Oor Wee Walk

Friday 15th July, 1994. Veni, vidi, vici. We made it! Ben Nevis loomed large before us and the township of Fort William lay in it's shadow (symbolically?) at our feet. With the end in sight, and the anticipated celebratory champagne teasing our senses, we picked up speed and hobbled quickly down the twisting roadway. I had already forgotten the slight showers of rain at the start of the walk. We had walked the whole week in brilliant sunny weather with not a midge in sight - or had we? Memory does play tricks with advancing years. I'll check my diary.......................

Friday July 8th I spent the evening in the Allander pub in Milngavie watching the faces coming in the door and wondering 'Is that one of ours?' I was looking for some people who had decided to join us (for some time I had planned to walk the West Highland Way but never actually got round to doing anything about it. However early in 1994 I, along with some friends, put an small ad in our club magazine saying "Anyone interested in walking the West Highland Way please get in touch"). We finished up with a group of 11, most of whom we had never met before'. In the Allander we sized each other up over a few drinks and later left to go our own ways and meet again the next morning for the long walk to Fort William . How would we all get on? Would there be laughter, tears, arguments, fights, friendships, romance - or none or all of these?

Saturday July 9th. We gathered, with not a hangover in sight, at Milngavie railway station on the outskirts of Glasgow early on Saturday morning. After a quick photocall (I'm sure there were more cameras than people), we set off through the wilderness of Milngavie shopping centre. Soon we left suburbia behind and tramped contentedly along gently undulating country lanes amidst pastoral tranquillity. Dorothy stopped to adjust her boot which was rubbing on her heel and Joe told us about his grandmother.

A few hundred yards before the Beech Tree Inn at Dumgoyne, our first lunch stop, we were pleasingly refreshed with a light sunny shower. Lunch was washed down with a pint before we put our boots back on for the walk to Drymen. (Dorothy had taken a very early lead in the "biggest blister" competition).

Our pre-lunch light sunny shower welcomed us back outside and coaxed us into our waterproofs. The increasingly refreshing rain washed into our faces but visibility was good - we could see lots and lots of rain ahead. Three hours after leaving the comfort and warmth of the pub we splashed into Drymen. Would this dampen our spirits. You're bloody right it would - and it dampened our knickers as well. We squelched our way to our respective hotels and Guest houses and arranged to meet in the pub later (to hear more about Joe's grandmother). Dorothy, who had set off at a "blistering" pace in the morning asked how she could get there. Was there a bus, a taxi, an ambulance or a zimmer service?

Sunday July 10th. Torrential rain greeted us as we waited for the rest of our party to arrive at our day's starting point. It could only get better, we thought.

We had the superb panoramic views of Loch Lomond from Conic hill to look forward to. We panted up the hill with wind and rain lashing our faces. Through brief holes in the heavy mist all around us we enjoyed almost subliminal glimpses of the loch before the mist closed in again. It looked just like the front of a tourist board calendar, I imagined.

We stumbled down into Balmaha for lunch. Half an hour later, refuelled, we left and turned northwards for our lochside walk to Rowardennan. Behind us the pub floor was awash from our dripping wet clothes and boots but strangely, I didn't feel any drier. Our refreshing weather followed us up Loch Lomondside and we aquaplaned into Rowardennan Youth Hostel several hours later. Bob said he was pleased with the weather; he felt the rain added to the walk and confirmed his perception of Scotland. Everyone else fell silent except Joe who told us more about his grandmother. The midges were silent as well. We hadn't seen one since we left Glasgow. In this weather who could blame them. Not everyone made it to the hotel that night. Those who did tried desperately to find an alcoholic concoction that would reach parts (muscles, I think) other drinks wouldn't reach. Others simply prayed. We discussed having "commemorative" T-shirts to match the occasion and thought an appropriate logo might be "I swam the West Highland Way". Dorothy was stretching her lead in the biggest blisters competition.

Monday, July 11th. It stopped raining through the night........ but started again as we enjoyed breakfast. We at least had the absolutely fabulous Inverarnan Drovers' Inn to look forward to that night.........if we made it. We waded up Loch Lomondside along the side of Ben Lomond through mud and rain and reached the Inversnaid Hotel by lunchtime. The collection of sane and sensible customers in the hotel gave us looks either of pity or of disgust. We were mud covered and soaked. When we removed our waterproofs, Lo and Behold, we were still mud covered and soaked. After some sustenance we donned our wet outer clothes on top of our wet underclothes and left to face the afternoon weather. Would it be raining? Don't ask bloody stupid questions. We soon left the tree-lined loch side and found open country. The rugged peaks of Arrochar lay in the mist across the loch to the west. Dorothy's blisters by now had almost reached her knees. Joe and I tried to console her with some awful jokes. Her groans of pain were now interspersed with giggles. We hoped some hidden from sight ornithologist would capture the noises on his tape recorder. Groan, groan, giggle, groan, groan, giggle..... What would he make of that?

Bob and Lesley who hadn't met before the weekend were quietly keeping each other company at the back. Had a romance blossomed? No, but they were both hobbling at the same rate. The option of catching the ferry across the loch and then travelling on to Inverarnan was considered. The consensus was against it - it was raining on the other side of the loch as well. Luckily the rain pouring down my face hid my tears. My megabucks Goretex suit was doing it's job exceedingly well. The material would not allow water to penetrate it's protective exterior. Unfortunately it was raining so heavily the rain was coming in at the neck and the sleeves and funnelling downwards. By the time it reached my legs it was pleasantly warm - this was an experience I hadn’t had for many years and the comforting smell of Johnson’s Baby Powder echoed through my mind. Reality returned as more rain gushed down my legs and saturated my socks then positively flowed into my boots (my imagination switched on again but the comforting thought of the past were replaced by doubts of "Could this be a hint of my future?"). My boots, being waterproof retained all of the water and quickly filled up. I had awful visions of my waterproof trousers then filling up - then my jacket - then my hood, and a tragic headline in the next day's newspaper "Walker found drowned five hundred feet above Loch Lomond". Fortunately, my manic depressive thoughts were interrupted by Joe who told me his grandmother once had a dog(?). To be safe I loosened my waterproof gaiters as an anti-drowning precaution. We stopped briefly at Doune bothy, one of the many "basic" Mountain Bothy Association maintained shelters. "Basic" meant a roof, walls, and a door but it provided a few welcome moments shelter from the rain. Dorothy's blisters were getting bigger by the moment but unfortunately had not yet reached her vocal chords.

Suddenly through the rain and pain the Drover’s Inn at Inverarnan hove in sight. It was only about three thousand miles below us. We hobbled down and took our place among the many antiques and relics that decorate the place. After an alcoholic anaesthetic I decided to have a hot bath to dry out. The logic of this totally escaped me but I put it down to the state of my mind. I removed my sponge-like boots and sodden socks and was amazed to find five large pink wrinkled marshmallows at the far end of my feet. When I couldn't get them into my mouth I burst into tears. Much, much later, we had a pleasant evening in the bar. Joe told us about his grandmother. Some hillwalking friends who hadn’t heard about Joe’s grandmother joined us so Joe retold, on fast forward, the stories most of us had already heard several times over the past few days.

Tuesday July 12th. We left after a hearty breakfast. It was p*****g (pouring?) down outside but Bob was happy the Scottish weather had been as he expected. Happy! He should have been bloody ecstatic by now. The terrain had noticably changed. For the first few days we had walked through rolling greenery. We were now in mountain country and rising, and would lunch in the hills above Crianlarich, the mid-way point in our journey. We were in the "Highlands".

Lunch was a soggy ham sandwich, an egg and a banana. (I noted for future reference that eggs and bananas are waterproof). The rain actually got heavier as we waded ever on to Tyndrum. I stopped alongside the river Falloch to change into dry clothes (I was getting nappy rash). After liberal application of talcum powder I arose to find the rest of the party had disappeared into the distance. In my haste to catch up I missed a turn and walked a mile or so in the wrong direction. After some map checking and mild but controlled hysteria I sobbed my way back to the missed turn off. As I approached Tyndrum I passed a woman walking her dog in the pouring rain. "Good day" she said. As I was tired I spared her life but made a note to telephone and report her to the nearest state hospital when I reached civilisation. As I waded into Tyndrum I saw the smiling faces of our party at the bunkhouse window. The b*******s (blighters?)! Chenda joined us for the rest of the week at this point. She had just arrived and was full of energy. Joe who was exhausted and sore was not full of energy. They retired to their hotel before dinner. Poor Joe. We met up with several other, by now familiar, way walkers in the pub that night and exchanged tales of gore and glory. Joe told them about his grandmother. We had now passed the half way point and were warming to the task. Tomorrow was our easiest day. Dorothy, whose blisters were now past her elbows, had bought new boots in Tyndrum and was now breathing normally again.

Wednesday July 13th. Bob was crestfallen - it wasn't raining. We spent the first few hours in our waterproofs just in case - then we were dry and enjoying the freedom of walking unhampered by wet clothes (if you have ever wondered why a bare-a***d toddler seems so content we can explain). The midges, which had been sheltering from the rain for the last few days were now ravenous and came out to greet us. Encouraged on our way by the bloodsuckers we made good time and eventually skirted Ben Dorain to reach the Bridge of Orchy hotel, our lunchtime destination, too early for lunch. We were forced to have a drink until the hotel served food, but undaunted managed to leave the hotel later feeling relaxed and content.

We walked alongside Loch Tulla in sunshine and a cool breeze and rose to the high ground above Rannoch Moor. The Inveroran hotel, our destination on the edge of the moor soon came in sight. We meandered down and spent the afternoon with glass in hand bathing our weary legs in the warm summer sun. Most bits of me had now dried out and I was fighting off dehydration with a pint or two of good Scottish beer. Joe and Chenda had booked into Kingshouse in Glencoe so left us to walk another nine miles to their hotel. Tomorrow would be our longest day so our easy day today and a relaxing afternoon were very much appreciated and enjoyed. Our group had got on well, the weather was pleasant, we had the more scenic part of the route to cover and we had already covered over sixty miles. We would make it. I slept at peace with the world.

Thursday July 14th. We rose early. We were heading for Kinlochleven, nineteen miles away, so wanted an early start. Rannoch Moor lay ahead, surely in winter the most inhospitable place in the United Kingdom. (quote from official West Highland Way guidebook "in rain or snow with low cloud driving before a gale, Rannoch Moor tends to promote the conviction that Hell need not be hot").

We enjoyed good walking weather and found the moor much friendlier than expected. Passing by the mountains of the White Corries, we rose and fell gently and quickly, helped on by the splendid Caulfield road. Soon Buachaille Etive Mor came in sight as did a proliferation of cameras. The Buachaille, on hearing the Oohs and Aahs of our photographers, posed for us as no other mountain can. We dropped to Kingshouse in record time and joined Joe and Chenda for lunch. I asked Joe about his grandmother - I'd missed her. We'd covered nine miles that morning, we were weary, but the spectacle of Glencoe and the knowledge that the last lap approached strengthened our resolve. Alan, Stella, Lesley and Bob were suffering "fair wear and tear", but Dorothy's new boots were working wonders.

We left Kingshouse after lunch and soon were rising quickly and steeply on the aptly named Devil's staircase. The rain returned for a spell but by then we really didn't care. This was our longest day and tomorrow we would cross the Mamores into Fort William. The small amount of rain that penetrated the warm glow of contentment surrounding me was refreshing. The rain stopped after a while and we eased our aching muscles slowly down the forestry roads, and then through the desolation that is the aluminium works towards our destination

Kinlochleven, a cast aside orphan of the industrial revolution, is built around a redundant aluminium works and is completely overshadowed by the mountains around it. It is a Guinness book of records entry for the lowest annual hours of sunshine in the UK and surely a prime contender for the ugliest highland village title. Should a certain vampire Transylvanian Count ever have a Scottish cousin (Macula of course) he will undoubtedly be based in Kinlochleven! The long road down (two thousand feet descent) took it's toll on our legs and we very slowly and stiifly found our way to our respective accommodation. Bob managed to find the wrong bed in the wrong room in the wrong Guest House and was disinclined (and almost unable) to move any further. Dinner and a drink soon cured such ailments. We met and enjoyed talking to some German, some Danish, some English and some Scots fellow way walkers. Joe told them about his grandmother. We retired early to make our preparations (sleep) for the last leg.

Friday 22nd July. We started the day slowly climbing out of Kinlochleven and into the Mamore hills. The record time for the West Highland Way is around sixteen hours. I believe it is much more enjoyable to do it slowly, our way, carefully scanning and filing away the sights along the way. I can, however, understand the hurry to leave Kinlochleven behind. We rose up past Mamore Lodge and passed some workers reconstructing the footpaths. Now, there's a job for the fit, the hardy - and the insane. We soon levelled out and carried on towards our destination skirting An Coileachan, the most westerly of the Mamore hills. We stopped midday, this time in a cooling breeze, to eat our packed lunch while at the same time being eaten by three million midges. Joe told them about his grandmother. When we and the midges had feasted well we staggered onward, bloodied and bitten but not beaten.

The West Highland Way is a marvellous way to lose weight. Walking ninety five miles into the Scottish Highlands will definitely use up the odd few thousand calories and the midges can be guaranteed to remove a gallon or two of blood. Our final horizon loomed, with another hill in view. This time it was bigger, noticably on a different scale from the those around us. The visible snow at the summit was the final clue. It was unmistakably Beinn Nibheis, Ben Nevis to Sassenachs. the highest mountain in the British Isles. Ninety five memorable miles of West Highland Way were behind us.

I put my diary back in my rucksack and felt content with our achievement. We wandered slowly downwards to Fort William where Arthur waited with our champagne cooling in the waters of the Nevis river.

We all met again later that evening for dinner and a self contented few drinks. In the morning we said our goodbyes and went our separate ways. I had enjoyed immensely the whole experience. Our group had got on well together. We'd shared sandwiches, bandages, muscle rub, midge repellant, blister ointment, sun tan cream, awful jokes and an extremely comprehensive list of aches and ailments (we even worked out a rota and took it in turns to hear about Joe's grandmother). We'd had moments of pain and strain, lots of puffing but little huffing and no serious rows or fallouts. We were smug and why not?

If you like targets then Fort William, ninety five rising and falling scenic miles from Glasgow, is a good one. If you like moments of solitude there's no shortage of opportunity along the way. If you like company there is a pleasing camaraderie among fellow walkers, both along the way and in the inevitable pub afterwards. If you like the open country, the hills, the glens, the rivers and lochs they're all there and there can be no better way of seeing and appreciating them. Try it for yourself and see - or ask any of our group who were Alan from Surrey, Bob from Bristol, Chenda from Leeds, Dorothy from Belfast, Janet from Bonnybridge, Joe from Londonderry, Lesley from Chester, Stella and Arthur from Devon and Jean and I from Tyndrum, By The Way.

Top   Home

By The Way Hostel and Campsite, Tyndrum, FK20 8RY. Tel 01838 400333