Special - Roads Less Travelled: The West Highlands, Part 2 The Adventure Show

Welcome back to my camper van journey

along the roads less travelled

in the West Highlands of Scotland.

It's one where I'm deliberately taking my time.

Why hurry when you're immersed in what I believe are

some of the finest landscapes you'll find anywhere in the world?

This is, unashamedly,

a celebration of our great country.

So here's an offer -

why don't you join me on this journey of discovery?

Oh, I'm in heaven!

This is as good as it gets.

In the first programme, I got off to a great start,

visiting three fantastic islands.

Luing was a revelation.

Just 20 miles south of Oban,

it's steeped in history and industrial heritage,

with stunning views over the Atlantic.

It's absolutely wonderful.

On a day like this, where else would you want to be?

The landscape of Seil was dramatic and rugged,

something I didn't expect from an island

whose highest point is less than 150 metres.

And there's this real sense that it's a very hilly, craggy,

almost mountainous landscape

that sort of calls out, "Explore me!"

And I enjoyed every minute on Lismore.

Here, I felt I was stepping back to a time

when our ancestors first started exploring our landscape.

You know, it's amazing to think this has stood here for 2,000 years.

Phew.

Returning to the mainland,

I've learned about the fascinating geology

behind the Port Appin peninsula,

I made an ascent of one of the lesser-known hills in Glencoe,

and in Moidart, I discovered the finest of coastal walks.

They have this sense of unspoiled, remote wildness.

Finally, I swapped my boots for paddles,

and took to the water for a packrafting trip

around the dozens of skerries that litter the coast at Arisaig.

Oh, there's a seal. Oh, there's a lot of seals around. Yahoo!

And yet I'm only halfway through my journey.

I can't guarantee the weather but I've a sneaking suspicion

that what lies ahead will be every bit as good.

I'm now in Armadale on the Isle of Skye and, from here,

I'm going to head south, deep into the Sleat peninsula.

You'll have noticed I'm not in my camper van.

HE PANTS

One of the great advantages

of a journey like this is that I can go for a hill walk or a climb,

I can take my packraft and enjoy the water,

or I can grab my bike off the back, just whenever I feel like it,

and go off for an overnight, with all my camping gear.

As I get older, these old legs complain more and more

about carrying heavy loads up and down mountains,

so nowadays, I tend to take all my camping gear on the bike

and go off and enjoy a bit of cycle touring

or what, nowadays, they call "bikepacking".

Most people tend to leave Armadale

and head north to enjoy the rugged grandeur of the Cuillin,

or the sculptured landscapes of the lovely Trotternish Ridge,

or maybe even to go and do a bit of shopping in Portree

but, instead, I've turned south.

I want to reach the southern extremity of the Isle of Skye,

the very foot of the Sleat peninsula,

a peninsula that many people refer to as "the garden of Skye".

The Sleat peninsula is bigger than you might think -

roughly 15 miles long by five miles wide,

and I was surprised to learn that almost 1,000 folks stay here

all year round.

Whoo-hoo!

I'm always curious to know how people manage to earn a living

in the rural parts of Scotland,

so I'm pedalling down to the small community of Aird.

I'm looking for the last house at the end of the tarmac road

and someone who could be

an ambassador for this part of the world.

I'm off to meet Heather McDermott.

The single-track road makes people feel like

they're going to the end of the world, but once you're here,

once you live in Sleat, there's so much happening,

there's so many people coming through.

It's a lot more cosmopolitan than people realise, up here.

I'd never have thought it was cosmopolitan,

but there you go. Are you attracted to remote places, wild places?

I think I am, from growing up here

and having my mini adventures over the hills and down to the beach.

It's something about being so close to the coast. I just love it.

I can't remember a time when I ever felt,

"I really want friends to be closer to me," you know?

We'd always arrange things to happen and there was always a friend round,

or we were always, you know,

building a den in the garden or whatever.

Because we boarded at school,

it means that you're with your friends during the week,

so you'd see them more than you would if you were at home,

-which was great.

-So you went to school in Portree?

Yeah. It was all the way up there, so it was great. I loved it.

Not being with the parents all week and, you know,

you could do what you want up there, nobody knew.

You could get up to all sorts of mischief up there.

CAMERON LAUGHS

The Sleat peninsula has been Heather's home for most of her life

but when she left school,

she headed south to study art at Edinburgh University.

Now she's back and is running her own jewellery business.

I'd always be drawn back to here

and the harbours and the colours,

and I think colours always played such a big part of my work.

I always come back to this place.

So, what are the colours of Skye?

Oh, there are so many. Actually, I call one of my necklaces

"a dreich necklace", because it's this stainless-steel,

really grey necklace, and it's all sort of distressed,

and it just looks, you know...

when the rain comes across Eigg

and it's just grey, but you have all these different tones of grey.

And then the fishing nets that all the fishermen use

in all their boats, and the buoys and the floats and, yeah,

you're spoilt for choice up here, you really are.

I'm fascinated with the concept of a "distressed" necklace.

It depends what mood I'm in how distressed it looks.

But I've sort of developed this technique where I colour steel

and then I get the shape back and I... Yeah, just really work into it

and just create these distressed looks.

It's supposed to look like weathered woods that you find on the beach,

and the fishing boats,

and it's all taken from that kind of peeling-paint look,

but in a more wearable way, sort of thing.

I see your workshop here actually looks quite technical.

I mean, you've got files and hammers and goodness knows what.

I mean, how technical is the process?

It depends what you're making.

For a jeweller, I think, your standard kit would be

a blowtorch, a saw,

a file and a hammer, and a couple of pliers.

I mean, you don't really need that much more.

I find it extraordinary that you've got this beautiful stuff here

and it's created by blowtorches and hammers and files.

I love it! A power tool, you know,

figuring out how to use something bigger, I love it.

So, this is me just cutting up my wire

to make some diamond shapes for a necklace.

I will then just bend each piece of wire,

using my thumb and my pliers.

And each piece normally has about 30 links.

Do you have an item that you could show me

and then tell me what the natural inspiration was for that?

Yeah, sure. So, actually, I've got this piece here.

This is all based on fishing nets

and how the floats are all caught.

The chain is steel. It's a very fine steel,

so it really catches the light.

-It's lovely.

-And then you've got the circles.

I use quite uniform shapes throughout my jewellery,

so it's nothing too fancy, but it's just to make that statement.

Tell me, is there somewhere close to your home here

where you go often and get most inspiration?

Yeah, we've got a wee beach that we go down to,

that we've been down to as kids,

and that's where you'll find me and my mum

bent over on the beach, beachcombing.

Not looking at the view, it'll be what we can find on the beach,

and I always come back pockets full of all these pebbles.

It's like, "Where are we going to put them?"

So we've got lots of little corners in the house

of, like, brightly coloured bits.

You never know what you're going to find down there. I love it.

And Heather's right.

This peninsula is full of wonderful, isolated beaches and bays,

and if, like me, you're on a bike, the road doesn't stop at Aird.

Phew.

Oh, wow.

It's steep.

Well, as you can see, I'm now off road,

and this bike is ideal for that, I have to say.

It's got smaller tyres, smaller wheels, a steel frame,

but it's still hard work.

But, anyway, look on the positive side,

because they say on Skye,

if you don't like the weather, wait ten minutes and it'll change.

It's perfect.

Ah, the unmistakable outline of the Cuillin of Rum,

one of my favourite islands.

I've always thought of this as a hidden corner of Skye

and, to complete a perfect day,

what better than a night under canvas?

Ah, this is exactly what I've been looking for.

A lovely view, a beautiful seascape,

a nice, green patch of turf

to put my tent down,

a bit of a breeze to keep the midges away,

and only a few sheep for company.

I think I've arrived in heaven.

Whoo-hoo!

You know, it's just struck me,

even just two or three years ago,

I'd have been coming down with two big rear panniers,

full of camping equipment,

but now I've got everything I need for one or two nights' camping

in one, two, three little bags,

and these bags are also quite streamlined.

So you don't get the wind resistance from big panniers at the back.

I tend to carry a little rucksack with me

when I'm out on the bike like this,

really just in case I feel like going for a wee hill walk,

and it's always quite handy.

But, essentially, everything I need goes into these bags

and it's just a question of hauling it out.

The tent inner.

I don't have to go very far because this looks ideal just here.

Perfect.

You know, it strikes me that you can take the ageing,

long-distance backpacker and put them into a camper van,

but you can never quite take the wild camper out of that camper van.

And even if it's only in small doses,

to come out for a night like this,

it's quite sublime.

Sometimes, I think I could stay on Skye for good.

It's not only the mountains that are impressive

but the coastline is equally dramatic

and on a day like this, the views are stunning.

But this year,

I want to explore parts of Scotland that I've previously passed by,

and as I get older, I realise there's more to this country of ours

than just mountain summits.

My route now takes me through a succession of dramatic landscapes.

There's the sheer grandeur of the Kintail mountains.

Then it's on to the magnificent coastline around Torridon.

There's the beauty and mystery of Loch Maree,

the isolated Melvaig peninsula,

and journey's end is high above Ullapool.

But I'm in no hurry to get there.

The roads-less-travelled doctrine, I think,

prohibits me from crossing back to the mainland over the Skye Bridge,

so I'm going to leave Skye the same way I arrived, by ferry,

this time, the Kylerhea to Glenelg ferry,

on board the nice, old MV Glenachulish.

You may have noticed the name of this ferry.

It was named Glenachulish

because it was originally built

to cross from North to South Ballachulish,

across Loch Leven, and of course there's a bridge there now,

there's been a bridge there since 1975,

so the ferry was made redundant,

and then it was moved north to cover this very narrow crossing

between Kylerhea and Glenelg.

It's an interesting ferry because it's the only manual-turntable ferry

in the entire world.

And here's a tip. Remember this for your pub quiz -

you can spell "Glenelg" forwards or backwards,

and it doesn't make the slightest difference.

I've now negotiated the steep twists and turns

of the Mam Ratagan pass, and I'm arriving in Kintail.

Like so much of the West Highlands,

this landscape is dominated by a succession of imposing mountains.

I'm here to meet an old friend of mine.

Willie Fraser was brought up 50 miles away, in Applecross,

but moved to Kintail 30 years ago.

He's been a shepherd, a gillie,

a member of the mountain rescue team and, for the last two decades,

the custodian of the National Trust for Scotland's Kintail Estate.

If it wasn't for the midges, this area would be perfect,

but I'm not going to let the little blighters spoil my day out

with someone I've always admired.

I came here initially to work in one of the sheep farms,

and I still remember my drive up Loch Duich

and looking up to the Five Sisters and saying to my friend,

"Oh, for goodness' sake, we're not expected to go up there, are we?"

And lo and behold, almost 30 years later,

I'm still going up there.

-So, you worked as a shepherd?

-I did, yeah.

-What was that like?

I loved it, being out there and working a dog on these hills.

I mean, there's nothing like it, you know, up on the tops and that.

It was just that sort of freedom,

seeing the sheep getting gathered off the high tops.

But it was a good life and I think, looking back on it,

I would still love to be doing that but, unfortunately,

it's not an easy way to make a living, or a decent living.

Now, you've been working for the National Trust for Scotland

here in Kintail for over 20 years.

What sort of changes have you seen in the area in that time?

There's a much greater emphasis on conservation.

When I came here, there was very little work done

on woodland regeneration.

There's a greater emphasis on recreation.

We never really considered the damage that was being done

to some of the footpaths.

We tend to work more with communities now,

so it's not just about the mountainous area

that we've got around us.

If we're going to achieve our conservation objectives,

our access objectives, we've got to work more with the communities,

and I think we do that a lot better

than we probably did when I came here first.

You're virtually running an estate. How do you make it pay?

With great difficulty.

Unfortunately, anyone who thinks these estates

actually make a profit, they're misguided.

Our income streams generally come from venison sales,

because we've got to control the deer.

We've got some minimal rentals, through farm rentals,

caravan site etc, and about ten years ago,

we were faced with a situation where

we had to look at other opportunities

and we identified, you know, that we could probably develop

our outdoors activity side of things a bit more.

-This is where it starts to look a bit dramatic.

-Yes.

Now, the other land use that we haven't mentioned at all

is deerstalking.

-Yeah.

-And you're involved in that too. Do you enjoy it?

I've come from that sort of background.

After I was a shepherd here, I got a job as a seasonal gillie.

It's a necessary operation within any estate

because we've got to control the number of deer.

You know, if you take away the sort of

view that people have of deerstalking...

But, for me, it's something,

you're out there, you're in a remote environment,

you know, the stalking,

it gets you into places that, perhaps, you'd never go.

There's such an atmosphere, particularly in October,

when the weather's changing,

the hills are starting to go that golden-brown,

you've got early frosts and, you know, the stags roaring.

To me, it's just the whole atmosphere of stalking,

it's not about pulling the trigger.

Could you imagine yourself living in any other part of Scotland?

I have to say, you know, I've often thought about that,

and I'm often asked, "Have you been anywhere else

"or lived anywhere else?",

and I've said, "Well, I've never had the need to."

I've been brought up here, I've lived here, I've worked here,

and there's nowhere quite like it.

On a good day, as I say to anyone,

you'll never beat the west coast of Scotland.

Yeah, we've got our bad days, we've got the midges,

we've got the rain at times,

and your whole life revolves around this environment and the seasons.

Willie, you were keen to bring me up here

because it's one of your favourite places in Kintail.

Why is it so special to you?

I think it's because you've come through

this really narrow, forbidding glen,

and it's almost like a doorway opening up in front of you,

Loch a Bhealaich there, looking down towards Glen Affric,

and you go from...

It's almost like you've left civilisation behind.

It's my perception, I guess, of wild land, you know?

It's untouched. You know, you look down the glen here

and there's very little human influence visible.

It's a very special place, it's got an atmosphere about it.

WIND WHISTLES

To me, you know, dropping down into a place like this

is as near as I'll get to wilderness in Scotland.

To wander through these glens is, you know... It's home.

You know, about 20 years ago,

after a good day in the hills,

I'd invariably find myself rushing off home

to deal with one of 1,000 wee jobs that I had to do

but, nowadays, I try to live life at a slightly more leisurely pace,

and why not?

I look forward to coming down and having a night

in my five-star luxury of a hotel on wheels.

Over the last few years,

I've seen a big change, as people like me

have moved from tents to camper vans.

Perhaps it's just a sign we're all getting older.

But, for me, there's no finer way to explore Scotland,

and it doesn't matter whether you've got a basic vehicle

with maybe just a rubber mat in the back

or a hugely expensive conversion.

They all give us the chance to get closer to our lochs,

glens and mountains.

But I'll tell you one thing.

The choice of camper van is almost endless,

and I'm still deciding what's best for me.

I think this is about the tenth camper van I've had

over a 40-year period, and each time,

they've got that little bit more luxurious,

that wee bit more comfortable.

So, let me give you a conducted tour

of the latest Cameron camper van.

A two-burner hob, hot and cold running water,

you've got a heater in here as well,

which is actually a necessity in winter,

because, at the end of the day,

this is basically just a tin box and it can get very, very cold.

LED lighting, lots of storage space for cups and saucers

and pans and bits and pieces. This is, OK, my pride and joy.

It's a proper oven and a grill,

and it's just great for making toast in the morning.

This seat that I'm sitting on folds forward

into quite a spacious double bed,

and if that's not enough room for you,

this pulls down from the top

and you've got another bed up there as well. So, all in all,

it's actually quite a comfortable little home from home.

The world's your oyster.

Now my journey takes me ever northwards,

and to another of Scotland's iconic mountain ranges - Torridon.

The mountains here are all distinctively shaped

and rise straight up from the sea,

and the bedrock from which they are formed is the oldest in Europe.

Today, though, I'm heading to the coast

to explore another road less travelled.

I've also come here to meet someone who has a special bond

with this place, although that might come as a surprise to many people.

Chris Smith grew up in Edinburgh,

and spent his working life as a Westminster politician.

He is now a Lord of the Realm,

but his relationship with Torridon goes back over half a century,

and that relationship with wild places

is as important to him as anything else.

He's proud of being the first and only MP to climb all the Munros,

and that passion for remote landscapes started right here.

That's true, not only of the high mountains,

but also this rugged and less visited coastline.

This is a special kind of wilderness, I think.

It doesn't have the high drama that you get with the big peaks

but there is an awful lot of drama in the wind and the heather

and the water, and the breadth of the landscape.

What are the special attributes of Torridon

that brings you back, time after time?

It's the combination of mountain and sea that really does it for me.

And, yes, the mountains are dramatic

and, yes, you can look out over ridge succeeding ridge

and that wonderful vista that you can get,

but it's the way in which the water and the hillside interact

that I think makes Torridon really special.

You lead a busy lifestyle in the capital.

What's it like coming to a place like this?

What are your initial feelings?

Is it one of escapism, or is it one of relief?

Partly, it's coming home.

It's always wonderful, no matter what the weather.

But also, it is such a contrast.

Where I live in London,

there's, I think, two trees I can see from my flat.

Here, the air is cleaner, the vista is wonderful

and, of course, there is no better antidote

to Whitehall and Westminster and London

than being here in the middle of a wild and empty landscape.

What is your home?

Is it your flat in London, or is it your house here in Torridon?

That's a very difficult question.

I think I would have to say both.

That's a cop-out, Chris.

It is a cop-out, but then I've been a politician most of my life.

THEY LAUGH

Chris first visited Torridon at the start of his teenage years.

Later, he spent three summers as warden

at the isolated Craig Youth Hostel on this coast.

Today, it's no longer a hostel but a bothy,

and in the driving rain and strong wind,

that's where we're heading for now.

There's no other dwelling within three miles of here.

When I was the warden here, there was no running water,

there was no electricity,

lighting was by candlelight or Tilley lamps,

and there were one or two occasions

when I was here completely on my own.

And being completely on your own, in the middle of the night,

three miles from anyone else,

no road in sight,

is a very strange experience in this very crowded island of ours.

But it's also very special because the depth of the quiet

and the darkness, and the sounds and smells of the landscape

around you is something you don't normally get.

You and I share this inner background,

that we were both youth-hostel wardens.

I was in Aviemore for eight or nine years,

and I have very distinct memories of a lot of our hostellers

coming for the nightlife of Aviemore.

I guess they didn't come to this youth hostel for that?

The people who came here,

they would have had to have walked at least three miles

over quite boggy ground.

They really, really wanted to make it here.

They weren't just dropping in on the off-chance.

And partly because of that, you got a real sense of community

every night, because people had made a bit of an effort to get here.

You know, we'd sit round,

we'd sing songs.

I'm afraid I broke all the rules about no alcohol

and so, people who arrived with a bottle of whisky

were particularly welcome.

So, why don't we go in and have a look around?

-You can give me a conducted tour. See if it brings back any memories.

-OK.

It's now a bothy, as opposed to a youth hostel.

It is, yes, and some of the best features have gone.

There used to be a wonderful old range

and I remember I used to try and make bread in the oven,

which came out a little bit like a brick,

but it was still just, almost edible.

Come on in.

Ah.

Well, this is what used to be the common room of the youth hostel

and the old range was there,

and we had this wonderful old metal hip bath

that was a sort of quarter-size hip bath,

that was stuffed full with cushions

and it was the most comfortable seat.

-And it was reserved for the warden!

-Ah, good.

And the loo at the back, it was a chemical loo

and, I have to say, the worst job I have ever done in my life,

even worse than being a politician,

was emptying the chemical loo here at Craig.

Now, this was what used to be my warden's room here.

It still has the old panelling, which is rather lovely,

but the best thing about it, of course,

was looking out of the window here.

On a good day, you can see the tops of the Cuillins on Skye

just peeping over the slopes of Applecross.

-That's not a bad thing to wake up to.

-Not bad at all.

My journey is taking me

into some fantastic hidden corners of our country

but it's not over yet.

From Torridon, I'll be travelling along the shores of Loch Maree

and on to the remote Melvaig peninsula, north of Gairloch.

I'll then wind my way up the coast,

past the deserted Gruinard Island,

to journey's end at the village of Ullapool.

Well, this programme may well be about roads less travelled,

but I've always been quite keen to get on to some water less travelled,

and the packraft is absolutely ideal for that.

Wheech it out of the back of the camper van, blow it up and off we go.

I'm actually on Loch Maree,

one of the most beautiful lochs in Scotland.

It's the biggest loch north of the Great Glen

and it boasts five large wooded islands

and a couple of dozen smaller islands,

and I think it's these islands that give Loch Maree its real character.

It's certainly the islands that gave rise to a song

recorded in the early '70s by one Fergie MacDonald.

I think I can remember some of it.

# Show me Airigh an Eilean Below me Loch Maree

# And leave me to my solitude and let me wander free

# To climb the rocky mountains

# And to view the glen below

# For a fine ten-pointer or a royal, oh

# Take me where I faintly see the distant Isle of Lewis

# Show me all the world There is one place I must choose

# That represents the beauty of the golden glen so fair

# The Loch Maree islands from the heights of Ardlair! #

Hooch! Hey-hey!

Fantastic being here.

Well, here we are, Isle Maree,

one of the smaller islands on Loch Maree,

and, you know, this is a place I've been eager to visit

for a long, long time.

I've wanted to visit this island for a number of reasons

but, mainly, because of all the islands of Scotland,

this one is the island with probably more stories and legends

attached to it than any other.

It's an island of romance, it's an island of mystery,

it's an island of legend

and I'm just dying to explore it.

Loch Maree is named after Saint Maelrubha,

who discovered this island round about the time

he built the monastery in Applecross, in 672.

This was probably a Pagan site, because it was quite common

in those days for Christian missionaries

to set up their church, or their hermitage,

on the site of Pagan worship

and, today, you can see that it's largely a graveyard,

and some of the stones are fairly contemporary,

others are actually quite ancient.

But this has always been a place of mystery, a place of legend,

and it's said that Druids sacrificed bulls here

right up into the late 18th century,

much to the consternation of the local church.

In front of me are two cross slabs,

which are apparently the gravestones of a Viking prince and princess.

The Vikings adopted Isle Maree as a ceremonial island,

and this young man and young woman were betrothed to be married here.

But not long before the wedding,

the prince decided he had to go and fight some battles,

but it took much longer than he expected and, as time went on,

the princess became grief-stricken,

because she thought he might have been killed in battle,

but then word had come to her that he was safe.

So she then became angry and she decided to play a trick on him.

She asked her handmaidens to deck out her ceremonial barge in black,

and she would lie in a casket in the middle of the barge

and pretend she had died of a broken heart

because she thought her lover had been killed at war.

The barge was duly launched into Loch Maree

and when the prince saw the barge,

he leapt on board and saw his loved one lying in the casket,

pale and wan and apparently dead,

and in grief, he took his dagger, his dirk,

and plunged it into his heart.

When the princess realised what was happening,

she jumped up and grabbed the dirk,

pulled it out of his heart and plunged it into her own heart.

They both died.

They were brought here and laid here on Isle Maree,

and I reckon that, ever since,

this young prince and princess have been guarded over,

they've been protected by hordes and hordes of midges.

Ohh.

Of all the islands on Loch Maree,

this Isle Maree is unusual

because it's the only island where holly and oak trees grow.

And I reckon these two trees were planted by the early Pagan people

because oak, in particular, had quite a significance for the Druids.

It symbolised strength and wisdom.

And right up into the 18th century,

people with mental-health issues were regularly brought to this island

and towed around the island, behind a boat, at the end of a rope,

to try and restore their mental health.

Sounds a pretty drastic action to me.

Leaving the atmospheric Loch Maree behind,

I've travelled west to the sea.

I've come to the Melvaig peninsula,

an almost forgotten headland, out on a limb, north of Gairloch.

I'm exploring this coastline with Nevis Hulme.

He's a geography teacher and deputy head of the local high school.

Nevis has lived here for most of his working life

and has taught himself Gaelic

as a way of recording the place names of the area,

names that he believes might otherwise be lost to us,

especially as they don't appear on today's maps.

The grid square that I live in, in Aultgrishan,

part of the Melvaig settlement,

on the Ordnance Survey map,

there are actually two place names given.

There are two water courses that are named

just off that square,

so let's say there are four place names.

I have 30 for that one grid square.

I suppose the great danger now is that not so many people

live in areas like this as there were in the past,

so they're not using these place names on a daily basis.

Is that how we lose them?

That's how we lose them.

I started my work about 20 years ago

and I had six informants

who had been brought up in the area.

Unfortunately, the last two of those died last year

and had I not recorded these,

I think many of them would have been lost.

And it strikes me that, in English, we tend only to have one

or maybe two words for "mountain" -

"mountain" or "peak" perhaps.

In Gaelic, there's a whole lot of names that are descriptive

in "sgurrs" and "carns", and they all mean something slightly different.

Yes, we are on what, if it weren't called "bruthach",

we'd probably call "ploc".

-What does that mean?

-A lump.

As opposed to a sharp pinnacle hill,

or a more general, rounded hill.

As you say, there are many, many different words

and they all describe slightly different sorts of hills.

How many of these names have their origins in the geology

-of our landscape?

-Many do,

because many of them reflect the colour of the landscape.

We have the ruadhs, the deargs, the gorms,

so, in this area, we're on the Torridonian sandstone,

and so we have lots of "dearg" and "ruadh" names.

Just across from us is "An Geodha Ruadh",

"the reddish-brown inlet",

just one example of colour coming into the landscape

through the geology.

Are there particular place names in a short area like this?

The whole shoreline here is called "Cladach Allt an Fheidh"

after the burn that comes down in the middle distance there.

So that's all... That's the stream of...

The "burn of the deer".

And all along there, we have burns coming down with names,

for example, Allt Creig an Fhucadair,

which means the "burn of the crag of the fuller",

and that raises the question,

why is it named after an occupation involved in cleansing wool?

And this led me to look around the area

and I found evidence of quarrying.

I am not certain whether it's fuller's earth

that was being quarried,

but it requires further investigation,

but this is just one of the things that comes from the place name.

It would just have been a minor burn running across the moorland

that you wouldn't have paid any attention to

had it not been for the place name.

So, learning and understanding the place names

gives you a deeper sense of the history of an area

and, perhaps, what went on before here?

Very much so, because there are shielings all on this peninsula.

Many of these have names, and that draws you to a particular place

and then you find there's evidence of agricultural activity

or other place names associated with that.

Are there names that you can't actually work out

-what the original story was?

-Yes.

In a way, unfortunate,

but, to me,

part of the joy of a puzzle is not knowing the answer.

You've brought me right here to the very end of the peninsula,

close to the lighthouse.

Are there quite a lot of place names round this furthest edge

-of the peninsula?

-Yeah, just in this grid square,

where most of the square

is taken up by the sea, there are 15 place names.

What about the history of this particular peninsula?

You've mentioned to me a couple of place names

that seem to be associated, a little bit,

with...almost with clan warfare.

Just over by the lighthouse is "Uamhag Fhionnla Dhuibh",

which is "the little cave of Black Finlay",

and this was Black Finlay of the Arrows,

and he is supposed to, in the 16th century,

to have fired on the MacLeods,

who were in a boat coming to the area,

seeking the hand of Mackenzie's daughter.

Black Finlay was seeking his revenge

for various other conflicts that had gone on prior to that.

So there are place names that reflect some of that history.

How important do you think it is

that we can keep this language of ours going?

I think all languages are important

and it's a great shame that, around the world,

languages are being lost,

because it is the door into an understanding of a culture,

an understanding of human nature.

Different cultures have different languages and different words

and different understandings of the way the world works,

the land, all aspects of where they live.

I think to lose any of these is a loss to humanity.

I'm entering the final stretches of my journey

through the West Highlands,

and I'm delighted that my philosophy of taking the roads less travelled

has introduced me to a variety of new people and places.

And I know it's only a tin box on wheels,

but my camper van is fantastic.

It's been an ideal companion every mile of the way.

You know, I just love this coastal road between Gairloch and Dundonnell.

You get big mountains on one side

and lovely bays and islands on the other side.

And one of those islands has quite an interesting story behind it.

Biological warfare.

You know, it's a term that makes us shudder today,

and quite rightly so,

but in 1941,

the British Government decided they wanted to test anthrax-filled bombs.

Military scientists at Porton Down

decided they needed a remote area,

because the contamination would be widespread

and it would last for a long, long time,

so they decided on this area,

this quiet stretch of coastline between Poolewe and Ullapool,

and on this island, Gruinard Island.

The scientists eventually tested their bombs

and within three days, all the sheep on the island had died.

By 1981, the island was still seriously contaminated,

so much so that a couple of scientists, along with local people,

rode out and collected 300 pounds of contaminated soil.

This, they said, would be deposited at strategic places in England.

They dropped some at Porton Down

and they left some more at a hotel in Blackpool,

when the Tories were having their annual conference.

As you can imagine, this focused political minds somewhat

and, by 1986, a process started to decontaminate the island.

By 1990, it was declared clean.

But it's quite remarkable that it took 48 years of quarantine

to get this island back to what it was before.

I find that a really disturbing story -

that something that was rushed into in wartime

was then largely ignored for 48 years.

This is a bittersweet moment for me.

There's just one more stop on the way before journey's end.

The Corrieshalloch Gorge is 12 miles south of Ullapool

and is a well-known tourist site.

But what the day-trippers don't see is another gorge alongside it.

That's the one I want to explore,

for it's here that a local 25-year-old learned the skills

that developed him into a new breed of traveller.

Will Copestake grew up in Ullapool.

He's a keen cyclist, walker and kayaker, and two years ago,

he completed an ambitious journey on foot and on water around Scotland.

It took him 12 months and he survived on £3,000.

That journey, Machair To Munro, resulted in him being named

Adventurer of the Year.

So what exactly did he do to earn the title?

I kayaked all the way round the coast of Scotland,

which was for four months,

and then got on a bicycle

and using the bike to get to the Munro mountains,

climbed the Munros over eight months through the winter,

in an effort to see my back garden.

Was that your first big expedition?

It was my first long, long expedition.

I've done expeditions in the past, before that.

I started when I was just turning 18.

I went out to New Zealand and came home ready for adventure.

I also, at university, walked across Iceland with a friend,

where we stayed in a tent for three months,

-eating Smash potato and pasta.

-How do you finance these expeditions?

Because you're away for quite a long period of time.

For me, I basically get a day job.

At the moment, I'm working in the outdoors, but in the past,

it would be anything from fish farms to bar work,

and with that, I'll save up just enough money to keep me going,

and then live very cheaply.

So you stay in a tent, you hitchhike

when you don't walk or kayak or bike.

And then you just eat cheaply.

You have the means to an end in terms of pasta, couscous,

Smash potato, and just pile a load of butter in there,

with some form of protein.

You can go a long way for a very, very small amount on that.

Will, when you think up an expedition,

do you have any thoughts of a payback,

what you might get out of it,

or is it just purely a case of going and enjoying it for its own sake?

For me, it's about doing it.

It's not about financial or sponsorship or fame,

it's about going out and exploring these places,

to see with your own eyes.

We're in an age now where a lot of people are doing trips

to break records, film, make media,

whereas a lot of adventurers,

and those that I really respect,

are those that silently go on

and maybe will get heard about afterwards.

But to do an adventure

should be for the love of the adventure itself,

and not about any ulterior motive.

Will, what exactly is this walk we're on?

Lady Fowler's Walk,

which is a Victorian walk from the wife of Sir John Fowler,

who used to live just down the valley here.

John Fowler made the Forth Rail Bridge,

was one of the chief engineers on it.

We came up here as kids and we'd go and explore the canyon

that is a little further up, jump off the waterfalls

and just go and enjoy the environment around here.

For a young adventurer in the making,

I can't think of anywhere else in Scotland

as fine as the area around Ullapool.

I think it's the perfect playground.

The front of my garden's got the sea, the back mountains,

there's canyons, there's forest, there's open spaces,

there's just everything you want in a landscape.

Wey-hey! There you go.

OK, fine.

-So, you're telling me you actually kayaked down this?

-Yeah.

So you come in from the right here, then you come down the side,

and in the middle of the waterfall,

they say you put your paddle over the edge of the waterfall,

and you lift up the front of your boat with the paddle,

then put your paddle at the side and just fall off the edge.

It all happens in an instant, it's very quick.

You make it sound very simple.

Actually, because it's so shallow here normally,

it's almost impossible to capsize.

I don't suppose there's much else you can do than go with the flow?

You just kind of go that way, yeah. This side's a bit harder,

in that you have to come in and you stroke a big stroke in

and pull yourself that way, and you kind of bounce and go off.

Tell me what you get out of that.

Ah, it's just a good buzz, it's fun.

But the thought of coming down, approaching,

in a little plastic boat,

knowing that that's coming, would really make me tremble.

The great thing is, if you crouch down, you can't see the waterfall,

so you get this very... You don't see it until you're on it,

-and you go, "Oh, yeah, OK."

-Could you do it in a packraft?

They've just brought out

a whitewater packraft, funnily enough, yeah.

Yeah, you could do. You'd fall out of it, probably.

Very impressive, and a lovely pool for swimming.

Oh, it's great. Yeah, you can just come in here in the summer.

Often, because the river's quite dark, as you can see,

it's sort of peaty water, it can heat up really well,

because it's quite shallow, so it can often be quite warm in here.

-OK, let's see if we can get back across here.

-No worries. I'll...

-Oh, careful.

-..skid across. Good. Are you all right?

Yeah. I want to get on... I'm fine.

Yeah, yeah, OK.

'So, yes, I'll admit it, I don't need to be reminded,

'I'm officially an OAP.'

-Yay!

-Hey, happy days.

Wonderful.

We touched briefly on the mountains, the machair trip

earlier on. How did that actually come around?

I didn't really feel I knew what my own back yard was like

and especially when people ask you, you really don't know,

apart from a couple of patches.

And so, I figured, by going the old highway of Scotland,

along the coast, and then going inland

to the top of all the mountains,

I could cover as much as I possibly could

in a relatively short amount of time.

Most people, if they wanted to know what Scotland was like,

they'd get a car and drive round it. Why a kayak and then on foot?

The thing I like about a kayak is that,

unlike a conventional boat or a yacht,

you can get very close to the shore

and you're not really ON the water, you're IN it.

So you live with the tides, you go with the weather,

and so you're very natural-feeling

and you feel like you're part of the environment you're in.

And the same with the biking and the mountaineering is

I wanted to live through the seasons

and feel what it felt like to be outside in Scotland

for that amount of time.

What were the highlights of the canoe journey?

I think, for me, the highlights are very conflicting.

One side, it's the beautiful sunsets,

the tranquil evenings,

where you sit out and you're completely on your own

and you can enjoy the environment around you

but also, on the other half of that,

is the gnarly days, where the weather was bad, the seas were big,

I was scared and, sometimes, not really having a good time,

but, in hindsight, those are some of the most important memories for me.

How wild, how raw did it become?

I set a limit for myself and, without having a time constraint,

I could make that limit quite safe.

In the kayaking, I had a force 6 wind maximum.

I often would get caught out in that.

And equally, in the Munros, I said I wouldn't go into the mountains

if the wind was greater than 60mph.

Now, the winter of 2013 was a particularly windy one

and so I pushed that up to about 90mph

and regularly was above 60mph in the mountains.

And that just became the norm.

I found anything higher than 90,

I would struggle to stand and do anything, really,

so the environment set the limit,

rather than my own personal boundaries.

Right, you're not going to tell me you kayaked down that, are you?

Absolutely not, no. That one's an abseil to get in.

I've kayaked from below this, down,

but definitely not off that waterfall.

My dad jokes that the biggest adventure

I could ever go on is to become an accountant

because it's just so out there, as a thing that I could do.

Hmm, good.

I've driven along the road a few miles

to my journey's end, here in the West Highland town of Ullapool.

Now, Ullapool, at one time,

was known as the herring capital of Scotland

and I thought it would be a bit churlish

if I came to the town and didn't try the local produce.

And I know this isn't herring, it's haddock,

and very nice haddock it is too,

but I don't really want to stop here.

What I'd like to do is take a wee walk up Ullapool's own hill

and look down on the village in what I think is

quite a spectacular West Highland setting.

Hmm, it's lovely.

You don't have to go very far out of Ullapool

to get some great views.

This walk starts on the edge of the village and climbs a wee hill

known quite simply as Ullapool's Hill.

It was actually the Norsemen, the Vikings,

who first discovered Ullapool.

They found this late-Ice-Age raised beach

about 50 feet above the waters of Loch Broom,

and they called it Ulla's Steading,

and they very quickly discovered

that this was a brilliant trading position.

And, not only that, but in the waters of lower Loch Broom

and round the Summer Isles, there was a continuous harvest of fish.

In 1788, the British Fisheries Society founded

what we know as the present town of Ullapool.

Its birth and its later prosperity

were founded solely on the shoals of herring.

It's hard to imagine the hustle and the bustle

and the industry of those times,

because Ullapool was the principal herring port

on the west coast of Scotland.

But a statistical account of the 18th century sums it up rather nicely.

Let me read this to you.

"People are instantly afloat with every species of seaworthy craft.

"They all press forward

"with the utmost eagerness to the field of slaughter.

"Sloops, schooners, wherries, boats of all sizes

"are seen constantly flying on the wings of the winds,

"from creek to creek and from loch to loch,

"according to the various reports of men,

"or the noisy flights of birds,

"or tumbling and spouting of whales and porpoises,

"attracting them."

I think that's rather splendid.

It gives you a very good impression of what it was like here.

But, you know, that overfishing had an effect.

100 years later, the shoals of herring had gone,

and Ullapool had to rely on a different kind of industry.

After the herring came the tourists and, today,

like many other Highland towns,

Ullapool very much relies on the tourist industry.

It's the main ferry port to the Western Isles,

and it's also the gateway to the wonderful, the fantastic

Northwest Highlands of Scotland.

It's also something of a cultural centre.

It has its own annual music festival.

It has lots of literary and artistic events.

I just love the place.

I love wandering through the streets

and smelling that mixture of diesel oil and fish

that you associate with West Highland ports like this.

And, for me, it's been the beginning of so many forays

into the glorious mountains of the Northwest Highlands.

Ullapool is the end of this particular journey,

and it's been a very different kind of journey.

Using the camper van has allowed me

to explore the quieter roads of the West Highlands,

and it's carried everything I need

to embark on a variety of adventurous activities.

Whoo-hoo-hoo!

Cycling on Lismore was wonderful,

or bikepacking in the Sound of Sleat on the Isle of Skye,

and using the packraft to paddle around the Arisaig skerries

was absolutely terrific.

Or to visit that strange and mysterious island in Loch Maree.

But, as always,

it's the Scottish landscape that stays longest in the memory.

Like the panoramic views from the islands of Luing and Seil,

or seeing the Buachaille Etive Mor

through the eyes of climber-turned-mountain-photographer

Dave Cuthbertson,

or hearing about life in Kintail

from someone who lives and works there - Willie Fraser.

But perhaps most memorable for me

was having the opportunity to make a wee bit of music

with the legendary, the one and only, Fergie MacDonald.

Thank you very much. We'll need to form a band, eh?

Go on the road full time!

That was great, but what of the future?

Well, already, my mind's racing forward

and I'm envisaging that north coast of Scotland,

round from the Pentland Firth,

down through Caithness and the Flow Country,

down towards Golspie and Dornoch,

and I'm sure there's lots of rich treasures to explore in that region.

But for the moment, get out there yourself.

Enjoy your Scotland.

I'll see you next time. Bye-bye.