ESCAPES AND ADVENTURES
After a night in a remote bothy overlooking a beautiful bay, Geoff Allan traverses a hair-raising coastal rock-face in the shadow of the Isle of Skye’s formidable mountain peaks
Geoff Allan traverses a hair-raising coastal rockface below the Isle of Skye’s peaks. PLUS Scramble up Slieve Binnian in County Down and 10 more exciting adventure walks.
“As we moved south, the impressive crags of Marsco slowly loomed ever larger”
It is the type of situation that focuses the mind. You must cross a sloping slab of rough rock jutting ominously into the cold depths of Loch nan Leachd. Miles from anywhere, with no easy means of retreat, you face the unappealing prospect of a slip-sliding drop into the water below.
There are equally tricky scrambling challenges on classic routes elsewhere in Scotland, but Skye’s notorious
‘Bad Step’ is one to test the confidence of any budding adventurer. Once committed, there really is nowhere else to go but onwards. And yet, what’s life without a challenge?
SETTING OFF
We’ll come back to the Bad Step later; but first, let’s return to the spectacular beginning of our journey, the morning before, and the fantastic panorama at Sligachan. Here Thomas Telford’s old stone bridge crosses the River Sligachan at the point where it slows and forms braided channels that flow into the sea loch and out to the Sound of Raasay. Beyond the whitewashed walls of Sligachan Hotel, ragged sawtooth peaks announce the start of the arcing Cuillin Ridge. Across the glen are the softer outlines of Glamaig and the Red Hills.
From the visitors’ car park, we headed through a gate and out into Glen Sligachan, along a signposted path to Camasunary and Elgol. As we moved south, the impressive crags of the solitary Marsco slowly loomed ever larger. The trail passed three small lochs and finally the larger Loch na Creitheach, until at last we caught our first glimpse of Camas Fhionnairigh, or Bay of the White Shieling, and our place of shelter for the night.
Even after more than 30 years spent exploring Scotland’s nooks and crannies, I still feel a surge of anticipation and delight when I see any bothy in the distance, even if I have visited it many times before. Camasunary Bothy sits above the shoreline of Camas Fhionnairigh, in what must be one of the most
beautiful settings of any bothy. A wide expanse of machair – wildflower-strewn coastal grassland – grows beside a shingle beach and mudflats, with a striking conical hill, Sgùrr na Stri (Peak of Strife), rising over the scene. Over the years, many have been drawn to this magical spot, and fortunately the bothy here allows them to spend a night enjoying the tranquil grandeur of the bay.
Scotland’s bothies are an incredible asset for adventurous walkers who want to explore remote areas. They comprise a collection of shepherds’ cottages, estate houses and abandoned crofts that form a network of basic shelters throughout the country’s most remote regions. Freely available for anyone to use as a lunch stop or to stay in overnight, bothies have been used by mountaineers and stravaigers, or wanderers, for well over 100 years and have become integral to Scotland’s
“Bothies are an incredible asset for walkers who want to explore remote areas”
outdoor culture. The new Camasunary Bothy, opened in May 2016, has a rather functional feel, but still provides a welcome refuge with fabulous views out across the bay toward the islands of Rùm and Eigg, which seem to float on the horizon. Despite arriving here with tired legs, there is an irresistible urge to dump your rucksack and head for the beach. This is a truly intoxicating place.
That night, the coming challenge of the Bad Step preoccupied me as we bedded down, but eventually the sound of waves lapping against the shore lulled me to sleep.
FACING THE ‘BAD STEP’
The next day, breakfast hurriedly consumed and possessions packed, we set off. The first obstacle was the outflow of the river, the Abhainn Camas Fhionnairigh, on the west side of the bay. At low tide, it is possible to cross the stone bed without too much trouble, but if the river is running high, you may need to follow its banks north and look for a safe spot to cross.
Note that rivers in spate are one of the most important things to be aware of when out walking in Scotland; treat fast-flowing water higher than kneedeep with extreme caution. Look for a stretch of water that is wide and shallow, with perhaps only the final step into a fast-flowing channel. Be patient and assess the situation as calmly as you can. Where you are able, walk diagonally upstream across the channel, treading carefully, and focus on the point where you are going to climb on to the far bank. Walking poles are very useful. If you’re in a quandary, it is better to contemplate turning back rather than putting yourself in danger.
Safely across the river, our route lay around a rocky headland on a faint but obvious trail, cutting inland past the
grassy knoll of Rubha Buidhe. Before us now lay one of the most sensational spots on Skye: the sloping shoreline of Loch nan Leachd, where the magnificent peaks of the Southern Cuillins stare down from on high.
From this point, it was all about the Bad Step. A sequence of sloping gabbro intrusions block the path to the security of Loch Coruisk, but I knew that only one was a serious obstacle. At first, I told myself that each little scuttle across the slabs must be the Bad Step, thinking, “well, I don’t know what all the fuss is about,” and then – bang! The real deal confronted me.
Fear not. Once you have climbed into a large notch and edged out on to the slab, follow the fault line in the rock. Once committed, the angle is kind.
Ah the relief! Within a couple of minutes we were skipping across a little sandy beach. Just around the corner we came to the magnificent sight of Loch Coruisk – a sweeping rock basin crowned by a towering tightrope of dark crags and sharp pinnacles. At last we could relax, knowing the worst was over. The long ambling return followed the southern shore of the loch, taking a zig-zag path that rose to the Druim Hain ridge. At the high point, a dramatic panorama of the Black Cuillins unfolded, the ridge appearing like a gigantic wall poster. Across the valley, the Red Hills’ scree slopes seemed tame by comparison.
The steep, stony path led us back to the comfort of Glen Sligachan, before joining the main track back to the car park. A well-earned drink at the hotel bar tasted sweet as we retold our tale of derring-do, and eagerly began plotting our next bothy adventure.