Despite what my feet are telling me I can’t believe this is my last day already. I can also hardly believe that it’s bright and sunny outside. Again. While I am certainly not complaining there will be some who contend that a WHW with neither rain nor midges doth not a Way experience make. Doubtless I’ll think of a suitable response.

Following a wonderfully large breakfast the details of which I will spare you on this occasion, while conceding that fried eggs were involved, I paid my bill and departed The Macdonald Hotel at 8:10. I immediately recognised the chatter from beyond the hedgerow that separated the hotel from the road that headed out along the north shore of Loch Leven as belonging to ‘my’ ladies from Inversnaid and Inverarnan. By the time I reached the road they were a good 30m to my left and striding out. I called after them in cheery fashion of course enquiring as to their destination. “The West Highland Way!” Came the expected response. Now, I didn’t want to look like a know all so the next conversation had to be managed carefully. Er, “are you going to Fort William by road?”, I enquired. I could see they were getting confused so pointed out as gently as possible that they were going the wrong way. It turned out that they had been pointed towards this road and told to follow it by some helpful individual who neglected to advise them to look out for, and take, a right hand turn just before The Macdonald hotel. Given that route markers tend to indicate a change of direction rather than confirming the continuation of an existing direction had I not seen them they could have gone a very long way. We had a good laugh over this while retracing their steps to the real route. We established that we missed each other at the Kings House Hotel yesterday by about 15 mins in that I passed that location at 11:45 and they started at midday. After this revelation I said farewell as I needed to make faster progress. Given that it took them all day to walk the 9 miles from Kingshouse to Kinlochleven, their 15 mile route today could see them not arriving at Fort William until 9 p.m. or even later. There was nothing I could do to help as my train will depart at 19:50. However there are absolutely no navigational issues today and few hazards and I’m sure they will be fine. To their credit they were determined to finish and could have taken a cab or public transport to Fort William. Their hotel is expecting them late. These ladies, Mo and Geri, might lack speed but they do not want for effort or spirit. All power to them.

The first 30 minutes or so of today’s route was relentlessly uphill through fresh green relatively new forest.

The track was a mixture of stone steps and gravel but the pain was eased by the magnificence of the views opening in front as Loch Leven came into view. Once through the trees the way levelled out a little and heather moorland predominated. While there were trees from time to time, mostly birch, fir or pine, the terrain was mostly open while the quality of the track deteriorated. I could see a black-clad figure some distance ahead and it took hardly any time to catch them as their progress was very slow. It was a little old man whose bald head was burned the colour of copper. As I came level with him he turned to his right to reveal a neatly trimmed white goatee beard and sparkly eyes in a very weather-beaten face. He confided that his feet were more sore than he hoped would be the case, and that he was supposed to have been at work today but had called in sick. I wished him well while hoping he wasn’t due to work Saturday either as he might still be on the trail.

Wishing him good luck I moved on, pressing ahead along Wade’s military road through the valley, the huge and imposing Mamores to my right.

After around 7 miles the way turned distinctly right, towards the north, once more through beautiful forests. After about a mile through the forest, much of which had been felled, I caught up with a father and son moving very well. They were also on a 5 day trip having started in Milgavie last Monday as I had. The young lad was called Cameron and was just 11 yrs old. He declared without hesitation that he had really enjoyed his walking holiday with his Dad Robert, who looked on with immense pride adding that his son had kept up a really good pace. It was then that I noticed an older man approaching. Probably in his 60s this tall grey haired bushy-handlebar moustached florid faced man was grinning broadly. It turned out that he was Robert’s father and Cameron’s granddad. He had been dropped off on the small track that passes close to here so that he could walk the last 8 miles or so of this epic trail with his son and grandson. Doesn’t it do your heart good?

Hereafter, following a few hundred yards of open heathland, the trail once more delved into wet woodland and a few more hundred yards later an area of felling was traversed. With the last few miles now rapidly dropping away I found myself being relieved that my toes, which in truth had been a little more sore due to compression than I had previously admitted to myself, would soon be relieved, while at the same time wishing the adventure was not almost over. The sun continued to shine and the light breeze was perfectly cooling.

Finally I reached the top of the wooded section and commenced the descent. The character of this section was the now familiar wide rocky road made to support forest logging. It was neither good to look at nor to walk on. There was one saving grace though, the magnificence of Ben Nevis ahead wearing a cap of light mist.

My reflections on a journey nearly done were brought up short when my fairly routine ‘hello’ to a couple coming the other way was responded to with more enthusiasm than was customary from those just setting out. Only then did I recognise a couple I had seen (overtaking naturally) yesterday. Towards late middle age the man with a greying beard and spectacles and his lady with noticeably rosy cheeks they stopped for a chat in response to my surprised query as to why they were now heading south again. They explained that in booking late they had not been able to get the accommodation they needed to support a ‘straight-through’ south to north walk. They were therefore using public transport to juggle the sections of the route such that they could walk every section but not necessarily in the right order and sometimes back-to-front. They were doing the Way over 6 days rather than my 5 and today was also their final stage. They said that after a night in the hotel that I had used last night they would get a bus back up to Fort William and start walking the Great Glen Way which goes from Fort William alongside, among others, Loch Ness to Inverness.

My final encounter on the main walk was with an American chap who in the vicinity of Nevis bridge complemented we British on the quality of our bulls. My quizzical response received a nod in the direction of a small cow in the field alongside us. “It has udders” I said, trying not to hurt his feelings. It appears that he was confused by the cows horns into thinking it was male. We chuckled and I moved on quickly.

The final 2 miles or so was road and best skipped over (if only I could still skip). Stopping briefly for a selfie at the marker for the old end of the route outside of Fort William I went in pursuit of the new end marker in George Square in the town itself. I reached it at 12:45, 4hrs 35min after setting out.

So another adventure draws to a close. I predicted in my first blog that adventures would materialise, and so they did. I began by believing that the walk would be memorable if it was given a chance to be so, and so it was. Not however due to the scenery, magnificent and grand though it has surely been, and nor due to the difficulty of the route as I have not found it to be especially difficult (although bad weather would have made it so and I recognise that). It has been memorable because of the people I have met, and there have been many.

Everyone has their story and they are all worth listening to. Equally I thank those who listened to mine.

In drawing this blog thread to a close I remember that the driver of every car I encountered during the whole week outside of towns raised their hand to me in greeting. I remember how few pieces of litter I saw. I remember the group of ladies from New York who loved this route so much they did it twice. I remember young Cameron who I met today on the trail and again in Fort William at the end marker and who says to me that long distance walking is not the preserve of older people and that youngsters can enjoy it too if properly motivated and led. I remember the Kiwi couple who were just so glad to be walking free. I remember the Indian man visiting his late Mother’s country for the first time. I remember flame-haired Eleanor who was the only person to match my love of speed walking.

Of course I remember most of all the lovely Geri and Mo from Glasgow who I had the pleasure of helping once or twice. They seem to me to epitomise the character of this magnificent long distance path and those who choose to walk it. They were great fun, they were uncomplicated, and they were tough. As I write this in Fort William having finished my walk they are still out there somewhere. Please someone keep an eye on them and see them home safely.

Finally however, whereas the ladies were teetotal I think The Way would, if it could, take a wee dram in salute to all those who maintain it, know it, walk it, and love it.

As it can’t I do so on its behalf. Sláinte!

Today’s section of the walk was expected to be quite tough. The 19 miles from Inveroran to Kinlochleven was formed of 2 distinct sections. The first 10 miles would see me crossing Rannoch Moor to Kingshouse while the second 9 miles would include an ascent of the Devil’s Staircase. In light of this I elected for a breakfast policy of ‘first in last out’. Having arrived on the stroke of 7:30 and finding I had a whole breakfast layout to myself I was only thwarted in my bid to outstay everyone by a Austrian couple of ample proportions who were clearly on the culinary tour rather than the walking tour. I nonetheless managed 2 bowls of grapefruit and 1 of melon, a bowl of Alpen, a full Scottish fry and 4 slices of toast with butter and strawberry jam. Yummy but don’t tell my doctor. Even the Fulsome Frau saw fit to comment on my appetite which I felt was bit rich.

Feeling well stocked for the day I paid the bill, picked up my packed lunch and collected my shoes from the rack where all the footwear of we grubby walkers was stored to prevent the nice tartan carpets being damaged, and headed out into a fresh breeze.

The torrential rain with sleety overtones that was forecast had either passed us by or was yet to arrive, and instead we had a cool, windy and overcast start to the day. No sooner was I outside but a swallow landed on the gatepost no more than 5 feet from me and proceeded to stare with its head cocked inquisitively to one side. I watched inquisitively back for ages and the bird didn’t move. Eventually I thought I would try and take its photo and it waited until the instant before I pressed the shutter and abruptly flew away. The blighter.

The scenery in the area of the Inveroran Hotel was incredible. Turning towards Rannoch Moor 100 yds from the hotel I was presented with the most beautiful view of the river that feeds Loch Tulla and the Grampian mountains beyond from the Victoria bridge.

Heading from open ground into woods, at least for a while, the route picked up one of Thomas Telford’s Parliamentary Roads, built to replace the old military roads that had fallen into disrepair. This road, more realistically a track wide enough for a single cart, was undoubtedly brilliantly hard wearing being made of rock and stone set into a mortar of some kind. However the effect of these protuberances on the undersides of feet, even those properly clad in boots, needs to be experienced in order to gain an appreciation of the level of discomfort experienced.

I was now about to use this road, proudly introduced by a sign on the entranceway as the ‘Drove Road to Glencoe’ to cross one of Britain’s largest and wildest moors; the dreaded Rannoch Moor. The guidebook advises that when conditions are calm it can be a deceptively easy walk, and so it proved to be. While the path was extremely exposed with no shelter, and to stray from it could result in a sinking experience of life-threatening proportions due to the peat bogs, the weather was fine and there was no need to stray.

After a steady climb of several miles during which I passed barely half a dozen people, most of whom were not especially cheery having camped out the previous night, I reached a little oasis of deciduous woodland around the Ba Bridge. Everywhere else in sight was either wet marsh, heather moor, mountain, or occasionally a pine or fir plantation. Ba Bridge marks the halfway point and in the event of bad weather causing safety concerns walkers are advised to turn back from here. Not having any such concerns I pushed on and shortly after the bridge I encountered a very odd couple indeed. I thought initially that I was closing on 2 girls, one tall and one short. However the taller of the two, long blonde hair streaming from beneath a helmet-like wooly hat, half turned as I drew close to reveal a substantial blonde beard. This chap looked as if he could have just stepped off a Viking longship; an impression not weakened by the fact the carried not a walking pole but a boat hook. Yes, really! His walking partner was nowhere near as odd within herself but given his stature and demeanour the fact that she was a very small person of south-east Asian appearance seemed quite a contrast. They were very cheery all the same and claimed to be enjoying this marvellous leg-stretch in blustery conditions as much as I was.

After reaching its high-point at around 450m the path then starts the descent to Kingshouse. During the descent one of my favourite Scottish mountains came in view – Buachaille Etive Mor whose Gaelic name means the Great Herdsman of Etive, followed by the road to the White Corries ski area and café.

I have no doubt that in bad weather the route would be dire, but the path is clear and wide all the way and I fail to see why anyone would need to leave it. Thus navigation is not really an issue and anyone walking in this area ought to be properly kitted out. After all as someone once told me, in the UK there is no such thing as bad weather, just inappropriate clothing. I appreciate that might sound a bit hard nosed but I strongly believe in people taking responsibility for their own safety in the mountains and having a decent waterproof, hat and gloves, together with a first aid kit, torch, whistle and food isn’t that expensive nor heavy.

Having got off my soap-box …. after crossing the busy A82 trunk road that descends through Glencoe I reached the Kings House Hotel, at Kingshouse.

A very well known coaching inn due to its location the Kingshouse dates back to the seventeenth century. In 1746 it was used as a barracks by the Duke of Cumberland’s troops after the Battle of Culloden. It had been my intention to take lunch here but in the event I was too early. As I had a packed lunch anyway I contented myself with taking a few photographs of the red deer that live around the hotel, and then proceeded onto the second section of the walk. I was vaguely aware that I hadn’t taken a break or even had a drink since leaving my hotel this morning 10 miles back down the track, but as I felt really good I carried on regardless. It was after all only 9 miles to Kinlochleven.

After crossing the bridge over the River Etive I turned left to head towards Glencoe on Wade’s military road. With Buachaille Etive Mor ahead and to my left over the road and valley, and the huge whaleback of Beinn a Chrulaiste immediately to my right I strode through several dozen male walkers who had disgorged from a bus shortly before I reached Kingshouse. Almost all dressed in green and brandishing flash cameras I assume they were part of a club outing. Certainly many were not of the dimension normally associated with long distance trekkers and those who didn’t instantly dash for a bush to provide cover for a pee seemed more concerned with workings of their cameras than the view. For once I kept my cheery ‘hello’s’ to myself and left them to it.

Having followed the military road for about 2 miles though scrub and heather, the grandeur of the mountains a real presence all around the route turned right beyond the end of Beinn a Chrulaiste into a valley. Before long however a wooden bridge was crossed in order to reach the foot of the ‘Devils Staircase’. Not having researched this, and having heard several people in recent days refer to it being tough, I was expecting a real challenge. However the guidebook just about has it right, as follows: “Despite the forbidding name, the path is very clear and zig zags make the going easier.” It wasn’t actually hard at all. Sure it’s necessary to take it slowly and with shortened steps, and a breather every now and again to admire the magnificent views would be a good idea, but it isn’t that hard, at least it shouldn’t be for any competent Way-walker.

Part of the way up I met a middle aged man gazing at Buachaille Etive Mor across the valley. He was olive skinned and dressed mostly in green although not from the party I mentioned earlier as they were still fiddling with their shutters or similar down below. He wore a small blue rucksack. I greeted him in customary fashion and only when he turned to reply, his face seemingly very peaceful, did I notice that he had earpieces in his ears connected to a music player of some kind. Apologising for disturbing his reverie I turned to leave him in peace but he stopped me saying: “I have wanted to do this all my life. My mother was Scottish and my Father Indian. My mother died when I was young and I lived all my life in India. But now I’ve come to see her country. I am listening to Scottish music”. I asked him if it was pipes and drums and he replied, ever so quietly, “yes – bagpipes. It’s Flower of Scotland….”. We both looked back towards the mountain, dark and foreboding, lost in our separate thoughts. After a few moments I gently touched his arm and slipped quietly away.

Up the Devils Staircase I strode, aware that my pace on this section was causing heads to turn. I turned once more and the man was still there. Taking a quick photograph lest this moment be forgotten, and which I share with you here, I faced-front once more and blasted to the top. In fact I only stopped blasting when my toes were sore. Needless to say I passed several people during this time, one of whom was a late-teenage girl with the most glorious silver-dyed hair shot through with streaks of metallic kingfisher blue and bright pink. I actually said “great hair!” as I scooted past. Eventually I heard her call “thanks!”; the delay probably being due to her not being entirely sure who had spoken.

The route down to Kinlochleven was uneventful and, after the glory of earlier vistas, relatively boring. For most of the way the route was on a rough-made road that was quite steep and due to loose rocks and pebbles it was unforgiving on the feet. Eventually however I reached the town and found my hotel, the Macdonald. I’m not sure if there is a farm nearby but at least the food aught to be served quickly. Ha ha. No? Me neither. The story of the Indian man at the foot of the devils staircase affected me too.

I do hope he listened to Highland Cathedral. His Mum would have liked that.

Following my evening return to the trail yesterday, and the late dinner, by the time I hit the sack I was quite weary and my plan to complete the blog before turning in was a non-starter. Thus if I was to keep to my writing schedule an early start was needed. The alarm roused me at 7:30 and for the next hour I recalled the wonderful adventures of Tuesday.

Breakfast at 8:30 was a joy of crunchy nut cornflakes followed by a ‘full Scottish’. Now, in the past I’ve not been a huge fan of black pudding but that came to a dead stop this morning. It, and the rest of the breakfast of sausages, bacon, beans, fried eggs (of course) and tattie scone, were completely delicious and really set me up for the 23 miles I was due to knock out during the day. The 2 Scots ladies I mentioned yesterday appeared for breakfast just as I was leaving and we talked for a while about their plans for the day. They were due to spend the night at the Bridge of Orchy Hotel some 21 miles away. In light of their experience of the past 2 days they had thought to get a taxi to Crianlarich and walk from there thus saving about 7 miles. Following discussion they decided instead to take the taxi to Tyndrum leaving themselves just a seven mile walk. Of course they could have done more but they really needed a less stressful day. We agreed to look out for each other at Bridge of Orchy and with that I bade them farewell, picking up my packed lunch on the way out. It was 9:35.

Retracing my steps to the Beinglas campsite I turned left onto ‘the Way’, now heading due north. The weather was perfect. Following a little rain overnight the smell of the undergrowth and dark soil was intense and heady.

The sky was clearing and a little watery sunshine was peering through the remaining cloud. There was no breeze. Once more the feeling of freedom and sheer ‘joie de vivre’ gripped me. Within minutes I was catching people but not just blasting past. Instead I would always greet people with a cheery ‘hello’ or ‘good morning’. If they responded, which was almost always the case, I might chance a comment on the weather, or the state of the track, or something similar. If they seemed happy to chat then maybe we’d talk awhile before I’d make my excuses and move ahead. I met all manner of people today. Couples, mixed groups, and single sex groups, and even the occasional singleton. I bumped into the Kiwi couple again as they were packing up their tent and stopped for a chat with them. There was a chap on his own who had intended to climb a Munro but in light of the weather decided to do a leg of the WHW instead. There was a group of 4 men, 3 Swiss and a Scotsman who worked together in Geneva but had come to walk ‘the Way’ as a group. There was the group of 3 guys in superman t-shirts on a charity walk. The French chap sat on the parapet of a little bridge trying to direct his lady partner with hand waving signals to a geocaching site. Two ladies sat on a bench by a river taking lunch. Another chap advised me most solicitously that my intended hotel for the night was haunted. I could go on. My point is the walk is not just about the walk, glorious though the walking is. Nor is it about the views, splendid though they are. I am increasingly finding it is about the people too. The shared sense of adventure and struggle. The common aim and common ailments of sore feet. The common appreciation of nature’s beauty. The common enjoyment of a liquid reward at a pub along the way.

After a while the closeness and steamy atmosphere of the woods gave way to more openness. The cinder path was wide and with rising ground to my right and meadow to my left I pressed on. Despite dark clouds gathering from time to time none made serious inroads to the decent spell of weather.

After Carmyle Cottage, beyond which the route crossed under the single-track railway through a tunnel in which I encountered a group of 4 middle-aged men embarrassed to be caught taking ‘selfies’, the route deteriorated. The old military road was a mess of mud and rocks, too small to walk on but too large to walk between. This was uncomfortable walking and I was pleased to reach a section that had been renovated even though I normally prefer natural tracks.

A short time later as we approached Crianlarich around 7 miles into the day the route once more entered dense forest and took a turn to the left towards Tyndrum. The next 2 miles or so was predominantly through dense humid woodland and the grass to either side of the path was richly green. While I didn’t see any animals larger than beetles and the butterflies were less in evidence there were still many birds and their songs were a joy to witness. Eventually the path left the woods and went under the railway viaduct and crossed the A82 into open farmland.

After crossing the River Fillan bridge and marvelling at the beauty of this wide fast flowing waterway and the view to the right of the majestic Ben More (1174m) and Stob Binnein (1165m), both of which I climbed 2 years ago, the remains of St Fillan’s priory could be seen. Nestling moss green and overgrown in an ancient copse to the left of the path this priory was not built by St Fillan, a Christian teacher from Ireland, but was erected in the 13th century in memory of him after his sainthood. The building, some 50m long, was endowed by Robert the Bruce in 1317. Thee is an 8th century graveyard nearby.

Continuing through open countryside with the heat of the burning sun moderated by a cooling breeze I took a lunch of a ham sandwich, Mars bar and an apple by the side of the River Fillan around a mile before Tyndrum. Reaching the village at 13:30, 12 miles and 4 hours after leaving Inverarnon, I felt it was time for a break and at just the right time the Tyndrum Inn, a substantial yellow and black painted building set back from the road presented itself. Strongly of the belief that such opportunities should not be wasted I availed myself of the hospitality of said establishment to complete yesterday’s blog. Truth be told I would have left sooner than the hour spent inside were it not for meeting several groups of walkers who arrived after me but with whom I had chatted earlier.

Nonetheless at 2:30 I escaped and took the clearly marked trail to Bridge of Orchy. From here at last I could see the mountains. This was big-sky territory and it was all blue, contrasting wonderfully with the fresh green of the mountains themselves. Road noise from the A82 across the valley to my left was an annoyance but nothing could spoil this wonderful view.

Once more following an old military road and with Beinn Dorain the perfect conical mountain beckoning me forward I once again found myself wanting, nay needing, to run. So I did. Because I could. Uphill. Despite sweating profusely in the heat I was well hydrated and the running seemed effortless. I guess I have retained some of the fitness I gained in Nepal. I did stop from time to time though, for example to discuss tadpoles in a pond with a chap from Kennington out walking with his sister from Edinburgh. Otherwise I kept to an easy gait probably familiar to military people, and used my walking poles to maintain momentum and stability. I still don’t understand why even the uphill sections seemed easy. I stopped any time I got within 100 yds or so of other walkers as I didn’t want them to think I was mad or that there was a problem of some kind. Golden flowering gorse bushes were in profusion along the track and these served to lend the views an extra level of beauty. In no time at all the railway station at Bridge of Orchy came into view and a short while later I arrived at the hotel. The 7 miles had taken just 1hr 35mins. Ok so many could do it quicker but I wasn’t racing; just running for the joy of it. Because I could.

Sitting outside the hotel with my, now customary, pints of orange and lemonade and beer I was amazed to see dozens of classic cars roar past. And I mean roar. Small they undoubtedly were but this was a major gathering of the MG owners club and those little classic sports cars fairly roared down the road. On heading into the pub for a beer recharge I got chatting to a couple who had, despite me trying to be discreet, seen me running and wanted to complement me. Quickly batting that aside we got talking about the hills and their plans for the next few days, and mine, and how apparently they were worried about the tired ladies from yesterday, and general stuff, when all of a sudden the girl mentioned the snow and sleet forecast for tomorrow. Stop! What?? Apparently it’s true. The end of the good weather is nigh and there is heavy rain forecast for the morrow, turning to sleet or even snow on higher ground. Typical!! Tomorrow I cross Rannoch Moor. As the Aussies would say: bugga!

Not seeing ‘my’ ladies around anywhere but confident that they were ok I left the Bridge of Orchy hotel around 5 and headed the final 2 miles over the mountain to the Inveroron Hotel. After an initial wooded section this final journey was on open grassland and once more was a sheer joy of freedom. Though too steep for running (at least for me) it still invited a sprightly pace and before long I was on the pass looking down on the most beautiful Loch Tulla surrounded by lush grassland illuminated by golden evening sunshine. I just had to sit and stare in awe of such natural magnificence.

My reverie was interrupted by a ‘ping’ from my phone indicating a modicum of connectivity so I used that opportunity to try a full-on blog by email. Much to my delight I soon received a text saying that Simon has favourited the post on Twitter thus confirming that it had worked. Regrettably no photographs were sent but I figured I try that the next day (today).

After dinner of cream of celery soup with fresh brown rolls and butter, haggis neeps and tatties, and a dessert of a gorgeously rich lemon meringue pie, washed down with an inexpensive Merlot/Shiraz I repaired to the resident’s lounge. Ostensibly there to write my blog I was joined by 2 couples travelling together. The wives of the couples, one Scottish and the other American, had met while their husbands had been working in Brazil. They had since become close friends and often holidayed together as all were now retired. During the next hour we just chatted about ‘life, the universe and everything’ and had a most wonderful time. They departed about 10 p.m. Leaving me to continue to write to you. It is now 11:30 in the evening and I am done. I hope that I have done justice to this most wonderful of days.

If anyone reading this is contemplating walking the WHW – go do it! But do it in your own time and if you can’t do all of it in the time available, well don’t!

So there you have the rosy view. The Way in good weather where people are in good spirits. Let’s see how I’m feeling this time tomorrow eh? Actually I really hope its poor weather tomorrow as it will enable me, and you, to see how far my good humour may be stretched!

Today I gave myself a lay-in. Uncommonly lazy I hear you say but in my defence it was in a very good cause: breakfast at the Oak Tree Inn didn’t start until 8:30 and the lady on reception assured me it was worth waiting for. And so it proved. Now, I recall that there are those amongst you who aren’t remotely interested in my eating habits and, frankly, I have some sympathy. However, as there are others who enjoy such detail then let the record show that bowls of grapefruits, then Frosties (they’re gggggreat!), accompanied by orange juice, were followed by sausages and bacon, scrambled eggs and baked beans, all lightly garnished with ketchup (of the rip open a pouch and squirt the contents over your trousers variety) and eased down with a pot of coffee. Thus it was with my belt loosened a notch I headed north at 9 a.m. well stocked up with carbs, protein, and caffeine, and uncommonly well rested.

I was looking forward to following the eastern shore of Loch Lomond all day today as this Loch is a jewel among the many beautiful Lochs which depict Scotland at its bonniest. I was not expecting that within 10 minutes of leaving the breakfast table I would be climbing a steep little hill. However the viewpoint a Craigie Fort was splendid affording expansive views in all directions and exhibiting an even greater profusion of bluebells than yesterday.

Once more at sea level there was sheer joy in walking a section of the WHW along a wide, stony beach. Following the strand for a while and passing several little private-ish stony beaches, and thinking how gorgeous it would be to take a dip in the water, I was reminded of an incident a few years ago in this very spot. Clare and I were in Glasgow visiting her folks and had taken the opportunity to catch up with an old friend. It being a scortching day we took a drive out to Balmaha. Not expecting this weather, well you wouldn’t in Scotland would you, we hadn’t thought to pack ‘bathers’ (swimsuits to us sassenachs). The call of the loch on this sweltering day proved too much for yours truly who deployed his improvisation skills in fashioning a pair of trunks from a supermarket carrier bag. I put holes for the legs in the bottom of the bag pulled them up and waded in. I maintained my modesty, just, by holding the bag up by the handles. All was fine until I tried to return from my swim to find the thin plastic not up to the job and it split, fairly fundamentally. My return to the beach was somewhat less dignified than the outward journey. Nobody outside of our group saw what was going on (or off) and mercifully the girls saw the funny side. The only damage was to my ego. The loch was, after all, freezing cold and the logo emblazoned on the bag was never more true: ‘Lightening the Load’.
Continuing along the WHW the path was firm and clear. Not dissimilarly to yesterday despite its proximity to the loch, hedgerows were peppered with a profusion of wild flowers and birdsong filled the air. Once more the grass and other vegetation was vibrantly green, putting the grey of the loch into sharp contrast. After the little wooded headland of Creag Mhor the route took a road for about a mile. I could see someone ahead but apart from noting they were carrying a sizeable rucksack in a purpley/cerisey colour normally reserved for ladies packs I though no more of them. That was until 10 mins or so later when the road straightened again by the Caravanning & Camping Club holiday park and I saw the walker again, barely closer than before. I was intrigued at this as it’s rare for me to meet someone travelling fast. Eventually, largely do to them stopping to take a photo, I came close enough to see it was indeed a female walker, flame red hair previously hidden by the upper section of her rucksack. I eventually caught her as the path once more went through woodlands and her reaction was similar to mine. ‘Wow – this doesn’t happen often’. We got into conversation and it turned out that Eleanor worked as a solicitor in Bristol and while she was predominantly a trekker of some speed she had done some mountaineering too. She was on the WHW with a friend who had got really bad blisters the previous day and so was taking wheels to the next overnight stop leaving Eleanor to revel in the speed walking that being alone permits. It further transpired that she had tried to climb Mont Blanc just 2 weeks after me in 2011. The date was fixed in her mind as that was the day of the Mont Maudit avalanche that killed several climbers and she was on Mont Blanc at the time. Talk of avalanche led me to refer to recent events on Everest and for the next 30 mins or so we walked together at a crazy pace while talking about treks and mountains. At Rowardennan, 7 miles into the day’s walk, we parted as she took a break and I pressed on.

From here the trail continued in the same vein as before. To my right was higher ground, heavily forested predominantly with pine. Every little while a mountain stream would tumble out of the woods cascading over rocks into a pool by the roadside. To my left, deciduous woodland of oak and birch with a thick carpet of fern with occasional pathways through to the pebbly shore of the loch. The most striking thing was the richness of the dark soil that could be seen from time to time and the dampness within the woods to my left.

Passing 2 guys with big packs and obviously planning to camp out rather than take it easy in a hotel room I asked where they were headed. Tyndrum came the response. Wow, respect guys. That’s 12 miles further than my target for the day giving them a total walk for the day of 33 miles. Mind you with their house on their backs if they didn’t make it they could stop earlier. Maybe I’ll bump into them tomorrow.

From the Ptarmigan Lodge the path headed away from the loch shore and up into the forest. It continued to run broadly parallel to the shoreline but at a distance of 200 yds or so. Also the deciduous woodland was less in evidence. For the next 4 miles or so I followed the forest road passing diggers and other forest management machinery from time to time. While it made a change from the loch side trail I was looking forward to returning there. I shouldn’t have as when I did the nature of the trail changed considerably. From relatively open, if not especially interesting forest tracks the way became much narrower and rocky. Climbs, not quite scrambles but close, over slippery rock became common as did the need to take great care not to trip or slip on the many large and gnarled tree roots. There was even a rocky section that involved edging along a ledge for several feet. While not technically difficult this section of the walk will probably have come as quite a shock to some after the benign woodland pathways of yesterday and the earlier section today.

At around 1p.m. I could see across the loch the telltale pipelines of the power station at Inveruglas. Not significant in itself but a marker for what was on this side of the loch but yet hidden by the trees: the Inversnaid Hotel, and lunch! 30 minutes or so later after much slipping and sliding along the track, the walls of a building could be made out. After crossing the wooden bridge over the small river called Arklet Water and marvelling at the waterfall that spectacularly marks its arrival at the loch, I sat at a table outside the hotel with not a little gratitude. The weather was still fine although not as sunny but perfect for taking lunch outside. Having ordered a pint of orange juice and lemonade and a beer (I figured I’d earned it), and a lunch of chicken burger and chips (that too) I got into conversation with two Scots ladies of similar age to myself who were also doing ‘the Way’. I had seen them yesterday in the area of Conic Hill and had a short chat about whether there was an alternative to going over the hill (there wasn’t) before pressing on to catch the American group. Anyway they looked completely banjaxed at lunch and still had another 7 miles to go as we were staying in the same hotel in Inverarnan. We talked for a while as they were quite chatty and I was in no hurry. It was clear however that while they were keen enough and thoroughly enjoying their adventure they had bitten off a bit more than they could chew in terms of daily distance. Or to put it another way, the company or person who had planned their walk did an appalling job. They were good for around 15 miles a day, not 20+. The previous day they hadn’t reached their destination until 9 p.m. Ok it was still light but that’s cutting it a bit fine and doesn’t really leave enough time for rest and recuperation before the next day. Anyway they said they were expecting to get to the hotel by around 7 and I said I’d keep an eye out for them. I left them to their Irn-Bru and hit the trail again at just before 3 having tarried a little linger than intended.

From Inversnaid the route started easily enough with clear paths through beautiful woodlands, bluebells and birdsong predominating among the lushness. Indeed it was so magnificent that it made me want to jog for a while. I know that might sound crazy when the more sensible thing to do would have been to dawdle, all the better to take in this beauty, and to limit damage to my feet. Well, welcome to Andyland. My heart was singing in the glory of this place and I just wanted to run. So I did. Just because I could. After a while though the way became more tortuous with frequent precipitous rocky staircases and slippery muddy sections. When the way was open it was easy but increasingly it wasn’t open. Fairly early on I found myself picturing my lunch companions struggling along here. They were after all built more for comfort than speed and if they were slow on the easy paths of yesterday this would be a serious challenge. I also guessed they were tenacious and would not turn back. With occasional glimpses of the loch through the trees I pressed on. Running or jogging at every opportunity, but increasingly infrequently due to the difficulty of the terrain.

Eventually reaching open ground I checked the map to find myself close to Ardleish, maybe 2 miles or so from my hotel. While the way eased a little from here there were still sections on which great care was required to avoid a twisted ankle or worse. I eventually reached the Drovers Inn at 5:10, having completed the 7 miles from Inversnaid in 2hrs 10 mins.

I checked in and found my room, in the lodge building across the road, and was delighted to find a large double bed and jacuzzi bath. Result! I’m normally a ‘run through the shower’ sort of person but in the circumstances the jacuzzi was perfect. After a short siesta, putting on my spare set of clothes and washing today’s walking gear so as not to look too disreputable tomorrow I headed over to the main hotel building. Quirky is the word that comes to mind. Dating from 1705 the walls of the Drovers Inn are festooned with all manner of historic artefacts and various dead stuffed things, including a bear just inside the main door that greets the unwary with a snarl. There are also a profusion of heads mounted on the walls. The bar area is similarly decorated but is warm and cozy featuring an open fire, and the traditionally-dressed staff could not have been more helpful. The receptionist even identified that I had been charged the wrong price for my room by the on-line system in that I paid for twin occupancy instead of single. I got a £37 reduction!

By this time it was approaching 7 p.m. so I settled down with a pint to write my blog. There was no 3G, indeed there were no Gs at all and while the hotel did offer wi-fi it was too weak to enable internet access. I was at least able to blog via a short email.

When 8 o’clock came and went I was a little concerned that the ladies I had spoken to at lunch had not turned up. When 8:30 passed likewise I figured that I’d better check with reception. The girl confirmed that the walkers were still missing. It was beginning to get dark so I figured I’d better do something. Heading back to my room I grabbed some food and chocolate bars, filled up the water bottle and put a head torch in my pocket. At 8:45 I headed back down the track. About 15 mins later I bumped into a group of campers who I had seen earlier and asked them if they had seen the ladies. They responded that they had, some time ago, and that they were going very slowly. Thankfully another 10 mins was all it took before they came into view, clearly very tired and with sore feet, but otherwise ok. They fairly fell upon the chocolate and guzzled the water. Needless to say they were grateful for my concern and one even commented that she had quietly wondered if I would come looking for them as I would have known how difficult they would have found the going.

We all got back to the Inn at 9:30. Irn-Bru was thrust into their hands while they sat on the foot of the stairs looking all-in. They were too tired even to stand at the reception desk and the kilted male receptionist was kind enough to bring the check-in forms round to them and arranged for their bags to be taken to their rooms. Too tired to eat they headed to bed immediately. Meanwhile I ordered fish and chips for my (belated) dinner, pleased at having done the right thing.

Loch Lomond and Balmaha from Conic Hill

The Caledonian Sleeper is a brilliant way to travel. Ok, it doesn’t have the flexibility of a car, it’s more expensive than a coach, and it’s slower than a plane. It does however save the cost of a hotel overnight but more than this, much more, the sleeper has bags of something none of the others have at all. Soul! After checking in with ‘reception’ on the train I headed for the lounge carriage and a cold can of Deuchars IPA was my reward. As the train was really hot following a day under the sweltering sun one just wasn’t enough. Two might have been but for being gainfully employed washing haggis, neeps and tatties down. So it was necessary to go for a hat-trick and that proved to be a good call. At 11 I headed to my berth and was delighted to find the person I was supposed to be sharing with hadn’t turned up. Maybe he’d heard about my snoring, poor chap. After booking a wake-up at 5:40 it was head down and off to sleep. There is something completely wonderful about sleeping on a train. Of course there are frequent disturbances and, on the London to Fort William route at least, several stops and a major decoupling/reconfiguration effort in the early hours. But it doesn’t seem to matter. There is something comforting about this and the squeaking and squealing of the brakes and connections that seem to accompany the work. Best of all when the train is travelling along the rails it ‘sings’. I don’t know how it does so, but believe me it sings and it is delightful!

A bottle of orange juice and 2 Dundee shortbreads having accompanied my wake up call the train duly stopped at Westerton at 5:55, exactly on time, and I jumped off. It was a coolish 9°C and in the puddles on the road there was evidence of recent rain. The forecast indicated overcast until midday then heavy rain so I resolved to get a move on to minimise the time to be spent in waterproofs. Much to my delight 30 minutes later while I was making my way on foot the 3 miles or so from Westerton station to the beginning of the West Highland Way (WHW) in Milngavie (pronounced something like ‘mul-guy’ and definitely not sounded phonetically) the sun came out and remained out for much of the day. While not part of the WHW this short walk was actually quite enjoyable in the early morning sunshine with hardly anyone around and little traffic despite Milngavie being part of the north-west conurbation of Glasgow. Had I travelled later I could have got closer by train or bus but to be honest I wasn’t that bothered about a ride. I was about to set off on a 95 mile walk so what matter an extra 3?

At just before 7:00 I located the grey granite obelisk in the centre of Milngavie that marks the beginning of the WHW. Presumably so as not to discriminate against the cartographically challenged there was also a huge wrought iron gateway proclaiming ‘West Highland Way’ at the entrance to the walk too. At about 7:05, with a selfie of me and the obelisk safely in the can, I strode through the gateway in brilliant sunshine, grin firmly fixed in place. I know embarking on a classic long walk may not be everyone’s cup of tea but it sure is mine and in making those first few steps I was tingling with anticipation of adventures to come. Maybe not today and maybe not tomorrow but come they will. They always do.

The first part of the walk was along footpaths through Mugdock Country Park. I read subsequently that Mugdock Castle, the ruins of which are in the country park, was the stronghold of the Clan Graham from the middle of the 13th century. I didn’t see them however, and didn’t see a sign. I suspect that I was simply enchanted by Mugdock woods which were alive with the richest most beautiful birdsong. Living in London I am delighted that there is a blackbird that sings within earshot of my bedroom window and from time to time we hear a robin too. Just the one. Well the chorus in Mugdock woods was symphonic! Blackbirds, robins, chaffinches and cookoo were easily identified but there were others and it was truly uplifting. Add to this the rich green-ness of the grass still holding droplets of rain from an earlier shower, the elegant stands of silver birch amongst an otherwise ancient and beautifully managed woodland, and the bluebells. Oh, the bluebells! I have never seen such profusion of this iconic wild flower as in these woods! The path was clear and true and apart from some early dog walkers I had this to myself and I was spellbound. No wonder I missed the castle. Don’t make the mistake of thinking that a long distance path is about graft and pain as it doesn’t have to be. The WHW can be done over as many days as you wish, or even in stages over a number of years. I chose to go for 5 days. Some do fewer, most do longer. This first section was worth the journey alone and about as far from the commute that I would normally have been engaged in at this time as it is possible to imagine.

Eventually however the woodland gave way to more open ground and the Campsie Fells could be seen ahead. Even though the land was more open its fecundity remained very evident. Moss continued to cover trees and stones in drystone walling and the reeds around the many little lakes or areas of standing water reached to over head height in places. It was at about this time that I came across the memorial to the Craigallian Fire which was a beacon of hope and companionship to young unemployed people from Glasgow during the 1930’s depression. The monument marked the spot where the fire burned and around its base the following was inscribed: “Long may old Craigallian woods, send forth abundance of their goods. May the fire be always lit, so that we may come and sit.”

As the openness became the norm the profusion of bluebells was replaced by a profusion of butterflies. In particular I saw orange tip butterflies in their hundreds, male and female. The male is predominantly white but with a dab of bright orange on the tip of both wings. The species has a wide range of habitats which include country lanes, hedgerows, riverbanks, woodland margins and rides, and damp meadows. All of these were present in one way or another so the prevalence of orange tip was not surprising. A little further on, as I passed Craigallian Loch to my right a deer broke from cover in a small copse and crossed in front of me to broken ground to my left. This was a relatively small animal and it was gone in a flash leaving me uncertain whether it was a female or adolescent male.

Wildflowers also peppered the grassy banks either side of the path. White, pink, blue, purple, yellow. I’m rubbish at identification and must do better but the effect irrespective of their names was magical. The richness of the flora was such that I barely recognised a field of sheep as such due to the length of the grass in their field. Indeed they seemed to be immersed in grass!

Having covered flowers, birds, and butterflies, perhaps I should mention insects. You may have been expecting me to be tormented by midges but they have been absent. In their place however were myriad mayflies, or something similar. There have been clouds of them and they were a pest in the woods. But in open ground they were less prevalent. Thus insects have not been an issue today.

Around 8 miles from Milngavie, with the Campsies getting closer and the ground now being sufficiently open to support cows as well as sheep I came upon Dumgoyach. This heavily wooded circular hill of around 500m diameter thrust sharply skywards to my right in a fashion not unlike Glastonbury Tor (except the Tor is not wooded). Indeed it is a volcanic dome. Almost as striking as it’s appearance was the hundreds of crows wheeling over it. While the collective noun for crows is, of course, a ‘murder’ there were so many here I think a ‘genocide’ would be more fitting!

Shortly after passing Dumgoyach the WHW then follows the route of a railway closed in 1951 with the A81 trunk road never more than 200yds away. The relative lack if interest along this section coupled with the road noise rendered this the least enjoyable part of the day and I shall therefore not dwell upon it. Under other circumstances I could have been persuaded to visit Glengoyne distillery or the Beech Tree pub but the earliness of the hour precluded both of these as neither were open. Although Killearn was signposted along the trail we passed almost a kilometre to the west of the village and this left me looking forward to getting a water resupply in Drymen, 5 miles further down the track and 12 miles from the start. It hardly seemed possible that I was only 7 miles from Milngavie with 13 still to go.

The disused railway ended at Gartness, a large farm notable for the squadron of house martins fizzing above my head. From this point the WHW follows a minor road into Drymen. While there was hardly any traffic, at a guess I saw no more than 8 or 9 cars during the 45 minutes or so I was on it, every single driver waved as they passed. Male or female, young or old made no difference. Ok, so I was being courteous about where I was walking but even so, I was amazed at their friendliness. Maybe I’ve just lived in London too long?

Towards the end of the minor road about half a mile from Drymen while car drivers are signed to Balmaha through Drymen the WHW turns right for a few hundred yards and then joins the Rob Roy Way heading north. This is because walkers approach Balmaha from the north east having climbed Conic Hill on the way. Drivers of course give Conic Hill a miss it being nearly 400m high. However I was in sore need of some water and Drymen was the only option. Checking the map it was clear that I could still get to the Conic Hill approach via Drymen so I went ‘off piste’ for a while. Remember what I said earlier about adventures just happening? Well, read on.

Drymen looked like my kind of place in that the number of pubs seemed to outnumber the shops, but I think this was a dehydration-induced hallucination. I purchased a 2 litre bottle of water and a monster Snickers bar from the Post Office Stores and saw off the latter and half the former in rapid order on the little bench seat outside the shop, next to the post box. Depositing the remaining water in my water bottle and suspending that from my rucksack waist belt I headed north out of the village in the direction of the approach to Conic Hill. The route took me through a forest but as it was well crossed by paths and rides I figured it would be easy to negotiate. In the event there were huge sections that had been felled and I reflected on the necessary devastation and was sanguine about it if it was being properly managed. Pressing further I then found that the path I needed was in a section that had been felled but not cleared. What faced me was a veritable assault course of trees blocking my route. The only alternative route would have seen me retrace my steps back to Drymen and that wasn’t really viable. So I set to climbing over and under a multitude of trees laying horizontal. They hadn’t been stripped of their branches and foliage and it was often these that prevented progress rather than the bough. Within the confines of the woods the wind didn’t blow and so there was nothing to cool me. I ended up soaking wet from sweat and my trousers were wringing from crawling along the ground when climbing over wasn’t on. What a mess!

After about 30 minutes I emerged back onto the WHW, looking like I had just been dragged through a hedge, which was about right! Naturally there were loads of people around now all of whom saw fit to comment on my appearance. Welcome to my walk. Now you know why Clare doesn’t do this stuff.

I figured the best thing now was to put my head down and fly along, thereby convincing those encountered that I was in a hurry and not open to conversation. All went well for about 10 mins until I saw ahead a lady of a certain age engaged in conversation with 2 older gents. As I was about to pass the lady, who I later found to be called Patricia, she literally flagged me down like a cab. It turned out she was from New York which explained her forthright technique. It transpired that she was one of a group of 6 female New Yorkers and the other 5 were some distance ahead (about a mile as it turned out!). Patricia was determined to finish, but unable to move at the pace of her compatriots. Seeing that I was going faster even than they she asked me to tell the others of her group that she was fine and that they should not wait for her. I found this amusing given that they clearly hadn’t waited for her already. Anyway, agreeing to carry the message I set off on a mission, glad to have a reason to go pell mell other than to avoid discussion of my dishevellment. Finding 3 of the NY team at the base if Conic Hill I duly passed Patricia’s message, much to their relief. Another was caught half-way up and similarly advised, while the final lady, Valerie, who had to be 65 at least, was caught at the summit. Jeez she was shifting! I actually felt quite sorry for Patricia. Valerie explained that they had all been here last year on a 6-day trip and hadn’t been able to complete the full walk in that time. As a result they had gone through some serious training and were back to try again this year. Maybe some of the group had been less diligent over their training than others eh Patricia?

From the top of Conic Hill it was a fairly quick, if uncomfortable on the toes, canter down to Balmaha nestling at the shore of Loch Lomond. Finding my hotel, the Oak Tree Inn, not ready for check-ins just yet (it was after all only 2pm – told you I’d been motoring) I availed myself of some of Mr Bellhaven’s Best but only after downing a pint of orange and lemonade. Just after 3 I checked-in and found that I was not in the main pub building but in a cottage up the road that had been converted into several rooms. My single room was delightful. Freshly decorated with a bright clean bathroom with a shower I immediately stripped off and threw my clothes into the shower with me to wash them. I have only 2 sets of gear so everything has to be washed and dried every night if I am not to attract all the insects for miles around.

Freshly scrubbed and wearing my spare everything (except for my footwear as I have no spare) I returned to the Oak Tree Inn for some more refreshment and a burger. I then set about writing my blog and, as you will have noticed, it turned into such an epic that I have just had dinner too: a massive chicken and bacon Caesar salad followed by a Mars bar cheesecake. I just love Scottish cuisine!

Breakfast tomorrow morning is from 8:30 to 9:00. I can’t help thinking these places do breakfast deliberately late so they can charge for it confident that many people will want to get away early and therefore not stay to eat. Were that not the case then they would offer a ‘no breakfast’ option wouldn’t they? Anyway I won’t gripe because the room is great and the price very reasonable for a place like this right on the WHW.

It’s now just before 8 and although it’s still very light it feels much later. The 6 a.m. start is probably to blame. As I sip the last dregs of my coffee I can see through the window a fairly clear sky and the trees being blown quite hard. The forecast says dry tomorrow so we might have another midge-free day. But this as Scotland after all and mountain forecasts are notoriously bad. All I know is that I have 21 miles to walk to my room at Inverarnan tomorrow and whatever the weather that’s where I have to go.

Stay with me. Who knows what adventures lay ahead?

The West Highland Way is Scotland’s premier long distance path. The 154km (96 mile) route starts at Milngavie near Glasgow. It passes through Mugdock Country Park, follows the shores of Loch Lomond passing Ben Lomond, through Glen Falloch and Strathfillan, crossing Rannoch Moor, and past Buachaille Etive Mor to the head of Glencoe. After climbing the Devil’s Staircase it then descends to sea level to cross the River Leven at the head of Loch Leven before entering Lairigmor and Glen Nevis. The path finishes at Gordon Square in Fort William.

I have wanted to undertake this walk for many years and now have the opportunity to do so. Taking the Caledonian Sleeper train from London’s Euston station this evening I shall leave it at Westerton station just to the north west of Glasgow before 6 a.m. Monday morning. A couple of miles walk will see me at Milngavie where an obelisk in the town centre marks the start of the walk.

Come with me as the terrain progresses from lowland moors, dense woodland and rolling hills, to high mountainous regions in the Scottish Highlands. I intend to complete the walk in 5 days, staying in hotels or pubs along the way, but without using the services of a baggage transport company. I shall instead carry everything with me, aiming to get underway earlyish each morning so as to leave plenty of time towards the end of each day to write about my experiences.

I hope you will enjoy the journey with me!