Away To Arisaig
Visit the scenic Scottish Highlands
IT’S not that long ago that the road from Fort William out to Mallaig was mostly twisting, single track with passing places. It was much more of an adventure than the “improved” more direct road.
But then, I doubt if that wee road would have coped with the volume of today’s traffic. Sometimes, though, in our rush to get to wherever, we can miss the best bits, and if that’s true for anywhere it certainly is for this road. I’ve left the main A830 this morning to stop off at the now bypassed village of Arisaig.
With a good forecast I’d left home early and, after a three-and-a-quarter-hour drive, arrived in Arisaig for 7.30 a.m. Mad? Perhaps, but then I had a virtually traffic-free run all the way and I still had the whole day ahead of me.
Loch Eil, Loch Shiel and Loch Eilt were all looking fantastic and far too good to pass without photo stops.
At Glenfinnan a quick climb up to the viewpoint above the National Trust Visitor Centre was well worthwhile – despite being ambushed by midges!
The band of early morning mist hovering over the loch would soon be burned off.
Of this scene Queen Victoria once wrote, “I never saw a lovelier or more romantic sight, or one which told its history so well.”
Someone else was up early – a chap from Ayrshire. He had come up the hillside to dry off his tent. He’d intended staying another night by Loch Shiel but had to admit defeat, unable to face another torturous night with the midges!
He decided he was heading for the island of Canna where he believed the ferocious little beasties were less hungry. He should just have followed me along the road to Arisaig. With a light, warm breeze blowing in off the Atlantic I never met any more of them all day.
Enjoying the Gulf Stream, Arisaig has a mild climate throughout the year and everyone’s gardens are
particularly colourful in summer.
Indeed, when one gardener, the late John A. Holmes, created his extensive sub-tropical gardens at Arisaig, it was only after spending eight years travelling all around Britain collecting data on temperatures, frosts and rainfall to find the ideal place for plants to thrive.
And thrive they did. Some of his rare plants found their way to Kew.
Arisaig lies on the famous Road to the Isles and beyond the sea inlet of Loch nan Ceall, our eyes are drawn to the Hebrides.
From the jagged Cuillin of Skye to the high hills of Rum and the distinctive Sgurr of Eigg, who could decline their invitation? The scene is rarely two days alike, constantly changing at the whim of the weather.
The name Arisaig refers not only to the village but also to the surrounding district. The air is laced with salt and seabirds wheel overhead.
For the best of coastal scenery, on a day like today, few parts of the world might come close to competing with the coast between Arisaig and Mallaig.
I had crossed to Arisaig this morning to take in some of that rare scenery on a walk from Arisaig north around the coast to the sandy bay of Camusdarach.
Following the coastline through a dozen or more sandy bays and rocky promontories, it’s just a nice easy walk of around eight miles.
When I set out from the wee car park below St Mary’s Church, I thought the suggested four hours would easily be enough time.
However, with pictures at every turn and the temptation to sit down on every beach along the way, it took me closer to six hours!
An old name for Loch nan Ceall was Loch nan Geola – the loch of the small boats, since it was too shallow for boats of large draft.
This tranquil loch has had its exciting moments, too. When Bonnie Prince Charlie arrived in 1745 he sailed through the waters between Arisaig and the island of Eigg.
Just a year later, following his disastrous defeat at Culloden, he was soon to be heading in the opposite direction.
In 1746, two French ships entered Loch nan Ceall with arms and gold to support the Prince’s cause. They were too late.
Instead, they were met by ships of the Royal Navy and after a short battle, they, too, were shown the way back to France.
According to tradition, though, they did have time to unload and hide their gold which, to this day, has never been found.
A wee cairn by the side of Loch nan Uamh (loch of the caves) marks the spot where Charlie set sail for France on September 20, 1746, never to return.
Below St Mary’s Kirk, close to the shore, is Keppoch House. It was built by Alexander Macdonald, father of the man who built the monument at Glenfinnan.
Apparently, Glenfinnan Monument was built using stones from cairns left by the men who marched off to fight for Charlie.
Each had brought and placed a stone on a cairn. The idea was that when they returned, they would remove a stone. Those that were left were therefore a cairn in memory of the dead, erected by their own hand.
The short climb up the path to St Mary’s whets the appetite for the views ahead. Beside the present 19th century church stand the ruins of the 15th century Chapel of Kilmory, or Cille Mhaolrubha.
Somewhere in the cemetery, in an unmarked grave, rests the Gaelic poet Alasdair Macdonald. Born in 1698 at Dalilea in Moidart, he is to this day still considered one of Scotland’s finest poets.
Poor Alasdair should have been buried on the ancestral burial ground of Eilean Fhianain on Loch Shiel but, due to stormy weather, had just to settle for this spot.
Beyond the church, the road drops down to the Back of Keppoch. Inland stretches the wide Moin-teach Mor (the big peat moss) to the
foot of the hills of South Morar.
Few, though, will be able to resist the seaward view to the Hebrides and to the coastline we’ll be following.
Back of Keppoch is an extremely picturesque crofting township. An old tractor sits in the middle of a field. I’m sure it’s just where it was the last time I was out this way.
There’s little traffic but what there is is at a standstill as some cattle are being herded along the road – encouraged onward by the rustle of a feed bag. They’re in no hurry, stopping every so often to graze on the grassy verge.
The white heads of bog cotton nod in the breeze. Someone’s out with a strimmer and in the stillness, one might imagine it could be heard on Skye.
Down by the mouth of a stream a heron fishing for its breakfast gracefully flies off as I approach.
Another benefit of my early start becomes apparent when I reach the first beach – it’s still empty. The colours in the sea are amazing – blue-green, ultramarine, emerald and intense blue – the artist trying to capture this scene with paints would need quite a full palette.
And, with dazzling white beaches of silica sand, on a bright day, the photographer needs to keep an eye on exposures.
Between the crescent sand-filled bays, the track crosses a mix of grass and rock. The rocks of Portnaluchaig are hard going and in the interests of saving your ankles, it’s best to go round them by joining the nearby road.
Golfers might find it difficult to pass the beach at Traigh – not for the sands but for the attraction of the nine-hole golf course that overlooks it.
I imagine on a windier day this could be quite a challenging course. There’s nowhere to shelter, either.
Watch out for the headless woman, too. She’s said to have lived in a cave just past Traigh House. Her head was taken by the laird after she was caught stealing corn.
Afterwards, she would return each year to haunt and disrupt the harvest. They say she’s gone now but that she’ll probably return one day as her head’s still here.
I’m sorely tempted to dive in and probably would – if I could swim! On the track wends, bay after bay, each one more appealing than the last until we eventually reach Camusdarach.
A few humans lie like beached whales beneath the marram-covered dunes. It was beneath these same dunes at Camusdarach that scenes from “Local Hero” were filmed.
Remember Ben Knox (Fulton Mackay), the beach hermit who stood his ground against the oil giant?
In the distance I hear the faint toot of a whistle from the Jacobite steam train on its run to Mallaig.
The tide is on the ebb now and with the shallow waters, the sands will soon stretch far out to sea, giving us a totally different landscape to explore on the way back.
To think: all of this is completely missed by those who choose to stick to the main road. I know which road I prefer.
Returning to Arisaig, I treat myself to an ice-cream before setting off on another walk to the hidden beaches of Rhu, but I’ll tell you about them another time.
With dinner beside the locks at Banavie, it was nearly 11 p.m. before I hit home – but what a fantastic day that was! n