Gone Wild

It had been some time since I’d visited this beautiful area on the west coast of Scotland. I was so happy to be back here. This time, I mapped out a slightly different location to wild camp, further along the coast. I could only see what Google Maps would show — this was a small, mostly isolated area.

I love wild, secluded places where there are as few signs of human activity as possible. I like to merge into the landscape and become one with it — listening to every sound, watching every movement, and taking in every view.

We arrived at a little cove where we would set off from. The excitement had been building throughout the whole trip, and I could sense Levi was feeling it too. He knows what’s to come: freedom, exploration, and fresh air!

I unpacked the car hastily, loading all my provisions for the coming days into the canoe.
Food — check.
Camera — check.
Sail — check.
Fishing rod — check.
Levi — check!

With the canoe loaded to the brim, I peered out over the water. We had a couple of miles to paddle, heavily laden. After the excitement of loading up, I took a moment to watch and observe the conditions — the water’s movement, the tide, the swell, and the wind. I knew there was a body of water I’d have to cross that could push us out into the bay, so timing the tide was important. The wind was up, but the chop wasn’t too fierce. My gut agreed with my mind — we’d make it. Heck - It could turn out to be an unexpected trip! To Ireland!

The water temperature this time of year is very low after a long, hard winter. Serious business if we were to capsize.

A local spotted me from her cottage nestled on the edge of the little beach cove. We had a chat, sharing information about where I was heading and when I planned to return. I thought it was very kind — always good to know that if you don’t turn up when you should, someone might alert rescue services on your behalf.

The lady told me a canoe had capsized on one of the beaches I was heading to just a couple of days earlier, and that I should take care — waves can build quickly in a storm. I had done my research, and judging by the angle of the headland, the area I was heading for should have enough shelter. I also had a plan B escape route by foot if needed. Each decision is calculated. The only real danger would be a capsize, or either of us getting hurt. Sure, it could get wild, but that’s exactly why I’m here. I want wild. I want the challenge. I want to feel alive!

I bid farewell to the lady and her husband. All was in order. Time to go.

We passed out of the sheltered cove into the wider bay. The wind was blustery, but the chop manageable. Levi and I were on our way. We began to cross the estuary mouth I was concerned could wash us out but the tide was in our favour, and all was fine. We got across quickly and safely.

We passed a familiar beach from a previous trip — I knew this area well.

We paddled on — now in new territory. The light would soon be fading, and it was time to find a campsite. From the water, the shoreline can be hard to read; it took a couple of landings to find a decent spot. Running out of light, I found a site that wasn’t too ideal but I decided to pitch the tent and explore more in the morning.

It was a tiny little spot between two rocks and a patch of sand with rough, lumpy tufts of grass. I couldn’t decide whether to camp on the beach or up on the patch. The tide line looked a bit too close to be on the beach — about three feet from where I’d be — so I went for the grassy patch. It was a bit of a last-ditch effort. I cooked over a small fire on the beach before hunkering down in the tent, excited to see where I’d landed come morning.

Morning Light

Dawn arrived and I climbed out of the tent, Levi in tow. Wow — what a spot! Absolutely stunning surroundings. The sound of seabirds and the gentle lapping of waves sliding up the shoreline.

The tide was going out, the beach widening. I could now walk into the next little bay, so I set off with Levi to explore.

Walking along the beach, I spotted a subtle pathway leading up a steep bank. I wasn’t sure whether to climb it — curiosity won. Reaching the top, I couldn’t believe my luck. I instantly knew this would be my base camp. A perfect setting with a dreamlike view. My God, It was heaven.

Now the work began.

The tide was well out by now. Rather than repack the canoe and paddle around — gaining little distance — I decided to walk everything over. Walking laden with heavy gear, water, and food was quite the workout. Have you ever walked across a 100-metre beach carrying weight? Those leg muscles burn, baby, they burn!

Camp set up, all was settled. Levi had already found his snoozing spot. I made a coffee and simply sat, taking it all in — a moving, transforming painting right before my eyes. I could feel the soft air on my skin, smell the sea, and hear the sounds of wild beauty all around me. Heaven.

Exploration and Return

Back in the canoe, I decided to make the journey back to the car. I’d left the remainder of my water there, as the canoe had been fully laden before. Best to retrieve it now so I could stay out here longer without interruption.

I beached, collected my water, and we were off again. Sail up, the breeze full, and we made excellent headway.

Returning to camp, I headed into the woodland behind and gathered some birch branches which would act as poles to set up a tarp in case rain returned. The day had run away and already by late afternoon, the sky began to turn gold with the setting sun.

That night, I lit a fire. We cooked a steak and, with full bellies and the sound of waves swooshing onto the shore, tucked away in our little tent we drifted into blissful sleep.

In the early hours, blustery winds and torrential rain woke me. The weather had turned as it can very quickly out here, but it was fine — Levi and I were warm, tucked in, and well-prepared.

When dawn broke, the sweet sound of birdsong filled my ears. Levi snored softly beside me. Time to get up.

Standing on the edge of the bank overlooking our temporary domain, we were greeted by life and nature in its raw beauty. Terns, oyster catchers, and black-throated divers shared the waters with seals and cormorants. The place was alive and air filled with the promise of spring..

We headed down to the beach, camera in hand. I took photos and video clips from down low. It was overcast, but a glimmer of light teased through the veil — glimpses of blue sky hiding beyond.

Breakfast was served — though Levi got the lion’s share after I dropped the sausages in the sand. He didn’t mind. I wasn’t that hungry anyway. I often find I eat less on these trips — maybe an opportunity to lose a bit of weight!

Back in the canoe, it was time to explore the rest of the bay. I could see a headland far in the distance from camp, and naturally, I wanted to reach it.

We made our way along the coastline, teeming with life — plankton, fish, seals. The kelp forests lined the shore, dancing in the swell. The weather was uncertain, but I was too tempted not to go.

The view from the headland was breathtaking — mountains, clouds, and sea merging into a silvery grey horizon. Seals followed us, getting Levi’s attention as he leaned over the gunwale trying to get a better sniff. They’re such curious creatures — like black sea Labradors.

A sea eagle appeared, gliding along the rugged coastline before perching far off on a rocky outcrop. I managed a few shots, though balancing in a moving canoe made it quite the challenge.

After a quick snack, it was time to head back. The tide was coming in, perfect for an easy return to camp.

Sailing back down the coast, the pace was slow, calm, mindful.

The Find

We reached the beach just as the sun broke through, scattering light across the bay. Levi and I lay on the sand, warmed by the gentle rays, drifting into a peaceful half-sleep.

Back at camp, I started the fire. There’s something about a fire — without it, things feel bleak. Fire gives comfort. It warms your body, cooks your food, and dries your boots. Levi lay beside the flames, and we drifted into night.

Morning song filled the air. The tent was bright — the sun was out. I unzipped the flap to the sight of a perfect morning: calm sea, birds calling, seals bobbing in the distance.

Levi and I wandered down the beach. At the far end, he stopped and sniffed at something buried in the sand. His body language shifted — almost apologetic. I followed his gaze. A fin protruded from the sand.

What was it?

If it was a fish, it was far too large. I wasn’t convinced. Best to head back, make breakfast, and come back later to take a closer look.

Reflections

It was our last day, and we had much to explore. We wandered through the surrounding coves, discovering tidal pools and soft, mossy ground that felt almost unnatural — a green carpet that disappeared under shallow water as the tide rose.

Later that day, I returned to the spot where Levi had been digging. Slowly, I uncovered the mystery. It was a small porpoise — a sad, silent find. No visible signs of trauma, just a few scrapes. I stood there for a while, reflecting quietly on the fragility of life in this wild and indifferent place.

That evening, the sky glowed gold and crimson. The islands offshore shimmered in the low light, the sea calm as glass.

I boiled the pot one last time. Dinner was instant noodles — not glamorous, but warm and comforting. I brewed a flask of coffee for the morning and sat with Levi by the fire, thinking about how lucky I was to have shared this time here.

What I didn’t know then was that above the clouds, the aurora borealis was dancing across the night sky — one of the brightest displays seen across the UK in decades. Perhaps that’s what I felt that night — a strange energy, a quiet magic in the air.

Morning came too soon. It was time to pack down. The drive ahead was long — all the way back to Oxfordshire in one go.

As I loaded the canoe, now lighter and well-worn, I took one last look around. The water shimmered in the morning light. The wind was soft.

I pushed off and drifted slowly, taking in every detail, every breath of wild air.

I thought about home — about my family — but part of me wished I could stay here forever.

Watching and feeling the swell move gently beneath the canoe, I wondered:

When did man separate himself from the natural world?
When did the “outdoors” become something we visit instead of belong to?
How did we forget that we are part of this — not apart from it?

We live because of this planet — not from it, but with it.

It’s not a resource.
It’s our home.
It’s everything.