I carry a solar panel with me on long hikes but it had rained so consistently that I hadn’t been able to recharge my battery pack in the first 3 days. So it was a relief when the sun finally came out when I woke up in the morning of day 4 by the River Carnach. And what a difference the blue skies make!
Within 15 minutes of leaving my camp I found an idyllic natural pool. This was the time to push my comfort zone, my first wild swim on a through hike.
I have always erred on the side of caution on long hikes like this, and so far it has kept me safe. But what it has meant is that a wild swim can feel really quite dangerous and so I have always refrained from getting in the water, despite swimming regularly outdoors and being used to cold water swims. This was something I wanted to change. To be rational and judge the risk as it is rather than exaggerating the danger in my head.
Aside from the danger, I really had to fight my instincts to push on to my destination. I wanted to continue on the hike to make sure I get there “on time”, whatever that means. Where is there anyway? And in my head I couldn’t relax and be leisurely until the day was over. The funny thing is, I had no fixed destination each day, I stopped when I found a nice camping spot when it was about time. So I knew this was irrational.
I was proud of myself for taking my time to take it in. It was absolutely beautiful to be in the water.
Over the next few days, I started stopping whenever I was drawn to a natural pool and going for a dip. The feeling of urgency to get to my unknown destination for the day gradually disappeared into the background.
Some days were particularly challenging due to the lack of paths. This was the case on this day, especially on the uphill section. But when I got to the top at the Bealach at Mam Unndalain, the views made all the hard work worthwhile.
I stopped for ages taking it all in, before descending to Barrisdale and camping by the bay, watching the sunset into the sea as I settled into the evening.
For me, the sunsets and the sunrises are the highlights of wild camping on long hikes. Although there are quite a few bothies on the Cape Wrath Trail I decided not to stay in any during this trip. I wanted to be out in the wild as much as I could, have the hills to myself where I can sit and watch the changing skies as the sun disappears into the horizon. I still always stopped at the bothies though, to read the bothy book and look for messages from fellow hikers that I’d met on the trail, and leave messages for those who I knew were behind me!
The Hard Times
Day seven was probably the hardest day of the whole trail. I was heading from Shiel Bridge towards the Falls of Glomach, one of the UK’s highest waterfalls, on the worst weather day of the hike. It was windy, very wet, cold, gusty and everything was slippery. There was a real sense of possibility for things to go deeply wrong. A mis step, a gust of wind and I could have quite badly hurt myself. The rivers were high and ferocious from all the rain and with the gusts it became very difficult to balance on boulders without slipping off.
At one point on the way down from the waterfall I slipped and twisted my knee, with no one around and no reception. For a moment I had a little panic before getting up to put a bit of weight on that leg. Luckily I was fine and I could continue. I thought to myself, perhaps a satellite communicator wouldn’t be a bad call for next time.
That evening, the wind was so strong that after settling into my tent, I had to adjust the orientation of the tent to stop the sides from blowing in.
One thing I hadn’t thought enough about was weather windows.
The day before that awful weather, I had taken a half day by hiking just five kilometres into Shiel Bridge in glorious sunshine because I had a resupply parcel waiting for me at the campsite. The following day, the weather turned.
Something similar happened later at Incheril. I had taken a rest day when the weather turned out to be pleasant because my next food parcel was waiting in Kinlochewe. The next day brought heavy rain.
I had wanted to take things slowly and allow myself rest days, but the trail taught me that when you’re somewhere with such variable weather, you need to make the most of the good weather windows while you have them.
Day 11, the day after my rest day in Incheril and on my way to Shenavall, I had my most precarious river crossing on the trail. From above, it looked less like a river crossing and more like white water rapids, with a steep drop just downstream. There were a few boulders protruding from the water, but they were not quite big enough or close enough together to guarantee a safe and dry crossing. At this point it wasn’t just about keeping my boots dry, it was about staying out of the rapidly flowing river so that I don’t risk getting swept away by the force of the water.
Thankfully I made it across with just wet boots but stopped on the other side of the river for lunch, partly to calm my nerves before continuing.
There was also one rather lucky escape. On Day 12, I hiked into Glen Douchary in the early evening as the skies began to clear after yet another rainy day, and the views of the surrounding rugged landscape was stunning. It felt like I had the Glen all to myself too. Knowing that I was due more rain the next morning, I made sure to cross the river first before setting up camp. I found the perfect spot beside the river to camp. And as usual I pitched my tent to face the sunset, with the river in front of me, in awe of the beauty of the landscapes and grateful for the patches of clear skies.
In the morning when I got up, the river was no longer just in front of me, It was all the way round me. I had woken up on an island!
Luckily, it hadn’t risen any further or my morning could have looked very different. Waking up in the river and having my belongings swept away would have been a bit of a set back!
When the Clouds Lifted
I started Day 16 by Loch Beag just before Glencoul bothy. The route to Glendhu bothy was difficult and boggy, and the day was wet and foggy. I took shelter at Glendhu bothy for lunch and continued on up the hill towards Ben Dreavie in fog, wind and rain.
I had all my waterproofs on but, in prolonged rain like this, water has a way of seeping in and I was soaked through. I couldn’t really stop because I would quickly get cold when I did.
Then, as I approached the top, the clouds suddenly lifted and I could see what was around me – the views of the mountains in the distance and the lochs reflecting the blue skies and clouds above. It felt magical. It was perhaps because of the hardship of the day, the monotony of the grey fogginess in contrast that made this moment even more breathtaking.
In a way, this summed up the Cape Wrath Trail for me. Yes it was hard at times, yes it felt precarious too, and yes the rain, wind, bogs, river crossings were sometimes relentless, but those difficult bits heightened my senses to when it was good. The contrast made it all the more mesmerising in these small moments of joy.
It was the same thing that I had learnt in my trauma just a few months earlier. Perhaps without the pain and the hardship, I wouldn’t have realised how beautiful the good bits were. And of course I would rather not have to live through the difficult times, but without them would I have been as appreciative of everything that was good around me? This is why I keep choosing adventures like this that push me out of my comfort zone.
Reaching Cape Wrath
I camped at Sandwood Bay, like so many others before me, the night before arriving at Cape Wrath. The guidebook describes this as a rite of passage. As I aligned my last day with the usual trail itinerary, I discovered so many others who I hadn’t yet met on the trail and we had dinner together at Sandwood Bay reflecting on the trail.
What struck me was how different our experiences had been, despite walking the same route. Our best and worst days had varied hugely depending on the weather, our energy levels and our mental state. A boggy path at the end of an exhausting day could feel unbearable, while the same path in the morning might barely register.
Meeting the others and having the experience of the trail to connect us felt so meaningful. To be able to reflect together right at the end of the trail was the perfect way to end the journey.
The final day itself was beautiful. As I walked along the coastline I kept looking back at Sandwood Bay in awe. I crossed the fence into the MOD area, slightly bemused at the sign that warned against touching any military debris as it may explode and kill me! The Cape was a surreal place. A wild terrain with the occasional bomb crater, military targets and buildings.
When I finally reached the lighthouse, it was a weird feeling knowing that I didn’t have to pack up and hike again the next day. I decided to stay at the bunkhouse at the lighthouse that night so I would have more time to soak in the atmosphere before heading home.
Final Reflections
There is something about completing a hard physical challenge that turns it into much bigger life lessons. I had set out on the Cape Wrath Trail to prove to myself that I could do hard things, that I could trust myself.
And I could. Despite some of the more challenging moments, at no point did I feel out of my depth. I knew I was perfectly capable of keeping myself safe.
After the traumatic experience a few months earlier when I had begun to doubt my judgment, this felt especially important, and it was a good feeling to come home with.
I absolutely loved exploring Scotland on the Cape Wrath Trail, and how wild and remote it was. For now though, I’ve had enough of bogs and rain so I am looking forward to hiking something a little drier (both overhead and underfoot!) next time! Perhaps back to the Pyrenees to tackle the Pyrenean Haute Route.
Andrea Lo was one of three winners of the 2026 Adventure Queens Grant. Do you have a solo adventure you’ve always dreamed of doing? If so, why not put your hat in the ring when the next round of grant applications opens later in the year?
