Crossing Knoydart

Day Five: Inverie to Sourlies Bothy (11 miles)

Mistiming the gaps in the rain means taking down soaking tents. Sheltering in the earth roofed hut by the camping field, a breakfast of delicious cold porridge soaked overnight, and a gulp or two of shared coffee. 

We split our belongings into what we can give the boat to carry round the coast for us, and what the mountain guide-minded folk think we need to carry on the walk to Sourlies Bothy. They are concerned about the cold and rain, the inexperience of so many of us, the rivers suddenly in spate, as well as bogs and mud, and what we need if someone has a fall and can’t carry on. So some of our rucksacks carry sleeping bags and mats, tents and food. 

Gathering by the bunk house we prepare to leave and ask: What questions are we carrying? 

The first question is about this how system continues to force folk from their lands, and tries to annihilate those still connected to place and each other. As happened to us here, and happened by us elsewhere, and is happening Gaza.

We’d heard yesterday how the clearances devastated Knoydart, reducing it population from 2000 to 200 - and how the population of Bella Coola, in so-called British Colombia, was reduced from tens of thousands to 200 after white settlers deliberately ‘successfully’ infected them with smallpox. 

The question was: “How can we take the land back from such a violent system, and let life live?”

The other was: “What does land justice mean to each of us?”

The walk began through woodland before rising up into moorland. 

The first chunk was on a track used by vehicles, and we then passed under the striking monument to the 7 men of Knoydart. Those men returned to claim their land after fighting fascism in the Second World War. The landowner (someone who had been a Nazi-supporter) took then to court to try to evict them but popular pressure meant they stayed. But how come such landlords are allowed to keep the land their ancestors will have stolen from the people? How come such ordinary folk as the fighters of fascism aren’t handed back the land?

We were then up on single file track past a locked Bothy (not for the many, just for the few) through woodland along a tumbling burn where some brave souls skinny dipped, and soon we were up in the craggy boggy, treeless climb from the Atlantic to the pass ahead. 

Over the day we met quite a few  walkers coming the other way. They’d see our large group (23 at the start, with 7 turning back at different points, and 16 walking all the way) and see the curious flag we were carrying. 

Most asked what we were doing and were taken aback to hear we’re walking to Glasgow and curious when we answered their “Why?” with “for land justice”. Some would ask “What’s that about?” And all were strongly supportive when answered with “It means how do we take the land back from the bastards who stole it from the people?” One man responded “but isn’t Scotland the land of the free?” “No, you’ve the right to roam, but not to own”. 

After the break for lunch and a little theatre of dog food ingredients from Robbie (don’t ask), we had our after lunch 20 minutes walking in silence, up to the path’s peak at the pass. 

From having been looking back towards the Atlantic, we then crossed into a stunning array of Bens and glens, with a river running way down below to a sea loch where Bruce’s boat sat still and silver on the sunlit sea. 

Wending all the way back down to sea level, we passed empty ruins of buildings that could be being lived in, and found our way across the river plain with its endless bogs. Navigating the last lap was made tricky by the high tide. Some squelched and scrambled up and over an alternately boggy and rocky hill, others took the coastal route and some ended up rescued by Bruce’s boat. 

There were other walkers already at Sourlies Bothy. We lit a fire outside it to cook with the pots and ingratiates Bruce’s boat have brought from Inverie, and set up the tents and all the camping gear he and Nick had also brought. 

Deer nearby, gathered on the high hill just behind the bothy to watch us. David gathered mussels from the shore, the tastiest mussels ever eaten.

Then music into the night with Nick and Bruce and Anya a whirling dervish of tunes that kept changing, on fiddle, harmonica and guitar - while who was playing what kept changing. A total delight of harmony being cooked up alongside the meal.

Day Six - Sourlies to Strathan (13 miles)

Twenty three of us set out from Sourlies bothy, and Charlie joined us later having run all the way from Inverie. Before that we loaded Bruce’s tender with our luggage until it was so low it seemed we might lose everything, but we didn’t. The deer looked down at us as we gathered in a circle before we left. 

Meanwhile David and Wapiti accompanied Bruce and Nick in bringing the equipment to Mallaig, and others arrived at Mallaaig from Inverie, until finally there were eight folk coming round in the vans from Mallaig to bring our stuff and meet us at Strathan.

The day was another climb up and up from sea level into the mountains, boggy patch among the rocky outcrops - heather in between. 

Then we were through to Glen Dessary and the beginnings of the rich peoples sitka spruce plantations. The people here were cleared and given some money or even 200 acres in Canada. 200 acres in Canada that will have meant the clearance of notice peoples there. The monoculture plantation helps erase the evidence villages were here. It covers the tracks of the atrocity that has been committed, just as happens in Palestine. This is the removal of the people from our common resources and our spiritual practices, from our livelihoods and belonging. 

As we approach the loch end at Strathan we see a couple of large police vans and some (or was it just me?) are concerned they’ve been forwarned of our overall intent. But they are here searching for a man who has been missing in the mountains for 8 days (someone who is eventually found, presumably not here).

The gate across the road is locked with a chain and a sign saying stalking in progress. Down from it, by the loch, is a hunting lodge with a perfect lawn for camping on. We don’t camp on it. We camp in the bog by the loch. 

Day Seven - Strathan to Glenfinnan (13 miles)

In the morning everyone says how well they’ve slept, despite sleeping in a bog. I doubt we’d have slept so well on a dead manicured lawn provided by those who’ve stolen and sought to tame the land. 

A young guy with a fishing rod and his dad - folk we passed and who passed us as we walked from Sourlies yesterday - come by and ask how far to the nearest station to catch a train back to Glasgow. We say the nearest is south over the mountains at Glenfinnan - where we are heading today. They’d rather chance it and walk east along the deserted road we are at the dead end of.

We offer them a lift later, and they’re really grateful but want to get going so asked to be picked up from walking. Before that we insist on them having the delicious porridge, and a hot drink. 

Eventually Eva will pick them up along the road and give these two guys from Pollock a lift. Apparently their tent had broken, and the young guy was desperate to come and live in that part of Scotland. Despite the brutality, people want to come back to the land. The dad had said “My son really loved it, and he couldn’t believe there aren’t police here. As David said: “It was a wee Ned from Pollock who just wants to be back on his land”.

Twenty one of us set off south, heading through a neck of the plantation before the long boggy climb up to the pass that we would then cross before the long descent to Glenfinnan. 

On the way up I interviewed Alec on camera (he is normally interviewing the rest of us) about his having been in the centre of the hall, walking backwards filming Wapat, back in Inverie. Alec explains how what looked like an intrusion was actually him deeply respecting what Wapat wanted, and that made complete sense. Note to self: “Don’t judge by appearances”.

As we walk, I keep seeing a large creature or spirit out of the corner of my left eye. It comes and goes. Turning into boulder or shadow. Jay asks me what its like and I describe it as being like a big bear but then go down on my haunches with a kind of samurai pose and grunting, and he wonders if its the male partner of the Calleach.

Finally reaching the Glenfinnan viaduct, with it just ahead of us, I say to Anya “Why haven’t people waited for us so we can all end this day walking together?” And she replied “Because we’re the first ones to arrive”. I hadn’t realised that our being so deeply and intensely in conversation meant we had raced ahead.

Then on to the Bunkhouse for showers, warmth and a shared meal.