Jack and I have just spent a glorious long weekend in beautiful Bute, Jack’s homeland off the west coast of Scotland.
I have no idea how many times I have visited Bute over the almost-40 years that Jack and I have been together but I could count on my fingers the number of times we have had dawn-to-dusk sunshine, superb visibility and summer-like temperatures for almost the entirety of the visit.
Stepping out
Taking advantage of the weather, on Friday morning we headed to the north of the island where a tiny ferry repeatedly transports a handful of cars and foot passengers between Rhubodach and Colintraive (on the mainland) as if it can’t decide where it wants to be. From there, we planned to follow the Balnakailly circular route to a rope swing high above the coastline which promised excellent views and a woodland trail before returning to Rubodach.
But our plans were scuppered before they began by a sign on the first gate strictly forbidding dogs across the field where cows and calves grazed. Brodie, officially the cutest dog in Britain, looked up at us from under his veil of a fringe, and a new plan was formulated. Walking the circuit anti-clockwise would, it was decided, allow us to by-pass the final field and return along the shoreline.
A swing with a view
The unusually dry, sunny and warm start to April brought mixed blessings to beautiful Bute, as well as to other parts of the UK, as wildfires broke out. We knew a fire had been raging in the north of the island but a hotline (ouch) on the situation was reporting that the fire had been brought under control and the helicopter that had been dousing the flames had been despatched to Arran to help quell the fires there. In any case, the fire was further west and should not affect our route.
As we climbed the West Island Way through the extensive pine forest, a ranger driving past stopped and expressed surprise that the path was still open but confirmed that the fire was under control and should not have an impact on our route. When we reached the headland, we all stopped and stared, transfixed by the sight of The Burnt Islands sunbathing in shimmering turquoise waters languidly snaking between forested shorelines backed by purple hills.
A short path led to a rope swing securely fastened between trees, which swung out over the edge above the stunning vistas below. Despite my apparently ‘girlie’ swing (Jack’s swing was admittedly far superior), it was the most serene, soul-stirring experience and I could happily have swung there for the rest of the day.
The cattle run
The return path took us along a delightful woodland path which some unforeseen detours thanks to recent storm damage, and an intriguing art installation that resembled a portal to another world, to the final section of the walk.
Unfortunately, the cows and their calves were enjoying a drink and a paddle in the stream where we planned to cross to the shore. Hiding Brodie from sight lest he cause any anxiety to the mothers, we waited for the cattle to mosey back over the hill before making a dash for the shoreline. Jack’s sister carried Brodie (who sensed he was ‘dog non grata’ and remained still and silent throughout) and we steadily, quietly, walked along the beach. Rounding the headland, I could see the small ferry returning on its path of infinite indecision, and breathed a sigh of relief, only to spot two cows further along the beach. Stealth and nerve were required, as well as some adept footwork from Jack’s sister, to get us all safely through the gate without any upset to the cattle.
Shortly after we got home, reports came in that the fire had once again broken out and was burning below the swing at Balnakailly.
Not for the first time, I reflected how beautiful Bute really is. Travel articles and odysseys seem to focus on Arran, Mull and the Hebrides with barely a mention of Bute. I have not yet been to any of those more celebrated destinations, an oversight I hope to rectify now that we’re back in Britain, so I can’t say whether or not they warrant so much more attention. But if they do, they must indeed be something to behold, and I look forward to seeing them.
Meanwhile, I’ll look forward to our next return to beautiful Bute, preferably without wildfire.
