Our plan to walk the Balnakailly Circuit on the Isle of Bute is almost scuppered before it begins. We thought our biggest problem was a wildfire burning out of control. It isn’t. While we can see smoke in the sky, there is no evidence of a fire raging close to the route. Our main obstacle is a sign where the circuit starts beside the Rhubodach/Colintraive ferry warning walkers with dogs not to enter as there are cows with calves in the field.
Despite the questionable legality of the notice (farmers can advise walkers of potential dangers but can’t prohibit them from using a right of way), there’s a common-sense approach. Taking a dog through a field with calves is inviting problems. We decide to abort, then my sister’s partner suggests walking the route in the opposite direction, retracing our steps after we visit the highlight, a rope swing with views across the Kyles of Bute.
Into the forest
Following the Balnakailly Circuit in a clockwise direction involves walking along the single-track coast road for a short distance. On one side are views to the mainland, at this point little more than a stone’s throw away. It is an idyllic morning, the sea like a mirror, pierced only by a brace of swans and the small ferry which glides across the slender strip of water separating Bute from the Highlands. On the island side is a handsome white farmhouse, once home to Lord Richard Attenborough. Shortly after passing it, we veer inland, heading up into a wood of Scots pines. Initially, part of the hillside is scarred. Immense, upturned trees document the devastating consequences of Storm Darragh.
As we twist and weave our way south and then north west, a 4X4 pulls up. A forest ranger, his face grimy, his expression weary, asks us where we’re going, surprised the route remains open given the proximity of the wildfire. Andy and I are experienced walking in areas where forest fires are common. We know the signs to look out for and dangers to be aware off. This route is safe, for now. The ranger agrees, especially once he hears where we’re heading. He tells us he knows who the culprit is, a local farmer, and that there will be consequences.
We continue onward, dipping and climbing, ignoring a junction where the path splits to join the West Island Way. Mostly, there are clear signposts, making it an easy route to follow. When we reach another junction – my map shows this is where we detour to the swing – the signs have been removed.
The Swing and Decoy Village
My sister saw a video of ‘the swing’ on Facebook, which is why we’ve chosen this circuit. I grew up on Bute and she still lives there, yet neither of us have walked it before. Even for islanders, the pay-off comes as a WOW. On a beautifully sunny day, with nobody else to share the scenery with, we stand on the hillside looking over the most glorious of views – worthy of a shortbread tin lid. Below us are the Burnt Islands and Eilean Dubh, inky blue waters swirl around them before the Kyles curve around the northern tip of Bute to flow south. Ahead, a spindly body of water, Loch Ruel, ventures deeper into the Highlands. Then there’s the swing, suspended between two pines, which allows even more impressive views as it arcs out above Buttock Hill.
The idea was to retrace our steps, but we’ve walked three quarters of the route. My sister suggests we continue onward, the plan to stick to the shoreline after we arrive back at the coast instead of traipsing through the field with the calves. As we leave, we meet a couple who have arrived via an alternative path which, they tell us, drops through the forest below a decoy village built in WWII to fool German bombers. The path from the swing to the fake village’s bunker is steep and uneven. It’s especially dodgy with a small dog eagerly pulling at his lead, as my sister’s is doing. From the bunker, we can’t spot any other path heading down into the forest. Plus, the gradient remains steep. This can be one of the problems taking other people’s advice. Just because they scrambled their way through the forest doesn’t mean it’s a suitable route. We decide to stick to the official circuit.
Abandoned hamlets and an art installation
The path drops into an old Atlantic Rain Forest of ancient oaks. When we reach the ruins of a settlement, abandoned sometime in the 1800s, our progress is blocked by an immense wall of upturned oaks, their root systems twice our height. There’s no way through. We skirt them, scouting for another way around the natural blockade. Eventually we spot a faint track and curl east to pick up the original path just before it leads us to a curiosity, a silver booth of mirrors in the middle of the forest – a surreal art installation.
From here, it’s a straightforward route back to the coast. As (bad) luck would have it, cows and calves choose this precise moment to drink at a stream right where a gate leads us into the field we must cross to reach the shore. We wait patiently while they take forever to lap at the crystalline water, before eventually sauntering away. My sister picks up her dog, who instinctively senses danger and keeps as quiet as the proverbial church mouse. We creep across the field before crunching along the rocky shore below the spot where the herd congregates, as if trying to evade a dangerous enemy. Even though a bovine sentry spots us, we safely arrive, with some relief, back where we parked the car beside the ferry port.
At just over 6km, the Balnakailly Circuit is a short route, but it’s packed with interest and has the most stunning pay-off.
