Solo Walk on Bute

Sunday at the end of March was a lovely day - completely different from the day before when I tried to have a day out in North Knapdale. The sky was blue, there was warmth in the sun, and I needed to take the motorbike out for it's first ride in nine months, and my first ride for two years. Dad had corrected the tyre pressures, checked the oil and charged the battery during their last visit, but one of the brakes was binding slightly, so a short run down to Colintraive ferry port was about the right length to test it out.

I was tentative at first as our road has so many potholes and so much gravel down the middle that it's a bit dicey in parts. But, once out on the open road I opened the throttle and the bike purred as if it has been eagerly waiting for this day.

I caught the 2.30pm ferry to Bute as a foot passenger and the walk begins from the ferry terminal at the other side. The walking website, walkinghighlands, said the walk would take 1.5 - 2.5 hours, and the ferry runs every half an hour so I could take my time. Walking was easy in my leggings and t-shirt, and the coat came off after 10 minutes too. The path hugged the coastline at first, then through a gate and across boggy land up the hill past a curious mirrored art installation. But at the top of the slope I met my first challenge - a diversion due to fallen trees. Back down the hill then round and back up, panting all the way, but the surroundings were pretty so I didn't mind.

Past a ruined farmhouse, continuing uphill, dry throated, I took a quick break on a large rock to catch my breath. John of course would have remembered to pack (and carry) a bottle of water! I then reached what was supposed to be a grassy turning circle with a three way signpost. I hesitated - the circle was no longer grassy, and the path to the right through the trees was not as described as all the trees had been cut down by forestry. Turning round a few times I finally spotted the threeway signpost but all the directional waymarkers had been broken off. I took the path to the right even though it was now a nice new forestry path between tree stumps instead of a boggy path through trees.

It finally came out at a stunning view over the water which brought tears to my eyes. I immediately recognised it as John's favourite viewpoint but from the other side of the water. It was such a lovely day, the water was a deep and vibrant blue, sparkling in the sun, with a nice breeze and spring hope in the air. But I am not feeling hopeful right now. In fact, instead of slowly starting to feel better, I am feeling worse than ever. The sense of disappointment each morning when I wake up renders me despondent and immobile. Anxiety has seeped into every part of my life and it is now clear just how much confidence John gave me. Earlier this week I stood at the viewpooint John so loved and thought how nice it would be to close my eyes and jump. It scared me and I realized it was time to ask for help. The doctor prescribed me a low dose of Mirtazipine for anxiety and depression, to help me sleep better and try and carry me through this nadir.

After a little cry I pulled myself together and reminded myself to keep putting one foot in front of the other - I mean, I needed to get home for dinner at some point! I scrambled down to the WWII decoy station to investigate that.

Decoy sites were built to fool German bombers into attacking a place which had no civilians and were of no military value instead of their real targets. These "Special Fire" decoys (called operation Starfish) were set up to simulate the bomb drops of German pathfinder squadrons. The sites were located around 4 miles from the town they protected and at least 1 mile from any other settlement. Various types of fire were used - from quick burning felt

to creosote - to simulate a recently-bombed town. Each site was controlled locally from a concrete bunker. There are three known bunkers connected with this site on Bute. This one was a field bunker, controlling a group of fires and lights. A generator was run inside the bunker to power the lights and an escape hatch can be seen at the other end. The operators would receive a field telephone call from the command bunker behind Rhubodach House, then power up the lights and fire the detonators to start the fires. Tanks containing paraffin, creosote or diesel were placed on top of 20ft towers, arranged to resemble rows of buildings or industrial complexes. A valve that operated like a toilet flush was opened to release the fuel on to smouldering coal or charcoal, creating an instant blaze and engulfing the area in black smoke. Then the fire was flushed with water from a second tank to send up a fireball and a column of steam into the night sky. Result: a rather convincing mock-up of a bombing raid that hit its target. This site was operated by the Royal Navy and was almost certainly located to protect the naval installations and bases around Rothesay and Port Bannatyne. It was unsuccessful on Bute and the forest was never bombed.

Then it was time to have a go on the big rope swing. I sat there for a good few minutes, enjoying the view, soaking up the warmth. It was lovely. But then it was time to go. I retraced my steps back to the turning circle and took the third leg of the missing signpost to rejoin the Dalnakailly Loop walk. The next section was along a forestry road between huge pines with the sun flashing through as I walked and the sound of cracking branches, but no sign of the deer that were probably making the sounds. A couple of times I thought I heard the tiny bleating cry of fawns.

Then the walk opened up into another huge area of deforestation and the road became more difficult to walk, made of huge stones so I turned my ankle several times. I could see the ferry in the distance and knew I had about 25 minutes until the next boat, but then the path turned away from the ferry and so I knew I would be cutting it fine. I found a good rhythmn coming down the final stretch as the path smoothed out again, until I popped out back onto the main road. I kept up a good pace as the ferry hadn't yet left the terminal at Colintraive, and as I walked I could see when it set off in my direction. I knew I had about five minutes grace but about 10 minutes more walking. And yet the ferry held on and the ticket man could see me coming, as could the boat attendant, and I thought they were waiting for me. But, no, with just another 60 seconds of effort needed, breathlessly gasping, legs burning, the ferry set sail and left me with heaving lungs, leaning on the railings to wait half an hour for the next boat. I swear they enjoyed it!

Back at home, having enjoyed the bike ride more second time round, my joints have seized, my back hurts and I'm tired, but I feel like I've acheived something today. I put one foot in front of the other and kept going...