A SHORT RIDE TO THE PUB.
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Each year we are faced with the difficult decision of where to go for our next big ride. With most of the Highlands at our feet our choice is almost limitless.
The other year the choice was made easier when Janet announced she would like to go to a pub for her birthday; somewhere remote would be nice. She’d already been to St Kilda, whose Puff Inn is the remotest in the UK, but not very practical for horses being forty miles west of the Outer Hebrides. The next remotest pub is the Old Forge at Inverie in Knoydart on the west coast, accessible only by boat or a 16-mile walk over the hills. But would it be possible to ride there? There was only one way to find out.
Pouring over maps
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An evening was spent with maps spread over the floor looking at the possibilities then we divided up the route between us and started the research. This entailed a lot of phone calls to gamekeepers and landowners to obtain permissions find out about paths and local conditions and to arrange overnight accommodation for the horses. This was followed by lots of walking to check the routes.
One trip involved a drive to Mallaig, then the train back to Glenfinnan, a six hour walk in winter sunshine to Glen Dessary, a cold, damp night in the A’Chuil bothy then nine hours in the rain to Inverie which was suffering a powercut and then the ferry the next day back to Mallaig. The verdict? A dodgy path with several ‘interesting’ bits (i.e. bogs) and an extremely daunting bridge over a gorge. Enquiries revealed that a trekking centre using Icelandic ponies did go that way occasionally, but that one had fallen through the bridge on their last trip! As my horse, Bobby, easily weighs as much as two Icelandics it was definitely time to look at Plan B.
This involved another long walk from Kinloch-hourn along the coast path to the bothy at Barrisdale, followed the next day by a climb in the snow to the Mam Barrisdale pass and the descent to Inverie from the north. This path at least was rideable so the route started to fall into place.
Eventually we settled on a route starting at Tomdoun in Glen Morriston, through Glen Loyne to Kinloch-hourn, to Inverie and back via the Barisdale coast path, around The Saddle to Shiel Bridge, up Glen Licht through Glen Affric to Tomich then via the Orrin dam to Contin – 130 miles in six days. Almost all of this was on hill paths and rights of way.
D-day and farrier
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We eventually assembled at Tomdoun to find Mary and Roger, together with Mary’s husband Leon who was our crew and would meet us each evening with the lorry, luggage and horse feed, waiting for us with Hunter and Solo saddled up and ready to go. Near disaster struck within 500 yards of the public road when the horses fell into their first, and totally unexpected, bog that left Solo missing a shoe. The path steadily disintegrated and it took us nearly three hours to cover the two miles to the river Loyne where thankfully we rejoined a firm path.
At Kinloch-hourn the gamekeeper was greatly amused as we plastered our whimpish east coast horses in repellent against the highland menace and put on fly rugs; Janet’s horse Bella was resplendent in pink.
Time to introduce another great character familiar to many trail riders in the Highlands – the farrier Robin Pape. I should explain at this point that Kinloch-hourn, (population 4), lies at the end of what is probably the longest dead-end and single track road in the country – crossing 25 miles of almost totally uninhabited moorland. It was more in hope than expectation that Mary rang Robin thinking she might be able to box Solo up the road and meet Robin somewhere, perhaps 50 miles away at Inverness. “Where are you?” he asked. “ Kinloch-hourn? – I’ll be there at one tomorrow”.
There was some consternation next morning as the horses were conspicuously absent from their paddock. Consternation gave way to screams from Janet who spotted a large patch of pink on a cliff face. Thankfully this was only a rhododendron in full flower and the horses were several hundred yards further up the mountain, looking wistfully at a closed gate that stopped them escaping to Kintail. Leon left us to drive the 80 miles to catch the ferry from Mallaig to Inverie while we waited for Robin.
He arrived on the dot of one and kept us all entertained with tales of shoeing all over the west coast and the Hebrides while he fixed Solo. The mystery of how he had been able to come to us so quickly was explained. He was really there to shoe the stalking ponies at Barrisdale, seven miles down the coast. Just as he finished Solo the Barisdale gamekeeper arrived by boat to pick up Robin and his equipment.
To Inverie and pub supper
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We left at some speed as, having planned the entire trip around a pub-supper at Inverie we no intention of arriving after closing time and we had 16 miles to ride over rough ground with a 1500’ high pass to cross.
The Barisdale coast path can only be described in one word – sensational. It is a masterpiece of drystone-work hugging the cliffs and the coast; very narrow and exposed in places, alternately perching precariously above the sea or following the high tide line. Eight miles of riding brought us to Barrisdale, where we met Robin again and then we started the long climb over the pass.
Another near disaster occurred when Bobby got tangled up in some helicopter lift-bags being used for the footpath repairs and sunk deep into the peat, nearly trapping me. Swift action with the penknife and he was able to scramble out unharmed.
The view from the summit of the Mam Barisdale was superb, and very different from the winter when I had struggled up there through knee high snow. We descended carefully to Inverie, as the path is in poor condition and several of the bridges looked unsafe. Bella, being the lightest always went first leaving Bobby nervously following last.
We arrived at Inverie at about 8:30 where Cara, our landlady, (best B&B in Knoydart!) took one look at us and insisted on washing our jods. She was seriously into clean, so they went in at a very hot wash. Khaki turned to a delicate shell blue, leaving me exceedingly grateful that neither Janet nor Mary wore burgundy.
Back to Kinloch-hourn
The Old Forge has excellent food and real ale and I awoke to rather less of a hangover than I deserved and we were off on day three for a more leisurely ride back to Kinloch-hourn. We discovered just how narrow and exposed the path was when Bella stepped into mid-air leaving Janet rolling and somersaulting fifteen yards down the hill towards the water. Bella managed to keep her feet and scrambled back up to the path a few yards further on with only a few scratches.
Unusual tethering posts!
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Day four and the horses were once again at the top of the hill so a late start after another mountaineering excursion to round them up. We started with a steep climb up through woodland and then onto the open hill. Upper Glen Arnisdale is wild and lonely but marred by powerlines that we followed for several miles on a good path. The Bealach Aoidhdailean is seldom used by walkers and the path here became fainter giving us a few more ‘route finding problems’ – trail speak for more bogs - and a lost shoe for Bella. Pylons had some use as tethering posts as we lunched at the summit of the pass surveying the route ahead. Tricky ground around Suardalain was not as bad as we expected and we were soon on the path heading for our fifth pass over a shoulder of The Saddle. The horses had bonded well as a group, and with us. We had learned that leading the horses on steep ground can be hazardous so we let them loose to walk with us. Bobby led the way while I clung to his tail for a tow, Solo and Bella followed behind while the riders brought up the rear. We continued along the edge of a deep ravine then scrambled up more steep rocks beside a waterfall and at the summit a stunning view of the Five Sisters of Kintail, opened up before us.
Rocky paths wear the shoes down very quickly and we had previously arranged for the farrier, Robin, to meet us at Morvich. He was waiting, together with some other riders we knew, at the end of a surprisingly tough day - eight hours to cover just 18 miles and two passes.
Scary riding!
Many people consider the Allt Ghrannda to be the scariest place they have ever ridden and it does live up to its reputation. After a big river crossing the path got steeper and steeper. The horses were scrambling up, and sliding back down, near vertical rock with sparks flying and a smell of burning iron in the air. Thankfully around a corner the path levelled out on the side of a steep gorge with a large waterfall thundering below us and mountains towering all around. You feel a long way from anywhere here. The route continues on a stone ledge where a large cascade rushes down a gully, crosses the path and crashes down into the gorge below.
After another steep climb up to another pass we followed the winding path to lunch at the Camban bothy. After this the path improved as the strath widened and we picked up speed with a long canter on the sandy path through the ancient pinewoods next to Loch Affric. Sgurr na Lapaich and Carn Eighe towered above us, still with snow on their upper slopes. We entered a forestry plantation and decided to take the longer route into Tomich, which brought us up to 30 miles for the day.
Nearly home?
Our final day was the longest at 33 miles, starting with 12 miles of tarmac. We quickly got into a rhythm of trotting for ten minutes, walking five, trotting ten, leading five, trotting ten and so on to cover the miles but stop the horses’ feet from getting sorer than they already were. At Erchless we had a long walk up the hill then onto a stony path. The horses woke up when they saw the herds of deer lurking on the skyline like Apache warriors preparing to ambush. After our final pass we descended onto an endless track, which led across monotonous moorland next to a hydroelectric pipeline and plodded steadily through showers into a cold wind. Crossing the Orrin dam on a narrow parapet thirty feet above the water was exciting; the horses were quite spooked by metalwork crashing in the wind and water surging at the bottom of a deep shaft.
Leon met us at the bottom of the hill with boards so we could cross some cattle grids then we continued through giant trees to Fairburn House, from where at last we could see our destination four miles ahead.
Here we caught up with Jenny and Morvern from Tayside at the end of a superb ten-day ride, completely unsupported, from Blair Atholl, which had included one night camping in a bothy.
End of the road
Through the gate, quick photos then it was a well deserved bucket for the horses who looked very tired by now while Leon had the champers cooling for the rest of us. We were staying at a friend’s house for the weekend and spent a convivial evening, over a superb meal, swapping stories about bogs, scenery, precipices, locked gates and Highland hoteliers.
(Mostly these hoteliers are normal people but Basil, Sybil, Manuel and Polly have moved from Torquay and now run a hotel in the West Highlands. Our arrival was greeted with a pantomime routine of “you’re not booked in“, “oh yes we are”, “oh no you’re not!”. ‘Plump and grumpy’ moaned incessantly at ‘vague and dreamy’, oblivious to the audience; ‘cool blonde’ announced stiffly and with a loud sniff - “Michael is cooking tonight, service will be slow” while ‘cute blond’ swanned around with a piddling puppy and escaped in the first available car the next morning. The public phone was hidden in the beer cellar while the midges besieged the building – but the food and beer were, thankfully, for the most part, excellent. We still tell stories about the sausages, which gave Leon’s, dog Jodie indigestion for days)
We assembled that evening for more jollification and stories. Endurance riders always say that to complete is to win and the same is true for trail riding. To complete an amazing expedition with sound horses and remain friends is a great reward.
Many thanks to Libby for her excellent hospitality, Mary, Janet, Roger and Leon for superb companionship, and of course the real stars, Bobby, Solo, Hunter and Bella. Thanks also to all the landowners and gamekeepers for their help, interest and perhaps most importantly their work maintaining the hill-paths upon we, which we depend so much.
By Simon J