It was intended to be the last long ride of the summer – take the ferry from Corran across to Ardgour and follow the quiet road along Loch Linnhe, then turn up Loch Eil with the intention of catching the train back to Fort William at Glenfinnan. But somehow it didn’t work out quite like that.
The Corran Bunkhouse is a wonderful place to stay when planning a trip like this. It may call itself a “bunkhouse”, but it’s really a comfortable and quite sophisticated self-catering home-from-home. It can cater for up to 32 people in two connected buildings. How many bunkhouses can offer twin rooms with en-suite facilities?
We arrived to meet friends very late in the evening. The drive from Edinburgh takes over three hours and we had chosen to break the journey at the excellent Real Food Cafe at Tyndrum. Its lights are a welcome sight after a journey in driving rain. The coffee is great, their freshly made soups are superb and they serve some of the best fish and chips in the Highlands – all from sustainable sources, too.
The last to arrive at Corran, we only had a short while to catch up on news over a healthy dram before heading off for bed. At other times of year, you really need the midge blinds – the wee blighters seem able to get in through the smallest crack and bite you in awkward places. But this year, the threat seemed to have passed.
The group we were with is part of the Scottish Ski Club. When there is no snow on the slopes, we meet up every second or third week to become the Summer Walkers, bagging a Munro or a Corbett, a Graham (known as a McVean to the group in honour of one particular member), or even a “lump”. One brave soul cadged a ride across to Gruinard Island to bag its little summit.
Some of us choose to cycle, especially when there’s a really scenic route to follow. Ardgour is certainly one of the more scenic areas, looking across the loch to Ben Nevis, which on that day had a constantly changing canopy of cloud swirling around it. It was still mild, but a louring sky always carried with it the threat of rain.
The ferry was busy that day, so it was shuttling back and forward without any regard to the published timetable. Pedestrians and bikes go free, making it even a greater attraction for a true Scot! Almost all of the cars and trucks headed south, either for Strontian (where strontium was first discovered) or Lochaline and the crossing to Mull.
Very few vehicles turn north, making it a perfect cycle route. It was one we had taken before but had never completed the trip all to the way to the head of Loch Eil. We still haven’t. It had been a stressful summer and we quickly became distracted by all sorts of things, especially with our cameras at the ready. We even looked in on the local church, all decked out for a festival.
However, it was the wildlife which took most of our attention. There is a fish farm a short distance offshore: you cross the pipes which carry the feed to the cages making a curious rustling sound as it goes. It inevitably attracts predators of one kind or another. We spent about half an hour watching a couple of seals in the rocks a short distance out into the loch.
We could hear the cries of eagles high above our heads but never saw them. But we did pause to watch a buzzard catching the thermals and a short time later stopped when a heron landed on an outcrop. They are curious birds, so tall and elegant on land but rather ungainly in flight, their long legs trailing behind them.
We had ridden no more than five miles when we met one of our group returning from what turned out to have been a futile attempt to climb one of the hills. Now in her 70s, she walks the hills for pleasure rather than for exercise. Climbing a cloud-covered hill without the reward of a decent view from the top struck her as a pointless exercise. We all stopped for lunch, sitting on a convenient log looking out across a tree-lined bay.
As the first spots of rain struck our faces, we began to realise at this point that we had little chance of riding the rest of the journey we had planned. But we continued for a short time until reaching the path that leads up to Glen Cona. We turned our bikes down this track, a really attractive tree-lined route with a stream burbling alongside.
Once again we were distracted, this time by a huge stretch of bramble bushes, the fruit just ripe for the picking. Since we follow the country code and had packed away our sandwich bags, they became useful once again to collect some of the berries. As is so often the case, it was one for the bag, one for me… etc.
Satisfied, we continued only until we reached a loch in which the mountains were almost perfectly reflected, until the raindrops started to disturb the surface. Looking around, the shoulders of the hills were cloaked in shrouds of cloud, as if in mourning for the passing of summer. A robin settled in front of us. As the rain grew heavier, we headed back for the shelter of the trees.
The shower didn’t last long. But we wended our way back the way we had come, this time stopping to walk up an avenue of rowans to visit the ancient graveyard where the MacLeans of Ardgour had once been buried. Many of the gravestones have fallen, but it is still possible to make out some of the names of those whose bones lie there.
On our way across, one of the ferrymen had warned us to be careful as the last trip back would take place at about half past nine. We shouldn’t have worried. It wasn’t even five o’clock. Back to the bunkhouse to have a shower and an excellent dinner prepared by the leader of this trip. As for reaching the head of Loch Eil, there is always next year…
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