Tuesday 6th April
Last night’s gales had abated by morning, which ushered in a strong breeze bearing plenty of near-horizontal rain. After a good breakfast we said goodbye to Dorothy MacLeod and headed for the Kylerhea ferry. The wind had dropped considerably by the time we reached the ferry road, and what was mostly a deserted road was punctuated by the occasional convoy of two or three cars, an indication that the ferry was running.
It was a long, grinding climb to the summit, over 900′ above sea level, but when we plummeted to the other side, we could see the ferry on the far bank. It took only a couple of minutes for it to cross the water and it was most impressive to see the turntable bearing thee cars and their passengers being swivelled by just two men pushing and pulling in the right places.
While we were waiting we practised a little tai chi.
When all the motorists had disembarked, we had the ferry to ourselves. £4 for a return trip seemed pretty cheap, so I gave them an extra quid: this is a community-run project and the ferry had spent the winter in Stornoway being refurbished.
We were ready for lunch when we reached the Glenelg Inn, as well as being soaked, so we disrobed as much as we dared, but it was most disappointing to see how reluctant the fire was to yield any heat. However, the tomato soup was hot and we had some coffee to complete the warming process.
At about 2 p.m. we were ready to introduce ourselves to Mrs. Catriona Davidson and we found her house at the second attempt. She fed us tea and cake and soon the rain stopped so we prepared to cycle, unladen, to Corran.
It was a stunningly beautiful route and we kept our eyes open for otters, pine martens and eagles, all of which can be seen, but apart from the first house martin of the summer, there was not a great deal to report until we reached Arnisdale, where half a dozen red deer were grazing in someone’s garden. They were not terribly troubled by our presence.
After a lot more effort we reached Sheena’s tea hut, the most southerly extent of civilisation on that particular peninsula, and since Knoydart was the next one, pretty much until Mallaig miles to the south. We had tea and I enjoyed a delicacy known as a “clootie dumpling”.
Sheena was probably a little older than us and although pleasant and chatty, spoke of little but disease, dementia and death. She did tell us that when she was a young mother in the area they had neither electricity nor running water and she had to wash her babies’ nappies in the burn. We were, however, glad to get away because it seemed that anyone who spent too much time in her presence was doomed.
We seemed to make better time on the return trip and arrived at the pub about twenty minutes before the time at which I had booked the table. The food was pretty good, but when the bill arrived it was about £10 more than total on the mental tally I had kept. I spotted that two items had been seriously overpriced and they were put right, but it was not until we were back in our room that I realised that we had still overpaid by the price of an extra dessert, which we had not had. I couldn’t help thinking that those “mistakes” were deliberate.