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rhythmaningI spent a long weekend on Knoydart. Everyone says “on Knoydart”, because although not physically an island, the Knoydart Peninsular – the Rough Bounds - is effectively cut off from the rest of the UK: there are no roads connecting it to the road network, so you can either walk twenty miles from Kinloch Hourn at the end of a very long, winding and marvellous single track road, or you can get the boat from Mallaig, a forty-five minute ride across rough, storm swept water.
The large group I was with – over thirty of us – chose that option.
Actually, the sea was flat as a pancake: barely a ripple. The sky was dark and overcast, but the weather was ok, there was no breeze at all, and the views from the boat were wonderful.
Its inaccessibility makes Knoydart feel special. There is one village, Inverie, and a population of about 100 people; the boat carries about fifty, and during the summer tourists probably outnumber residents. Just about every house offers accommodation of one sort or another – there are B&Bs, guest houses, and lots of lodges and “bunk houses”.
The party I was with took up three different bunk houses; I was staying at the Old Byre, which housed twelve of us; it was very luxurious – it even had a large spa bath in the yard.
A few of us took a brief stroll in the afternoon (the others, I think, headed straight to the pub…). It is a startlingly beautiful, barren place.
The restaurant in Inverie, the Pier House, has the most excellent seafood – literary fresh off the boat or plucked from the bay; but it was closed as the owners decided to take their first summer holiday in ten years. This meant that all the visitors were crammed into the Old Forge pub, which quite reasonably claims to be the most remote pub in the UK. They also do great seafood, and they coped really well with the influx of visitors – despite being fully booked, they made sure everyone got fed.
Walking back along the bay in the evening, there was a gorgeous sunset over Rum.
The main reasons people go to Knoydart are to get away, to climb or do other outdoor activity. We were there to walk the hills: there are several large mountains in the area, including a very remote Munro, Sgurr na Ciche. I and several others wanted to climb it, which means an hour’s boat ride right up Loch Nevis. Again it was calm; the boatman sat reading a novel. Porpoises played in the boats wake; a flock of herons – something I have never seen before, herons in a large, large group – took off from the shore.
It was a really hard slog – very hard work. I felt unfit, and I didn’t enjoy the climb – I was surprised. Perhaps I was just tired, or maybe a little hung over. Either way, no fun. At the top, I decided not to climb Garbh Chioch Mhor, the neighbouring hill, too – I doubted my ability to do that and dash back to catch the boat back (and without the boat, it was a further ten mile walk and 600 feet of ascent); it is not too hard to reach Garbh Chioch Mhor from the east, so I thought I’d just leave it until I feel like the long drive down the side of Loch Arkaig.
We made it back to the boat with plenty of time, but the guys who decided to do the two hills only just made it – I was right to skip it.
That night, it started raining. It stopped for a while in the morning. I decided to climb Sgurr Coire Choinnichean, the Corbett just behind the village. It started raining again when we were just at the bottom of the hill, and it got heavier and the wind rougher as we climbed. But I loved it – maybe I was just in a better mood, but this was much more fun. The wind was blowing a gale – there were parts of the ridge to the summit when I seriously thought we might get blown away. But I loved it. It was a very steep ridge; we were stuck in the clouds; it was raining hard; and it was really fun!
We were back mid-afternoon, had a couple of pints in the pub, and then I retired to try out the spa bath (which brought back wonderful memories!) and drank whisky into the evening.
It started raining again. And it rained all night. And it rained and rained.
It briefly stopped when we waited for the boat to take us back to Mallaig; but once on the boat, it poured down. I was seated outside; I got drenched (though that was better than being inside with the much rougher weather – ugh).
By the way, Mallaig is quite literally the end of the line: one of the most remote rail heads in the UK. It was built to carry fish down to Glasgow and London. The line travels west from Fort William past Glenfinnan, and it features in the Harry Potter films – the section where Harry and Ron fly in their car trying to catch up with the Hogwarts Express was filmed around the Glenfinnan Viaduct (which I guess makes Hogwarts somewhere in Knoydart…).
There are often “Hogwarts Specials” that run from Fort William to Mallaig and back again; but whilst I was passing through it was the Jacobite (I think it is actually the same train – they just stick a different badge on the front…)
The large group I was with – over thirty of us – chose that option.
Actually, the sea was flat as a pancake: barely a ripple. The sky was dark and overcast, but the weather was ok, there was no breeze at all, and the views from the boat were wonderful.
Its inaccessibility makes Knoydart feel special. There is one village, Inverie, and a population of about 100 people; the boat carries about fifty, and during the summer tourists probably outnumber residents. Just about every house offers accommodation of one sort or another – there are B&Bs, guest houses, and lots of lodges and “bunk houses”.
The party I was with took up three different bunk houses; I was staying at the Old Byre, which housed twelve of us; it was very luxurious – it even had a large spa bath in the yard.
A few of us took a brief stroll in the afternoon (the others, I think, headed straight to the pub…). It is a startlingly beautiful, barren place.
The restaurant in Inverie, the Pier House, has the most excellent seafood – literary fresh off the boat or plucked from the bay; but it was closed as the owners decided to take their first summer holiday in ten years. This meant that all the visitors were crammed into the Old Forge pub, which quite reasonably claims to be the most remote pub in the UK. They also do great seafood, and they coped really well with the influx of visitors – despite being fully booked, they made sure everyone got fed.
Walking back along the bay in the evening, there was a gorgeous sunset over Rum.
The main reasons people go to Knoydart are to get away, to climb or do other outdoor activity. We were there to walk the hills: there are several large mountains in the area, including a very remote Munro, Sgurr na Ciche. I and several others wanted to climb it, which means an hour’s boat ride right up Loch Nevis. Again it was calm; the boatman sat reading a novel. Porpoises played in the boats wake; a flock of herons – something I have never seen before, herons in a large, large group – took off from the shore.
It was a really hard slog – very hard work. I felt unfit, and I didn’t enjoy the climb – I was surprised. Perhaps I was just tired, or maybe a little hung over. Either way, no fun. At the top, I decided not to climb Garbh Chioch Mhor, the neighbouring hill, too – I doubted my ability to do that and dash back to catch the boat back (and without the boat, it was a further ten mile walk and 600 feet of ascent); it is not too hard to reach Garbh Chioch Mhor from the east, so I thought I’d just leave it until I feel like the long drive down the side of Loch Arkaig.
We made it back to the boat with plenty of time, but the guys who decided to do the two hills only just made it – I was right to skip it.
That night, it started raining. It stopped for a while in the morning. I decided to climb Sgurr Coire Choinnichean, the Corbett just behind the village. It started raining again when we were just at the bottom of the hill, and it got heavier and the wind rougher as we climbed. But I loved it – maybe I was just in a better mood, but this was much more fun. The wind was blowing a gale – there were parts of the ridge to the summit when I seriously thought we might get blown away. But I loved it. It was a very steep ridge; we were stuck in the clouds; it was raining hard; and it was really fun!
We were back mid-afternoon, had a couple of pints in the pub, and then I retired to try out the spa bath (which brought back wonderful memories!) and drank whisky into the evening.
It started raining again. And it rained all night. And it rained and rained.
It briefly stopped when we waited for the boat to take us back to Mallaig; but once on the boat, it poured down. I was seated outside; I got drenched (though that was better than being inside with the much rougher weather – ugh).
* * *
By the way, Mallaig is quite literally the end of the line: one of the most remote rail heads in the UK. It was built to carry fish down to Glasgow and London. The line travels west from Fort William past Glenfinnan, and it features in the Harry Potter films – the section where Harry and Ron fly in their car trying to catch up with the Hogwarts Express was filmed around the Glenfinnan Viaduct (which I guess makes Hogwarts somewhere in Knoydart…).
There are often “Hogwarts Specials” that run from Fort William to Mallaig and back again; but whilst I was passing through it was the Jacobite (I think it is actually the same train – they just stick a different badge on the front…)
