Perimeter

Warm hospitality contrasts with a hostile coastline as Quintin Lake continues his walk

Shooting a reflection with creativity

Ian must spend a lot of time outside: he’s met three other coastal walkers over the last 20 years. I meet him outside his cottage by West Loch Tarbert. “How heavy’s your pack?” he asks. “You had any trouble? Do you have waterproofs? I’m a nosy bugger, ain’t I?” He heads inside to show me his 1988 copy of The Guinness

Book of Records, which includes a photo of record-breaking coast-walker Helen Krasner with his nieces in front of the cottage.

The off-track coast heading north of Ardpatrick Point is the most hostile I’ve yet encountered. Its pretty appearance disguises sharp, narrow bands of rock, like upturned axe heads that run against the grain of travel. Rain and seaweed make the lower shore too slippery to walk along. Chest-high bracken hides sudden steep drops along the only passable route. Going further inland is impossible due to impenetrable walls of scrubby thickets. I’m using my hands continuously; in many instances my shoes wedge between rocks and need to be wiggled backwards to extricate them.

I’ve only made one-kilometre-perhour progress, and am feeling very demoralised as I put the tent up in the rain at Ormsary. I have a brief chat with a man walking along the shore, who then comes back from his house and surprises me with beer, eggs and a bag of fresh food. Alex is a Chinook door gunner, and we chat about his deployments and my travels. I’m as grateful for the diverting conversation as I am for the much-needed supplies. As he hands me the food, he says: “No use to me mate, last day of leave. You get some scran down you.”

The following day at Coulaghailtro, I’m back on a quiet road when I hear running behind me: “You’re walking very fast! Do you want the campsite?” “No, thanks for asking,” I reply, “I’ve still a way to go today.” “So you’re alright for everything? Are you the Round Britain Walker?” “I’m one of them,” I reply, feeling slightly confused – and with a wave, that was that.

I rest under the dramatic waves of strata in St Columba’s Cave where the eponymous Irish abbot credited with spreading Christianity into Scotland stopped for a few days on his journey north from Ireland in 563 AD. There’s a tremendous sense of peace and humble spirituality here. Being entirely sheltered from the rain, I extend the tripod and enjoy leisurely, and dry, photography for the first time in a few days.

The rain was constant on this day, so every photo had to be quickly grabbed and the camera wiped down and put away. By 4pm, the rain had stopped for a while as I walked past this loch, which reflected waterlogged clouds to give this unusual milky effect. I framed the shot to contrast the wavy reflections with the straight stems, and to stress the calligraphic flourish of the curved lines.