THE WILD-WEST HIGHLAND WAY DIARY.
The picture above was taken in 2003, when we did the walk for the second time along with Stuart, a friend who also wanted to do the walk. The cottage is the famous 'black rocks cottage', and the mountain behind (if I can remember how to spell it) is Buchaille Etive Mor. We have done the WHW twice more since, tackling Ben Nevis, and the terrific Aonach Egach ridge walk - a ten and a half hour marathon!
This diary was written in the company of my brother, Colin. It was his first LDP (long distance path), and we had a fantastic holiday! There was a slight problem at the beginning, which we solved in a novel way - read on..........
THE
WILD-WEST
HIGHLAND
WAY.
OR
How I walked across Scotland
and up Ben Nevis in odd boots!
PROLOGUE.
The time had finally come, I could hold out no longer and I was to visit Scotland for the first time (if you discount a one hour stay in Edinburgh when I was seventeen)! I knew that if I saw the place and walked among its mountains, I would be hooked, so I had put it off until now. How right I was! The walk exceeded even my expectations and I was very lucky with the weather too. Usually with a long walk, there is a low point. Not so with the West Highland Way. Everything about it is great, and I will probably end up doing it again. I pay tribute to all the people I met and spent time with, and to my brother Colin, who was better company than I could have ever wished for.
Monday 28th April. Milngavie to Drymen - 12.5 miles.
Due to having to be at the airport early, I decided to stay at my brothers’ house. After an early wake-up, which was quickly followed by a huge breakfast lovingly cooked for me by my brother, we set off for Castle Donnington to catch our flight to Glasgow.
We arrived at the airport at 6:30am, said our goodbyes and went in. As is usual, our sacks had to go through the X ray machine. We went to the departure gate, and walked across the Tarmac to the plane. We got a seat by the window and waited to take off. It was then that Colin told me he hadn't flown before. The twin-engined Fokka 100 whined and taxied slowly onto the runway. With a roar, the engines rose into life as the pilot opened the throttle. We were pressed back in our seats as the 'plane accelerated hard. "Good, eh?" I said. Colin smiled (or was it a grimace?), and I wasn't convinced he was as happy as I was. All of a sudden the nose lifted and the runway noise disappeared.
We were off.!
When in the air, we relaxed and wondered what the in-flight movie would be, as we were only going to be in the air for about 50 minutes! We were just getting comfortable and looking at the clouds and blue sky when the stewardess arrived and set a breakfast down in front of us! It was only seven twenty, and I had demolished bacon, egg, sausage etc. at about five thirty this morning. Not wishing to offend, we ate the lot.
The flight was smooth and uneventful, apart from the two idiots excitedly taking photo's out of the plane's window (?). The captain announced, in that 'snooker commentator’ style that they all talk with, that we were starting the descent to Glasgow. We dutifully fastened our seat belts and watched as the blue sky was left far above, and we sank back into our seats and reality - and the clouds. The lower we got, the worse the weather got and the rain was streaking down the windows as we landed.
Far more civilised at Glasgow airport, we left the plane by a portable tunnel and entered the luggage collection area. Now, I'm o.k. flying but I always get a knot in my stomach at this stage in case I'm here and my luggage is in Barbados, or somewhere else I'm not. Why is it the lost luggage always goes somewhere nicer than it's owner? Panic over, it comes trundling around the carousel towards us. We claim it and set off to get a taxi. The nice lady at the information desk rung for one for us. Having watched too many films, we wait in the lounge for the driver to come in and shout; "taxi for Mr Singleton!". Of course, with all the recent bomb scares, this just doesn't happen and about forty minutes later, I go to enquire it's whereabouts. After realising our faux pas, we re-book the taxi and go outside to await it's arrival! As we stand under the canopy outside, looking at the showery weather, we realise it's taken fifty minutes to fly here, and over an hour to get a taxi! The very cheery taxi driver, who never asked us once to guess 'who I had in my cab the other day', dropped us at the square in Milngavie (pronounced Mull-guy) and we disembarked. We took the obligatory starting photo's beside the stone obelisk set up for that very purpose, before finally taking our first faltering steps on the West Highland Way at Ten o'clock, local time.
Surprisingly quickly, we left the town behind as we followed the small river, Allender Water. Although it had stopped raining, it was still overcast and a little threatening. We passed through Mugdock wood and caught our first sight of other walkers. There were about ten in all, starting their own personal tests at the same time as us. We had decided on a Monday start when we read in some information leaflet that between sixty and eighty thousand people a year walk the West Highland Way! We also saw and spoke to Jurgen for the first time. Jurgen first attracted our attention with his habit of unfurling a brolly every time a shower came. I admit we laughed at first, but it soon became clear it wasn't a bad idea as constant short showers fell. It saved wondering at what point to don all the waterproof gear, and taking it all off again if the sun came out for five minutes. We approached Craigallan Loch and noticed one of the forestry workers had left a large empty oil tin with 'ELF' written on the side. I took a photo' of it, and decided I would call it;
'The Wood Elf'.
Near Carbeth Loch we saw what appeared to be a small holiday village made of wood. I must admit it's a lovely situation here, and I wouldn't mind a relaxing week myself. We didn't see any inhabitants though; perhaps it's a bit early for them yet. We joined a road and turned left along it for a short way before turning right, up a track. At the top of the track, the view goes BANG, right in your face! Dumgoyach rears up in front, and the fields around give you your first twinge that you're in for a good walk. The even more impressive Dumgoyne soon came into view as we joined the bed of the old Blane Valley Railway. We went through one of the strange stiles we were to see many more times on this part of the walk, and I had a silly photo' taken of me with my head stuck in it. As we walked, I noticed the Glengoyne Whiskey distillery on the right. I consulted Colin as to whether we should pay a visit. The conversation went something like;
Near Carbeth Loch we saw what appeared to be a small holiday village made of wood. I must admit it's a lovely situation here, and I wouldn't mind a relaxing week myself. We didn't see any inhabitants though; perhaps it's a bit early for them yet. We joined a road and turned left along it for a short way before turning right, up a track. At the top of the track, the view goes BANG, right in your face! Dumgoyach rears up in front, and the fields around give you your first twinge that you're in for a good walk. The even more impressive Dumgoyne soon came into view as we joined the bed of the old Blane Valley Railway. We went through one of the strange stiles we were to see many more times on this part of the walk, and I had a silly photo' taken of me with my head stuck in it. As we walked, I noticed the Glengoyne Whiskey distillery on the right. I consulted Colin as to whether we should pay a visit. The conversation went something like;
"Do you want to visit the distillery?” "Is the Pope a Catholic?" End of conversation.
We walked through the gates and were met by smiling faces. We took pictures of the huge stills and went into the yard. The next trip around the place wasn't for about half an hour, so we settled on the wall outside in the sunshine to eat our lunch. We were joined by Jurgen and proceeded to probe his English, which was quite good. It was interesting to see the difference in the food we ate. Colin and I had the usual malt loaf and sandwich type of stuff, while Jurgen had what looked like Garlic Nan bread, and a large bag of dried fruit. After lunch we made our way to the start of the guided tour (£3:00). We were given a 'wee dram' to sample and watched a video. We then went all round the distillery, and the lady who conducted the tour was really good, answering all our questions with patience and eloquence. I got the feeling she loved her job and was very proud of the product. After the tour, we perused the very well stocked shop, but you're on a loser trying to sell walkers something else to carry!
We left the shop and the sun was starting to really shine strongly. I changed into my shorts and tee shirt, applied the first sun block, and set off to re-join the path. Whilst walking we heard many Willow Warblers, they are obviously the dominant species here. I have always liked their call, so I wasn't complaining.
We continued following the old rail bed, passing the former station building and the pub (it was still early). Something that became more evident was the amount of electricity pylons in the area. Every time a good photo' opportunity presented itself, you could be sure it also included at least one pylon! About three miles before Drymen there is a farm selling soup and rolls to any hungry soul who requires some.
We joined a minor road and turned left to enter the sleepy hamlet of Gartness. Our first nights stop, Drymen (pronounced Dremmen), was now getting close. We were enjoying a lovely sunny day and views to match. We passed the old Roman Fort (site of). We did have a quick look, but we didn't get (sight of) as there was little left to see. This is often the sad case. There is a fort in Derbyshire called Navio, but it's just a few suggestive mounds of earth now. The best remains I've ever seen are in the Lake District. The Hardknott Fort still has standing walls and the remains of the bathhouse, and what's more it's free!
As the road turned sharply left, we noticed a sign to the B&B we were staying at tonight - Gateside Lodge. We duly turned up the drive and knocked on Mrs Yvonne Fords door at 4:30. All our accommodation had been pre-booked, as I knew this walk was a popular one, but Jurgen, the German tourist we had met, said he was just turning up in places and getting fixed up as and when. I told him I thought he would have difficulty on the less populated parts but he just shrugged. Later that evening there was a knock on the door. It was Jurgen. He asked if Mrs Ford had any room, as he'd been to the village and couldn't get anywhere! Luckily she did have room but I think he learnt a lesson. After getting ready, we walked the 1/2 kilometre or so into the village. There is a surprising amount of choice for eating and drinking for such a small place, but we had been 'given the nod' that the Clachan Inn (arguably the oldest Inn in Scotland) was the place to go.
Inside it was pleasant with a good atmosphere, and the landlord made a point of talking to us and making us welcome. He gave us menus and pointed out the 'specials' board. We ate and drank, then the days walk and the previous nights' lack of sleep started to catch up with me. We made our way back to Gateside Lodge at about 10:15, but not until we had rung the Rowardennan Youth Hostel and booked Jurgen a place for tomorrow night, and guess what...they were almost full up!
Tuesday 29th April. Drymen To Rowardennan - 13 Miles.
I sat waiting for breakfast with Mrs Fords’ friendly cat looking through the window at me and mewing loudly. It was a bit dull and raining a little outside, but not too bad.
I was joined presently by Colin and Jurgen and we set about a very good breakfast.
Colin had complained that his right toe was hurting, and I advised him to try wearing thinner socks, as he described it as though his little toe was being crushed. When we had finished, we settled up with Mrs Ford and started to get wet-dressed and booted up.
We left Gateside Lodge, crossed a field (rare on this walk) and within minutes we left the very short section of road walking and entered the Garadhban Forest. It kept drizzling with rain, and Jurgens’ umbrella went up and down like a sweeps brush. What we first thought was a daft idea, was now proving to be rather prudent. It probably wouldn’t work as well on a windy day, but today it was perfect. We were umming and ahhing whether to don over trousers and Jurgen was just opening and closing his brolly as and when the rain started and stopped. Eventually it did come a little harder, and we all got kitted up to the full. It didn’t last long though, and soon the sun was out and the sky began to clear. A great big vivid rainbow formed in the North, and through a clearing to the Southwest, the views opened up dramatically and soon the camera was clicking away. One of the greatest views of the walk was next juxtaposed with one of the greatest disappointments. Our first view of the beautiful Loch Lomond from the end of the forest was spoiled by the sight of the notice nailed to a post banning us from going over Conic Hill. Lots of people had told me how great the views were from the top, and a day like today was just perfect. It was closed because of lambing time, but I walk every weekend in Derbyshire, and there is never a problem there. I know some idiots would act thoughtlessly, but I think the Duke of Montrose goes too far in banning all for the sake of one or two. We reluctantly turned down the track towards the hamlet of Milton of Buchanan, where the delights of road walking, whilst staring longingly at the bulk of Conic Hill, awaited us.
Tuesday 29th April. Drymen To Rowardennan - 13 Miles.
I sat waiting for breakfast with Mrs Fords’ friendly cat looking through the window at me and mewing loudly. It was a bit dull and raining a little outside, but not too bad.
I was joined presently by Colin and Jurgen and we set about a very good breakfast.
Colin had complained that his right toe was hurting, and I advised him to try wearing thinner socks, as he described it as though his little toe was being crushed. When we had finished, we settled up with Mrs Ford and started to get wet-dressed and booted up.
We left Gateside Lodge, crossed a field (rare on this walk) and within minutes we left the very short section of road walking and entered the Garadhban Forest. It kept drizzling with rain, and Jurgens’ umbrella went up and down like a sweeps brush. What we first thought was a daft idea, was now proving to be rather prudent. It probably wouldn’t work as well on a windy day, but today it was perfect. We were umming and ahhing whether to don over trousers and Jurgen was just opening and closing his brolly as and when the rain started and stopped. Eventually it did come a little harder, and we all got kitted up to the full. It didn’t last long though, and soon the sun was out and the sky began to clear. A great big vivid rainbow formed in the North, and through a clearing to the Southwest, the views opened up dramatically and soon the camera was clicking away. One of the greatest views of the walk was next juxtaposed with one of the greatest disappointments. Our first view of the beautiful Loch Lomond from the end of the forest was spoiled by the sight of the notice nailed to a post banning us from going over Conic Hill. Lots of people had told me how great the views were from the top, and a day like today was just perfect. It was closed because of lambing time, but I walk every weekend in Derbyshire, and there is never a problem there. I know some idiots would act thoughtlessly, but I think the Duke of Montrose goes too far in banning all for the sake of one or two. We reluctantly turned down the track towards the hamlet of Milton of Buchanan, where the delights of road walking, whilst staring longingly at the bulk of Conic Hill, awaited us.
Col’ said his toe still hurt. I thought a minute then I said; “what size boots do you take?”. “Forty Threes”, was the reply. “Take your right boot off, and try mine on”, I said. The idea was that if it gave him relief, we could have the boot a day each and give one another some respite from the discomfort. “It feels great” said Colin, and his didn’t feel uncomfortable on me. Good, so I set off walking. “Wait a minute, what about the other boot?”, he said. But I figured that as he hadn’t got a problem with his left boot, and I hadn’t got one with mine, it would be foolish to swap and risk creating one so we pressed on.... in odd boots!
We called in at the garden centre at Balmaha, as the thought of a rest was appealing and it also meant we could do a bit of moaning about Conic Hill. The cheery chap selling the drinks amused us with a story about a Santa Claus (we got on to the subject of Christmas via Scotch Whiskey) who had been booked for the children’s party. Santa arrived early so they sat him in the kitchen and placed a bottle of good Malt in front of him. “Help yourself Santa"”, were the fateful words. When they returned, Santa had done just that - to the best part of the whole bottle!!! He stoically pressed on with his duties though, but the sad part is that during the proceedings, he fell from the stage and broke his leg (and a few of the kids’ hearts, no doubt). You can just imagine one of the poor kids going to Glasgow one night and thinking it was inhabited by lots of Santas, lurching around the streets at night!
After our refreshments, we finished off the short section of road walking by feeding an extremely ungrateful Swan. If it wasn’t grabbing food roughly from our hands, it was hissing loudly at us. Colin took a good picture of it trying to bite my fingers off! We left the Swan hissing at us and turned to climb up to Craigie Fort. As we reached the top of the promontory, the views really became seriously good. We stopped and took lots of photo’s.
Just after Arochymore Point we came upon the remains of a campfire and littered around it was all the rubbish of whoever was here last night. As they had also left a carrier bag I filled it up with all the tins and bits of paper. Luckily it hadn’t been windy, or most of this stuff would have scattered. I walked the short distance to the car park and put it where they should have; in the bin.
We again joined the road for a short while before turning into Queen Elizabeth Forest at the impressive Blair house. I was to learn shortly that this wouldn’t be the only impressive Blair this year! In the wood we all sat in a clearing and ate lunch. Jurgen came out with the garlic Pitta again, and Colin and I stuck to sandwiches and flapjack. The Sun was now quite strong and the rays lanced through the branches of the canopy. It was really peaceful sitting here and we enjoyed it in quiet seclusion.
The next bit of woodland stroll didn’t last long and we re-joined the road. It wasn’t busy though, so we didn't mind. We soon reached the campsite, and decided to pop in to the shop to collect supplies for tomorrow’s lunch. We were lucky, as supplies were running low, and we had the last of the cheese and rolls!
Where we next left the road, there was a big place called ‘Sallochy’ The normally quiet Jurgen proved that Germans have a sense of humour when he read the sign and started singing; “I should be sa-lochy, lochy-lochy-lochy”! Trouble was, I couldn’t get that damn tune out of my head for the rest of the day!
After Salochy there was some climbing to do. A few well placed puffs and grunts got us to the top where we were rewarded with breathtaking views. I could see already that my descriptive powers were going to be belittled by Scotland’s focal treats! We found it difficult to keep a rhythm walking when the views demanded you stop and take a picture at such regular intervals.
The weather changed its mood and it began to drizzle. It was only slight, but up went Jurgens’ brolly, and on went our waterproofs. Just after Mill of Ross we went to cross a small footbridge. It had got that red and white ‘danger’ tape wrapped around it on the right hand rail, so I took extra care. When I was about halfway across it, I heard a pronounced crack. I stopped dead in my tracks. Had anyone else heard that? It was so sharp and unexpected that we didn’t know what it was or where it came from. Fearing it might be the bridge; we crossed it gingerly and stopped to listen. Nothing! We turned and took half a dozen steps further, and another loud crack was followed by a large branch crashing to the ground, where we had just been standing! We looked at each other, looked at the branch, gulped and moved on.
We met the road again, and as we were walking alongside it, I spotted a young Roe Deer in the trees opposite. As it was spitting with rain, I had put the big camera away, so I didn’t get chance of a picture. She stared at us, turned, and bounded off quickly. There were no further chances to see more wildlife after this, as we were being closely followed by a ‘heard’ (sic) of very noisy school kids.
With Ben Lomond looming large on the right, and the Rowardennan Hotel and ‘phone box coming into view, we knew that day's end was near. We very quickly reached the Youth Hostel and noticed some demented soul was swimming in Loch Lomond. I have dipped my feet in a few of its feeder streams, and I guessed it to be about -10 degrees. It was cold enough drinking the stuff, so how someone could immerse themselves in it was beyond me!
We made our way into the grand looking hostel to be greeted by Rab (good Scots name) and went up to our room, which had just four bunks and a view to die for from the window!
After showering and changing, we explored the hostel. We noted that the '‘heard'’ of kids were now playing '‘bang the door'’. This is a game we all played when we were young and requires no skill at all. All you have to do is leave and enter a room several times, for no apparent reason, banging the door loudly as you go. Exponents of this game (fourth year onwards) often intersperse the bangs with loud shouting for extra effect.
At dinner, we were joined by a cycling club (or at least two of its members). They were telling us of their exploits, and I didn’t notice it at first, but the woman who was at the table kept saying "“Mmmm, Yeeees"”, after almost everything the guy said. I tried talking to her and she kept saying it to me as well. It took restraint to not start to say it back to her, as she said it so often. We christened her Frank Spencer Woman, and during the next few days, her catch phrase was used by us quite often.
The hostel manager called for attention and informed us that for some unknown reason he had received a curt ‘phone call from the hotel to inform him they would be closing the bar early at ten o’clock, so if we wanted a drink we were to go early. (We just caught his last words as the door was closing behind us on our way out!). At the hotel there were a good few hostellers already there, having had a meal. They hadn’t heard about this early closing thing so we decided to press the barman. He reluctantly told us that the hotel manager had had some altercation the previous evening with Rab and his friend, who; “came in late and only drank a half pint”. Someone (Rab or his mate) had asked for a packet of cigarette papers, and the manager refused him, saying he had already ‘cashed up’. So all this ‘closing at ten’ business was petulance from the previous nights crossing of swords. The manager did come and serve a little later, and we teased him a bit about the entire goings on. I think several people latched on to the same idea as me when I asked for a packet of cigarette papers, and within a short while about eight people had bought a packet. Each time he sold one, the look on his face became more quizzical. At ten o’clock precisely I drained my glass, stood up and loudly announced; “Time ladies and gentlemen, please”. The manager quickly corrected me saying he had changed his mind about closing, hardly surprising really, the assembled company were spending quite a bit! It’s funny how some people can’t abide tourists, but just love their money.
We made our way back to the hostel by Colins’ trusty torch light, and I told him I planned to go up to the top of the waterfall behind the hostel in the morning. He said he was ‘up for it’ too, so I promised to wake him. An easy night was spent, sometimes listening to the other two guys in the room snoring, but mostly in comfortable slumber, before I arose to a lovely morning.
Col’ opened one eye. I fully expected him to grunt and turn over but much to his credit, he said he’d be with me in a minute and in a short while, we were feeling the dewy grass on our ankles as we made our way towards the path up to the falls. Where we turned right to start the steep climb up, we noticed Heaths’ tent. We thought it too early for a cruel morning call, so carried on up the path. Having said that, Heath, a Tasmanian youth we had met at various points on the walk, may have already been up and out as last night in the pub, he made the rash bet that he could get up and down Ben Lomond in less than two hours. I looked forward to seeing him in the pub tonight to see if he managed it!
We started up the path towards the sound of tumbling water. I had brought the big camera, complete with long lens as I hoped to see deer in the early morning. I could just see the picture in my minds eye, the majestic Monarch of the Glen, standing on a promontory looking, well...... majestic! But it wasn’t to be and I had to content myself with some good scrambling and shots of the falls. I managed to get myself into the perfect position, for the most perfect shot of the waterfall, when, as I tried to wind on, I realised I was out of film! Ah well, there should be lots more waterfalls. One thing I did notice was the body of an unfortunate sheep floating around in the pool beneath the falls. I made a mental note to tell Rab in case any of the surrounding houses took their supply from the stream.
Soon it was time to make our way back, lured by the thought of breakfast. We kept an eye out to see if that madman from yesterday was in for a swim, but no sign of him (wimp!). I made Colin and myself tea and Macaroni Cheese on toast, surrounded by the ‘heard’. I thought I did well, but Colin shunned my culinary delights, and I ended up having to eat most of it myself. Honestly, some people! There’s no pleasing them, is there?
We left a very busy youth hostel at 9:10am with the sun shining, the birds singing and the Loch spellbinding. I have probably been in more perfect situations, but for the life of me I can’t remember when! The ferry was chugging with an almost reverent quietness across the Loch, the bird song really was super, and to ice the cake there were countless little waterfalls, so we had almost constant babbling of water to accompany us as we walked along. Contrary to what the guide said, I was finding the walking very comfortable and I was quite happy with the terrain underfoot. As we continued we met plenty of people that we had seen in the pub last night. All had done the same as I as they left the hostel - given Rab the cigarette papers and a knowing wink. That lot should last him the rest of the season!
For the first time we met and chatted to Alan, an ex-headmaster who had had a heart attack in 1989, and retired in 1990. His doctor had told him to get some exercise and boy, was he taking him literally! He had the most impressive list of walks already under his belt, and was here on the West Highland Way as part of the Lands End to John o’Groats walk. He was five weeks into it, and praised his wife at home who had done all the arranging for the walk, and was sending instructions, maps and clean underwear to various points for him to pick up (he didn’t say if he sent the old stuff back)! As is usual in these circumstances, Alan was walking to raise money for equipment for the hospital that saved his life and so far he was pledged £6,000!! I made it £6,005, and I think Colin boosted it too.
Photo' after Photo’ was taken of the beautiful Loch Lomond, and every turn seemed to present an even better opportunity. We came across a seat overlooking the Loch, and it was just crying out for elevenses, so we ‘unsacked’ and sat down. It suddenly dawned on me how totally relaxed I was when I had to look at my watch, to find out what DAY it was!!
At dinner, we were joined by a cycling club (or at least two of its members). They were telling us of their exploits, and I didn’t notice it at first, but the woman who was at the table kept saying "“Mmmm, Yeeees"”, after almost everything the guy said. I tried talking to her and she kept saying it to me as well. It took restraint to not start to say it back to her, as she said it so often. We christened her Frank Spencer Woman, and during the next few days, her catch phrase was used by us quite often.
The hostel manager called for attention and informed us that for some unknown reason he had received a curt ‘phone call from the hotel to inform him they would be closing the bar early at ten o’clock, so if we wanted a drink we were to go early. (We just caught his last words as the door was closing behind us on our way out!). At the hotel there were a good few hostellers already there, having had a meal. They hadn’t heard about this early closing thing so we decided to press the barman. He reluctantly told us that the hotel manager had had some altercation the previous evening with Rab and his friend, who; “came in late and only drank a half pint”. Someone (Rab or his mate) had asked for a packet of cigarette papers, and the manager refused him, saying he had already ‘cashed up’. So all this ‘closing at ten’ business was petulance from the previous nights crossing of swords. The manager did come and serve a little later, and we teased him a bit about the entire goings on. I think several people latched on to the same idea as me when I asked for a packet of cigarette papers, and within a short while about eight people had bought a packet. Each time he sold one, the look on his face became more quizzical. At ten o’clock precisely I drained my glass, stood up and loudly announced; “Time ladies and gentlemen, please”. The manager quickly corrected me saying he had changed his mind about closing, hardly surprising really, the assembled company were spending quite a bit! It’s funny how some people can’t abide tourists, but just love their money.
We made our way back to the hostel by Colins’ trusty torch light, and I told him I planned to go up to the top of the waterfall behind the hostel in the morning. He said he was ‘up for it’ too, so I promised to wake him. An easy night was spent, sometimes listening to the other two guys in the room snoring, but mostly in comfortable slumber, before I arose to a lovely morning.
Wednesday 30th April. Rowardennan to Inverarnan. 13.5 miles.
Col’ opened one eye. I fully expected him to grunt and turn over but much to his credit, he said he’d be with me in a minute and in a short while, we were feeling the dewy grass on our ankles as we made our way towards the path up to the falls. Where we turned right to start the steep climb up, we noticed Heaths’ tent. We thought it too early for a cruel morning call, so carried on up the path. Having said that, Heath, a Tasmanian youth we had met at various points on the walk, may have already been up and out as last night in the pub, he made the rash bet that he could get up and down Ben Lomond in less than two hours. I looked forward to seeing him in the pub tonight to see if he managed it!
We started up the path towards the sound of tumbling water. I had brought the big camera, complete with long lens as I hoped to see deer in the early morning. I could just see the picture in my minds eye, the majestic Monarch of the Glen, standing on a promontory looking, well...... majestic! But it wasn’t to be and I had to content myself with some good scrambling and shots of the falls. I managed to get myself into the perfect position, for the most perfect shot of the waterfall, when, as I tried to wind on, I realised I was out of film! Ah well, there should be lots more waterfalls. One thing I did notice was the body of an unfortunate sheep floating around in the pool beneath the falls. I made a mental note to tell Rab in case any of the surrounding houses took their supply from the stream.
Soon it was time to make our way back, lured by the thought of breakfast. We kept an eye out to see if that madman from yesterday was in for a swim, but no sign of him (wimp!). I made Colin and myself tea and Macaroni Cheese on toast, surrounded by the ‘heard’. I thought I did well, but Colin shunned my culinary delights, and I ended up having to eat most of it myself. Honestly, some people! There’s no pleasing them, is there?
We left a very busy youth hostel at 9:10am with the sun shining, the birds singing and the Loch spellbinding. I have probably been in more perfect situations, but for the life of me I can’t remember when! The ferry was chugging with an almost reverent quietness across the Loch, the bird song really was super, and to ice the cake there were countless little waterfalls, so we had almost constant babbling of water to accompany us as we walked along. Contrary to what the guide said, I was finding the walking very comfortable and I was quite happy with the terrain underfoot. As we continued we met plenty of people that we had seen in the pub last night. All had done the same as I as they left the hostel - given Rab the cigarette papers and a knowing wink. That lot should last him the rest of the season!
For the first time we met and chatted to Alan, an ex-headmaster who had had a heart attack in 1989, and retired in 1990. His doctor had told him to get some exercise and boy, was he taking him literally! He had the most impressive list of walks already under his belt, and was here on the West Highland Way as part of the Lands End to John o’Groats walk. He was five weeks into it, and praised his wife at home who had done all the arranging for the walk, and was sending instructions, maps and clean underwear to various points for him to pick up (he didn’t say if he sent the old stuff back)! As is usual in these circumstances, Alan was walking to raise money for equipment for the hospital that saved his life and so far he was pledged £6,000!! I made it £6,005, and I think Colin boosted it too.
Photo' after Photo’ was taken of the beautiful Loch Lomond, and every turn seemed to present an even better opportunity. We came across a seat overlooking the Loch, and it was just crying out for elevenses, so we ‘unsacked’ and sat down. It suddenly dawned on me how totally relaxed I was when I had to look at my watch, to find out what DAY it was!!
We picked our way onwards, giggling at each other’s efforts to negotiate a large tree that had fallen, blocking the path. It really made us realise how ungainly we were with the large sacks on our backs. We managed to get by safely, and noticed a glove that had fallen from some walkers sack. As a message to Malc’ and Erik, who were following some way behind, we put it on a bush with the fingers sticking up! I think one of the best photo’ opportunities came here at the northern end of Loch Lomond. There is a little footbridge there, which makes the most perfect setting if you’ve someone there to take your picture standing on it.
To be honest, we had been feeling a little jaded before all the shenanigans started, but it had loosened everything up with running and we felt a lot better for it. Eventually we were caught, but only when we were nearly at Beinglas farm, which was where Erik and Malc’s luggage had arranged to be dropped. I hoped for their sake it would be there, as I’ve always had a healthy disrespect for pack carrying services ever since I used one on the Coast to Coast walk, and had all my stuff stolen whilst it was in their ‘care’. It was there ok, and we all started the final half-mile to Rose Cottage and our beds for the night. About 200 yards from the end, the guys went quiet and, all of a sudden, Erik shouted “NOW”! They made a last ditch effort to sprint for the line but they had reckoned without me and I too sprang forward with amazing speed. I quickly mastered the technique of running quickly whilst trying to juggle a large object on your back and burst into the garden of Rose cottage jumping up and down shouting “YES! YES! - WE GET THE CLEAN SHEETS”. I was gazed on by a shocked looking Mrs Fletcher, who was standing in the garden. I explained the ‘wacky races’ to her over tea and cake in the garden, and we all took off our boots and sat there steaming and cooling down, while Mrs Fletcher explained that the rooms were mirror images of each other, and there was no prize for the victor. The official result was;
1) Les, squealing like a madman and jumping up and down.
2) Malc, shouting obscenities and nearly falling over in his attempt to ‘breast the tape’.
3) Erik, distraught with realisation that his age had caught up with him and he couldn’t match the speed and agility of the fit young things in front.
4) Colin, laughing and shouting encouragement whilst maintaining a relaxed walk at the back.
We all took turns to get showered, and I took a photo’ from the bedroom Dormer window that looks out across the valley to the Mares Tail waterfall. There was plenty of water coming down it, so I got some good shots.
Mrs Fletcher, bless her, did us some washing and put it out to dry while we decided to investigate the locality. We went into the small, friendly shop at the side of the ‘Stagger Inn’ restaurant and ummed and ahhhed about where to go to eat. Erik was really taken by the outward appearance, and of course the reputation, of The Drovers Inn. We decided to check it out first and then come back to the Stagger if we wanted to. We didn’t move for the rest of the night! The Drovers defies description! You are greeted by an array of stuffed but motley creatures in the entrance, and the inside looks like it hasn’t been cleaned in years, but not dirty, if you know what I mean. The staff (including a kilted Scotsman) were extremely friendly if a little photo-shy, ("aye, the taxman might be watching"). We met up with some other walkers that had booked to stay here, and they were bubbling with stories about their rooms. I was even taken upstairs to be shown these wonders, complete with names on each door such as ‘Rob Roys’ Room’ and ‘The Haunted Room’. In each room was a crude but quaint four-poster brass bed, complete with lace trimming. This was character with a capital ‘C’. I went back downstairs and picked up a menu to try and decide what to have. I settled on ‘Stags breath soup’ for starters, and gammon that was as thick as my hand for the main course. The meal was great value and well cooked, with the gammon being very tender for such a thick piece. When we were finished, we sat talking and were joined at some point by a couple of students we had met during the day. They were going to have to hitch hike to town, they said, as they were running out of money. Ever the soft touch, Colin and I decided to lend them twenty quid, and gave Colins address so they could return it. That was six weeks ago at the time of writing this, and we haven’t heard from them yet! That aside, we had a great evening, one of the talking points being the painted window on the outside of the pub. At some stage, one of the windows had been bricked up upstairs, but someone had decided it didn’t look right and had painted a white frame and black windows on the bricks. It was surprisingly effective as well! I wish now that I had managed to get booked in at the Drovers, not because I’m not happy with Rose Cottage, (I am), but because of the character of the whole place. I would say anyone who didn’t visit the Drovers while doing the West Highland Way had missed a vital part of it, and it became the talking point of many conversations over the next few days.
Thursday 1st May - Inverarnan to Tyndrum. 12 Miles.
The path along this section becomes very stony and rough underfoot, probably harder than at the side of Loch Lomond even, but it is so enhanced by the captivating river Falloch that I forgave all. It dips and falls so often that progress is hard, as photo’ stops are frequent, especially as today is so perfect weather wise. We crossed a small tributary (we crossed many tributaries) by a footbridge and I noticed that there was a small waterfall just upstream. With the sun glinting on it, it was too good to miss. The problem was, a holly bush obstructed the view up to it. There was only one thing for it, I took off my boots and got in. The water was so cool and refreshing, and once I was in I got some really good pictures of the little falls of Allt Criche stream. Colin and I both had photo’s taken looking back along the path from the little footbridge, as you couldn’t arrange a better shot. The green Hawthorn for a frame, magnificent mountains for the backdrop, and a smiling, happy face in the middle.
We had spent about forty minutes ‘messing about in the river’, and had just got going again when the sound of babbling water was replaced by the thundering of lots of water as the Falls of Falloch came into view. Someone ‘up there’ must be smiling down on us as the river had a good level of water coming down it, and the falls were at their best. I took a photo’ from the path, but decided I had to get down to the falls for a better one (or two). Colin stayed on the path while I set off to scramble to the bottom. I was well rewarded for my efforts, and got some ‘arty-farty’ pictures of the falls. I deliberately used the large SLR camera I was carrying for just such shots. The film speed can be slowed so the water looks like milk or lace as it flows over the falls. Another half-hour or so used up, but this is precisely why you shouldn’t set too high a mileage goal on these walks. If you do, then you would speed past such beauty in your quest to get to the end of the day in time. I felt so lucky to be here on such a perfect day. There were so many little falls and lovely spots that I was already feeling very spoilt. If you ever walk the West Highland Way, I do hope you get a good day on this section. Words cannot do justice to the beauty of Glen Falloch. So much, so very, very much.
Soon we reached the point where we were to leave the West Highland Way to drop into Crianlarich. The instructions say there is a large ladder stile here, but it had been recently replaced by a far easier to negotiate walk-through Deer Park type thing. We stepped through and turned right, descending the steep path through the woods. I began to think we should have brought supplies with us, as the path dropped even steeper. I even considered hiding my sack in the trees, as I was fearful of the climb back up this path after lunch. We came across a couple halfway down having a picnic. After chatting to them for a while, I said that I thought it would be a good idea for us to do the same, as I wanted to get some of the climb over before eating. We dropped and dropped until finally we reached the railway station. We entered the village and the first thing we saw was Malc’ and Erik, having a picnic of their own with socks and boots hanging over the wall at the side of them. We were just discussing the beauty of the day etc., when a window opened and a woman called out; “What do you think you’re doing”. When she was met by blank stares from us, she went on; “That’s my garden you’re sitting in!”. It was indeed and we sheepishly got off it quickly. Erik said he didn’t mind moving, as they had been there for about three-quarters of an hour, paddling in the stream and all, and were ready for going anyway! Colin and I bid them farewell, and went to have a look at the local pub. The beer and people were nice, but the prices for food were a bit steep so we decided to buy stuff at the local shop, climb back up to where we’d seen the couple having a picnic, and have one of our own. We drained our glasses and left. We saw the picnic couple again, and I was amazed when they said they were going to Tyndrum, which was also our destination, but they were walking the road! Even though the climb back up faced us, I would never contemplate walking by road in preference to the lovely woodland and moorland paths that were the Way. We re-joined the path beyond the station and started the upward journey. I was at the back and keeping an eye out to try to identify the place where we had seen the picnic taking place. “We’d better stop, then”, said Colin. To my amazement we had reached the top of the path and were back at the W.H.Way! I could not believe that we had made the climb so easily. We sat down on the springy grass floor and ate a sumptuous repast, all chosen by Colin, complete with sausage rolls that looked like policemen’s truncheons! It was all just too good for words. I was just contemplating brotherly love when I noticed Colin had secreted the crust of the loaf, our favourite bit, under his sack thinking I would forget about it, and when I showed interest in it I can only liken it to trying to take a bone off a Rottweiller! Just a note for bird lovers, it would be a good idea to carry a small bag of seed as Robins and Chaffinches come to your feet at the drop of a hat, (well, the drop of a sandwich anyway!).
Continuing along the Way high above Glen Fillan we were astounded by yes, even greater views. No one would believe you if you tried to tell them how the surroundings just get better and better. Ben Mor is the daddy around here, but there are plenty of others, which would be great in their own right standing alone. We had reached about the half waypoint of our walk, and already I was wishing it was longer. The day was very warm and bright and, with our choosing to walk fairly early in the year, we were not troubled by the scourge of Scotland, the Midge. I had noticed that if you discussed any local eyesore, such as pylons etc, with any local, they would defend it or them as bringing employment / electricity / come what ever to the community. But mention the dreaded ‘M’ word and their heads drop and they, to a man, condemn them and tell you that you never get used to them, no matter how long you live there.
Anyway, we had no such problems, thank goodness, and were being completely captivated by the perfect surroundings. No problems at all with the odd boots, in fact I was as comfortable in ‘one of each’ as I was in the pair, also, more to the point, Colins’ foot had completely healed up. Today has been a long day, what with frequent stops for photo’s and what-have-you, but that is how it should be. What’s the point of rushing to get a day like today over with? I felt sorry for the people who were already in Tyndrum, as this was a day to be out late. Here we were on this high path, looking over Gods own country, surrounded by singing birds and sweet smelling flora, counting our blessings and wishing it could always be like this.
We dropped down with the path towards the old Caledonian railway bridge and road. The path here has two irresistible features. It is downhill, and in shade. Just as we got to the railway we noticed something sticking out of a way mark post. On closer inspection it turned out to be a home-made arrow, with flights and all, which pinned a note to the post, which said;
LES AND COLIN -
WATCH OUT FOR THEM INJUNS -
MALC AND ERIK.
We were very warm, as were our feet, and the draw of the cool river was undeniable and within minutes our boots and socks were off and we were sitting on rocks like gnomes, dangling our feet in the in the passing pleasure. As usual, it was difficult to keep our feet in the cold water at first, but we soon became used to it and started splashing about like a couple of kids. There’s nothing finer than looking at the mountains, sitting in the sun, listening to the birds and twiddling your toes in the cool, cool water. We spent a good while there, before reluctantly booting up again.
Where the path crosses the A82 road, you have to literally take your life in your hands to get across. It’s hard to rush when carrying a large rucksack. We managed it and continued walking by the river towards Tyndrum, which was now only a couple of Kilometres away. The river is crossed again in a short while, and if you’re doing the W.H.Way and it’s hot, I would say this is the place to get your kit off and get in! I would imagine you could get pretty secluded if you made your way upstream a little way. Erik and Malc’ had also left a message here for us, but we were so enamoured by the river that we missed it. We were not sure where the Pine Trees Leisure Park, the place we were staying was, but we were pretty sure we’d found it with all the wooden structures appearing on the far bank. As we turned to approach the bridge, I noticed what looked like a bone dangling from a tree at the side of the path. On closer inspection ‘someone’ had written neatly on it, in felt tip pen;
THIS IS ALL THAT’S LEFT OF ERIK - INJUNS!!!
As we crossed the bridge, Heath, who had already got pitched, welcomed us and he explained why we hadn’t seen him in the pub last night. His travelling companion was quite ill with what seemed to be an infection. He was running a very high temperature, and Heath was afraid to leave him on his own. I think they had called a Doctor to see just how bad it was. He also told us that the Ben Lomond thing all fizzled out, as he didn’t go right to the top because it was enveloped in cloud. He pointed us in the right direction, and we arranged to meet up later and made our way to reception to find out where the bunkhouse was. When we got there, we collected our sheet sleeping bags and bought a toy cowboy gun with the ‘injuns’ in mind. The woman probably wondered why we were both giggling like a pair of school kids!
We made our way over to the bunkhouse and let ourselves into our ‘room’ for the night. ‘Compact and bijou’ would be too grand a title for this space. Two bunks, and just enough room to put your stuff on the floor. This is economy gone mad! Still, it was warm but I imagine it would get pretty ripe in here if the place was full, as there is only one toilet and bathroom for each sex in the whole of the place. I would have called it a bunkhouse box, more than a barn. It reminded me of those Japanese hotels where they put the guests in tubes to maximise space. This might be all right for the Japanese, but I don’t like being cramped at all. I did a bit of sock and small washing and went across for a shower. It cost us nearly two pounds in the coin-op dryer to dry the few bits we had washed, and fifty pence each for the shower. The cost of this place was slowly mounting up, and I got my first inkling of how Tyndrum treated visitors - like cows ready to be milked. Even the breakfasts at Pine Trees were priced almost exactly the same as the Little Chef down the road, the only difference is that the Little Chef opens earlier if you want an early start. After we finished getting ready, we were making our way to the pub but saw Erik and Malc’ in the Little Chef and were beckoned in. They told us the pub B&B wasn’t up to much, and recommended we eat in the Chef. I had my gold American Express card, so I thought I’d order something! I have never liked Little Chefs. I find they’re ok, If you’ve a small appetite and a large wallet. After walking all day I had neither, so it cost a fair bit. We went to the pub later where we met up again with Heath. He had left his companion groaning in his tent (that’s the way to leave ‘em Heath!). The beer was surprisingly good and not too bad in price. It was the first non-inflated thing I had come across in Tyndrum. It turned into one of those joke-telling nights, and we all had a right good laugh, with Erik writing punch lines on bits of paper to recall some of the jokes at a later date. One piece had; ‘give us another look at that Corgi’ written on it! After a great night, we made our way back to our bunkhouse ‘booth’ to get some sleep, as we planned an early start in the morning. On the way back, the night sky was so clear that Colin tried to teach Heath to navigate by the stars! It must work though, as we found our way down Tyndrum high street and back to the Pine Trees without a hitch!
Friday May 2nd. - Tyndrum To Kingshouse (Glencoe). - 18.5 Miles.
We packed our stuff and set off at about eight o’clock. As we reached the wooden bridge out of the Pine Trees Park, we left an arrow and a plastic six-gun we had bought in the shop for Erik and Malc with the message;
‘Watch out for them injuns - John Wayne left this to help you’
pinned on it. We set a few more arrows in the woodland as we walked. The old woman walking her dog must have wondered what these two loonies were up to, sticking home made arrows in trees. As the path curved back to pass through the top of Clifton village, I noticed a well-stocked general store. It was only 8:15 and they were open already, worthy of note if you wanted to stock up for the day. Their prices seemed quite good too. As the path started to rise, we saw what looked like a dead lamb’s skin hanging over a fence post. As we walked away from it, we looked back at the remains of the poor lamb - with an arrow sticking out of it with ‘GOT ‘IM!’ written on it!By 8:45 the sun was shining strongly and we continued due north up the crowded valley. I say crowded because the road, railway and West Highland Way are all squeezed into its narrow reaches. The people in the coaches waved at us as they passed, as did the train driver, who also gave us a blast on his horn. Just ahead, Bienn Odhar stood aloft, looking just like Everest with a small amount of cloud spindrifting from the very top. We collected bits of wool from the fences and posts we passed and, when we had enough, left Erik instructions of one of Bald Eagles’ old tricks on how to knit a wig to stop him getting sunburnt on his scalp. (Perhaps I shouldn’t use that word ‘scalp’ with all these Injuns about!).
We passed underneath the railway line via a small bridge. We left another arrow with the legend;
‘Injun reservation - No white men (except Malc, as he is now a redskin)!’
This referred to the state of Malc after catching the sun a bit too much during yesterday’s siesta in someone’s garden. To put it mildly, if Colin and Erik stood either side of him, it looked like a thermometer!Again the views along this valley just were too good to describe. We stopped to apply a thick coat of sun block as things were really hotting up now. We left the railway as it looped further up the valley, and passed Auch farm. They are advertising B&B, which again is worth remembering, as it could be a lifesaver if Tyndrum was full up. Just along the valley we met our first people of the day. We explained to them that they might meet the two odd looking blokes who were somewhere behind us. We told them if they were asked if they’d seen us, to say; “no, but we’ve seen plenty of Injuns”!
Photo’ opportunities were plenty along this valley, not least of which were the very big West Highland cattle, one of which almost posed to order on a hillock with Bienn Odhur in the background.
We continued the climb, and I decided to stop for a call of nature. As I glanced back, I could have sworn I saw movement behind a tree. Was it a deer? Was it INJUNS??? I told Colin, and we got out the binoculars and scanned the area for several minutes before Colin decided I was paranoid and we continued onward. The path skirts around a hill, and just as we rounded the bend, there was a terrific whooping, and Erik and Malc came at us out of the hills to ‘head us off at the pass’. We collapsed in laughter at these two silly buggers playing ‘Injuns’, and I commented on the fact that they were almost as red as Indians, and were absolutely dripping in sweat. Malc said that they had arisen late, and not set off until about ten o’clock. They had been going like a train since then, trying to catch us. They hadn’t even stopped for food or drink! At Bridge of Orchy, they had seen the note and, spurred on like madmen, had almost run up the hill to catch us on the slopes, which they had now done. We all had a well-earned (in their case) rest, and continued at a more leisurely pace.
After leaving, and setting off along the road, we noticed that Eriks’ shorts were made of the same material as the trousers he was wearing yesterday. Malc’ let the cat out of the bag when he told us that Erik, ever the pessimist, had not packed any shorts so, when the weather improved to its’ present standard, he just cut off the bottom of his trousers - job done!
At forest lodge we left the Tarmac and started another long climb. We surprised three Roe deer in the trees close by, and I managed to get a picture before they were away. As we walked along the views again became steadily better and better as we gained height and I thought of the many walkers before me who had crossed this wild place in equally wild weather. Here was I in what was as close to Nirvana as you could get, but I knew that a change in the weather would make it seem just like hell. It would be such a shame to walk across Rannoch without seeing all the views around. We settled by a small burn for a drink and a bite to eat. I couldn’t resist a paddle in the ice cool water, as I so love the way it feels. Colin decided to get his collapsible glass out. If you haven’t seen one of these things, they are a succession of rings that unfold to form a watertight glass. How the hell he was managing to produce all these knick-knacks from a sack that weighed less than mine, I’ll never know. Erik and Malc’ christened us ‘the gadget brothers’. We all agreed we didn’t want today to end.
At this point Malc’ spotted a majestic Eagle soaring above us, but his disappointment was infinitesimal as we tried to break it gently to him that it was a Heron. “Herons are pretty rare too” we lied, but it was no good, he was a broken twitcher!
We could see the end to our great day looming, and unfortunately we arrived too late to ride the White Corries Ski Lift that we could see to the left. (NB, the ski lift has since closed). We wondered how much it would cost, if you were allowed to just ride up and down it, and how long it would take to complete it. Well, at the time of writing I can now answer those questions. Three pounds, yes, and about fifteen minutes up, and fifteen down. The only thing I can’t say is exactly what time the last ride is, but a ‘phone call would answer that one. We all took a picture, as probably do almost all who pass it, of Blackrock Cottage, with Buachaille Etive Mor in the background.
We soon covered the short distance to the A82 road, and we parted company with Erik and Malc’ because they were staying at Kingshouse (apparently they had taken out a twenty-five year mortgage!), and Colin and I were catching the bus into Glencoe. I gave Erik my camera, as I had heard that the deer come really close to the hotel in the mornings and I wanted some good pictures. As they walked away, I’m sure I caught a snippet of the conversation. Malc’ was saying something like; “.....thirty quid for it easy”. I guessed they were talking about the price of the room for the night!!!
It was now 4:30pm, and here we were after starting at about eight this morning. I didn’t feel at all tired, in fact I could easily walk further. I think I was more tired yesterday than I felt right now. We sat in the warm sun by the road and waited for the bus to come, which we were assured would stop to pick us up, even though it was not really an official stop, but as there was room for the bus to pull in they would usually oblige. Not today! We stood there and watched as the bus hove into view, and the hove out again! Colin taught me some new swear words (well, what are older brothers for?) and we looked at each other for inspiration. It was gone half past five, the next bus wasn’t until about eight o’clock, and we want didn’t fancy standing there until then. I tried hitching for a while, but understandably got no luck (I told Colin to hide!). We decided that there was nothing else for it but to make our way to Kingshouse and ‘phone a taxi. We made our way down the Tarmac road towards the Hotel, noticing that there was a bunkhouse type of thing, which we knew nothing about. Too late now, as we were already booked in at Glencoe. We went around the back to the climbers’ bar. I bought a couple of drinks and asked to use the ‘phone. I was told that it was out of order, so now we were really stuck. Oh well, at least we could have something to eat and drink while we waited for eight o’clock to come. But what if the eight o'clock bus didn’t stop either??? As I was contemplating this, a Belgian lad at the bar next to me said, in broken English; “Are you going to “Glen-coo-ee”? I was thrown a bit by his pronunciation, but I got the gist of what he meant. He said he was picking some friends up at the foot of Devils Staircase, and would gladly drop us there. At this time I didn’t know how far that was, but I agreed and thanked him for his offer. He said he’d be leaving in a few minutes, so I took the drinks over to Colin to tell him of the latest developments.
“What are we doing, then” he said.
“We’re going to get in this blokes car, and offer him money to take us to Glencoe”, I said.
Hi-jacking was another alternative, but I needn’t have worried because when I broached the subject, he instantly agreed to take us. An ‘interesting’ journey followed, mainly for Colin who decided to occupy the front seat. Not too bad, you might think, but as it was a left-hand drive car, and he tried to get in the left-hand side, it didn’t start too well. Couple this with the fact that our driver was a cross between Mogadon Man, and Michael Schumacher, and you have a recipe for a really interesting ride! Colin was the only one who could see in front, and what was bearing down on him, vehicle wise, but that didn’t stop our driver from overtaking things. I thought the drive was ok from where I was sitting in the back seat, but Colin assured me it was far more fraught from where he was. You could see the look of perplexity on the faces of oncoming drivers as they saw this horror struck face without a steering wheel in front of it pass them at warp factor six! We reached the garage in ‘Glen-coo-ee’, and I thanked our driver, and gave him remuneration whilst quietly whispering ‘Shh, Shhh, it’s all right, it’s all over now shhhh, shhh’ comfortingly in Colin's ear and slowly extricating him from what he was certain would be his shroud. He visibly shudders whenever he sees a Vauxhall Astra ever since!
We consulted the lady in the petrol station as to the whereabouts of our B&B, Strathlachlan, the Glencoe Guest House.
Sod's law concerning accommodation;
At any given point in any village or town, if you don’t know the whereabouts of your accommodation, then you will start the search at exactly the opposite end of that village or town to where it is located.
Fortunately, Glencoe is probably, nay - definitely, the most aesthetically pleasing place I’ve ever been in. Beautiful, massive mountains surround it. It was difficult to concentrate on anything other than looking around. We walked the one and a half miles to our bed for the night, and were greeted in a very friendly manner by Eileen Daynes, our ‘Mum’ for tonight. While we were at the door removing our boots, a very scrumptious looking young foreign lady drove into the yard, walked up and smilingly asked if there were any vacancies. Sadly not, replied Eileen. I did try to help and show willing by offering Colins bed to her, after all, he was now a ruffty-tuffty walker, and could spend the night outdoors with no ill effects to me whatsoever. My offer fell on deaf ears, and she was directed to some other B&B for the night. I wiped the dribble from my chin and entered ‘Strathlachlan’. The room was divine, to say the least. I walked around it, admiring the en suite bathroom, swinging the cat around so thoughtfully provided for such purposes, and thought back to the bunkhouse in Tyndrum. Different price, different world. Wow! We both got ready and tried to make a decision as to what we were going to do that night. Mum (a.k.a. Eileen) tried to steer us in the right direction by suggesting we visit the ‘Clachaig’ pub, which her son runs. We didn’t go, as it would have meant a taxi ride to and back from it. I now know this was a mistake and we should have ‘listened to Mum’. We went into Glencoe village, which is remarkably unremarkable, and spent an uninteresting night feeding and watering ourselves. Then we had to walk the mile and a half back to ‘Strathlachlan’. Colin was asleep by the time I had switched out the light that night. He was also snoring but it didn’t stop me also becoming comatose in a very short space of time.
This was the part my brother didn't like - a bit of a scramble!
You WILL have to tackle this section if you do the ridge.
We spent a good while taking pictures and generally enjoying our situation before setting off on the downward slope to Kinlochleven, which we could see in the valley. On the way down, we noticed the sound of motorbikes. There was some long-standing competition going on, a motorbike trials up the hillside, and we could see the riders making their way up the side of the huge pipes which come down the hillside from the Blackwater Reservoir to the aluminium works at Kinlochleven.
The path down is rocky and treacherous with a large sack on, but by far the most stunning views are to be had here. Every mountain top is now clear of cloud, even The (unmistakable) Ben, and each way you turn it takes your breath away and again I think of the people that have passed this way in bad weather and missed all of this loveliness. Today it was just perfect. A lovely stiff, cool breeze, strong sunshine and air so clean it should be bottled and sold. It really did feel great to be alive. I realised now that, even though tomorrow’s weather forecast is for rain, I didn’t care. Nothing could now spoil the experiences we were having today, and had had over the last few days. I could see down Glen Nevis, I could see the Ben, and I was determined that nothing would stop me from going up it.
We carried on down the long, winding track, with me lagging behind. I kept stopping to take photo’s, but I was also enjoying the solitude of walking alone for the moment. It made me very contemplative and reflective on how good everything had been, and still was. Weather I couldn’t have ordered, companionship in the form of all the people that we had met over the walk, and my own brother, who might as well be my best friend. He has been super company. I couldn't pick fault with anything he’s done over the days. Not even a cross word has passed between us. We’ve had laughter, we’ve walked quietly when we wanted to, and we’ve had the jollity of the two stooges as well! That just really put the icing on the cake. I really hope to walk again with Malc’ and Erik. I don’t know if we will, but I would like to.
We stopped for lunch about halfway down. We got the binoculars out and surveyed all the surrounding mountains and also watched the trials going on. Malc’ and Erik decided they would like to see more so, a little later on, we parted company and they set off towards one of the stages and we carried on towards Kinlochleven.
When we reached Kinlochleven, we were very early so we popped in to the Tailrace Inn (named after the water out-fall from the Aluminium works) for a quick pint, and went across to the weather bulletin board. I wish I hadn’t! The forecast for tomorrow was for heavy rain - all day! To tell the truth, I really wasn’t bothered, as the trip so far had been so brilliant that I felt completely fulfilled. We made our way up to ‘Edencoille’ guesthouse, where we were to stay that night, and were pleasantly surprised. A nice room, with colour telly, a little sink and tea and coffee making facilities.
At about six o’clock, we went down stairs with the intention of going out to buy a bottle of wine, as we had been invited out to dinner with Ian and Anne, friends of Colin. The trouble was, we got talking to Mr and Mrs Robertson, who run ‘Edencoille’, and found them full of information about the local area, history and where to walk. They also told us that the Aluminium works, which seemed to be the life and soul of the village, was to close in about three years. Colin and I had likened the village to a pit village, and soon tourism would be all that was left for Kinlochleven. Before we knew it, Ian turned up and we were whisked away to his caravan, which was pleasingly parked by a Loch. On the way out, we saw Heath, Bart, Malc’ and Erik. I hung out of Ian’s Jeep window and shouted some good-natured abuse to them. The look on their face as we were chauffeured past was a picture.
We arrived to meet a busy Anne, creating some wonderful smells, and awaited the feast. Unfortunately, the weather took a turn for the worse and it chucked it down for about half an hour! However, it didn’t dampen our appetites, and we devoured the spaghetti bolognese that Anne prepared for us. I hadn’t had any pasta since the beginning of the trip, so it was a real treat for me. We all had seconds of sweet as well, but we put that down to all the weight we must have lost walking!
After the meal, Ian kindly took us back to Kinlochleven via the opposite side of the loch so we could see the different aspect. We did a short recce’ of the local pubs to try and see if we could meet up with any of our fellow travellers, but found none at all, which was very disappointing. We made our way back to ‘Edencoille’ and turned in to dream of Ben Nevis and the end of the walk.
After ‘phoning home etc., we made our way to Craig Nevis guesthouse and our hostess, Jean McKenzie. After Jean explained about some mix up, we were shown to our separate rooms. We should have had a twin, but we weren’t complaining. My room had a shower and a T.V.! It’s funny how things fall into place sometimes, and as I sat watching the weather forecast for the following day or two, I feared very much that even a two-day buffer to do The Ben would not be enough. High winds and heavy snow was the portent! The weatherman was even saying things like ‘don’t go out unless you have to’. ‘Oooo - eerrrr’!
We got washed and changed into our least smelly gear (it wasn’t that bad really) and rang for a taxi to take us to the Crannog. We would have walked it, but the rain was pimpling the Tarmac on the pavements! It was also blowing quite hard and sitting in the reception bar of the Crannog, which is Scottish for ‘man made island’, didn’t feel too good. The sea was lashing the structure and the rain was clattering on the windows. People were rushing in shaking themselves and being divested of their wet things by the staff. Eventually Ian, Anne, Freddie and his wife Feya arrived. We were shown to our table and there began the gastronomic dream. The food, as expected, was out of this world. The storm outside was soon forgotten as we tucked in to our chosen Manna. This place even has it’s own boat, which delivers its catch straight into the kitchens. Now that’s what I call FRESH. The soup starter really was just a leader for the main course. I opted for Langoustines in a garlic sauce and I just didn’t want my plate to ever empty. Large nogs of good bread were there to mop up the juices. Everyone else was in there own chosen heaven as the food met its demise. Of course, I had the camera to hand to record the event, and the staff were happy to oblige. We finished off with sweets to the same standard. I had the most wonderful Walnut gateau and we then sat around enjoying making conversation with one another and drinking wine. After a very convivial evening, we made our way home to ‘Craig Nevis’ to get a good nights’ sleep - just in case we needed it!
Bank Holiday Monday 5th May. The ascent of Ben Nevis - 4,406 feet. (10 Miles)
When I woke up this morning, the first thing I did was to switch on the T.V. for the weather forecast. It was pretty dire, but the view from my window told a different story. It wasn’t too bad, and it was then that I decided - today was the day!
I went to tell Colin and we made ready, packing our stuff into the small day sacks that Erik and Malc’ had so kindly left at the B & B for us. When we arrived here, Mrs McKenzie said these two sweaty, panting men had left something for us. We were relieved to find it was just the sacks! They had left a message on what looked like a disabled parking disc. It said; ‘What a walk - we beat the pack carrying service!’. I was pleased for them, but I couldn’t get this picture in my mind of some poor disabled person coming back to their car to find a parking ticket stuck to their windscreen.
Rather than walk the 3Km or so to the youth hostel, we took a taxi. It cost £3 and dropped us off at the youth hostel. Although it was quite warm, and a tee shirt was sufficient for now, we had all the gear stowed away for whatever could be thrown at us. It looked like we might need it too, as we saw that the weather forecast was written on the information board in RED! It was telling of temperatures of minus 15 degrees at three thousand feet, and we were hoping to go to over four thousand. Ah well, we could always turn back and come again tomorrow, but seeing as we were here, we set off.
The ascent of The Ben is one long uphill walk. I make no bones about it, but I’m also not complaining. The difference from other mountains I’ve been up is that you start from almost sea level, so you really have got to climb every foot of the way. The weather was still fairly good, and the views more than compensated for the hard work. We gradually gained height and had to put another layer on as the temperature began to fall. We were soon at he same height as, and could plainly see across the valley to, the vitrified fort I was at yesterday. The defence ring could be seen far more clearly now. The view up the Glen was good too. Yet, the more we climbed, the more spectacular things were becoming. More and more distant lochs that had been hidden by surrounding hills were slowly revealed and our wonderment grew. More clothes went on, including gloves and a balaclava to ward off the now very cold air. One surprising fact was that we were not seeing many people. We had seen about five so far, and we didn’t know whether they had been to the top or not. Halfway up the mountain, we passed Lochan Meall and entered the snow line. We looked across Glen Nevis and could plainly see Freddie’s farm and the West Highland Way path threading through the woodland far below. We took many pictures of the views, and also of our surroundings as now we were seeing frozen waterfalls, banks of snow and rime ice. The weather then began to change and we had to contend with horizontal snow driven at us by strong winds. It was very stinging on the face, but we pushed on. We were nearing the top now, but could not see it. A guy coming down said that he had been up to the top, but couldn’t see anything for the clouds. We still decided to go for it and he told us of a short cut across a large snowdrift. We thanked him and set off for the final part. I had got my card from the mountain rescue people on how to get off the Ben in white out conditions without falling into Gardyloo gully, and we both had compasses to hand. As we approached the last few yards, I hung back and let Colin top out first. The wind was screaming and the snow was blowing, but the elation from us both was far more powerful. Here we were, bank holiday Monday, the two highest people in Britain, on top of the most popular mountain, and we were alone. We stayed for a good forty minutes, taking photo’s and marvelling at the views. We could only remove our gloves for about thirty seconds at a time though, as it was so cold the feeling in our fingers started to go after that. Also, my camera kept flashing the ‘low battery’ light, but as I had only put new batteries in the previous day, I knew it was due to the cold.
EPILOGUE.
© Les Singleton.
July 18th 1997.
It was now 4:30pm, and here we were after starting at about eight this morning. I didn’t feel at all tired, in fact I could easily walk further. I think I was more tired yesterday than I felt right now. We sat in the warm sun by the road and waited for the bus to come, which we were assured would stop to pick us up, even though it was not really an official stop, but as there was room for the bus to pull in they would usually oblige. Not today! We stood there and watched as the bus hove into view, and the hove out again! Colin taught me some new swear words (well, what are older brothers for?) and we looked at each other for inspiration. It was gone half past five, the next bus wasn’t until about eight o’clock, and we want didn’t fancy standing there until then. I tried hitching for a while, but understandably got no luck (I told Colin to hide!). We decided that there was nothing else for it but to make our way to Kingshouse and ‘phone a taxi. We made our way down the Tarmac road towards the Hotel, noticing that there was a bunkhouse type of thing, which we knew nothing about. Too late now, as we were already booked in at Glencoe. We went around the back to the climbers’ bar. I bought a couple of drinks and asked to use the ‘phone. I was told that it was out of order, so now we were really stuck. Oh well, at least we could have something to eat and drink while we waited for eight o’clock to come. But what if the eight o'clock bus didn’t stop either??? As I was contemplating this, a Belgian lad at the bar next to me said, in broken English; “Are you going to “Glen-coo-ee”? I was thrown a bit by his pronunciation, but I got the gist of what he meant. He said he was picking some friends up at the foot of Devils Staircase, and would gladly drop us there. At this time I didn’t know how far that was, but I agreed and thanked him for his offer. He said he’d be leaving in a few minutes, so I took the drinks over to Colin to tell him of the latest developments.
“What are we doing, then” he said.
“We’re going to get in this blokes car, and offer him money to take us to Glencoe”, I said.
Hi-jacking was another alternative, but I needn’t have worried because when I broached the subject, he instantly agreed to take us. An ‘interesting’ journey followed, mainly for Colin who decided to occupy the front seat. Not too bad, you might think, but as it was a left-hand drive car, and he tried to get in the left-hand side, it didn’t start too well. Couple this with the fact that our driver was a cross between Mogadon Man, and Michael Schumacher, and you have a recipe for a really interesting ride! Colin was the only one who could see in front, and what was bearing down on him, vehicle wise, but that didn’t stop our driver from overtaking things. I thought the drive was ok from where I was sitting in the back seat, but Colin assured me it was far more fraught from where he was. You could see the look of perplexity on the faces of oncoming drivers as they saw this horror struck face without a steering wheel in front of it pass them at warp factor six! We reached the garage in ‘Glen-coo-ee’, and I thanked our driver, and gave him remuneration whilst quietly whispering ‘Shh, Shhh, it’s all right, it’s all over now shhhh, shhh’ comfortingly in Colin's ear and slowly extricating him from what he was certain would be his shroud. He visibly shudders whenever he sees a Vauxhall Astra ever since!
We consulted the lady in the petrol station as to the whereabouts of our B&B, Strathlachlan, the Glencoe Guest House.
Sod's law concerning accommodation;
At any given point in any village or town, if you don’t know the whereabouts of your accommodation, then you will start the search at exactly the opposite end of that village or town to where it is located.
Fortunately, Glencoe is probably, nay - definitely, the most aesthetically pleasing place I’ve ever been in. Beautiful, massive mountains surround it. It was difficult to concentrate on anything other than looking around. We walked the one and a half miles to our bed for the night, and were greeted in a very friendly manner by Eileen Daynes, our ‘Mum’ for tonight. While we were at the door removing our boots, a very scrumptious looking young foreign lady drove into the yard, walked up and smilingly asked if there were any vacancies. Sadly not, replied Eileen. I did try to help and show willing by offering Colins bed to her, after all, he was now a ruffty-tuffty walker, and could spend the night outdoors with no ill effects to me whatsoever. My offer fell on deaf ears, and she was directed to some other B&B for the night. I wiped the dribble from my chin and entered ‘Strathlachlan’. The room was divine, to say the least. I walked around it, admiring the en suite bathroom, swinging the cat around so thoughtfully provided for such purposes, and thought back to the bunkhouse in Tyndrum. Different price, different world. Wow! We both got ready and tried to make a decision as to what we were going to do that night. Mum (a.k.a. Eileen) tried to steer us in the right direction by suggesting we visit the ‘Clachaig’ pub, which her son runs. We didn’t go, as it would have meant a taxi ride to and back from it. I now know this was a mistake and we should have ‘listened to Mum’. We went into Glencoe village, which is remarkably unremarkable, and spent an uninteresting night feeding and watering ourselves. Then we had to walk the mile and a half back to ‘Strathlachlan’. Colin was asleep by the time I had switched out the light that night. He was also snoring but it didn’t stop me also becoming comatose in a very short space of time.
Saturday May 3rd - Kingshouse to Kinlochleven - 9 Miles.
The Sun was streaming through the windows this morning when we woke up. I made my way into the conservatory that is part of the breakfast area, and marvelled at the view. The tops of the mountains had mist streaming off them like spindrift, almost emulating Everest. I was almost uncomfortable by the window in the heat of the Sun, but I wanted to sit here and just stare at the panorama. The sharp morning frost would soon wither as the sun crept upon it. Shortly I was joined by Colin, and we were fed a very good breakfast, including a bit of haggis, by Eileen.
After eating, we spent a few minutes chatting to five female guests. They showed interest in the walk we were doing, so I said I would send them a copy of the diary when I had finished writing it. I’m always the same, and got so involved in the conversation that I forgot the time. Colin nudged me and said “come on bruv’, we’ve got a bus to catch”, and, turning to the others he ‘tutted’ and said; “I don’t know - he faffs about like a woman”!
We said our goodbyes, and thanked Eileen for her great hospitality, and set off to catch the bus back to Kingshouse. Instead of walking right down the road again, we crossed a field and walked down the main A82, which was much quicker. If only we’d have known this last night!
The trip back up Glencoe was indescribable. I just didn’t want the journey to end. All this crammed into one special place. It really does have to be seen to be believed. You could fire off a roll of film just on the bus trip back to White Corries. All too soon we reached the stop we needed. We alighted and walked the short distance to the hotel to meet up with Erik and Malc’. We were surprised by the coolness of the breeze as we walked up to the hotel. While we were waiting, Colin did his good deed early by giving some of his Sun block to a redskin we met. Obviously the good weather was catching people out, but fancy coming to a mountainous area in spring, with no Sun protection!
Presently, Malc’ and Erik arrived and they had put my camera to good use, getting several shots of the deer that morning. We passed behind the Hotel and followed the Tarmac road back towards Glencoe and the start of the Devils Staircase. Just before we got to the start, we noticed a humorous sign at the side of the road. There was a ruined cottage, Altnafeadh, with a sign saying ‘parking for residents only’ outside. We climbed the stile on our right, and began the climb with the fearsome name of; 'Devils staircase'. I was sure I could hear the 'Superman' theme tune playing somewhere!
Malc’ and Erik watched as we dragged our poor bodies up the incline, heavily laden with our sacks, and pity got the best of them and Erik asked if we would like to swap loads for part of the climb. We really thought they were serious at one point! I declined with an heroic wave of my hand; “we’re made of sterner stuff, we’ve carried them this far, eh Bruv....”. As I turned to seek agreement from ‘Mr ruffty-tuffty’, I saw to my horror that he was swapping sacks with Erik. I took a photo’ so he could never live it down, turned, grunted and pushed on.
Actually, the climb isn’t all that fearsome and we soon reached the top. By now the weather was perfect and we could see the (again) most spectacular panorama of mountains ahead. The Mamore range figured largely, but there was the ‘unmistakable hunch of Ben Nevis’. Where? Not wishing to seem thick, I said; “there’s the Ben then”. “Where” ; said Malc’. We all admitted we couldn’t make out which ‘unmistakable’ hunch was the one. Luckily a chap appeared with a map with a topographic top and we just held it up against the view and all said; “oh, THAT unmistakable hunch!!”
Actually, the climb isn’t all that fearsome and we soon reached the top. By now the weather was perfect and we could see the (again) most spectacular panorama of mountains ahead. The Mamore range figured largely, but there was the ‘unmistakable hunch of Ben Nevis’. Where? Not wishing to seem thick, I said; “there’s the Ben then”. “Where” ; said Malc’. We all admitted we couldn’t make out which ‘unmistakable’ hunch was the one. Luckily a chap appeared with a map with a topographic top and we just held it up against the view and all said; “oh, THAT unmistakable hunch!!”
ADDENDUM
At this point on a previous WHW walk, my brother and I did the Aonach Egach ridge- these are three pictures from the walk.
You can see the path over the top of the ridge, quite exposed.
The path down is rocky and treacherous with a large sack on, but by far the most stunning views are to be had here. Every mountain top is now clear of cloud, even The (unmistakable) Ben, and each way you turn it takes your breath away and again I think of the people that have passed this way in bad weather and missed all of this loveliness. Today it was just perfect. A lovely stiff, cool breeze, strong sunshine and air so clean it should be bottled and sold. It really did feel great to be alive. I realised now that, even though tomorrow’s weather forecast is for rain, I didn’t care. Nothing could now spoil the experiences we were having today, and had had over the last few days. I could see down Glen Nevis, I could see the Ben, and I was determined that nothing would stop me from going up it.
We carried on down the long, winding track, with me lagging behind. I kept stopping to take photo’s, but I was also enjoying the solitude of walking alone for the moment. It made me very contemplative and reflective on how good everything had been, and still was. Weather I couldn’t have ordered, companionship in the form of all the people that we had met over the walk, and my own brother, who might as well be my best friend. He has been super company. I couldn't pick fault with anything he’s done over the days. Not even a cross word has passed between us. We’ve had laughter, we’ve walked quietly when we wanted to, and we’ve had the jollity of the two stooges as well! That just really put the icing on the cake. I really hope to walk again with Malc’ and Erik. I don’t know if we will, but I would like to.
We stopped for lunch about halfway down. We got the binoculars out and surveyed all the surrounding mountains and also watched the trials going on. Malc’ and Erik decided they would like to see more so, a little later on, we parted company and they set off towards one of the stages and we carried on towards Kinlochleven.
When we reached Kinlochleven, we were very early so we popped in to the Tailrace Inn (named after the water out-fall from the Aluminium works) for a quick pint, and went across to the weather bulletin board. I wish I hadn’t! The forecast for tomorrow was for heavy rain - all day! To tell the truth, I really wasn’t bothered, as the trip so far had been so brilliant that I felt completely fulfilled. We made our way up to ‘Edencoille’ guesthouse, where we were to stay that night, and were pleasantly surprised. A nice room, with colour telly, a little sink and tea and coffee making facilities.
At about six o’clock, we went down stairs with the intention of going out to buy a bottle of wine, as we had been invited out to dinner with Ian and Anne, friends of Colin. The trouble was, we got talking to Mr and Mrs Robertson, who run ‘Edencoille’, and found them full of information about the local area, history and where to walk. They also told us that the Aluminium works, which seemed to be the life and soul of the village, was to close in about three years. Colin and I had likened the village to a pit village, and soon tourism would be all that was left for Kinlochleven. Before we knew it, Ian turned up and we were whisked away to his caravan, which was pleasingly parked by a Loch. On the way out, we saw Heath, Bart, Malc’ and Erik. I hung out of Ian’s Jeep window and shouted some good-natured abuse to them. The look on their face as we were chauffeured past was a picture.
We arrived to meet a busy Anne, creating some wonderful smells, and awaited the feast. Unfortunately, the weather took a turn for the worse and it chucked it down for about half an hour! However, it didn’t dampen our appetites, and we devoured the spaghetti bolognese that Anne prepared for us. I hadn’t had any pasta since the beginning of the trip, so it was a real treat for me. We all had seconds of sweet as well, but we put that down to all the weight we must have lost walking!
After the meal, Ian kindly took us back to Kinlochleven via the opposite side of the loch so we could see the different aspect. We did a short recce’ of the local pubs to try and see if we could meet up with any of our fellow travellers, but found none at all, which was very disappointing. We made our way back to ‘Edencoille’ and turned in to dream of Ben Nevis and the end of the walk.
FINAL DAY - KINLOCHLEVEN TO FORT WILLIAM.
I awoke at about five o’clock this morning, the gentle sound of rain clattering fiercely against the window! At the appointed time we made our way down stairs to devour ‘Drews wonderful breakfast. Two people were just setting off for Fort William, and we wished them well as they opened the door to face the deluge. We chatted with 'Drew and Elsie, hoping the weather would abate, but it kept on. We had arranged to meet Ian and Anne at about nine o’clock, as Anne wanted to join us on this, our last leg of the walk, so we could tarry no longer. I could spend a lot more time here at Edencoille, and would definitely recommend it if you’re staying in Kinlochleven, but the day demanded we join it, so we departed. We met Ian and Anne in the Tailrace Inn car park and, after agreeing that women were a curse to mankind and the weather (well, we had to blame someone), set off on our last day.
Last night when we were walking around the village, I noticed a brightly lit up building on the opposite side of the valley, well up the hillside. I thought it must be some rich mans’ mansion, but it turned out to be Mamore Lodge, where anyone can stay! It reminded me of a ship on a dark sea, as it was the only thing lit up and looked strangely eerie. It is licensed, but the main advantage must be that it is halfway up the hill on the last day! I have spoken to people who have stayed there since, and it gets the thumbs up.
We looked back over the damp valley to ‘Edencoille’ before continuing the climb towards Mam Beag. Anyone thinking of pushing through Kinlochleven and heading straight for Fort William should take heed. The climb is long and sapping. Very rewarding, but nevertheless long and sapping. It was quite misty and drizzly, but we were in good spirits, and having someone new to talk to in the form of Anne, kept the conversation lively. We settled in to a comfortable pace as the old military road now ran almost flat along the glen. I bet the views from here are quite good when it’s clear, but we could only see the ones that were close to us. At about half past ten, Erik and Malc’ caught us up. They had to press on as they were going to catch the bus home tonight. We chatted for a brief while, and they had got the note I left at the Tailrace pub. It asked them if Colin and I could borrow their rucksacks for our day going up Ben Nevis (we didn’t want to carry the big sacks up) and they promised to leave them at our bed and breakfast. They disappeared into the wild grey yonder at a lick, and we guessed they would make good time.
We passed a ruin, Tigh-na-sleubhaich, which we just thought had become run down with time. We were to find out later that walkers had done all the damage and other passers by who had used the roof timbers and doors for fires. I got to speak to the owners of the land we were now on, and they said that they wanted to restore the place, but their shepherd had told them that if it wasn’t occupied full time, it would just be returned to its former condition quite quickly. It could be a good bothy, but isn’t it sad that that’s the way of the world?
We passed another ruin and soon came to the start of the wooded area. We took advantage of the shelter the trees gave and sat down among them to eat lunch. I noticed that I was quite damp inside my new Gore Tex coat, which I bought especially for this walk, and wished that one day I would get one of the ones that they must reserve for the magazine testers, i.e. one that actually works! I started to recite a poem about rain and, to my surprise, Anne went along with me word for word. She was the only other person I’d met that knew it! It goes like this (just in case you’re in Scotland and it happens to rain); Ahem -
RAIN.
It rained, and it rained, and rained and rained.
The average fall was well maintained.
And when the tracks were simply bogs,
It started raining cats and dogs.
After a drought of half an hour
We had the most refreshing shower.
And then, the most curious thing of all
A gentle rain began to fall.
Next day was also fairly dry
(save for the deluge from the sky)
which wet the party to the skin,
And after that.... the rain set in!
All this water now and overnight made the waterfalls very dramatic and, although I wasn’t taking as many photo’s today, it was still very beautiful to look at.
Presently, Ian joined us, and we also caught Alan, the Lands End to John o’Groats walker. We chatted away merrily as we walked. Ian very kindly invited Colin and I out for a meal this evening at the famous Crannog restaurant in Fort William to meet another radio ‘ham’ named Freddie (GM0-UMJ) that Colin had spoken to, but not met. I believe the Crannog has been voted the country’s best seafood restaurant, I only hope it’s not too suave for two West Highland Way walkers!
After what seemed like a very short while, Ian left us to return to his car. He was going to drive to Fort William to pick up Anne when we had finished. After he had left, the weather picked up (please don’t read anything in to this, it was just a coincidence!) and we managed to take off our wet togs. It was very warm as we made our way through the woods and the lack of any breeze made it quite stifling at times.
At the next fence, there was the chance to visit the Iron Age hill fort called Dun Deardail. Apparently, it has been attacked so many times with fire in the past, that it had vitrified the stone. I wanted to see this and said so. Colin said he would come too, but Anne said she’d wait awhile, and Alan decided to carry on. The sign said the fort was 400 metres. I foolishly thought this was how far we had to walk, but I can now warn you that this is probably Scottish humour at its worst, and I would suggest it is really how much higher you have to climb! Anyway, we took a lot longer than anticipated and Colin started to get anxious about Anne being on her own, and turned back. I went on, as I had come this far and really wanted to see what this vitrified fort looked like. When I got to the top, I was quite disappointed, as there was nothing to see really. It was like you would expect an Iron Age fort to be - just a circular mound covered in grass. The whole climb was made worthwhile though, as the weather started to clear and I got good views along Glen Nevis. I was also tempted to take my first photo’ for a while.
I was brought back to the present day by a strident call from Colin. I set off to try and catch him and Anne. They must have gone at quite a lick, as it was ages before I managed to reel them in. When I did, they were looking at The Ben through a gap in the trees. A mighty sight it was too, even though the top was shrouded in cloud I could see why it was the quintessential mountain to many people, myself included. We stood in quiet reverence before posing for photographs. It was to be Colin’s first mountain, and my final one of the ‘big three’ (the other two being Snowdon and Scafell Pike). Was I pre-empting myself? I hope not as the ascent of Ben Nevis was high on the agenda of this trip as far as I was concerned. It was the reason we had decided to fly up, as it gave us two free days to choose from to tackle it.
On the way down through the woods, the day really started to brighten up. More than enough blue sky to make a sailor a pair of trousers, as my Mum used to say. We were a little late for the quarter past three rendezvous with Ian, but he was still all smiles. He said he and Anne would drive the last mile to the end and wait to take our photo’s for us. He did offer a lift (and I’m surprised Colin - he of the carried sack - didn’t accept) but we decided puristically to walk. As happened to me on the Pembrokeshire coastal path walk, the heavens opened for the last mile. Still, we kept our sense of humour, and we posed by a road works sign that said ‘END’, as if it was the end of the Way. That point was really about half a mile away, and when we got there, the sun was again shining brightly. We congratulated each other, took the photo’s beside the plaque and watched as others, doing the same as us, finished their own journey. Ian and Anne made a fine welcoming party (it was nice, as this was the first time I had ever had someone to meet me at the end of a long walk) and we finalised the arrangements for tonight before they set off back to their caravan.
Colin and I had a look around the West Highland Way centre at some of the souvenirs available. I hoped he didn’t buy a certificate, as unbeknown to him, I had sent him an ‘official’ one in the post to our last B &B.
I awoke at about five o’clock this morning, the gentle sound of rain clattering fiercely against the window! At the appointed time we made our way down stairs to devour ‘Drews wonderful breakfast. Two people were just setting off for Fort William, and we wished them well as they opened the door to face the deluge. We chatted with 'Drew and Elsie, hoping the weather would abate, but it kept on. We had arranged to meet Ian and Anne at about nine o’clock, as Anne wanted to join us on this, our last leg of the walk, so we could tarry no longer. I could spend a lot more time here at Edencoille, and would definitely recommend it if you’re staying in Kinlochleven, but the day demanded we join it, so we departed. We met Ian and Anne in the Tailrace Inn car park and, after agreeing that women were a curse to mankind and the weather (well, we had to blame someone), set off on our last day.
Last night when we were walking around the village, I noticed a brightly lit up building on the opposite side of the valley, well up the hillside. I thought it must be some rich mans’ mansion, but it turned out to be Mamore Lodge, where anyone can stay! It reminded me of a ship on a dark sea, as it was the only thing lit up and looked strangely eerie. It is licensed, but the main advantage must be that it is halfway up the hill on the last day! I have spoken to people who have stayed there since, and it gets the thumbs up.
We looked back over the damp valley to ‘Edencoille’ before continuing the climb towards Mam Beag. Anyone thinking of pushing through Kinlochleven and heading straight for Fort William should take heed. The climb is long and sapping. Very rewarding, but nevertheless long and sapping. It was quite misty and drizzly, but we were in good spirits, and having someone new to talk to in the form of Anne, kept the conversation lively. We settled in to a comfortable pace as the old military road now ran almost flat along the glen. I bet the views from here are quite good when it’s clear, but we could only see the ones that were close to us. At about half past ten, Erik and Malc’ caught us up. They had to press on as they were going to catch the bus home tonight. We chatted for a brief while, and they had got the note I left at the Tailrace pub. It asked them if Colin and I could borrow their rucksacks for our day going up Ben Nevis (we didn’t want to carry the big sacks up) and they promised to leave them at our bed and breakfast. They disappeared into the wild grey yonder at a lick, and we guessed they would make good time.
We passed a ruin, Tigh-na-sleubhaich, which we just thought had become run down with time. We were to find out later that walkers had done all the damage and other passers by who had used the roof timbers and doors for fires. I got to speak to the owners of the land we were now on, and they said that they wanted to restore the place, but their shepherd had told them that if it wasn’t occupied full time, it would just be returned to its former condition quite quickly. It could be a good bothy, but isn’t it sad that that’s the way of the world?
RAIN.
It rained, and it rained, and rained and rained.
The average fall was well maintained.
And when the tracks were simply bogs,
It started raining cats and dogs.
After a drought of half an hour
We had the most refreshing shower.
And then, the most curious thing of all
A gentle rain began to fall.
Next day was also fairly dry
(save for the deluge from the sky)
which wet the party to the skin,
And after that.... the rain set in!
All this water now and overnight made the waterfalls very dramatic and, although I wasn’t taking as many photo’s today, it was still very beautiful to look at.
Presently, Ian joined us, and we also caught Alan, the Lands End to John o’Groats walker. We chatted away merrily as we walked. Ian very kindly invited Colin and I out for a meal this evening at the famous Crannog restaurant in Fort William to meet another radio ‘ham’ named Freddie (GM0-UMJ) that Colin had spoken to, but not met. I believe the Crannog has been voted the country’s best seafood restaurant, I only hope it’s not too suave for two West Highland Way walkers!
After what seemed like a very short while, Ian left us to return to his car. He was going to drive to Fort William to pick up Anne when we had finished. After he had left, the weather picked up (please don’t read anything in to this, it was just a coincidence!) and we managed to take off our wet togs. It was very warm as we made our way through the woods and the lack of any breeze made it quite stifling at times.
At the next fence, there was the chance to visit the Iron Age hill fort called Dun Deardail. Apparently, it has been attacked so many times with fire in the past, that it had vitrified the stone. I wanted to see this and said so. Colin said he would come too, but Anne said she’d wait awhile, and Alan decided to carry on. The sign said the fort was 400 metres. I foolishly thought this was how far we had to walk, but I can now warn you that this is probably Scottish humour at its worst, and I would suggest it is really how much higher you have to climb! Anyway, we took a lot longer than anticipated and Colin started to get anxious about Anne being on her own, and turned back. I went on, as I had come this far and really wanted to see what this vitrified fort looked like. When I got to the top, I was quite disappointed, as there was nothing to see really. It was like you would expect an Iron Age fort to be - just a circular mound covered in grass. The whole climb was made worthwhile though, as the weather started to clear and I got good views along Glen Nevis. I was also tempted to take my first photo’ for a while.
I was brought back to the present day by a strident call from Colin. I set off to try and catch him and Anne. They must have gone at quite a lick, as it was ages before I managed to reel them in. When I did, they were looking at The Ben through a gap in the trees. A mighty sight it was too, even though the top was shrouded in cloud I could see why it was the quintessential mountain to many people, myself included. We stood in quiet reverence before posing for photographs. It was to be Colin’s first mountain, and my final one of the ‘big three’ (the other two being Snowdon and Scafell Pike). Was I pre-empting myself? I hope not as the ascent of Ben Nevis was high on the agenda of this trip as far as I was concerned. It was the reason we had decided to fly up, as it gave us two free days to choose from to tackle it.
On the way down through the woods, the day really started to brighten up. More than enough blue sky to make a sailor a pair of trousers, as my Mum used to say. We were a little late for the quarter past three rendezvous with Ian, but he was still all smiles. He said he and Anne would drive the last mile to the end and wait to take our photo’s for us. He did offer a lift (and I’m surprised Colin - he of the carried sack - didn’t accept) but we decided puristically to walk. As happened to me on the Pembrokeshire coastal path walk, the heavens opened for the last mile. Still, we kept our sense of humour, and we posed by a road works sign that said ‘END’, as if it was the end of the Way. That point was really about half a mile away, and when we got there, the sun was again shining brightly. We congratulated each other, took the photo’s beside the plaque and watched as others, doing the same as us, finished their own journey. Ian and Anne made a fine welcoming party (it was nice, as this was the first time I had ever had someone to meet me at the end of a long walk) and we finalised the arrangements for tonight before they set off back to their caravan.
Colin and I had a look around the West Highland Way centre at some of the souvenirs available. I hoped he didn’t buy a certificate, as unbeknown to him, I had sent him an ‘official’ one in the post to our last B &B.
I thought long and hard about whether to attempt Ben Nevis tomorrow or Tuesday, which was supposed to be even worse. I decided to put it all behind me for now and see what the morning held.
We got washed and changed into our least smelly gear (it wasn’t that bad really) and rang for a taxi to take us to the Crannog. We would have walked it, but the rain was pimpling the Tarmac on the pavements! It was also blowing quite hard and sitting in the reception bar of the Crannog, which is Scottish for ‘man made island’, didn’t feel too good. The sea was lashing the structure and the rain was clattering on the windows. People were rushing in shaking themselves and being divested of their wet things by the staff. Eventually Ian, Anne, Freddie and his wife Feya arrived. We were shown to our table and there began the gastronomic dream. The food, as expected, was out of this world. The storm outside was soon forgotten as we tucked in to our chosen Manna. This place even has it’s own boat, which delivers its catch straight into the kitchens. Now that’s what I call FRESH. The soup starter really was just a leader for the main course. I opted for Langoustines in a garlic sauce and I just didn’t want my plate to ever empty. Large nogs of good bread were there to mop up the juices. Everyone else was in there own chosen heaven as the food met its demise. Of course, I had the camera to hand to record the event, and the staff were happy to oblige. We finished off with sweets to the same standard. I had the most wonderful Walnut gateau and we then sat around enjoying making conversation with one another and drinking wine. After a very convivial evening, we made our way home to ‘Craig Nevis’ to get a good nights’ sleep - just in case we needed it!
Bank Holiday Monday 5th May. The ascent of Ben Nevis - 4,406 feet. (10 Miles)
When I woke up this morning, the first thing I did was to switch on the T.V. for the weather forecast. It was pretty dire, but the view from my window told a different story. It wasn’t too bad, and it was then that I decided - today was the day!
I went to tell Colin and we made ready, packing our stuff into the small day sacks that Erik and Malc’ had so kindly left at the B & B for us. When we arrived here, Mrs McKenzie said these two sweaty, panting men had left something for us. We were relieved to find it was just the sacks! They had left a message on what looked like a disabled parking disc. It said; ‘What a walk - we beat the pack carrying service!’. I was pleased for them, but I couldn’t get this picture in my mind of some poor disabled person coming back to their car to find a parking ticket stuck to their windscreen.
Rather than walk the 3Km or so to the youth hostel, we took a taxi. It cost £3 and dropped us off at the youth hostel. Although it was quite warm, and a tee shirt was sufficient for now, we had all the gear stowed away for whatever could be thrown at us. It looked like we might need it too, as we saw that the weather forecast was written on the information board in RED! It was telling of temperatures of minus 15 degrees at three thousand feet, and we were hoping to go to over four thousand. Ah well, we could always turn back and come again tomorrow, but seeing as we were here, we set off.
The ascent of The Ben is one long uphill walk. I make no bones about it, but I’m also not complaining. The difference from other mountains I’ve been up is that you start from almost sea level, so you really have got to climb every foot of the way. The weather was still fairly good, and the views more than compensated for the hard work. We gradually gained height and had to put another layer on as the temperature began to fall. We were soon at he same height as, and could plainly see across the valley to, the vitrified fort I was at yesterday. The defence ring could be seen far more clearly now. The view up the Glen was good too. Yet, the more we climbed, the more spectacular things were becoming. More and more distant lochs that had been hidden by surrounding hills were slowly revealed and our wonderment grew. More clothes went on, including gloves and a balaclava to ward off the now very cold air. One surprising fact was that we were not seeing many people. We had seen about five so far, and we didn’t know whether they had been to the top or not. Halfway up the mountain, we passed Lochan Meall and entered the snow line. We looked across Glen Nevis and could plainly see Freddie’s farm and the West Highland Way path threading through the woodland far below. We took many pictures of the views, and also of our surroundings as now we were seeing frozen waterfalls, banks of snow and rime ice. The weather then began to change and we had to contend with horizontal snow driven at us by strong winds. It was very stinging on the face, but we pushed on. We were nearing the top now, but could not see it. A guy coming down said that he had been up to the top, but couldn’t see anything for the clouds. We still decided to go for it and he told us of a short cut across a large snowdrift. We thanked him and set off for the final part. I had got my card from the mountain rescue people on how to get off the Ben in white out conditions without falling into Gardyloo gully, and we both had compasses to hand. As we approached the last few yards, I hung back and let Colin top out first. The wind was screaming and the snow was blowing, but the elation from us both was far more powerful. Here we were, bank holiday Monday, the two highest people in Britain, on top of the most popular mountain, and we were alone. We stayed for a good forty minutes, taking photo’s and marvelling at the views. We could only remove our gloves for about thirty seconds at a time though, as it was so cold the feeling in our fingers started to go after that. Also, my camera kept flashing the ‘low battery’ light, but as I had only put new batteries in the previous day, I knew it was due to the cold.
To my amazement, there were two Snow Buntings flitting around. They seemed unaffected by the strong wind and cold. If I’d have had any food to give them, I would have but today they were unlucky. We ‘explored’ the summit, noticing that there was a shelter, but it was under about three feet of snow. There is also a stone refuge hut perched on top of a cairn like structure, but we didn’t go in it. Gardyloo gully had the most amazing cornice of snow hanging over it. It was by far the biggest I’d ever seen. It made a good foreground for photo’s when the weather cleared to give a dramatic backdrop. The weather abated slightly and we enjoyed our situation before (unnecessarily) following the mountain rescue card off the top to see how well it works. I can tell you, it’s spot on!
One of the guide poles had been broken off, but following the instructions led us right to the stump.
We turned our back on The Ben and started down. Again, we didn’t see many people near the top, but we did see more lower down. It’s easy to see how dangerous situations develop when you look at some of the stuff people were wearing. One guy had trainers and a thin cagoule with just a tee shirt on underneath, and no rucksack. I told him it was very cold higher up, but he just shrugged. I think that maybe I should have told him about the body they had found last Saturday that had been there for months!
It had taken us just over three hours to get to the top of Ben Nevis, and about two hours to get down (mainly because we kept stopping to talk!). The surrounding mountains had acquired a fresh sprinkling of snow and it all looked just too good to be true. At the bottom we went into a shop and bought yet another roll of film. I thought I had brought enough with me, as I had ten rolls, but I had run out. We visited the cafe, and just as we sat down, the heavens opened and it rained really hard. Just how lucky can you get? I rung Erik up and asked him what it was like to own a rucksack that had been up Ben Nevis! He was very pleased for us that we had done it, and we vowed to walk with him and Malc’ again soon. We caught a taxi back, and later that evening went out and let ourselves go completely at a Scottish evening in Fort William, and a meal at the famous Crannog restaurant.
The following day we went to Freddie and Feya’s lovely house in the hills, and Wednesday we caught the bus back to Glasgow. The bus trip back is interesting, as it runs a lot of the way parallel to the West Highland Way, so you see things from a different angle.
We got the plane home and, on arrival at East Midlands airport, went through the usual X-ray procedure. My stomach knotted when the examiner suddenly perked up and said; “wait a minute, wait a minute”, to the guy passing the luggage back. ‘Oh God’, I thought, ‘some international drug dealer has slipped something into our sacks, and we’ll end up in the Bangkok Hilton’.
“EXCUSE ME SIR”! The words cut through to us like a knife.
“Could I just have a look in your bag please”? The customs man slowly extricated Colin’s things whilst asking salient questions about the West Highland Way. Had some Scottish drug baron used Colin as an unwitting Mule? Would we rot for the rest of our lives in the ‘Glasgow Hilton’? To our relief, there was nothing untoward in there. Apparently, the problem was the present Colin had bought for his son. It was called a radiometer, and it was like a small windmill in a light bulb, but it was powered by the Sun and spun round when strong sunlight struck the paddles. I think it made a different picture from the usual stuff on the X-ray screen! Cleared of international offences, we were released into the community without charge. We reflected on our wonderful holiday. If only it was the 28th of May today, but it wasn’t, so we sighed, swapped boots and went outside to await our lift home.
EPILOGUE.
I wonder what I can do, if anything, to top this walk? Almost everything was perfect. The only things I can think of that I missed doing were a trip up the ski lift at the White Corries, and a pint in the Clachaig Inn. Still, there’s always next time! The company was the best, the mountains have done exactly as I feared they would and I can’t wait to get back to them. Just after I had got back, the front cover of the walking magazine I have, had a picture looking down Glencoe, and it brought it all back.
Don’t do the West Highland Way as your first walk, because after this, it must all be downhill! Seriously, if you do the walk, I hope the weather is as kind to you as it was to us. I have enjoyed it immensely and would recommend it as the top walk in Britain.
July 18th 1997.
Links to my other LDP blogs;
Pembrokeshire coastal path - https://walkdiaries.blogspot.com/2012/10/the-pembrokeshire-coastal-path.html
2 comments:
I had a brief chat with Les on Instagram following the sharing of a West Highland Way photograph. He enquired whether I'd read his blog and I replied that I hadn't, but as I was tired and feeling sore after a recent walk, I would settle down that moment and read it, which is what I've just spent the last 90 minutes doing. What an amazing, funny and inspirational account of such a wonderful adventurous holiday! It made me want to book a ticket on a plane to Glasgow at once and follow in his and Colins' footsteps! I got a real feel for their daily journeys and I fully appreciated all the fun antics that developed between friends they encountered on the way. Who knew there were 'injuns' in the West Highlands? Well done Les! I THOROUGHLY enjoyed your story and wish I'd have been on that same walk! I'd have certainly enjoyed the fun and camaraderie!
Thank you so much Ros, it's great to know you enjoyed the blog
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