Finding Peace on Scotland’s Knoydart Peninsula

By Don Mankin

Our small boat bounced across the bay toward the remote and wild Knoydart Peninsula on the west coast of Scotland. There are no roads into Knoydart so it’s either the boat or a 16-mile hike from the nearest road. About halfway across the bay, the drizzle that followed us from Glasgow let up long enough for rays of sun to stream through the gray clouds like sunbeams through the windows of a celestial cathedral. I was traveling with a group of adventure travel professionals on a familiarization trip hosted by Wilderness Scotland, one of the premier adventure travel companies in Scotland.

We landed on Doune, one of three settlements on Knoydart ranging in size from small to smaller to barely there. Doune was the smaller one, little more than a lodge and a restaurant. We headed straight for the restaurant.

In Knoydart you can eat some of the freshest seafood in the world, seafood that is only a few hours from the water. After a starter of whiskey soup – combining two of my favorite words into a dish that was at least as good as it sounds – we dived into a buffet of various salads plus a huge platter of the biggest langoustines I have ever seen, glowing pink with roe.

After dinner we climbed a steep, muddy trail in the dark to a single-track road where two cars picked us up and drove us to the Knoydart Lodge a few miles away, our home for the next two nights. The lodge is less than a mile from Inverie, the largest village in Knoydart.

The next day was wet, again. Not pouring-down rain, but just enough to remind us that we were in Scotland in early autumn. The activity for the day was an eight-mile hike, beginning with another boat ride to the trail near the tip of the peninsula. At first, the trail was flat, following a stream meandering through a glen. There was nobody on the trail except us and the occasional crumbling structure in the damp. We drank straight from the stream, some of the purest, best-tasting water I’ve ever had.

Soon, the rain eased, then stopped, allowing the sun to peek through. After two miles, the trail headed 2.000 feet up into the hills. At the trail’s crest, we stopped for lunch and sat on the soft heather gazing at the sea in the distance. I could just about make out Inverie, nestled in a rocky cove.

Near the end of the hike, almost five miles later, the sun came out for good. I turned around for one last gaze at the scenery and saw a huge rainbow arcing over a ridge from one glen to another.

After a fast shower at the lodge, we walked into the village for dinner at the Old Forge. For the most remote pub in Britain, as it’s described, it sure was lively. It was Saturday night and it looked like everyone on Knoydart was there. Again, we ate fresh seafood and drank round after round of single malt whiskey and laughed at each others’ stories.

Sometime after midnight, we weaved our way back to the lodge in the dark.

The next day started Scottish – wet – then switched to Caribbean – warm and sunny – just in time for a few hours of kayaking in the Sound of Arisaig across the bay. Bright sun and balmy breezes accompanied us as we paddled through turquoise waters and pulled up for rest breaks on white sandy beaches.

As remarkable as the last two days had been, the ride in the van after the kayak trip was especially memorable. While everyone else was lulled to sleep by the drive, Omar, an Egyptian mountain climber, and I talked about our lives, our favorite episodes of Seinfeld, and then switched to a candid discussion of the prospects for peace between Israel and the Palestinians.

Omar is a cosmopolitan, widely traveled Muslim, I am a secular Jew. We went back and forth, expressing our perspectives and analyses, and our hopes and fears. It was one of the most stimulating conversations about the Middle East I’ve ever had. I’m sure that in a day or two, Omar and I could have solved all of the problems in the region.

It was the “power of place,” I’m convinced, that helped set the tone of the conversation and made possibilities seem real. Maybe the sheer beauty, remoteness and intensely physical nature of the place, plus the three days of freedom from the stresses of everyday life, made us more open, relaxed and empathetic.

I can’t help but feel that if Bibi Netanyahu and Abu Mazen Abbas could only come to Knoydart for a few days and look at the scenery, go for a hike, eat some langoustines (well, maybe not Bibi – they’re not kosher) and sip some single malt whiskey (maybe not Abbas – it’s not halal) they could somehow work it all out.

About the author

Don Mankin is a travel writer, business author, psychologist and consultant who will be contributing a regular feature to Vibrant Living. In every issue, Don will write about a remote, exotic or unusual trip for mature travelers looking for something exciting and different. The Wall Street Journal called his latest book, Riding the Hulahula to the Arctic Ocean: A Guide to 50 Extraordinary Adventures for the Seasoned Traveler (from National Geographic Press, 2008), one of the best travel books of the year. For more information on Don check out his website.