Why the loneliest part of Scotland makes for a perfect post-lockdown escape

Fiona Elliott and family head for Knoydart in the Highlands to blow the cobwebs away

Born to be wild: Knoydart at dusk (Fiona Elliott)

We dock at a tiny pier, haul our bags up its steep steps and contemplate the emerald peaks surrounding the glassy waters; it’s more Norwegian fjords than British Isles. Seventeen thousand acres of forests and open hills, brooding mountains and boggy glens are all waiting to be explored on foot and by bike.  

This is Knoydart, a far-flung, craggy peninsula that juts out from Scotland’s north-western Atlantic seaboard, tucked between the sea lochs of Nevis and Hourn. Untamed and isolated, it’s home to around 120 humans and a healthy population of wildlife: red deer and wild goats, otters and sea eagles. It’s one of the remotest places we can find in the Highlands and Islands – just what we want after months of lockdown.

There are no road links to Knoydart so, for many, it’s a two-day walk through the mountainous Rough Bounds. “This is lonely country,” warns an online walking guide. “In bad weather this will be a challenge with no escape routes.”  

Fortunately for the less intrepid among us, there’s also a passenger ferry from Mallaig to Inverie, Knoydart’s pocket-sized “capital”.  We’d opted for the easier route, pulling away from the hilly harbour town with its flotilla of trawlers, and sailing across the mouth of Loch Nevis and into the calm waters of Inverie Bay. A huddle of whitewashed cottages and low-rise buildings came into focus, dwarfed by a backdrop of hulking mountains.

Next morning, we take a walk along the shoreline with Amie, the bubbly community ranger, and her deaf rescue dog, Mushroom. It turns out that our tranquil surroundings belie a chequered history. Stopping for lunch on a pebble-and-sand beach, Amie recounts tales of Highland Clearances, despotic landlords and unsuccessful land raids, which have seen the population fall from 1,000 to today’s modest number.

Since 1999, thankfully, it’s a different story. Much of the land is now community-owned under the Knoydart Foundation. Remoteness brings its own challenges, but the residents are a resourceful bunch. With no connection to the National Grid nor internet provider, they maintain their own hydro-power plant and DIY broadband receivers. “With these new pandemics, there’s all the more need to be self-sufficient,” says Amie.  

Sustainability is high on the community agenda. The Knoydart Forest Trust looks after the woodland and has planted over 500,000 trees in the past two decades. Amie points out dark, uniform blocks of coniferous monoculture on the hillsides that are gradually being restructured. The Trust is reintroducing a mix of native species such as oak, holly, birch and yew, to enhance biodiversity, link woodland habitats across the peninsula and create stepping stones for plants and wildlife.  

The community spirit is strong: there’s a primary school with eight pupils, a post office, village shop and gastro-pub. Businesses have been enterprising in lockdown: local caterer Britta now does home deliveries, and Wood-Fired Knoydart Pizza is the new takeaway in town. The microbrewery has been busy developing special lockdown editions; sadly we can’t visit, but there’s a crate of darkest porter and refreshing pale ale waiting to be sampled at our B&B.

Amie also looks after a bike-hire initiative, Knoydart Carbon Cycles, that allows visitors to explore the peninsula’s 11km of tarred road and extensive network of Land Rover tracks.  

Beyond a bank of ferns and purple heather, the steely Sound of Sleat spreads out beneath us, with the silhouettes of Eigg and Rum on the horizon

Sporting our matching neon-yellow helmets and mountain bikes, we head off on a recce that turns into a three-hour trek.  

We pedal past Inverie Pier, then up a steep coastal track with views across the bay. Scottas, a handsome white mansion in a grassy field of curly-horned sheep, is our last vestige of civilisation. The track veers inland, past a small loch, then takes us on an exhilarating roller-coaster ride across the moors.

“Can we go back now?” asks our 12-year-old, as we stop to drink from a babbling burn and snack on freshly-picked blackberries. The post office van rattles past in a flash of tomato red. We’re around half way to Airor, Knoydart’s second-largest settlement, with a population of seven. “Extra video games after you finish the ride?”

The hills are punishing but the vistas keep us going. When the ocean reappears, we pause again to catch our breath and take in the spectacle. Beyond a bank of ferns and purple heather, the steely Sound of Sleat spreads out beneath us, with the silhouettes of Eigg and Rum on the horizon and saw-toothed Cuillins of Skye piercing the clouds.  

Back in Inverie at last, we whizz down to the almost-wild campsite at Long Beach to catch the last rays. A collection of small tents lines the shoreline; plumes of wood-smoke rise from makeshift fire-pits and drift out over the water. We scour the shell-strewn beach for signs of life; no otters tonight, but as the sun sinks behind the Small Isles, three oystercatchers probe for cockles and mussels with their pointy, scarlet bills.  

We feel exceptionally pampered at the Knoydart River Cottage, with its Scandi-Scot style and its resident herd of Highland cattle. Full Scottish breakfast supplies, freshly-baked bread and hearty, home-cooked suppers are delivered to our door. Knoydart venison burgers, Loch Nevis rope mussels and the creamiest of fish pies with smoked Mallaig haddock are just the ticket after a day’s adventures in the mountains.

Our final walk begins with a misguided shortcut that sees us wading through a bog, battling with waist-high bracken and losing each other in the woods. Relieved to find the trail at last, we head through the glen and up to the Black Loch, where we skim stones and cool our feet in the clear water. The teens want one last climb, so we trudge on up the tussocky hillside to the Mam Barrisdale pass, picking our way over hidden rivulets and a broken bridge. High on the chilly ridge, the boys build their last cairn of the holiday, overlooking the mossy slopes of the valley and glinting, mirror-like loch, with the sea visible in the far distance.

Travel Essentials

Getting there

Western Isles Cruises provides a passenger ferry service from Mallaig to Inverie, sailing several times a day. The transfer takes between 25 and 40 minutes and costs £10 per adult, one way. Children under five travel free; five to 13-year-olds travel half price.  

Cars can be left at the ferry terminal in Mallaig. Better still, take one of the world’s most scenic railway journeys: the West Highland Line runs from Glasgow to Fort William and onwards to Mallaig. Travel overnight on the Caledonian Sleeper from London to Fort William, if coming from the south.

Staying there

Knoydart offers a range of self-catering accommodation, B&Bs, bunkhouses, bothies and camping: visitknoydart.co.uk/accommodation.

Fiona Elliott and family stayed at the Knoydart River Cottage, which sleeps up to six and offers a gourmet takeout menu for residents. Priced from £1,250 per week (up to four guests) and £1,500 per week (up to six guests), including breakfast supplies.  

Knoydart is situated within the Scottish Highlands, which is currently in level 1 for Covid restrictions. Travelling from within certain parts of Scotland are permitted but travel from other parts of the UK is currently not allowed.