Iona to Tobermory

---

I wanted to start this journey in a significant place, a historic  place. I chose St Columbus Bay, on Iona. This was the place at which  Saint Columbus arrived in 563 CE. to spread Christianity from Ireland  through Scotland. As I arrived in the bay it started to rain and so  after donning my waterproofs I put my hand in the sea, trying to film  the moment on the new camera and managed to get my shoes full of  seawater. Oh well, start as you mean to go on, I knew this walk would  require a different view on comfort.  The first 5 days take you to Tobermory and can be done as a small trail on there own with convinient beginning and end points. 

Backpacking in Scotland needs a slightly  different set of skills and equipment than other countries and some  local knowledge to survive in relative comfort. I intended to be  comfortable, to remain healthy, to remain well fed with nutritious food.  Also to minimise risk and to enjoy my walk. Otherwise in Scotland, it  could end prematurely in drudgery and disappointment. I reminded myself  that this was not a battle, I was not going to be victorious or  defeated. I was going to walk till the end of the trail or stop and  resume later. I was however going to complete the whole trail whether it  was now or next year.

One part  of this equation, which is the hardest to balance is to be comfortable  and not to have to carry too much. A light pack helps to reduce strain  on my body, to reduce risk of injury if I fall or twist and to allow me  walk further with less effort. Ultimately lightweight allows me to enjoy the experience of walking. So the balance between comfort and efficiency is a fine line. Scotland requires a pack more or less  permanently 3 season capable, even in the height of summer and since I  would be traveling into remote places a larger than usual first aid and repair kit.

I retraced my steps  across the relatively flat Island and passed a couple who had been  staying in the campsite on the Island which they said was lovely. There  are huge areas for wide camping on the Island but sometimes you need to  charge batteries and dry clothes and the 10 -15 pounds a night seemed a  reasonable cost for this. 

I saw  the ferry heading towards the Island and decided I needed to get it. I  didn’t of course I had plenty of time and the ferry runs back and  forward regularly in the summer but you know what it is like at the  beginning, a sort of impatience comes over you and I jogged half a mile  down to the jetty. I remember as I sat on the ferry a small boy stared  at me as if I was something out of place in his world. I felt he was  right I was stepping into the unknown and fully realised my inexperience  on long trails. At the jetty was a small cafe where I asked for water  to fill my water bottle. This is a flat part of Mull and the map showed  little in the way of a stream on my route. Now I wanted to get on and  get my camp set up, to demonstrate to myself I had a not forgotten  anything important. We all know there is always going to be something  left behind or some detail left unattended. I walked from Fionphort  turning first right towards the south and it started to rain again.

There are very few backpackers walking Scotlands remote paths but fellow  travellers are there, ensconced in camper vans, filling the lay-bys and  supporting the camping sites, local businesses, cafes and pubs. This  was the first time I had seen a ’No Camping’ signs in Scotland and felt  like camping right next to it. I practise ‘no trace’ camping and no one  can stop me from camping on a remote piece of ground unfenced and  without disturbing farm animals. I found the reason for the sign as I  passed an official campsite in the next farm which looked nice, with  views that, if it wasn’t drizzling, would have been to die for.  But I  wanted to leave everything behind, to be in a tent surrounded by  wilderness and after a couple of long hours of road walking in the  gloomy rain (the rucksack felt unfamiliar and awkward), I reached the  end of the road and 15 mins down a small track is where I decided I  could camp, 5.5km from Fionphort. 

The flattest place was on the path, the rest of the land was just  uneven or like a sponge and waterlogged. If its late and rainy, I know I wont be in anyones way so a path provides a useful flat pitch and  Scotland has a surprisingly little in the way of camp-able spaces. Flat  grass grows near streams or burns higher up in mountain valleys or just  by chance theres a couple of meters which are dryer and flatter than the  rest but often it takes time to find a good place to put a tent. A  grassy path often has a couple of feet, or half of a meter wide flat  stretch that makes a very comfortable pitch. The tent went up and I was  glad to discover the repair to the taped seams of my backpack had worked and the inside was dry. Happy in my tent, the first night began with me begin comfortable, well fed and warm as the rain continued and the wind  blew. 

I woke early and took my time getting  familiar with where to put all the small important things you need in a  tent which had somehow worked there way down to the foot of my inner  tent. I had a good idea I had enough food and all the medicine and  repair items to fix, the tent, the Thermarest, the Quilt etc, I had even  remembered the pegs for the tent. On two occasions in the past I had  left without my trekking poles. Not a bad mistake unless they double as  your tent pole. The first time I had to divert to buy a new set, the  second time I was in a forest so I found sturdy stick which did very  well as a tent pole. So I am well aware I might have forgotten  something. 

This trip I had to  work out where I could buy gas and where I could post it to, and how  much I would use per day, but in all of this I had forgotten to replace  the quarter full one stored in my pots, with a brand new canister for  the start of the trip. So I had to start my trip rationing the gas to  last over 5 days. So hot porridge an essential for sure but cold coffee  to save the gas. Packing up took a couple of hours, but I did not mind,  time well spent sorting and arranging and repacking until I knew where  everything was. I woke at 5 am so was not loosing any significant part  of the day. 

This was the first  full day walking. I was excited to find out how far I would or could  walk. My plan was to skirt the coast to explore some of the many  beautiful beaches on the south coast of Mull, then up and through a  forest and down to a flat piece of ground just before the decent to the  shore path to Carsaig Arches. About 14 miles. 

After half an hour I’m lost. I had wanted to start in April but  life intervened and I started in July. By the height of summer the ferns  have grown 6ft tall and the paths being unclear at the best of times  had simply disappear underneath this green growth. I climbed a rock to  see if I could find a way ahead. I checked my compass and found it was  completely broken. My spare was packed deep inside my backpack so I used  my judgment and went off on a bearing away from the coast. This led to  another path and then nothing. It was raining constantly and I was in  undulating rough country, I mean really rough like Mull rough. Tough  walking with a path, worse without. I used my phone and the map showed  me where I was. A couple of hours later all was well I was back on the  coast at Ardchavaig and I had lost maybe half an hour. With better  weather and some more patience I wouldn’t have wanted to miss Traigh  Gheal and Ardalanish Bays but the next bays were spectacular so I was still happy. The weather changed to blue skies, I dried out  and then by mid day it was warm enough for a swim. That lasted about 2  mins (it is Scotland and the water freezing) but I was refreshed. 

The walking was hard, up 30-60m then down again, then across rough  rocks, then up and down again, but the effort rewarded as each bay was  spectacular. I headed slightly inland to a group of cottages named as  Scoor on the map and behind them a rough road led up to a sheep pen.  Time for a late lunch, some oatcakes and a tin of Mackerel, and the last  of my water. From the slopes of An Crosan I saw a path through the forest, mostly cut down, which  led up to catch a forest road going east across the hillside. That was  fine except for getting into the forest which was horrible. A fence to  navigate then waterlogged boggy land covered in rotting logs and broken  branches with some added brambles. Just about the worst but only a 100m  long stretch so after much doubling back, and cursing I was on a small  path to the road and the sun shining still. 

Phew, a nice flat road for a couple of miles and streams for  water. Time to hydrate. Hydration salt tablets and fizzy vitamin C  tablets gave me a boost but after the forest, open sloping ground with  no path. The hillside with deep cut streams finally crossed revealing a  spectacular view of the cliffs that run around the peninsular above  Malcolm’s Point. A steep decent led to a very nice camping spot with a  nice burn for water and the tent up just before the rain started. How  lucky the timing, to finish a beautiful days walk.  Feeling elated and  exhausted in equal measure after a spectacularly varied day, I lay back  and enjoyed my comfy matt and tried to get the energy to cook. My legs  ached and two Ibuprofen helped, but no pain elsewhere, a good sign.  20km under my belt, a good first day.

This was an important day, was it possible  to walk (safely) from the bay of Triach Cadh An Easa underneath the  cliffs to the Carsaig Arches? I couldn’t find out any info about this  online. I tried to catch glimpses from a kayakers footage of a coastal  trip but it still remained an unknown. The cliffs looked imposing but in  theory the path was possible. I guessed that it was such a remote place  that people never really started walking at from here. That is the  hidden joy of trail walking. Many beautiful places remain unvisited  because you need to take a through route to access them. If I did get to  the arches, would I be able to get across the next part, an exposed  path, not long but steep and would I find the next path that would take  me round to the next bay. All unknowns but if this was possible then the  traverse of Mull was possible. A vital leg of what I could see as the  only really practical way for a wild camping, trail walking, adventurous  backpacker to go across Mull. 

If  this one leg was possible then there were only two more days that I did  not know were passable on the whole trail. This day would be crucial to  finding out if the whole route from Iona to Cape Wrath going to work. I  set off in rain and it continued all day with a few brief dry periods, a  real shame but it did added to the melodrama. 

The  first step was to leave flat ground and take a small path down the side  of cliffs to sea level, after  which was a slightly sketchy path with a  nasty looking drop to a rocky shore leading east. 

Alone,  on literally a goats track, (there is a herd of wild goats that lives  on this specific coastline) lashed by rain and unsure if this route was  even possible, I felt alive. I passed caves with giant spiders webs at  the entrances, walked under a stunning waterfall and many precipitous  cliffs. Across a rocky beach I gained the trace of a path. It grew  easier the further round the headland until the Arches came into view.  Amazing, rock formations and caves but it was wet, cold and windy, so  sight-seeing was brief.  

On  my mind was the crux, the steep exposed path lay  that was just over  the brow of the next headland. The approach path was so exposed I though  that might be the difficult part but then I turned the corner. There  was a choice of two routes, head down to the path which was basically  the top of the cliff, at a foot wide the path seemed well formed and  clear. 

The  other route was a series of less defined muddy goat tracks which criss  crossed above the main path.  The easiest and safest way is to ignore  the drop and walk the good exposed path. But who can do that straight  off the bat, only a few brave souls. 

The  tread on my shoes was new and I trusted them, I used my trekking poles  as hand axes, holding them low by there points and digging them in  I  went across the muddy slope. 

One  time I caught myself from freeze up with fear. It was just a moment but  reminded me I was alone and if something happened it could end badly (I  worked in the Ambulance service and know bodies can break when  decelerating amongst sharp hard objects and I also knew that the GPS  messenger, my SOS button, might not work due to the close proximity to  the high cliffs. Also you forget your pack until it suddenly pushes you  out of balance or the wind catches it. Never mind I got through and  perhaps exaggerated the risk being alone and the weather being so  dramatically bad. I looked back and the drops did not seem so bad. In  company and on a fine day I do not think the risk of a fall is too great  that this route should be avoided. 

A  note on risk management. I can accept being injured or falling ill in  remote places because I have a GPS SOS device, and I carry all I need to  survive in comfort in wild places. So this risk is acceptable to me. I  do not like the risk of exposed paths or scrambling where falling off  will lead directly to severe injure or death. I used to rock climb and  being roped up, on hundreds of feet of vertical cliff I felt absolutely  safe in comparison to the little paths you took after the route was done  to find a way down the side of the cliff. No rope, no proper handholds,  sometimes muddy, I found them always more scary than the route itself.  So some risks I want to minimised and I will be careful in route finding  and my descriptions of this route to point out where they occur and do  my best to find alternatives. However this is subjective. One mans path  is anothers’ nightmare. The second fear and one that lies at the back of  my mind isto be on an exposed but relatively safe path which then  peters out or becomes obscure and by missing the path walk into imminent  danger. But that is a very remote contingency minimised by my  experience.)

After  this the path goes up and down a bit getting progressively easier  before settling into something reasonable and soon I reached Carsaig  bay. A stroll across the beach and the path is easy to find through  woods and continues to take you to the next rocky parts where the cliffs  are less commanding but are cut across with superb waterfalls. 

The  rock is igneous, with superb basalt columns, in that typical hexagonal  shape. Its 3 o’clock before I stop for lunch, the trail is just that  beautiful and engaging, it’s hard to pause. It is also just plain hard. 

The  whole day each step has to be measured, the paths traitorous in the  wet, the rock slippy with seaweed, slime or moss, the path at times  indistinct. A mile from Carsiag bay I find the first good camping spot  just as the path rounds the headland. 

Already  after two days I’m passing places I want to spend more time in but the  weight of the un-walked miles ahead make me too eager to go on. I have a  tendency to walk to fast and too long, a fault that I know leads to  getting injured, exhausted and loosing moral. So my mantra is ‘Slow and  Steady Wins the Race’. I am conscious I have already delayed stopping  for lunch on the first two days because of impatience, I intend to  correct that in the coming days and eat at the proper times. 

I  promise myself to stop when I get to the next feasible camping spot.  The path turns to a rocky shore, a field of ferns covers it then the  path seems to end at a wall of rock cutting into the sea. As I walk  closer I can see an old rope fixed to part of the rock, 

The  way up and over is slippy in the rain but easy enough though I try not  to put weight on the rope, it looks like it ha been there for years. 6pm  and I come into the next bay, Glenbyre, and find an abandoned farm  house with broken roof. A field nearby is flat and a stream flows with  clean water. I have found my third camp and settle in for the night,  absolutely exhausted. It seemed today every step had to be judged, rocks  were slippy, paths were uneven, all day spent watching where my feet  will land. Two days in and holes in both my shoes uppers. But what a  day, just wow, spectacular, thrilling, coastal walking. Must be some of  the best in the country and what a way to start the Iona to Cape wrath  Trail. 

A good sleep again but I wake to continued  rain, happy all that I need to be dry is still dry, no leaks, no  ingress, I’ve kept warm and snug in my tent and that bodes well for the  future of this trip. The shoes have not slipped once on really bad  ground and my knees are pain free. I take stock and examine my feet, no  red spots, no tenderness so far my preparation seems to have been  effective. Today  I turn from the south coast of Mull up and over the central mountainous part.

Two passes or bealachs each about 500m. The crux today but also  the most beautiful will be the second, a traditional path running past  Ben Mores western slopes. As  much of the route as possible uses traditional paths which the  landscape dictates and civilisation uses to connect village to village  by foot or small horse over the past 1000, or maybe 4,000 years. If it  is the most logical way to move across the landscape it will have been a  path for as long as humans have settled in this land. (I have also  found out that a lot of paths are made by animals, deer, or on this  island goats.) The thought fills me with awe as I find the first path of  today which cuts diagonally across a sloping forest to hit the hillside  above and connect to another path cutting back to a ridge which skirts  up a hillside and over the first pass. A test of my legs on a sustained  hill and alls well. 

But  on the other side I hit a forestry commission plantation. I have  checked the map and seen the hillside from the other side when traveling  by bus across the island, it looked passable. But I loose confidence  and instead of heading down into the plantation I decide on plan B and  go right down the edge of the forest. Ahead of me a herd of deer look  round and scamper off down the hill. On one side the forest fence on the  other the steep hill, it seems we are all going the same way. 

After  half an hour I follow them through a gap in the fence and they turn up  hill as I find an easy way down through the last of the forest. Lunch  now and at the proper time. The road cuts across my path and I look back  from the foot of the valley to see I should have trusted my planning  and ventured into the plantation at the top. It was almost clear of  trees in the middle where I would have walked. However I have learned  that if you do get in a situation where you have to enter a densely  packed commercial pine forest you had better be prepared for a slow and  claustrophobic walk, unpleasantly dark, difficult and disorientating. 

Lunch  eaten and the next uphill walk ahead. Even to get to the slope requires  effort, the ground seems to be made up of grass in one foot high lumps  closely packed so your foot is always hitting the lump and being pushed  off at an angle. You have to lift your feet high each step and it takes  effort beyond what seems reasonable. There is a path marked on the map  which leads diagonally west to east up the hillside. I reach the slope  which is actually easier than the flat and head up to intersect with the  path. The weather is fine now and I navigate by the burns that flow  down the hillside, I head towards where the path should cross one of the  streams. As a general rule paths can be picked up at the easiest place  to cross a stream or river. I look but find nothing. Perhaps I am in the  wrong place so I check on my GPS. Yes still 100m or so to go. I walk  diagonally up which is a mistake as the path is also rising up in that  direction but I should see it soon. I check the GPS again. Now I have  passed it, there was no sign.

I work my way across the hill,  the GPS  says I am standing on the path. Still no path. I can see where it should  go, the folds of the slope, the easing of gradient, the logic of the  land, but it is just not apparent. Not until I reach the next valley and  a small cairn marks its direction if not its existence. But slowly  towards the Bealach it manifests itself  and by the time a look over the  next valley it is present and continuing down the side in one long  sweep half way between the summit and the burn till it reaches the foot  of the glen. I am half way down this path when looking round I see a  rain storm. In a few moments I can see it is heading my way. There are  always a few drops of rain that let you know you have missed your chance  to put your rain gear on in time. I am halfway on with my jacket and I  am in the middle of a downpour. But I have a secret weapon, an umbrella.  At first I thought it ridiculous to carry an umbrella in the hills,  like I had thought it ridiculous to use trekking poles, to wear thin  lightweight shoes and to use a quilt instead of a sleeping bag. But  change is good and sometimes the old ways of thinking should be  challenged. 

I took a  collapsible umbrella on a walk around the coast of Arran. I broke it  almost immediately but it still gave me cover and worked really well,  allowing me to open up my rain jacket so I could let out heat and  stopped it wetting out. It was so effective I bought a tough umbrella  sold by outdoor specialists and use it on most trips. But it works only  because I am wearing a backpack which I attach it too and that means my  hands are free. It also works because this is Scotland and it rains a  lot, then it stops raining then it rains again. It works because it  rains a lot, so sometimes the rain comes with wind, No good for an  umbrella and sometimes without  wind. The brolly works for those times  which is plenty enough to justify its weight. If you are doing Munros   walking where wind speeds are greater or walking without a backpack,  then maybe not bother with it. 

The  journey down the valley led to a track which turned into a rough road  around a loch. I missed a couple of good camping spots because I wanted  to maximise the day (fool) and now I was in danger of hitting the first  populated area since day one. Wild camping requires wild country and I  am never happy  when having to use the edge of a field or verge to camp  on. Luckily I found a roughish spot near the end of the loch under some  trees. Just flat enough and then there was a sunset over the loch and  the world was beautiful again. 

Food  has been good despite having to economise on gas. If the canister  lasted to cook tonights meal then tomorrow I might make it near enough  Tobermory and find food there or be within striking distance of a cafe  breakfast the following morning. I started thinking of egg and chips and  a mug of tea. The gas gods were kind and my meal hot and tasty. All is  well with the world. Some gas left for hot porridge tomorrow, brill. 

Hot  porridge and I am finding my camping rhythm. The morning routine starts  to become a natural flow of discrete actions in order and in time. It  is now taking less time strike camp and pack up so I can spend more time  walking and resting. I haven’t spoken to or seen anyone since the first  day apart from a few people in cars who waved when I crossed a road  yesterday. Walking feels good today, no rain. The rough road leads to a  main road which is still only single track. 

Plan  B again as I take the road rather than a beach which ends in a river  crossing. Due to the amount of rain in the last couple of days, it may  not be a wise crossing. So along a tarmac road for a mile or so before a  little zig zag and I find the most delicious path through a natural  forest. I love this trail, it has so many small joyful views and  mysterious paths that each day is all consuming. The path ends however  on a piece of moor which has to be crossed. Maybe 4 miles at most. not  very much elevation, should be a doddle. 

Well  that was hard, what is it with Mull, it seems to specialise in  ground  that forces you to lift your leg high then when you put it down it  twists your ankle and forces you to view each step as a separate little  leg adventure, testing your knees and ankles to failure. The next minute  you are knee deep in a peat bog. I am working on my ground grading  system, It is based on the theoretical speed you can walk at. 3*** for  three miles an hour, which is your normal, not really paying attention  to where your feet land, path or road. 2** equals two miles an hour for  up hill, or rough non paths, Ferns and such 1* equals one miles an hour  for scrambling, bog, or much of Mull. Inside pine forest or that edge of  forest where cut down branches and trunks lie rotting in bogland  covered with spiky plants I’d say thats my least favourite and give that  0.5 * or a half mile an hour rating. 

I  make it to another rough road which is at last easy enough for me to  relax and I listen to some music while walking through forest then field  then forest to a loch which glitters in the sunshine. I realise if I  push on a little bit I could make it to a campsite this side of  Tobermory which would set me up nicely for the next day. The wild  camping alternative would be to head up the hill next to the loch about  200m climbing then there is a long sloping meander through a forestry  plantation. I rejected this for two reasons, Firstly, there was no  obvious clear path up the hill which was steep and looked hard work,  secondly Mull had tired me out. 

So,  happy to have a straightforward route to follow, I put up with a bit of  road walking stopping regularly to move to the verge to let cars and  cyclists by on the single track road towards Tobermory.  I get to the  campsite about 6.30pm and pitch my tent and do some washing. I order  fish and chips to be delivered and gawp at the teenager who arrives on a  moped with my still hot meal. Wow how amazing technological society is,  the contrast with the previous 4 days of solitude is stark. I hang out  with a few fellow campers finding conversation novel and worthwhile.  I  get my batteries charges literally and figuratively and get a good  nights rest. 

As a side note  this is the first campsite I had ever stayed at as my walks till now  have been up to four nights of wild camping. Now I see the reason  Campsites work for a long trip and the small fee seemed fair. There is  the overriding practical need to have my important electrical devices  charged. Having a shower was also becoming essential. My smell didn’t  bother me but I was going to go into shops and on a ferry in the next  day so better be polite and shower and how nice it was to feel fresh  again.

Was  I really going to get to my goal to walk from Oban to Cape Wrath via my  new ICW trail, 400 mile or 650km and 20,200m elevation, then return to  Oban via the Cape Wrath Trail with some variations to make a complete  loop with no overlap. That would be the 666 miles or 1070km and 32,800m  of elevation, mmmmm. Sounds like a lot, I’m new to long trails. I’ve  always made mistakes that have stopped me completing even short trails.  So I have decided to set a really long goal the complete loop and if I  should get to  half way, to Cape Wrath then I’ll have achieved  something. A sort of self bluff. 

Looking  back I found I realise my attitude changed from this to thinking one  day ahead and the end or achieving my goal became really unimportant.  Further to this as time passed this was broken down to getting to the  next hill top and getting to the next mark on the landscape, a few  hundred yards ahead, and it was joyful to abandon the pressure of large  goals instead living in the moment was both extremely satisfying and  kept me safe.

I have always gone  wild camping since 12 years old and I live at the foot of the Ochills  in central Scotland. This is a small range of hills but allowed me the  chance to do multiple short trips which helped me to perfect my  equipment choices. I would find a new piece of equipment or technique,  go into the hills, camp overnight, and test it. My camping techniques  are specific to the Scottish Wilderness . Mull had tested me physically  but my equipment, camping techniques had all held up well, I had even  made my small gas supply last, so I was confident about the future  walking. The weather forecast had improved. Time to take an Ibuprofen  and rest my legs till tomorrow. 

A  transitional day, with a ferry some road walking to the most westerly  point on the mainland of Britain. Then a coastal walk to Sanna Bay.

The  camp ground was flat and I was awake early. I chose a ferry time which  gave me an hour to restock in the shops. Time for breakfast and a to  spend the walk down to the picture perfect town of Tobermory, thinking  of what supplies I needed to buy. I had carried my first 5 days food  with me plus the few extras I could not buy in a small town. It is vital  that I buy just too much food to get me to the next shop or supplies,  walking is calorie intensive and hunger, moral sapping. Part of my  philosophy was that I start healthy, don’t get injured and I finish  healthy. Planning was therefore based on nutrition rather than the  chocolate and chips way of replacing the calories. However hiking is one  of the times in life where you cannot really over eat so packing in  calories now and then does make sense. I’ll talk more on my food  strategies later but for now I was faced with a Supermarket, crowded  with holiday makers. How do you think straight while negotiating a  backpack around families with kids and faced with rows of products that  all scream eat me. A list of what I needed and the phrase don’t panic  got me to the checkout. 

Next  the Ironmonger, a very traditional shop which sold me a fresh gas  canister and a new compass. Finally I had a few minutes to enjoy some  food. The Cafes were full, the fish and chip van not open yet and I was  going to miss out on the big cooked breakfast I was dreaming of. So into  the Co-Op again and a meal deal was eaten while waiting for the ferry.  This walk I was planning, the ‘Iona to Cape Wrath Trail’ the ICW, (I can  think of no other name at present), is a walk of the coast and of  Islands and of course that meant ferries. I love a ferry, small or big.  This was the second journey on a ferry, and will take me from the Island  of Mull to the mainland.

 A  short trip of half an hour on a passenger and car ferry with the  capacity for about 10 cars and 50 people. As I have mentioned before the  prices are cheap for foot passengers, cheaper than my sandwich. As one  coast reseeded the other brought nearer my joy at completing Mull was  equal to my excitement at starting the walk along the north coast of  Ardnamurchan.  Scotland is beautiful when the weather is fair. 

The Mull Trail, well my ‘Mull Trail’, completed from Iona to Tobermory.

90km  and 2222 meters of ascent in 4.5 days walking. Amazing, Spectacular,  Rough and Tough. A grand way to start, what feels like, an epic  adventure. I  had a chat to a German family on the ferry, whose car had been in an  accident with a van on Mull. They were hit while stationary in a passing  place. The van had continued on its way while their car was  immobilised. We had a laugh about the wisdom of leaving the scene of an  accident on an Island which has one main road. Not very smart, they were  caught later that day.