SOLITUDE IN A SMALL COUNTRY
Jonty Summers has six ideas for those who want to be alone in Britain this bank holiday weekend SEARCHING for solitude is easy for peo- ple in big countries. Canadians know that if they head towards the middle of their country they are going to steer clear of the hordes. Similarly, their Yankee neighbours have large amounts of Big Country in which to get lost. In the other hemisphere, South Africans only have to head out of the cities to be surrounded by untainted space, and many Australians don't even need to leave home, so far from their neighbours are they. Inhabitants of the less populated Euro- pean countries have remoteness within fairly easy striking distance of home, too. The French can go to the Alps or the Atlantic coast, the Danes head for west- ern Jutland and Madriletios are surround- ed by mountain ranges where traces of habitation are sparse. Two factors make things tricky for us Brits to get away from our countrymen without packing a pass- port. First, we live on a small island. Sec- ondly, centres of population seem to ooze out of every contour of the map. Despite this, Britain is not without its remote corners. Sticking firmly to the mainland, I have picked out half a dozen of Britain's remotest spots — a trio of contemplative high places, the rest by the sea.
The toe end of Cornwall, west Penwith, takes forever to get to, as anyone who has left Exeter believing arrival to be imminent will know. It's a strange world, west Penwith, north of Land's End. Visit- ing it is a little like dropping into a muse- um of prehistory. Squirming through the granite landscape alongside the West Penwith moors, the B3306 — an enlarged footpath of a road, from St Ives to St Just — affords dramatic views of the Atlantic thrashing the cliffs of Cape Cornwall. The landscape is harsh — granite and moorland — and, an hour's hike off the road onto the Penwith Moor, you will find evidence of the area's pagan past — Lanyon Quoit and the Men-an-Tol stand- ing stones. It is an other-worldly spot. Further down the coast, a climb around the sea paths of Bottallack brings you to Cornwall's most westerly tin mines, now long abandoned, and makes you realise how pleasant is the journey to work on a clammy Northern Line Tube.
The clarity of light that for centuries has attracted painters to St Ives and St Just is well-documented. D.H. Lawrence lived in Zennor, near St Ives, during the second world war, and worked on Women in Love there. Zennor is also the resting place of one John Davey (d. 1891) who, according to his tombstone, was 'the last to possess any considerable knowledge of the Cornish language'. Even when the weather is not sunny, a trip to this part of the world will leave you invigorated and refreshed.
Few beaches on Britain's mainland can be more off the beaten track than Sand- wood Bay, on the windswept approach to the lonely moorland south of Cape Wrath. A visit to any part of west Suther- land is accompanied by incomparable scenery: immense mountain, loch and moorland panoramas. Names with which to conjure, too: Suilven, Canisp, Quinag, Ben More Assynt, Foivaven. Whatever the season, the beach will be utterly deserted — the only footprints you will chance upon here, apart from your own, will be those of seabirds. Sandwood Bay is a two-hour walk down a track through peat bog. The beach is idyllically framed, with high cliffs at either end providing protection from northerly and southerly winds and, at its back, dunes and a lagoon. Cape Wrath is only a degree south of Anchorage. In summer, the light is strong and night falls, briefly, in the small hours of the morning.
Remoteness is not immediately associat- ed with the south-east of England, but the North Kent marshes, which stretch from Whitstable almost as far as Gravesend, are easily bypassed. The Isle of Sheppey is unspoilt and unpopulated, and catching the Sheerness to Vlissingen ferry is pretty much the only reason anyone goes there, unless you like birdlife. The Eastchurch marshes are on the south of Sheppey, a hefty stone's skip from Whitstable across the River Swale. Most of the marshes along the Swale and the Medway are an RSPB-managed nature reserve — so con- servation reigns supreme and people encroach rarely.
For clear-headed contemplation, nothing compares with uplands. Walk to a peak or along a ridge in hill country and it is evi- dent why the pilgrims of centuries ago made their paths across high ground. Mountains bring you closer to the heavens, no doubt about it.
The southern part of Wales's Cambrian mountains lies to all intents and purposes forgotten. Although without the drama of Snowdonia or the pretty, grass-capped peaks of the Brecon Beacons, they are too far away to be embarked on by crowds from the Midlands and Mersey- side. Powys is one of Wales's most sparse- ly populated counties, and the isolated hills, forests and upland reservoirs of the Cambrians remain, amazingly, rather ignored. Strolling on these rolling uplands inspires a sense of airy liberation. At the south-east corner of the Cambrians, the pretty spa town of Llanwrtyd Wells plays host in August each year to the world bog-snorkelling championships, which involve swimming 120 yards underwater through a mud-filled trench.
Moving north, the Cheviot, in Northum- berland, is one of my favourite contempla- tive spots. Nestling in the Northumberland National Park, in the petticoats of the Scot- tish borders, it is a windswept peak with a magnificent 360-degree panorama. Stone walls, normally a feature of grassy hill country, are absent, which only seems to accentuate the wide horizons and vast skies. On haze-free days, Holy Island and the Fame Islands can be seen to the east, and Newcastle to the south.
Ross-shire is magical. Penetrate to the north of the A835 to Ullapool, and you will be rewarded with acres of unyielding wilderness. Beinn Dearg dominates this vast, barren, rocky, ancient expanse. From the road, its size (over 3,500 feet) is obvi- ous, but that is all. It is a reclusive moun- tain, six miles from the road, forbidding from a distance. Reaching its summit is a challenge, and few venture here. The stalk- ers' track peters out on the lower slopes, entailing a sapping scramble over pathless, stony terrain to progress further. But the physical effort is a small part of reaching the top of this solitary peak. Higher up, birds cease to sing, and the bleakness, which is punctuated only by a few gnarled rock outcrops, provides spartan comfort. Those who do not turn back are amply rewarded with a series of views to savour: steep cliffs rising above small lochs, a glimpse of the craggy crown of An Teallac, one of Scotland's most arresting moun- tains, and, once on the stony summit plateau, immense views all round. No mountain to the north is taller. Just to the east, a hike to Cona Mheall gives an even greater sense of remoteness. With Beinn Dearg blocking off the hospitable south and west, your eye is drawn inescapably northwards to one of Scotland's remotest peaks, Seana Bhraigh.
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