Feature
The wild shores of Jura
By Irvine Butterfield
The day promised fair as the “Clansman” left the pier at Port Ellen pushing through the skerries into the sound. Turning to port to nose her way through the narrows we counted off the distilleries along the shore one by one - Laphroaig, Lagavulin, and Ardbeg. A whisp of mist on the Islay hills dispersed and ahead etched against a cloudless sky the Paps of Jura hove into view. Mike was waiting on the pier at Craighouse and so began the long slow drive to the lone habitation of Kinuachdrachd. Time to shoulder packs and bid farewell.
A path eased the initial ascent to the moors with views across the sound to the mainland giving a foretaste of what was to become almost a routine panorama of sea and islands. A small yacht nudged into the Sound of Corryvreckan and turned away to the north and we were surprised to find an almost mill pond stillness on the Gulf itself. No raging seas and crashing waves. It was to be later in the afternoon as we rounded the headland and pulled above the bight of Bagh Gleann nam Muc before there was even a hint of a wave to indicate where the whirlpool might be.
The first day was to be a joyous walk around small headlands and shores whose sea air was scented by a myriad bluebells. At Glentrosdale Bay we explored first of the many caves and natural arches which are a feature of Jura’s western coast, where cliffs above the stony beaches added to the grandeur of the scene. Here and there a hint of path provided a useful guide to the many deviations around rocky knolls and narrow fissured inlets, each bay a spur towards the next. It seemed a long time before we finally rounded the crags to look across the strand of Glengarrisdale Bay to the red-roofed bothy which was to be our first overnight stop.
The still evening air brought out the midges and clouds to the west hinted that change might be on the way. And so it proved, as we awoke to misted tops and a hint of showers. A cut across the hill found the stony cove of Bagh Gleann Speireig and keeping above the cliffs a companion and I left the others to their chosen route along the shore. Smirrs of rain were not such that they dampened the spirits but by the time we reached Corpach Bay’s chosen campsite the wind was blasting the exposed shore. The caves on the map proved very small but close by an overhang provided sufficient shelter to set up the stove, get a brew on, and prepare the evening meal. A convenient patch of grass enjoyed the shelter of the higher cliffs of our chosen overhang and proved an ideal campsite. The others soon joined us again with reports of massive natural arches and the wreck of an ancient wooden vessel. The route was obviously passable though less than obvious from above. We had had several sightings of herds of goats some of which were black and white, belted like Galloway cattle. Tea was soon on the go and fortified by a nightcap we settled down for the night.
Spirits were lifted the next morning as the broken cloud cover gave the sun a chance to peep through the greyness of the dawn so that by mid-morning the day was transformed by warm sun and gentle breezes. The terrain changed with the broad green levels around the cobbled pavements of the raised beaches alive with nesting gulls. The sands of Shian Bay were a delightful interlude as we relished in the views across to the low crouch of Colonsay and looked inwards to the rugged raggle of hills along the island’s northern backbone. The approaches to the lochs south of the bay gave our first sightings of the tops of the Paps which heralded our final ease amble along a track down to the bothy at Ruantallain. As the evening drew on the individual stacks of the Paps each wore a bonnet of cloud and we did wonder what the morrow would bring. The forecast was for a change in the weather so we took full advantage of the sunset behind Colonsay, which brought a halcyon day to a close.
A new day brought a lift to the spirits yet again as we anticipated the crossing of Loch Tarbert. With a boat arranged we were anxious to be off as the caps of cloud had lifted early from the Paps so the ascent of Beinn an Oir was on. By the time the boatman had deposited us on the shore at Glenbatrick the sun was already beating down and with the cooling airs of a sea breeze wafted aloft enthusiasms were high. A halt at the pool-dappled col south of Scrinadle was but a brief respite before the pull to the long stony spine of Cnoc an Oir. And still our luck held. The sun shone through the ragged cumulus and looking ahead we could see someone labouring on the skyline below the summit of our chosen peak. Packs were dumped at the head of the dyke, which is the most regularly used access route, and the stony stumbling path taken to the summit. Here we lazed and drank our fill of the expansive horizons of sea and sound and such was the day that we spend over an hour just soaking up the sun and gorging ourselves on the views. Descent by the inclined dyke route to the lower moor led to a rough contouring route and further loss of height to gain the gap between Beinn an Oir and Beinn a’ Chaolais. Once across the gap we found an ideal campsite near the middle tarn of Na Garbh-lochanan, beneath the sun bronzed slopes of Beinn an Oir’s cliffed western fringe. The setting sun also lit the scree scarred face of Beinn a’ Chaolais to provide a picture for the archives.
The final day, but as someone remarked it is now downhill all the way ... easy heather slopes drifted from the tarns to a track which led by way of Cnocbreac to the shore at Whitefarland Bay. Across the sound Rhuvaal Lighthouse on the northern point of Islay caught the first rays of the sun but perhaps it was the white splash of Caol Ila distillery which spurred us on to the ferry with thoughts of a welcome refreshment at the Port Askaig Hotel. Sitting outside looking across the sound to the Paps it seemed an age since we had taken out first tentative steps on the Corryvreckan path at the start of our travels. It was generally conceded that we had been blessed with a spell of exceptionally good weather... the more so next day when, homeward bound, it poured down all day. It seemed fitting to set the seal on another adventure with a good glass of Jura’s own malt as we knew that this was truly one of those trips that just had to be done. As John Cleare said this is one of the last great wilderness walks in Scotland and probably the best. Praise doesn’t come much higher than that!