How to Earn a Scottish Breakfast

But the best part of day three proves to be the many animal sightings. We spy playful seals, graceful waterbirds, and even a lone otter nibbling on a lunch of fresh fish. The water is a Tahitian blue (though it's probably not Tahitian in temperature), and in the distance we can see the isle of Gigha. It's the kind of breathtaking seascape that casts a rosy glow over all--from the miles of slippery beach stones to the somewhat rustic lodgings we later encounter at The MacDonald Arms Hotel in Tayinloan.

The hotel, between the forest and the sea, is an old coach inn dating back to the 1700s, and it feels due for a little renovation. Still, what it lacks in gloss, owners Alastair Smyth and his son, Greig, make up for in hospitality. Cari and I are given free access to the laundry room, the steaks we have for dinner are huge, and, when we discover that we are short of cash, Alastair writes us out an IOU as we leave the next morning, content with our promise to pay in four days' time when we pass by on the bus back to Tarbert.

(Emily Mott) [enlarge photo] (map by Newhouse Design) [enlarge photo] RELATED ARTICLE • Scotland's Kintyre Peninsula: The Essentials

"PEOPLE TEND TO FORGET about Kintyre because it's not really en route to anywhere," says Marcus Adams, co-owner of Carradale's graceful Carradale Hotel. We're chatting by the fire in the drawing room--showered, changed, and awaiting dinner--after day four's 15-mile trek. "By setting up the Kintyre Way, we're giving people a reason to come and explore the whole peninsula, to enjoy the scenery, the food, and the people."

This certainly describes how we spent the past eight hours. After departing Tayinloan, we climbed nearly 1,500 feet and undertook a complete traverse of the peninsula from west to east, trekking among pheasants and grouse, passing beneath giant windmills at the Deucheran Hill wind farm, and descending through old-growth forests of moss-covered trees--where the leaves were blazing scarlet--to enjoy some of the trip's most startlingly beautiful terrain.

It was all in stark contrast to where we find ourselves now, sipping tea by candlelight and anticipating an elegant dinner in the Carradale's slightly too formal dining room. (If we were to return, we'd eat in the bar.) Over tender steaks and a deluxe cheese plate, Cari and I joke about spending our last three days cozied up here. But the walking bug has bitten, and, tired feet aside, we're ready to keep moving. Our faces are bronzed, the rain showers have missed us, and--with more than half the hike completed--we've become addicted to the open air.

I've learned over the years that if I want to enjoy these long-distance walks, I need to expect some physical discomfort. But even for a walking enthusiast like me, day five's 20-mile path from Carradale to Campbeltown presents a long stretch of daunting and, at times, downright difficult terrain. We predict eight hours of walking, and that's not far off the mark. The views and scenery are jaw-dropping, particularly tranquil Torrisdale Bay and the ruins of the 12th-century abbey at Saddell. Unfortunately, the peacefulness instilled by such sights isn't enough to offset the painful realization of how far we have yet to trek. It's a relief when we eventually spot Campbeltown in the distance.

Following a dinner of lamb shank, a long sleep, and our now-routine breakfast ("Eggs, mushrooms, sausage, and extra bacon, please"), we pump Richard Bamford, our host at the Ardshiel Hotel, for advice as his black Lab lolls at our feet. With only a six-mile walk to the hamlet of Machrihanish scheduled for the day--the Way's shortest section--we're in no rush. And Campbeltown is a bustling metropolis, compared to the villages so far. It's the biggest town on the peninsula, home to 6,000 people; in the Victorian era, it was the whisky capital of the world.

Richard suggests a walk out to Davaar Island, a finger of land connected to Campbeltown by a stone causeway accessible only at low tide. Though the idea of viewing Archibald MacKinnon's 1887 cave painting of the Crucifixion is appealing, the idea of walking in the drizzle is not. Richard directs us to the Springbank Distillery, calling ahead to book us a place on a tour. The guide, Jim, proves an entertaining host, and our group of German, French, Canadian, and Australian whisky-lovers tops the tour with a tasting of three single malts at the nearby whisky shop, The Tasting Room. The whisky is just what we need to lubricate our weary legs for the walk over to Machrihanish--or so we convince ourselves.

Later, at East Trodigal Cottage B&B, it becomes apparent that we forgot an important law of hiking: Always make sure the night's meal is within easy distance. The Beachcomber Bar & Restaurant is a mile up the road, but the rain has arrived, and we have no desire to walk there and back. Mike Peacock, who owns the B&B with his wife, Linda, offers to take us to the supermarket in Campbeltown, as he has to run an errand nearby anyway. We grab a couple of prepackaged meals, which we combine with Linda's generous plate of chocolate cake and tea biscuits. We sleep the sleep of the contented.

THE KINTYRE WAY'S website advises using a compass for the final 17-mile section, but we find no need. Yesterday's rain has blown out, and the markers--every 100 yards or so--are clearly visible. This, in fact, proves to be one of the best-marked walks I've undertaken.

Having passed through a couple of herds of Highland cows at Ballygroggan Farm, we begin climbing through heather and moor, our breath stolen as much by the view as by the ascent; in the distance is the northernmost tip of Ireland, while below us, the cliffs drop steeply to the Atlantic. Passing by the ruins of stone cottages, we marvel at the communities that once clung precariously to the coast.

Almost too soon, we reach Columba's Footprints at Dunaverty--depressions said to have been left by the saint after he was banished from Ireland--and round the point to complete the last few hundred yards. At Dunaverty Bay, a lone seal guides us to the last marker, at the bay's end just outside Southend. As we touch the post, the start of the walk--90 miles and one week away--is a distant memory.

That night, at the Anchor Hotel in Tarbert (following a bus ride from Southend via Campbeltown), we reminisce about our week of walking. We've forgotten the tired legs, the aching feet and shoulders. Instead, our conversation is about the scenery, the haunting ruins, and the sense of achievement that comes with covering so much ground on foot.

"So you did the walk, did you?" asks the Anchor's barman. "How was it?" We pause, at a loss to explain. He smiles anyway. I guess our tired grins say it all.