Recreating Edwin Muir’s Scottish Journey 1,500 miles in ten days on a battered motorcycle

Long time he lay upon the sunny hill,

To his father’s house below securely bound.

Far off the silent, changing sound was still,

With the black islands lying thick around.

He saw each separate height, each vaguer hue,

Where the massed islands rolled in mist away,

And though all ran together in his view

He knew that unseen straits between them lay.

So begins Childhood, the opening poem from the first collection by Orcadian poet, writer and translator Edwin Muir. Published in 1925, it describes a seemingly perfect day as a child considers his future, his family and, above all, his home.

Today is a different day, in a different time and, in many ways, a different world – but even so, those eight lines rush across my consciousness again and again as I stand atop the island of Wyre, the isolated, idealised paradise of Muir’s childhood which is woven throughout his entire body of work.

The hill is not so sunny today, with low, grey-blue clouds stretching out from one horizon to the other. The sound isn’t still either – there were moments on the tiny ferry that brought me here when I worried that my motorbike would break free of the straps holding it in place on the deck. Just behind me stand the remarkable remains of a building known as Cubbie Roo’s Castle. Built in the 12th century by Kolbein Hruga, the Norse chieftain of this land, it is the earliest documented stone castle in Scotland.

And below, across what Muir described as a “damp green meadow”, is a place known simply as “the Bu”. It is the largest farm on the island, dating all the way back to Kolbein Hruga’s time here. To Muir, however, it was his “father’s house”, the place in which he spent six boyhood years and which influenced the rest of his life.

I have reached this little Orcadian jewel on day seven of a ten-day, 1500-mile journey around Scotland

– a two-wheeled, 21st-century interpretation of Muir’s own Scottish Journey in 1934. Over the last week I have been mostly staying with strangers who have generously welcomed me into their homes, shared their stories and given me an insight into their perspectives on Scotland.

But, like all good journeys, it hasn’t all gone to plan. On the first day last month, riding south then west from Edinburgh to Gatehouse of Fleet, the rain was utterly merciless; on the second I was caught in a snowstorm in Ayrshire which forced me to stop in Stewarton for several hours.

At that point the prospect of continuing my journey, never mind completing it, began to feel remote. I thought about postponing it until the summer but, with a full-time teaching job, writing commitments and, above all, a wife and infant son, I wasn’t sure I’d ever again have the opportunity to achieve this particular goal.

Finally, however, the wintry showers eased and I made it to Glasgow.

Things significantly improved – how could they not? – from then. Day three took me up the western shores of Loch Lomond then out along the Argyll coast road, passing through Arrochar, Inveraray and Lochgilphead, as well as a series of stunning villages and settlements which punctuated the long, flowing sentences of the journey, before arriving in Oban. Here, for the first time in days, the sun forced its way through the canopy of clouds, illuminating the town, the bay and the snow-capped peaks beyond. I decided to take advantage of what I suspected may turn out to be a rare treat so sat by the water and enjoyed probably the best fish supper I’ve ever eaten.

I had planned to spend the fourth day of my journey following the A82 north to Fort William before heading west; however, as I came over the hill above Corran I caught a glimpse of the ferry departing from the far side of Loch Linnhe. Taking the road along the western edge of the loch would certainly add time to my journey, and having never ridden it before I had no idea what condition it might be in – but what would be the point in travelling if we always knew what was around the next bend?

The last time I had been aboard that ferry I was on the same bike and heading towards Ardnamurchan though the most incredible downpour I’d ever seen in this country – this time it was dry and, at least by Scottish standards, relatively warm. I rode north alongside Loch Linnhe before swinging west along the southern shore of Loch Eil. In the 20 miles from Ardgour I passed just three vehicles heading in the other direction as I glided along what turned out to be a near-perfect single-track road with only the trees, the birds and glorious views for company. I eventually emerged on to the A830, better known as the Road to the Isles, passing by the Glenfinnan Viaduct and impossibly beautiful beaches as I headed for Mallaig and, from there, over the sea to Skye.

As the boat approached Armadale in the island’s south-east it began to rain again, and by the time I reached Geary – a crofting community near the tip of the stunning Waternish peninsula – I was, again, pretty much soaked.