Scotland
Unexpected paths in the Scottish highlands:
How I traveled from Edinburgh to Isle of Skye and lived along the Quiraing Trail.
At the tail end of my time in Europe, I had a spare week without any pre-planned bookings. I had originally hoped to join friends amidst the bustling city streets of London. But unfortunately, our plans collapsed along with my health and I was left vaguely homeless, plan-less, and somewhat ill with pneumonia.
Seeking to make good use of my remaining week in the autumn covered UK, I hopped on a train from London to Edinburgh, where I began my adventures in the Scottish Highlands.
Beginning with a day of prep in the city of Edinburgh, I wandered to my hostel and promptly made some friends. Before I realized it, I found myself fighting through dark and windy alleys towards a well-known pub, intending to try their secret Haggis recipe with several delightful ladies I’d just met. We laughed over our little piles of potatoes and haggis, sipping away on our whiskeys with all the airs of committed literary scholars who believed they had important ideas.
The next morning, I was met with a stormy day for outdoor adventures, but committed to the venture, I couldn’t let myself turn back. I packed up to catch my afternoon train towards Inverness, where I planned to spend my first night wildcamping in a forest on the outskirts of town.
In Scotland, wildcamping is legal and encouraged. If there is natural earth space, trekkers are freely allowed to pitch their tent for two nights unbothered. During my hostel stay, I had researched what looked like several open forests near inverness train station that looked reasonable to camp and saved their locations.
An extensive delay on the tracks left me arriving in the Inverness station at 10pm. Well-past dark, with a bitter shivering cold that had no business arriving so early in September, the roads were deserted and quiet. Despite the legality of wildcamping, my presence felt like an affront to the entire town, being out and active so late in the evening. Still, I grabbed my trusty Osprey pack and plodded my way towards the forest which was meant to be 2 kilometers away.
What I arrived to was barbed-wire fences, bright electrical warning signs, and a thorny underbrush that blocked any path which might have existed there before. Exhausted and still sick with pneumonia, I once again confronted my youthful poor planning. What I had interpreted as an open green space was, in actuality, a strictly-forbidden landfill. Not intending on breaking the law that day, all I could do was keep walking along the road towards the sea, hoping desperately for a place that could accommodate my little tent and me.
