23 Miler

When - 16th and 17th July 2005
Where - Around Glenmore and Breas, Isle of Skye, Scotland
Who - John Siwek

Account by John Siwek



With my birthday money I bought a Jungle Hammock from trek-direct which is run by a local bushcraft and survival instructor. It is a good quality, camouflaged, piece of kit originally made for the French Foreign Legion, so well up to Skye weather.

I wanted to test it out and had been looking at a walk that went in a loop from my house up the hill and into a wood near the 1st camping spot- I would camp there for the night- then in the morning I would go up the hill Andy and I went to on the 2nd trip (Stróc-bheinn), over to Skriaig, along Beinn na Greine, down to the road and back home.

This however didn’t quite work because as Guy Grieve- a Scotsman who abandoned everything in Scotland and went to live in the Alaskan bush for a year and succeeded, somebody I admire because of his determination when things went wrong and personal strength and attitude- said 'Always the first thing to go is the plan.'

The rest of my kit was really quite substandard. My jacket was not fully waterproof. My gloves were also not waterproof no matter what they claimed. My boots were not waterproof so I had to wear Sealskinz waterproof socks and my bag was a 40 litre, little, red rucksack that I had to lash a lot of my stuff, like sleeping bag and hammock, onto the back. Apart from that I was fine.

I set off a around 7pm. The bag was heavy and awkward. The weather was dry but a drizzly mist was threatening. I had been happily walking for around 45minutes before the mist started to encroach the hills. I was not too bothered by it at that stage hoping that the wind would sweep it away.

As I was nearing the forest when I hear something and then felt something solid hit the back of my leg. I suddenly felt very nervous, maybe there was something out there. I turned round but there was nothing there. Then I felt it again and looked down seeing my hammock hanging loose where I had connected it to my bag. I felt like a right idiot.

I reached the fence running parallel to the dense pine forest. I had a few weeks previously placed a stick in the fence at a point where there was a large enough gap in the trees for a hammock. Climbing over I entered the damp, dark of the forest. It had a harsh, unfriendly feel to it. As I splashed down the damp trail between the rows of trees I began to wonder if I should find a new place to sleep. I decided that it would take to long to find a decent place so I would just make do.

I laid out the hammock to find trees of the right distance. I found some but as I was trimming off some of the branches on one of the trees one of the branches fell off. I looked up to see it wobbled violently when I hit it. I had to find another one as I didn’t really want a tree spearing me in the night if it snapped. Luckily there were a few other trees that were sturdy and the right diameter.

By the time I had strung up the hammock it was dark in the forest. I went for a quite walk along the terrible forestry road beside the forest and called home. After that I went back and decided to go to sleep. The radio was not that great but I listened to it for a while until about 11pm. I slept for a while.

I awoke many time as I do when camping. There was silence, no wind, apart from the occasionally by a drop of water thumping on to the flysheet. I lay there until 4:15am when I gave up trying to sleep and got up. Eating a quick breakfast of bread and the traditional camping fare of Brunch Bars. My first night camping by myself was dull, not lonely as I did not mind being by myself, just dull. The radio at 4am is not very interesting.

I left the wood and walked down to the main road. Only a 4x4 pasted and I wondered what the driver though of a teenage guy walking out of a forest at a stupidly early time. I looked up at the hills I was aiming to climb. They were covered in thick mist and rain was coming in from the north. Not a good forecast but I continued on anyway.

I crossed the Varagill river and set off up the hill leading up to Stróc-bheinn. The dew was heavy and stuck to the shin deep grass. It quickly soaked me even through gaiters. I paused several times along the moor that separated Stróc-bheinn and the main road dodging bogs. Occasionally a indistinct form of a sheep would appear in the mist that I was heading deeper and deeper into. The sheep would regretfully rise up and wonder away from my wet, form striding through the bogs.

At that point I was still sure that I would be able to reach each of the hill tops that I was planning to hit. By 7am I was listening to Radio 1 where the DJ was reading out texts from people talking about the brilliant weather in England and people who were training for a marathon. It was not really helping my mood as the weather steadily got worse and I considered informing the DJ that not every where was so nice, but I didn’t.

I was getting closer to the top of the first hill when I called home. It was around 8:30am by that time and my mum answered. After the usual, 'Are you OK?', 'How was the hammock?', she said that I shouldn’t climb the hill if I think that the weather is too bad. I then had to explain that I had already been walking for 4hrs.

I continued on up to the top; or what I thought was the top. My map was not that easy to follow so I attempted to navigate by memory. So when at what I thought was the top I took a barring and set off. Unfortunately I was actually about 200meters from the top where there is a fake cairn so my barring started to head down the wrong part of the hill. The mist was so thick that there were no points of reference to guild by so it was almost impossible to navigate properly. I got further and further down until I realised that where I thought I was and where I actually was completely different. Nevertheless I was determined to reach the Skriaig masts. I walked around for 45mins or so never really getting any where. Mist is the most confusing weather to be in, meaning you can’t see anymore then about 50metres,at best, ahead of you.

It was really starting to get me down and the weather was not improving so I sat down to look at the map. I knew that no matter where I was on the hill that as long as I headed west that I would reach the Glenmore road. With that thought in mind I gave up trying to reach the masts and proceeded down the hill.

By following a fence I was led to a small grass road. It was connected to a farm on the Glenmore road about three quarters of the way down.

The rain was easing off to a fine drizzle. The radio show had changed so it was about 10 am. The radio kept me occupied for most of the way. I was determined to get home by my own two feet and not call for a lift.

I stopped for a short lunch of rice by the roadside two miles out of Portree. I didn’t do much to lift my moral and the midges weren’t much help either. I got up, arranged everything properly and heaved my bag onto my back. The rain then started to lash down soaking me more if that was physically possible.

I walked through Portree as quickly as possible aware that I still had five miles to walk. One miles out of Portree, just to make things worse, a small blister formed between two toes. After that I just started to get annoyed and when I.G. MacDonald stopped to ask me if I wanted a lift I decided yes. However because he was 30 metres away when he asked he misheard and drove off much to my annoyance. Then less than a mile away I was offered a lift again by a man who used to play the saxophone in the jazz band. I thought it would be pointless, as I was not very far away from the house. We talked about where I had walked and about the path that Andy and I had tried to find previously which he said he couldn’t find either. Later I was offered a lift only a hundred metres from my house.

I arrived home at last after having walked for nine hours that day and travelling 21 miles. I didn’t think of it as a bad camping trip but definitely not a good one.

Camping by yourself is different to camping with others; you are more concentrated on you aim- to get to where you want- so because of that you can push yourself and not have to worry about what everybody else wants to do and if you do something wrong nobody can blame you, only you can do that. You have completely rely on yourself in every aspect of living and that is satisfying. Although it has its advantages it also has its disadvantages too. If you get into trouble; fall and brake something or injure yourself in some other way it can be dangerous. Also its really quite dull one your own.

Camping enjoyment= 4/10
Walk difficulty= 4/10
Landscape= 3/10
Overall=4/10

The OOSA Trip

When - 23rd and 24th April 2005
Where - Diubaig, Isle of Skye, Scotland
Who - Andy Smith and John Siwek

Account by John Siwek

After the brilliant experience of “The Great River Crossing of ‘94” Andy and I decided to return to the legendry area affectionately known as the “diub”. We met up at Andy’s house and left shortly afterwards when Andy had finally scrounged together all the equipment needed to make the perilous journey. Items brought included a machete and an axe plus the usual knives.

We were dropped of by Andy’s dad or mum (can’t remember) at the usual point of the Greshornish Hotel. Walking the dirt path for about a mile or so was much easier as we had sorted the way of carrying tent for the last time so it was much easier to transport. We reached the bay by early afternoon and crossed the river which was much lower than the last time.


We pitched the tent quickly next to the stone wall. Our next task was to make a fire. The beach was not very fruitful failing to supply us with enough wood to make a decent fire. However the was ample supply of burnable rope but sadly no rubber. So this meant we had to find and cut wood ourselves so it was time to bring out the big guns. Armed with machete and axe and knives we made our way to the woods in the distance. Crossing the river for the first time that far down because the river was to high on the last time. We picked up odd bits of wood and logs. Then we made the discovery of the small batch of deciduous trees. It was a great place to camp (we made note of this for future trips). Cutting some more wood, we eventually had enough. Using a relay system for dropping the large amount of firewood, we took small amounts of it dropped it went back for the rest and so on until we reached the camp. Lighting the fire with tumble dryer fluff was easy then putting on small woods was ok, but then it became a mad rush made up of collecting bracken to fuel to flames. We soon realised that we had run out of small bits of wood. Rope was piled on. It smouldered a bit so more bracken, then some bigger bits of wood. One person would attempt to keep the homestead fire burning while the other had dinner, (rice again.)


After it got dark we realised that it was a lost cause and chunked everything on. Then started jumping over it to see if we could singe our boots. Why you ask? Beats me. Crazy times.


We let the fire go. Sitting on a stone near the sea we ate salted pistachios spitting the shells into the water. We talked and watched the moon rise above the hills. We got to bed fairly early and sleep well, waking to the sound of wading birds and the sea.

We had a breakfast of brunchbars and bread. My hair was in a shocking state.

Andy got hold of the gas stove and proceeded to set some grass alight. But we put it out with my water bottle, which tasted of smoke afterward for a while.

We took down Force10 and I was attaching it to my bag while Andy climbed some rocks. He slipped and cut his leg but was ok.

We left soon after and was picked up by Andy’s parents.

It was a good trip even though not much happened.

Camping enjoyment= 6/10
Walk difficulty= 3/10
Landscape= 5/10
Overall=6/10

The Holy Tree

When - 31st March and 1st April 2005
Where - Lyndale, Isle of Skye, Scotland
Who - Andy Smith, John Siwek and James Smith

Account by John Siwek



It was perhaps around 3am on the 1st of April that it was decided by all, each in our own heads, that this trip was the worst ever. Its status still holds after two years. Its wasn’t that it was cold or that it was windy or that it was wet but because it ground that we were attempting to sleep on was the most lumpy, churned up, uncomfortable piece of land that we have ever pitched a tent.

The three of us, Andy, James S. and John (me) decided to have a nice, relaxing, two-day camping trip to Lyndale which is situated about a mile or two from Andy’s house in Kildonan.

We were quite familiar with the area having gone there a few times before and named the place “The Holy Tree” because of a towering tree that had a huge low branch that was very comfortable to sit on. Why it exactly it was called the “Holy” Tree I can’t quite remember but it was some kind of reference to The Holy Grail, however it was definitely not holy in any way and was not cup of Christ shaped.

We took Andy’s eight-man tent with us. A huge space for three teenagers. Nevertheless we set out across the fields, swapping the tent between us because it was heavy and in a stupidly designed bag clearly made for family camping where you could drive up to the campsite.

It was windy but fairly dry. The Aussie hat that Andy brought often flew off the wearers head. When we reached the site mid-afternoon we made the discovery that in fact the ground looked deceivingly flat from a distance. It was in fact covered in hollows and humps. The field beside it was marginally better but it had twenty or so inquisitive cows who would lean over the fence and moo at us. We put up the tent with the motto, “Och, it will be fine.” It took a good while to set it up as it was acting much like a sail in the wind. A eight-man tent might not have been the best idea. It was dark by the time we had finished.

We made dinner- rice or something like that. We hadn’t asked permission for pitching in the field so we were a little nervous about an car that went past. James made some hot chocolate for us all but it was lukewarm and the chocolate powder clumped to the bottom of the cup. We had finished washing the cups and were running back to the where we would dive in. Andy and I jumped in but James ran into the door way catching his neck on it throwing him off his feet. It was very funny and he was ok. To do it once it unfortunate but to do it twice in a row is just stupid which is what he did. Aah, good times.

We went to bed, all of us in the one compartment. It was then when we realised that it was extremely uncomfortable. We tossed and turned, changed places, lay different ways but nothing was comfortable. Then in the wind part on the tent came loose. Andy and I went out in the dark and rain to sort it out but James (the lazy git that he is) just lay inside. When the tent emergency was over we went inside again to try and sleep.

I had a radio and listened to that for a while (until 3.30am). At one point we all got into a comfortable position all crammed to one end (damn slope!) It was ok curling your body around the bumps until somebody –cough-James-cough- decided he wanted to sleep at the other end so there was a big swap and nobody was comfortable after that.

I assume we did get some sleep at some point but we got up very early, before 7am. We ate some food, packed our stuff and proceed to take down the tent. There was misty rain and a strong wind so packing the tent was very difficult. We crammed it into the bag as best we could, bursting the zip in the process.

Plodding off back to Andy’s house didn’t take very long, we arrived around 9am. Went we were back we got a cooked breakfast that was very welcome.

That trip has gone down it Andy and John’s Great Adventures lore as the worst trip ever. From that trip we learnt a few things that have made us the great adventurers that we are today. Firstly, camp on flat ground or in a hammock, secondly, never bring an eight-man tent if there are only three of you. Simple things like that are vital, changing us from camping tenderfoots to hardened veterans of the camping world.

Camping enjoyment= 0/10
Walk difficulty= 1/10
Landscape= 3/10
Overall=1/10