Category: 2013 West Highland Way — Scotland, UK

                We arrived in Glasgow at 7a after flying all night from Philadelphia. With the luxurious modern airlines sardine policy, we could only recline our seats about 2 inches so we couldn’t get comfortable enough to get any sleep. We decided to tough it out and not sleep until night to avoid any possibility of jet lag. We caught a bus from the airport which took us to downtown Glasgow train station—this was less than a mile from the hostel we had reserved for the night so we walked. We dropped off our backpacks at the Victoria House Hotel/Hostel. Since we couldn’t get into our room until 1:30p and we had already made plans for my cousin and her two daughters who live in St Andrews to pick us up at 3p, we had some time to kill. We decided to head out and explore old Glasgow on foot.

                The first place we went to was Kelvingrove Park to scout out our starting point for tomorrow. We decided to add about 10 miles to the front end of the West Highland Way by way of hiking along the Kelvin Way until we got to Milngavie (somehow, this is pronounced Mull guy). Once we found our starting point, we also found the Kelvingrove Art Gallery and Museum (free admission!) so we decided to take a look around. After wandering around for about an hour, we were becoming extremely spaced out (I can’t even remember anything we saw other than a bunch of hanging heads which pretty much reflected how we felt) so we decided to head back up to the city center to get some air (and maybe some food and caffeine) to perk us up.

                Downtown Glasgow was hopping! It was about 15 street blocks long with only pedestrian traffic allowed and it was wall to wall people. There was a tribal percussion band (Clandonia) playing in the street as well as bag pipe players and tons of shops. We also got to see a Scottish Socialist Party demonstration (hopefully, another government won’t collapse on me while I’m in country like happened to me in Nepal). After a while, we decided to try a traditional afternoon tea at the world famous (it must be true because the sign said so) Willow Tree Tea House. What a mistake for us to sit down. I was having flash backs to Pam getting drunk and sleeping on the table at Newt’s Pizza in Vienna except this time we were both having trouble keeping our heads up and NO ALCOHOL was involved. After tea, we decided to head back to the hotel for a short nap.

                Chris, Audrey, and Katrina picked us up as planned at 3 and then we drove around town to see some sights which were too far for us to walk to. We toured the People’s Museum and Botanical Gardens and had a good time playing around with the girls (11 & 8) and they actually like spending time with us—hold off teen years! After the museum, Chris took us to another part of town around the University. We walked around a bit before we headed to Ashoka for dinner. I am so thankful that the British allowed so many Indians to emigrate when they gave up the colony there because British/Scottish/English food is, in a word, disgusting. Granted, I am not an adventurous eater, but haggis, blood pudding, and spotted dick! Indian Food is my favorite (even over pizza—that says a lot).

                After dinner, Chris dropped us off back at the hotel. I asked her if she ever had any trouble switching sides of the rode while driving in Great Britain and the USA. She told me her trick to use while driving in Scotland if we decide to rent a car—keep repeating “keep left” to yourself while driving. The round-abouts were the scariest part for me. We all hugged good night and then watched as Chris drove away the wrong direction on a one way street (but she was on the left side!).

                We crashed immediately after Chris and the girls left.  We tried to get ready for bed, but I think we fell asleep with toothbrushes still in our mouths.  I know Pam snored but I’m sure I was too tired and out of energy to spare any effort to snore.

                Breakfast was included at the hostel so we went down to the dining room.  There was a guy from a former Eastern Block Country working in the dining room who insisted we try haggis.  I refused and he tried to shame me into trying it, but, alas, I have no shame.  Pam did succumb to Eastern Block intimidation (yes, she votes democratic).  She described it is as tasting like extremely greasy meat loaf—yum yum, get out of my way (while I run to puke).

                By the time we ate, got ready, and packed, it was already 10:30 by the time we left.  We headed to the fountain in Kelvingrove Park.  The trail was well marked and easy to follow since it ran right beside the river and was paved most of the way.  Occasionally we would pop up to a bridge and look around.  We hiked for several miles through Glasgow but you would never know it since there was a greenway around the river and the city was about 30 feet above us.  There were several old (I’m talking hundreds of years not tens of years) bridges and sculptures along the way.  It was a very peaceful and relaxing walk.

                After about 5 miles, we started to head into the country.  At one point, the trail left the river and went through a kind of subdivision.  Once we got back to the river, we decided to have our lunch in a little grove of trees along the Kelvin River (Kelvingrove—coincidence?).  Once we got restarted, we came upon a section of the trail not much used and very overgrown.  We checked the map and noticed that it was about a two mile trail around a river bend or a half mile road walk—we chose not to be purists since the Kelvin Walkway isn’t even the trail we came to hike so we took the road more travelled.

                We emerged from the Kelvin Walkway into a commuter parking lot—this was Mullguy.  It was about 3:15 so we headed to the West Highland Way information center and got our passports and first stamp—we are officially on the West Highland Way after 10 miles.  Across from the information center was a Costa cafeteria (the only open restaurant on a Sunday afternoon).  We stopped into have a sandwich, chips and drink (with entirely too little ice) and a porcelain break.

                The WHW officially starts right next to the cafeteria.  It’s a little hard to miss since the bench says West Highland Way Milngavie and there is a 60 foot arch across the trail head.  We also had to take the opportunity to get out photos in a Dr Who Tardis (aka phone booth)—it was not as big inside as I have been lead to believe.

                At this end of the trail, the WHW is actually a much used pedestrian path connecting towns and we ran into several families out for an evening stroll.  We had planned to stealth camp tonight at one of the small lochs just outside of town.  After letting Pam sit at Costa, I had a hard time getting her motor restarted and when I did, there was a constant whine that could be heard continuously.  The only way I could get the whining to stop was to agree to stop hiking.  The first trees we came to was Pam’s first choice for camping.  I looked around and there were lots of dead tree limbs and the spot wasn’t very level—made no difference to Pam, she wanted to stop.  Since hanging limbs are called “widow makers” she knew she was safe, but I was somewhat concerned.  I wanted to go on.  Pam sat out the search for a better camp site—in the middle of the trail, she sat!

                I hiked on about ½ mile to the far end of the loch and found a much better spot with a fire ring and level spot.  I dropped my pack and went back and coaxed Pam on down the trail (I’m sure m&m’s were required).  After much more effort than was necessary, we got into camp, took off our boots, and set up the tent.  Pam immediately crawled into the tent, inflated the mattresses, changed clothes and went to bed.  It was a very peaceful spot, well worth the effort to get to.  After ibuprofen and valerian root, Pam snored in agreement.

                We slept in a little later than we had planned.  Even though we were off the WHW about 100 feet, there were no trees, foliage, or block of any kind between us and the trail.  Since it was a Monday morning, there was a lot of trail traffic.  By the time we got up, cooked, ate breakfast, and packed up, it was 10:30 again before we hit the trail.

                We hadn’t been hiking for even a mile yet when we saw a hat in the middle of the trail.  It was a nice broad brimmed hat that I immediately coveted.  (This turned out to be a very special hat that ended up changing the course of our lives for years to come, but we didn’t know it at the time.)  We picked it up with the intention of half-heartedly looking for the owner.

                We came to a road crossing and had to do a short road hike.  Once we turned back off the road, Pam saw a large hill ahead and asked if that was Ben Nevis (the tallest mountain in Scotland and still almost 90 miles away).  I laughed and said no, but being the engineer, I went further and explained that the furthest one can see on a flat horizon is 30 miles.  Giving technical, numerical data to a right brain creative person is never a good idea (maybe, some day, I will absorb what I just said).  As she was explaining that it could be Ben Nevis and that it might be further than it appears and we can see further since we’re walking down a hill, we walked right past “Ben Nevis” and saw some people stopped and looking around for something.  Dam, I had to ask if they lost a hat.  Yup, that’s the end of that.  We did meet Dan, Peter, and Marcia formerly from UConn and I lost my favorite hat of 15 minutes.

                Dan, Peter, and Marcia weren’t carrying full packs like we were so they took off a lot faster down the trail and left us in their dust.  A couple miles down the trail we came to the Glengoyne Distillery.  This is the furthest south highland distillery (in fact the storage buildings aren’t technically in the highlands since they are on the wrong side of the road).  On our way in, we saw our UConn friends heading out.  They said the tour was worth it so we decided to go on one.  We could either join one in progress or wait 45 minutes until the next one.  We chose to join the one in progress.  All we had missed was the tasting which they would give us a private tasting afterwards.  It was a very informative tour and film.  True to their word, they lead us into a private room after the tour was done.  They poured our 3 very generous drams each and gave us descriptions and left us to enjoy our shots in privacy.  I tried the first one and was swirling it on my tongue when I heard a god awful cough like a cat with a hairball.  I stopped drinking and looked around.  Pam’s shot was still almost completely full.  I tried my second and heard the hack again.  I put my shot down and then Pam admitted that she didn’t like Scotch.  I ended up with the better part of 5 shots and nice buzz and Pam had 3 hairballs.

                We headed on down the trail for a late lunch of burgers and fries at the Beech Tree Inn.  It was just a couple miles onto Drymen and then to Drymen Camping Ground.  We set up our tent and cooked supper in the open air kitchen at the campground.  After supper we took showers. 

                While we setting up our tent, we saw a couple of high school girls setting up their tent (obviously for the first time since they had the instructions out).  As we were heading into the shower, they were mangling a tin can with a Swiss army knife can opener.  I asked them if they would like for me to show them how to use it.  They agreed.  I found out they were a couple of 18 year old Belgium students and they decided at the last minute to hike the WHW.  I was very impressed that they would attempt a hike by themselves, and for that matter even hike.  Pam’s kids are 19 and 15 and we have a hard enough time getting them to walk to the car let alone walk 100 miles in another country without any real backpacking experience.  When we got out of the shower, they still hadn’t figured out how to light their stove so I showed them how.

                We had the start of a few blisters on our feet—Pam’s were worse.  We tried to put mole skin on them, but didn’t have a good enough pair of scissors to cut it so we thought we’d pick some up in the morning.  We took our ibuprofen and valerian root and went to bed at dark feeling refreshed and clean.

                We got up at 7a with a mission to head into town for food and scissors.  We’re a little sore from the hiking added to the fact that we’ve never been this old before.  After wrestling with Pam to properly fold the tent to help extend its life, we hit the road.  The only place we found open to get food was a butcher’s shop where we got a chicken curry meat pie—I can never say enough how thankful I am for the Indian influence on British food.  The chicken curry didn’t taste like really greasy meatloaf but more like manna from heaven.  After our meat pie, we had a few more town activities to complete; get passport stamped, exchange more money, and head to the store to buy scissors for the mole skin.

                As we headed out of town, we entered a beautiful tree tunnel along a garden wall.  It was a picture perfect setting.  After the tunnel, though, we came to an area of active tree harvesting.  Living in a stick built house and reading actual books, I understand the need for tree harvesting, it’s just that I don’t like to see it if I can avoid it.  After a couple miles of forest/fresh cut walking, we started to rise in elevation and start to have some really great views.  We stopped for a snack and enjoyed the view of our first real Scottish Loch—Loch Lomond.  We will get to walk along this Loch for the next few days.  There’s a fault line that runs across Scotland from the south end of Loch Lomond all the way to Aberdeen and we were just about on it.

                The trail runs on the back side of Conic Hill which is only 1175’ above sea level and is the start of the Scottish Highlands.  However, the trail is about 500’ so the trail to the top is a very steep 600’ climb over a very short distance.  After much whining, crying, and temper tantrums, I was able to convince Pam to drop her pack and climb to the top.  Even though her feet were hurting bad from the blisters, she was willing to do anything to stop a grown man from having a tantrum in public.

                Once we got to the top, it was so easy to see the fault line running across Scotland because we were on it.  What gorgeous views—well worth the climb.  Even Pam agreed.  In fact she started getting really excited with the views and taking pictures so that we stayed up there longer than we had planned.  Reluctantly, we headed back down, grabbed our packs, and continued the hike on down into Balmaha.  During the decent, we went through a conifer forest which reminded me of the Pacific Northwest and Pam got stuck in her first animal gate.

                There is a National Park headquarters in Balmaha and we knew that camping was available on one of the islands on Loch Lomond so we headed to the headquarters to see if we could get a spot.  We went to the counter and were told we could only make reservations through the internet.  After trying for a bit, I was getting frustrated and went back to the counter and got a different, more helpful ranger who agreed to help us out.  I was getting nervous because the center was very crowded and I was afraid we were going to miss out on the chance to camp on Inchcailloch Island.  After a few minutes the ranger said “One”.  I was ecstatic and turned to Pam and said we got the last campsite and hugged her.  The ranger stopped me and said no, I had misunderstood.  We were the only one’s to be on the island that night.  We got an entire island for 3.5 Pounds.  She helped us arrange a water shuttle and a departure time and then we had some time to eat lunch and get a few groceries.

                We headed to Oak Tree Inn for a pint and a bite.  I think Pam sent some text messages while we chilled and ate.  After lunch, we went to the small grocer and got a bottle of wine.  Since our feet were in pain, we saw and bought a bottle of Barefoot Sauvignon Blanc then headed to the dock.  The island was literally on the other side of the small harbor only about 100’ away.  It cost more for the ride than it did to purchase an island for the night.  Inchailloch Island is about 2 miles long.  We agree to a pick up time for the next morning and headed inland.  The campground is actually on the far end of the island so we walked across the island for the first time, picked our site, and set up camp.  After setting up, we explored the island walking another 3 miles covering all the trails.

                Inchailloch means “isle of the old woman”.  There is a foundation of a ruined church and an old graveyard on the island.  Is was getting dark while we were in the graveyard trying to read the stones so our imaginations started to churn a bit.  We decided to head back to camp for supper and wine and ran across some of the largest slugs I’ve ever seen—easily longer than my hand.  We got back and I started boiling water for our Chicken Vindaloo.  Unfortunately, I spilled the bag as I was pouring in the boiling water and it was very fortunate that the island was ours for the night because I let loose a mouthful—vindaloo is my favorite backpacking meal.  With Pam’s help, we had to settle for out backup meal of Kathmandu Curry.  After supper, we went to the dock to soak our feet in the cold lake water and drink our wine.  Since it was our island, we decided to walk around naked for a while, but what happens on Inchailloch stays on Inchailloch.

 

                We got up early enough to eat, pack up, filter water, and hike the mile across the island to meet the ferry at 10a as planned.  During the night, we were woken up by what sounded like a car door slamming.  Pam wanted me to investigate, but I thought a low profile was the best defense.  She insisted on looking out and saw a deer right outside of our tent.  How he operated the door handle, I have no idea.

                Back on the mainland (so nautical!) we went to the grocer and picked up a picnic lunch of salami, Wensleydale cheese, apples, bananas, and dark chocolate Kit Kats (which we have never seen in the USA).  We only hiked about a mile or two before we stopped to eat lunch on the beach near Milarrochy.  It was a beautiful walk along the shore of Loch Lomond all day–sometimes in trees, sometimes on the beach, sometimes along a road.  Along the way, we saw a tour bus of older folks from Glasgow and tried to talk to them but the Scottish accents were indecipherable to us so we just nodded a lot and laughed when they did.  We also talked to a ranger who explained why there is a camping ban along the Loch.  Apparently, a large number of Glasgow low-lifes would drive right up to the beach and blare music, drink copious amounts of liquor, generally be obnoxious to everyone, litter, and were just destroying the place.

                We strolled another 5-6 miles into Rowardennan where we met a few of the aforementioned Glasgow townies that were thoroughly enjoying their pints and were quite forward.  We decided to eat an early supper outside of the hotel and have a coke (apparently ice is a precious commodity in Scotland).  There’s a war memorial in town that is a very interesting design—kind of obelisk, kind of window, but very unique right on the shore of the loch.  We decided to head on into the woods towards Rowchoish Bothy and if we could find the shore trail to the bothy, we’d take it and see about staying there for the night.

                This was a nice wooded old roadbed with a gradual climb to a few hundred feet above the loch.  We missed the lower trail that led to the bothy, but that was fine with us because we had heard that the trail is not well maintained and there’s a lot of rough sections with downed trees and boulder scrambles.  We eventually came to a park bench overlooking the loch and a large manor house on the other side.  We were probably 400’ above the loch.  The bench had a nice dedication to Tom Wheldon which read “Someone like you only happens once in a lifetime.  Thanks for happening in ours.”

                We were getting pretty tired by now being old, carrying full packs, and not in the best of shape.  Pam decided to get philosophical and threw out what she was a thought provoking starting question—“Who was Ben Lomond anyway?”  I wish I could describe how punch drunk we were at this point but words fail me.  She was serious and didn’t realize Ben was a gaelic form of mountain.  She thought the manor house we had just seen was Ben Lomond’s house.

                We finally saw a trail joining ours from the loch side and figured this was the trail coming up from the bothy.  We were too tired to back track the ½ mile to the bothy so we decided to stealth camp in the woods if we could find a level spot.  After another mile, we found a decent enough space overlooking the loch with some nearby streams we could filter water from.  Home for the night.

                Woke up to rain (rain in Scotland?) so we went back to sleep until 9.  Getting Pam to snooze is always the easiest thing for me to get her to do.  While we were taking down camp, a couple of young Belgiums, guys this time, walked by and asked if we thought it was safe to drink water directly from the stream as they were out.  I told them I’d filter it before drinking except they didn’t have filters.  I took them back to the stream and filtered them a few quarts.  You’ve got to give Belgiums credit for getting out there.  They seem very adventuresome and willing to learn what they need to along the way.

                When I got back, Pam showed me a picture on her camera which grossed me out.  I thought she had taken a picture of her anus—turns out it was just a blown up picture of the blister on her heel.  This was a huge relief on so many levels. 1) Bad blister easier to deal with than inflamed anus.  2) My girlfriend is not taking disgusting photos of body parts I don’t want to see. 3) What kind of person takes pictures of their own buts?  Am I with a serial killer?

                We finished packing up and walked the few miles into Inversnaid Hotel to have some lunch.  This is a really nice hotel, seemingly in the middle of nowhere, and only accessible by ferry.  There is a separate hikers’ entrance which you might be inclined to think would lead to a dingy area.  In reality it leads to a private library with plush carpeting, high back chairs, oak paneling, and a baby grand piano.  I was afraid to go in because we had 4 days of grime on us and I know we were developing a nice hiker odor.  They assured us we were more than welcome, but we opted to order food and sit outside on the patio overlooking the loch.  We had steak pies, peas, and chips (fries to Americans).

                Next up was an incredibly rough section of trail on the way to Rob Roy’s Cave.  Pam and decided we needed hiking poles for this trip.  Up until now, we had been using them but that was only because I didn’t want the extra weight on my back.  This is the section of trail that changed my mind about hiking poles forever.  We eventually made the mile to the cave where legend says Rob Roy hid from the English and enjoyed our connection to history.

                As we got going after the cave we noticed a strong, pungent odor not unlike that of a teenager’s room (Pam’s kids can be less than caring about their surroundings or sleeping environments—my dogs won’t even go in their rooms and they eat their own poop; figure out on your own if I’m talking about my dogs or her kids).  The further we went, the stronger it got.  It wasn’t skunk but it was very strong and pungent.  We came around a bend and the smell almost knocked us over as well as the goat standing in the trail with a broken horn and creepy beady eyes.  Apparently, the English released goats when they were fighting/invading Scotland, in essence “seeding” the countryside with meat for future skirmishes.  Here we were, face to face with Rob Roy’s invaders great¹⁷-goat-grandson and he had inherited every generation’s smell along the way.

                After negotiating with the goat to get off the path, we had a very pleasant walk for a few miles all the way to Doune Bothy.  This bothy is the cover photo for the guidebook we had for the trail and is an idyllic setting for a home on the shore of the loch.  While there, we met a 70 year old guy from Connecticut who was solo hiking the WHW.  He told us that his secretary had taken care of all arrangements for him.  I was both envious and sorry for him to be working at 70 but also to have to go solo hiking in Scotland at his age.  I hope to still be out there and I hope Pam is still mobile at that age (the morning whines are reducing in duration, so there’s hope).

                After leaving the shores of Loch Lomond, the trail is funneled into a narrow valley.  We turned back to take one last look at the loch just as a couple of RAF F-15’s strafed us—they couldn’t have been 30 feet over our heads!  Amazing skills and scary as hell as the sound didn’t catch up to us until the jets were out of sight.  We made it into Beinglas Farm and set up camp with plenty of time to shower and start laundry before making the short trek down the road to Drover’s Inn.  When we walked in we saw a sign “serving travelers for over 300 years”.   This was a lovely stone Inn with low ceilings and tons of character.  It’s hard to imagine having inns older than our country in continuous operation through the centuries.  We had a very nice dinner and conversation with a nice English couple that was hiking the WHW for their 40^th anniversary.  We’ve also been running into a group from the Sierra Club that seem to be hiking the same pace we are even though they are staying in Bed and Breakfasts and have a luggage service to transport everything ahead for them. 

                Pam thinks she will actually be able to finish the trail now since this was supposed to be the roughest section of trail according to the guide book.  This is the first I’d heard her say she had any doubts about finishing.  We’re over 50 miles in so it’s the same amount forward or backward.

                Slow moving today.  Not just walking slow, but every movement is slow.  We’ve aged on this trip—6 days and counting and feeling the impact of every second of that time.  A trend is developing on this trek; no matter what time we get up, we don’t hit the trail until 10 – 10:30.  I had terrible leg cramps over night that almost made me cry.  Pam’s compassion showed through…”Would you quit flopping around and lay still?  You’re keeping me awake!”  I ended up getting up and heading to the laundry to grab our stuff and fold it.  I have been stretching every night when we get in the tent but skipped it last night because we were so tired.  Lesson learned.

                We had a pretty uneventful morning 6 mile walk to Crianlarich.  There’s a train station there and some pubs so we decided to take the ½ mile side trip into town for a hot lunch.  On the way in, we ran into some guys who had obviously given up and were heading back to Glasgow.  We passed one gravity enhanced man sitting in the middle of the trail smoking a cigarette and swearing.  At least, I hope this was his last day and not his first or he is really going to have a miserable trip because the next 50 miles are supposed to rougher than the first 50.

                We stopped in a grocery store to look around and try to get our bearings on town.  The girl behind the counter recommended the Rod & Reel Pub on down the road so we headed that direction.  When we went inside, we ran into Dan, Peter, and Marcia just finishing their lunch.  We hadn’t seen them for a few days and just assumed they flew on by us.  Turns out, they took a day’s side trip to climb Ben Lomond (not to be confused with the guy that owns the manor house across the loch) which allowed us to catch up to them.  They were just finishing up so we said our goodbyes and they headed out.

                After lunch, as we were threading our way out of town, we noticed our gravity enhanced smoker sitting at the train station with his two buddies—it was kind of quiet. 

                Our goal was to make it to Tyndrum to camp for the night, but it seemed like the trail was all uphill after lunch.  After 3 miles of uneventful uphill, we dropped down into a valley around St Fillian’s Priory with great views of the mountains in all directions.  After gazing for a while, we noticed a little cabin area that had a small shop that served treats so we headed in for a coffee and a sweet to build up the energy to walk the final 2 miles to Tyndrum.  While we were there, Dan, Peter, and Marcia came in.  This was where they were spending the night and they tried to convince us to stay as well.  We didn’t have reservations or really want to spend the money for a cabin (wigwam in this case) but we went ahead and enquired about availability.  The attendant told us there was only one 4 person wigwam left for the night but if we wanted it, she’d let us have it for the 2 person price.  She gave us the key and a map for us to go check it out.  All 5 of us went and as soon as we saw the sign on the door we knew we were staying—“Flaming Feet”.

                We went back and payed for the wigwam.  Marcia bought us a tennis ball (she’s a physical therapist) and told us how to roll our feet.  We dropped off our stuff, got organized, made a bed, turned on the heat (yes, heat), and got cleaned up.  After we got settled in, we went up to Marcia, Dan, and Peter’s wigwam for some beer and scotch.  No hairballs for Pam; beer only.  They had a little fire outside and we sat and talked and got to know them better.  For UConn alumni, they were ok.

                What a great investment!  As soon as we got into bed it started raining.  We kept wishing it would rain harder since we had heat and had spent the money; nature complied!  I hope no one camping out last night ever reads this and knows we were cheering the weather on against them.

                We slept nice and toasty until 8:30.  Everything we owned was dry and warm.  We ate breakfast in the wigwam and packed up before hitting the road at …. 10:30!

                It was a nice easy walk all the way to Tyndrum.  We caught up with Dan, Peter, and Marcia along the way.  We talked and walked with them all the way to town.  We shopped in town and bought a little food for a picnic lunch.  We even indulged in some ice cream.  On the way out of town, we ran into our UConn friends again and hiked with them several more miles.  Today was an easy, level walk all the way to Bridge of Orchy.  We got caught in a nice downpour on a bridge with Dan, Peter, and Marcia about 4 miles outside of Tyndrum.  We were under a nice canopy of trees so we didn’t get very wet while eating our lunch.

                After lunch, we ended up dropping behind and lost DPM.  Although it was only 3 miles to Bridge of Orchy from our lunch spot, we started dragging and lost energy.  We hadn’t decided where we were going to stay for sure tonight, but it looked more and more like there.  Once we got to the Inn, we went inside to rest and grab some food.  We ordered some sweet potato soup and got in a rear corner of the restaurant so we could take off our boots and roll out our feet—heaven!  The only problem was 1 tennis ball, 4 feet.

                After our soup and foot massage, we were invigorated.  We decided to push on another 2.5 miles to Inveroran Hotel where our guide book said there was free camping just past the hotel.  We got going and were fascinated by the bridge even though it’s not quite 300 years old.  Once we got climbing away from the bridge, it started to rain.  It rained on us the entire 2.5 miles, but we were feeling really good and the rain only made us walk faster.  We got to the Inveroran Hotel and saw the camping area down the road by the creek.  There were already lots of tents up.  We went and grabbed a spot, set up camp, and then went back to the pub in the basement of the hotel.

                What a cool pub!  It was small with only about 8 tables and a tall bar and it was packed.  Not uncomfortably so.  Around the top of the room was a “map” of the WHW with all the major towns along the way and some funny pictures depicting different sites along the way.  Also we had a hard time recognizing all the languages being spoken, but we were able to pick out German, French, Dutch (Belgium), Scottish, English, and some others we couldn’t identify (or maybe they were just drunken versions of the ones we could identify. 

                After a couple pints (we tried some cider but didn’t like it—way too sweet) we decided to head back to the tent for the night.  When we went outside, there was a deer right there and it would almost let us get up close enough to touch it.  After taking a few pictures, we decided to share the experience and knocked on a window in the pub to get some people’s attention.  We pointed at the deer but no one was very impressed.  About that time, the kitchen door opened and one of the cooks came out and said “Daisy, are you bothering customers again?  Come over here and get your food and leave the people alone.”  We had met the infamous Daisy of Inveroran and didn’t even know it.

                It rained most of the night so we didn’t feel like getting up when we heard all the other campers around us start packing up.  It was finally decided that I would have the privilege of cooking my lovely lady breakfast while she packed up the contents of the tent.  I got dressed and stepped outside to light the stove.  After about a minute I heard the faint music.  I swear it was Barry White “Can’t Get Enough of Your Love” but there wasn’t anyone around.  It was about then that I felt crawling on my face.  I swatted the air and looked down—how in the hell did I get covered with pepper?

                The midges had finally found us after a week on the trail.  I yelled to Pam to toss me out the bug spray and my head net.  She told me she would when she was done.  I said I need them now!  She got all pissy with me but finally got me the spray and head net then looked out the tent.  She saw the pepper on me and said we should go to the hotel for breakfast instead of trying to cook.  I immediately agreed.

                By the time we got to the hotel, they had already finished breakfast and set the tables for lunch.  After a little pleading and my best pathetic looks, I finally got Pam to shed a tear and they sat us for a limited breakfast of toast, porridge, and coffee which was slightly more than we had planned on our own—no toast.  After breakfast, we headed back to our tent to pack up.

                By the time we got back, we were the only tent still standing.  In fact, we were the only people in sight.  We stood outside of the tent to unzip it and that was enough time for “Can’t Get Enough of Your Love” to start back up.  By the time we got inside, we were both covered.  I’ve got to admit that I was silently elated that Pam was miserable thanks to the midges—maybe next time she will actually do what I ask when I ask when I’m asking for bug spray, etc.  We packed everything up inside of the tent and braced ourselves to head back out.  By the time we got our packs outside and were starting to unstake the tent I could already hear “Hey Baby…”.  We got the tent down in record time and hit the trail once again at 10:30.

                Fortunately, it doesn’t take much speed to outrun the midges, even as slow as 1 mph will leave them behind.  50’ down the road and it was already pleasant hiking.  Today, we were going to be hiking along an old English military road through Rannoch Moor, the largest area of undeveloped land in all of Great Britain.  Trees are sparse along this section so bathroom breaks become a little trickier without cover.  Pam was the first to have bladder overload.  I had lookout duty.  Before her pants were down to her ankles Barry White was already warming up.  Any, I mean any, exposed flesh is a midge feast.  Pam was quicker than I usually am.

  

              It was a cool enough day and overcast, but absolutely no breeze.  We tried stopping to eat a quick lunch but the midges…  We just booked on through the moor.  We didn’t even stop to visit the cairn built to honor Peter Fleming (Ian Fleming’s brother—Bond, James Bond creator) who was killed on a hunting trip in this area in 1971. 

                We hiked the 10 miles to Kingshouse almost nonstop.  We got in and set up camp by 4p.  Even with head nets and bug spray, the midges were unbearable.  I can see why this area is still undeveloped.  Supposedly, on clear days, the views are incredible and make up for the midges.  Also, we were told the midges are only bad for a few weeks a year and we hit high time—lucky us.  We had contemplated going into Glencoe to do a few day hikes and possibly a little shopping, but opted to just head inside of Kingshouse Hotel instead.

                Kingshouse Hotel is an ooold rest stop for travelers and has loads of charm and a very well stocked bar.  After the bartender asked us if we were Canadians to which we replied Americans, he responded with “I thought so, but Canadians get quite upset if you call them Americans after Bush…”  We started in on our first bottle of Sauvignon Blanc and ran into Peter, Marcia, and Daniel.  We talked a bit before they headed up to their rooms to get cleaned up (maybe we can score a shower!).  Dan’s wife is Scottish and was meeting them for dinner tonight.  We also ran into our Sierra Club friends and met a woman from LA now living in Glencoe and her husband.  We just had a great time socializing with everyone all evening.  It was past 10 by the time we headed back to our tent.

                Staggering back to the tent, we saw several pairs of eyes reflected in our flashlight beams.  When setting up camp, we had seen a couple deer and they were still hanging around.  After our Daisy encounter the previous night, we weren’t as impressed.

                We got up when we heard everyone else packing up.  Rather than deal with cooking, we headed into to the hotel for breakfast and porcelain (not necessarily the order of derived pleasure).  By the time we got packed up and hiking, it was…10:30.  The walk started out parallel to a highway and was nice, easy, and level.  We made good time hiking the 3.5 miles to the base of Devil’s Staircase.  To our right the whole morning was my new favorite mountain, Buachaille Etive Mor.  I was daydreaming about living in medieval times and using this mountain as a fortress.  There are so many gullies and crags that could have been developed into fortresses that I dare anyone to look at this mountain and NOT fantasize about living on it.

                Back to Devil’s Staircase.  This rather steep climb represents the highest point on the WHW.  It was built in 1750 as part of the old military road but it didn’t get its name until later when a reservoir was being built in the mountains to provide hydroelectric power to Kinlochleven’s aluminum works.  Irish labor was imported for building the reservoir.  Irish being Irish, the laborers didn’t want to stay up at the reservoir every night when the closest bar was only about 6 miles away at Kingshouse Hotel.  This section of road got its name from the hungover walks made every morning back to Blackwater Reservoir.

                Another trend, other than our late daily starting time, has become apparent by this point of our hike.  Pam is not a morning hiker (or morning person in general, but she’ll argue this point to death so I won’t mention her short temper in the mornings).  She starts slow and whiny so I tend to hike ahead until she loosens up and wakes up (the flip side of this is that once she gets going, she’s like the dam energizer bunny and doesn’t want to stop at the end of the day when I’m dying). 

                The staircase is about a 900’ climb in less than ½ mile.  With Pam not quite warmed up and walking slow (but steady), I climbed on ahead.  Since she wears a bright pink broad brimmed hat, it’s always easy for me to pick her out in a crowd at any distance.  I just wanted to get this climb over.  I got to the top and dropped my pack.  Pam wasn’t more that 5-10 minutes behind.  We met, Peter, Marcia, and Dan at the top and had a long relaxing lunch with views of Ben Nevis in the distance.  After lunch, Peter and Marcia did a celebratory dance (kind of polka-ish) while we clapped and cheered them on.

                PMD decide to hike a ridge loop trail after lunch while Pam and I decided we didn’t have that kind of energy to hike an extra 3-4 miles so we headed down the trail.  We hadn’t gone more than a mile when the sky clouded over and started pouring like hell.  I had a minor panic attack trying to drop my pack to get my rain gear and gloves.  Pam wasn’t bothered at all by the rain, but I freaked.  No idea why.  We were worried about PMD being exposed on the ridge.

                It didn’t rain long and then the sky cleared back up.  We hiked the remaining 4 miles downhill into Kinlochleven without incident.  We didn’t see PMD again after the Devil’s Staircase or know where they were going to stay that night.  They were planning on driving a few miles (via Dan’s wife, Janette) to a sea food restaurant for supper, but we opted out since I’m not a fan of shit ingesting life forms (pigs and chickens excepted) as a food source.  We went to the MacDonald’s Hotel to camp and shower (only second shower on the trail since Beinglas Farm) and then headed back into town for supper.  We got some great sunset pictures from the porch of one of the cabins before we went in search of a supper establishment.

                We found a surprising restaurant on the River Leven, “The Hideaway”.  We headed upstairs where we found a couch and table to relax at while we waited for our curry.  Of course we had our tennis ball to roll out our feet.  Unfortunately, the rest room was on the first floor and we sure stiffened up in a hurry after sitting down.  We ate and drank loads; chicken curry, steak pie, chocolate cake, and Sauvignion Blanc wine—our hiker’s appetites have arrived.

                After supper, we hobbled around town a bit (shopped for snacks/lunch for tomorrow), looked at illuminated sculptures along the river, and just fell in love with this planned town.  Kinlochleven is definitely our favorite town along the WHW.  It was originally built around the aluminum smelter (we had followed the water pipes down from the mountains which generate the electricity for the works—at one point, we could hear a loud hiss which we couldn’t identify.  It turned out to be a small hole in one of the water pipes shooting pressurized water 60’ in the air).  While we were eating, they moved the MacDonald Hotel about a mile further down the road.