Peace, All-Consuming

Day five dawned bright. Sunshine streamed in the window of our hotel, and we woke keen to get on the road again. A wonderful breakfast set us up for the day and everything felt good. Our packs felt light and right, our feet felt strong, our limbs lean and eager; our minds already on the road. 
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​I can wholeheartedly recommend Kintail Lodge: what a stunning place. It's also perfectly situated to get us easily into the hills. It was a Sunday, and we passed the local Mountain Rescue team getting ready for a training day. I was wearing shorts and t-shirts and the waterproofs were packed away: it was perfect. Striding along, we felt like the world was at our feet. 

​The morning passed easily. While walking through the forestry plantation of Strath Croe the sun was our constant companion. What a change from two days previously! A short detour to see signposted waterfalls was pretty but disappointing. Narrow ways tumbled some water down, but we'd seen far more lovely ones already, and much better were to come. The forestry paths were easy walking. Numerous wee drains crossed underneath the track, the ways bright with mosses. The water was dark and peaty, tasty when we filled out water bottles.

​To take us out of the forestry we had to follow an extremely steep track, up and up - incredible that vehicles came up this way, but someone must have built it and only a machine could have done that. Emerging into the light, blinking, for the last bit of forestry was dense, we could suddenly see down the length of this glen, smaller and less mighty that Glens Sheil and Quoich, perhaps, but it was fantastic to be able to look back at the paths we'd tread and see how far we'd come.

​I'd not get used to this feeling. It always seemed incredible that our steady footsteps took us so far. And more so than maps, seeing the glens laid out behind us brought admiration. What, to look up upon, had been fearsome, now was gone and past. Heading up still, we passed the bealach into Glen Elchaig, and stopped at the top for some lunch. The vista spread out in front of us. Towering mountains in the distance looked threatening, but our way seemed impossibly far down. We sat, and ate our usual lunch, although the accompanying cheese was particularly good this time, and four rocks abandoned by a long gone glacier sat nearby - sentinels watching the world go by. 

​The way down was steep and slippery. Muddy paths disappeared underfoot as my feet went from underneath me for the third, fourth, fifth time. Getting frustrated with falling I slowed, but still we made that steady progress down into the glen. We could see people now, walking and cycling along the path that was on the opposite side of the glen. We could see the wide, meandering River Elchaig and the alders that lined the banks. It looked like another world, softer and more pastoral than that which we'd just passed through, but the river was calling keenly. 

Walking along the southern bank of the river, where there was no path, kept us out of reach of the other people. The wide flood plain was mostly easy walking, crossing wee burns, and admiring the trees. Not just alder lined the banks, although it was by far the most common tree. There was also ash - beautiful, twisted specimens - rowan, birch and willows. I asked for a pause, not for tirednesses sake, but for the rivers sake: it truly was a-calling for peace. 

And so we sat. 

​And those fifteen minutes sat on the bank of the River Elchaig were perfection. Sharing a wee bit of chocolate, exchanging a quiet word or two, we just relaxed. I sat and drew and wrote a little in my diary and let my mind be calmed by the flowing water.  

Peace pervades all other thoughts: the perfection of the moment. 
​Sunlight dapples on peat stained water, a solitary leaf drifts down. 
​My eye catches a wee lift of water and follows it down the stream. The water catches and folds, tucks and billows, smoothing, erasing, touching, adjusting. 

Setting off again, we pass beneath Creag na h-iolaire, the crag of eagles, but see none. We pass a corrie, and come to a collection of buildings, where there's a bridge. Sneaking through the steading as well as can be sneaked when the dogs take umbrage and start barking, we cross the beautiful river and join the north side's road. For it's tarmacked, and this makes for quick walking, even if it is tiring and hard on the feet. Just before doing this walk, I changed to 'barefoot' walking boots, and I really notice the thin sole. I feel every lump and bump, my foot stretches over rocks and feels the hardness underfoot. But we have a distance to go before making camp and as always, these last kilometres are the hardest. But other than the feet I'm feeling fine; we both are. Strong and fit and we sing and talk as we walk: these days are good for the soul. 

Passing through Inverinate Estate I am struck by the neatness. I think this might be the tidiest estate I've ever seen, with machinery neatly stored, all dykes, walls and fences in perfect condition and all buildings nicely painted. It turns out it's owned by someone rather rich, I should have guessed, really. 

​I've written in my diary: '5:40pm and after 22km and 7 hours, 44 minutes of walking, we're at journey's end'. I wrote that sitting on the banks of the River Ling, a beautiful wide river that was clearly managed for fishing. We were on the western bank, surrounded by oak woodland, tent nestled on a soft bed of moss - mainly Rhytidiadelphus triquetrus (for those of you in the know, you'll understand, for this is the softest, most cushioning of all the mosses). It was heaven. ​

A grey wagtail danced at the waters edge and the promise and lushness of the place encouraged slow thoughts and careful movements. I walked properly barefoot through the wood, mosses caressing my tired feet, dampness cooling and relaxing me. Midgies found us, but the peace could not be destroyed, and dusk came upon us slowly and with a delicacy. 

​The camp felt utterly alive. Teeming with life. Spiders climbed all over the tent within minutes of it being erected. The grey wagtail continued to chirrup from the riverbank, and a wren - unseen - clicked from the undergrowth. And as darkness fell, bats flew overhead, and the tawny owl called. What else was happening outwith us seeing? Did the otter rouse? Did the deer sidestep around the tent, badger snuffling along on his familiar paths through the woodland. We slept, strangers, but utterly at home.