St Kilda


So here it is, St Kilda, my last island, reached despite the weather’s best attempts to foil me. We were the first group to land on Hirta for 10 days. I will obviously elaborate in far greater depth in the book, but St Kilda was everything I had expected: a beautiful, eerie, awe-inspiring archipelago pitched 40 miles out into the Atlantic.

 

By the time I reached Skye, Scotland’s weather gave me one last hammering. I arrived at Sligachan at midnight, putting up my tent in the dark and as a light rain fell. The rain became heavier and heavier, becoming a downfall of biblical proportions. At 3am I woke with the sensation of dampness around my feet. My sleeping bag was drenched, the lower end of my tent harbouring an inch-deep flood of water. I evacuated, spending the rest of the night in the campsite’s laundry room. This was the delightful scene in the morning.

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