to be climbed, but not today I’m afraid.

The main problem with the path lies in keeping your feet and not stumbling all ver the place as you gape at your surroundings.

Before long I could see the valley bending away to the left, around the back of Marsco. I passed two small lochs on the right apparently both named Lochan Dubha according to the map. About this point I came to what I had been calling “The Decision Cairn”. Go left for the easier path down to Camasunary or go right for Loch Coruisk and the Bad Step. I’d already made the decision, so it was easy to keep left at this point. The path to the right climbs up and over and drops down the other side of the hill to the loch.

The path left stays mostly flat, dropping down if anything and the views improved as the valley opened up. On the left now was Blaven; huge, towering and impossibly steep, also impossible to photograph with the sun sitting directly above it. On my right was the first of two large lochs (Loch an Athain) perfectly flat and mirror smooth in the still morning air.

Ever since leaving the hotel I’d been following at least one and possibly two sets of footprints. I was hard to gauge how long they’d been there, but I expected it was a couple of very early starters, ahead of me on the path. The only trace of them was wet boot prints on rocks as they’d splashed through the burns, but even though there were long straight sections of paths where i could see a good distance ahead, I’d not seen them. I now found them. Apparently, the cold of the night had prevented the boot prints from drying out, as these two had spent the night at the side of the loch, in one of the most spectacular wild camps.

I didn’t pass close enough to talk, but I waved a greeting to one of the guys washing his kettle in the loch, and he waved back. I got some semi-arty photographs of the loch and the reflections of the surrounding mountains in the mirror of its surface.

The section between Loch an Athain and the second, much larger Loch na Creitheach would be quite muddy and troublesome in wet conditions, but it wasn’t too bad today. I managed to skip round the worst of the mud and step over many of the boggy sections. There were a lot of bike tracks in the wet sections, which surprised me, I thought it would be too rugged to get a bike down here.

Beyond Loch na Creitheach the path gets boggy again as it wanders down to the rather incongruous large house in Camasunary Bay. I went ankle deep here into a wet sludgey puddle, the worst dunking so far, and simply due to me not paying attention to my feet. The bay is wonderful, peaceful and almost completely covered in plastic litter debris, it’s shameful and quite startling to see.

I arrived just behind a large party of Dutch walkers who had come along the 4WD track over Am Mam from Kirkibost. We chatted for a short while about our respective plans and about the incredible weather (it’s not just a British disease, talking about the weather to strangers). They were all incredibly friendly and interested to know about my “top to bottom” walk and I described it.

They were equally as dismayed about the amount of litter on the ground. I initially thought it must be generated by the people who had been using the house and the bothy, which is situated further round the bay. But it quickly became clear that this was littering on an industrial scale. There’s no way a thousand backpackers could generate this much waste, not even over 10 years. This waste was coming from passing ships.

You think about any bouyant waste product, and it was here. Plastic made up the bulk of it, thousands and thousands of plastic bottle, containers, crates, huge drums, ropes, lines and nets, shoes and much, much worse. Shampoo bottles! I must have seen 500 shampoo bottle in the mile or so of shore I walked along that day. I never realised sailors have such ‘ealthy lookin’ ‘air as David Ginola used to say. Head and Shoulders is the preferred brand.

I said my goodbyes to the Dutch and left them to laze on one of the cleaner grassy sections, eating lunch and exploring the litter strewn beach. I followed the very narrow path as it climbed up the slope above the rocky coast. The views behind were stunning, but I had to concentrate on my footing, as this is a potentially dangerous section of path. A huge drop to the right, sometimes screened by trees, but more often not, threatened to plunge me to the rocks below. The route notes say that walkers have called from here, and I could believe it.

I passed a couple more families, including a French couple will four kids, all too young to be walking a path like this. The youngest was strapped to the back of the mother in a sort of makeshift papous made from a coat.

After dropping down to the beach and then negotiating another dodgy section of path I arrived in Elgol. I stopped into the shop and enjoyed a short break, two Feast lollies, two cans of Irn Bru and a bottle of water to top up my Platypus. The shop is great, but under threat, so please drop in and buy something and have a chat to the wonderful lady who runs it.

The remainder of the day was on the road, apart from a short diversion to bag a trig point. And I arrived, foot sore and knackered at Kirkibost, where I found Rog waiting for me.

We retired to the Isles Inn and had another great meal and another fun evening in front of the roaring fire in the croft. The only downside is the amount of smoke the fire seems to pump into the living room, I think the chimney must be blocked!