Day Forty Nine

Tuesday 21 September – Kinlochleven to Fort William

Kinlochleven is surrounded by hills, most of which look like... well, they're called the Mamores, so you can work it out for yourself.

Some hard work comes quite soon as the West Highland Way leaves the road to North Ballachulish and heads diagonally uphill. So soon after breakfast this was a shock to the system, and it became clear that other systems were being tested: there was a positive snarl-up of people rediscovering their muscles after a lazy night in Kinlochleven. All this effort was occurring in a lovely birch wood – spruces don't have it all their own way around here.

Eventually the path levelled out as it joined yet another of the old military roads, which maintained a reasonably level course as it headed into Lairigmor, the Big Pass, consisting of two glens at rights angles. So my route was just North of West for about five miles, then turned to head North. Hills rose steeply on both sides. The chance came to test the steepness by taking a path which climbs 1500 feet or so before descending to North Ballachulish.I spurned this chance, also ignoring the opportunity to climb no less than 11 Munros which lie in a ridge to the North.I was content to trot round the end of the hills into the second leg of the pass.

Of course history had got here before me, involving those old buddies, the Campbells and the MacDonalds. The Campbells were on the run this time, desperately hoping that Lairigmor would take them to safety. Naturally it ended badly.

The path comes very close to a road (to nowhere). An information board indicated that a crannog (artificial island) on a small loch across the valley might have been a des res for Macbeth at one time. There is active forestry in this area: large areas had been cleared of trees – an ugly but obviously necessary process. I perched on a tree stump to eat my lunch.

There was a constant game of leapfrog going on, as about a dozen people took it in turns to pass each other. If the person or party in front paused to add or subtract clothing, take a drink, or whatever, you passed them with a suitable exchange of greetings. Thinking up original things to say was just not worth the effort: “Hello” every time was quite acceptable.

For the umpteenth time I encountered the two groups of women I mentioned before. The party of four included – I was tipped off – a Birthday Girl. She was sporting a teeshirt reading “Still Looking Great at 60”, which she certainly was. I wished her a happy birthday. The second group, of six young women, intrigued me. They were all Asian, and I knew from the few words we had exchanged (and hearing them in the hotel last night) that they did not have discernible British accents. They spoke English and occasionally another language.

I eventually summoned up the courage to ask them where they were from – I had, after all, been asked that myself many times this week – and they were all from India, with walking the WHW as a big part of their holiday. They asked me where I was from, and told me that some of them were going on to London the following day, flying from Glasgow. All this made sense of the large cases they were having transferred for them during the walk - more than a few things to wear while walking were necessary for their trip. They easily got the prize for choosing the best picnic spot of the day, a green spot by a tinkling burn, quite delightful.

I haven't mentioned the weather so far. It was extraordinary, even by the standards of this week of distinctly odd weather. Huge banks of blue-black clouds were slowly passing across all day, but none of them produced any rain. Occasional shafts of sunlight caught the hillsides, and it was warm – no other word will do. It looked cold, but it was warm. I stripped off my jacket and walked for most of the day in shirtsleeves.

From Lairigmor the path was sometimes in trees and sometimes exposed, a stretch of open going bringing a spectacular first look at Ben Nevis. It's not pretty – no, let's be fair, it's downright ugly. But it is magnifiecent. Later, the daunting path up to the summit could be seen on the lower slopes.

I have commented several times on how well maintained most of the WHW is, and I passed one of the people who keep things so shipshape. A man was digging out a drainage ditch. His sweatshirt logo told me he worked for the Ranger Service; he told me that they were responsible for the route from Tyndrum to Fort William, a long stretch. I said I thought it was the best maintained long-distance path I had walked, and he seemed pleased. He deserved to be. We dicusssed the weather, and then he carried on ditching while I carried on reaping the benefit.

The Ben disappeared as the path entered deep forest, this time definitely coniferous. With burns seemingly running in all directions, the going got slower as the path fell to cross the water each time, then rose again. All the time I was gradually turning from the Norhward direction I had maintained for several miles, firstly to head roughly North East, and then, as I entered Glen Nevis, North West. The final act had begun.

Referring back to the path worker, I have to record that through the trees, there was no mud. Unbelievable but true. Where necessary the path had been laid between retaining boards. There is no sense of adventurous path-finding, but who needs it? It was great walking.

Eventually the path joined a wide forestry road, not tarmaced but expertly engineered to provide another perfect surface. The roadway swept regally downhill in wide hairpin bends, before levelling out and heading for Fort William.

The last couple of miles are a distinct anti-climax, the WHW joining the road which runs down Glen Nevis. There is a pavement, which is just as well – the road was busy and the traffic was fast. A short stop for refreshments at the Glen Nevis Visitor Centre provided some welcome refief. Things got worse when the Glen Nevis road met the A82 main road at a roundabout. It wasn't yet 4 o'clock, but a rush hour-style traffic snarl-up was taking place. Perhaps it's like this all say.

After an unpleasant few hundred yards of this, it was possible to escape this horrible road and peal off on to a traffic-free road leading to the square in the town centre, where the WHW officially ends (having been mysteriously extended to here quite recently). Just round the corner was my overnight stop, where I have been typing up these notes to the accompaniment of a chap playing the bagpipes – very well – in the car park just across the road. I don't know why he chose the car park, but I'm glad he did. Next up, the Great Glen.

Day Forty Eight

Monday 20 September – Inveroran to Kinlochleven

This was to be my longest day on the West Highland Way, and I expected it to prove the most difficult. But the early walking was dead easy, along the road from the Inveroran Hotel to cross a river called the Abhainn Shira at Victoria Bridge.

Shortly after this, at Forest Lodge, the motor road ends and a track begins. Until the early 1930s the road continued across Black Mount and Rannoch Moor, but now the track is maintained for the benefit of walkers and, I guess, stalkers. The route has a distinguished pedigree. When, at the end of the 18^th Century, many of the old military roads were falling into disrepair, a new road was deemed necessary, one which kept to lower ground and would therefore be easier to navigate. When a first class engineering job was called for, Telford was the man. Denied the easier crossing of burns higher up (the military roads often only needed fords), Telford constructed some substantial bridges for the road, which survive today.

The uphill gradient was gentle(ish) and the surface was sound, if a little stony at first. High hills loomed up on the left, with more rolling country on the right. At Bà Bridge the River Bà thundered beneath one of Telford's finest. In bad weather this is one of the few places you could get any shelter, although you would have to be careful if you stood under the bridge while the river was in spate. Today, the weather was far from bad.

Although dark clouds were rolling across, and continued to do so all day, there were never more than a few seconds of rain. Cloud boiled dramatically around the tops. Rannoch Moor opened up on the right. It looked deceptively benign, especially when illuminated by fleeting shafts of sunlight, but I wouldn't care to risk setting off across country – a soggy experience, I reckon.

As the track begins a gentle descent, I caught my first sight of the Kingshouse Hotel, with the narrowing expanse of Glen Coe behind it. Before reaching the hotel, I passed the chair lift for the Glencoe ski resort, the buildings being discreetly hidden behind a stand of trees. The track joins the road to the resort, then crosses the main A82 road, and becomes pedestrian-only again down to the hotel, where I enjoyed coffee (two) and something before entering the pass of Glen Coe.

How to sum up Glen Coe (or Glencoe) in a few words, when millions have been spoken and written on the area and its history, some of them true. It is a glaciated, U-shaped valley, about half a mile wide and narrowing to much less at the pass about half way along its 10-mile length. Most of the land used to belong to the Clan MacDonald, and now belongs to the National Trust for Scotland. But it is, of course, the eponymous massacre which made the headlines, and is still argued over today. In 1692, when Jacobites were resisting the installation of William of Orange on the British throne, a party of pro-Government Campbells accepted hospitality from the Jacobite MacDonalds, then repayed their hosts by slaughtering 38 of them. The involvement of the King and his ministers was suspected. Enquiries and cover-ups followed, and the controversy continues. That’s it in a nutshell, and if you want any more, there are libraries full of books on the subject, and gigabytes on the Web.

There was a big climb to come, but before that the West Highland Way shadowed the road for about three rather unsatisfactory miles. For no logical reason the path climbs obliquely up the side of the glen, with a rocky surface, much of it washed over by the many burns pouring down from the hills. I'm sure it's an ancient route and all that, but it's very silly, the more so because, having gained a lot of height, the path loses it all again when it drops back to run alongside the road in the middle of the valley. Harrumph. But then, in all senses, things look up.

The path turned at right angles to the road, and headed steeply, later very steeply upwards. This is the route known as the Devil's Staircase to Kinlochleven, my target for the day. It is not at all devilish. After my moans earlier about the path, I have to acknowlege that the engineering of the uphill section is superb – well-drained with a good surface throughout. After winding relentlessly upwards, the path reached the zigzags of the staircase itself. These are nicely calculated to make the climb more gently in its later stages. At just over 1800 feet the path levels out, passes between two rocky hills, and begins its descent into the valley of the River Leven.

The climb had been less than a thousand feet from Glen Coe, but Kinlochleven is almost at sea level, so the path has a long way to wind down. The drop is not straight into the valley, rather the path passes round the flanks of a succession of headlands, sometimes contouring and sometimes heading downwards. Eventually a particularly rocky stretch of path led me to a track used, signs warned, by vehicles.

A line of pipes could be seen coming down the valley from the right, and ahead were some buildings. These are part of a jigsaw which is gradually solved as you approach Kinlochleven. Given its idyllic position, Kinlochleven might have owed its very existence to tourism. There are mountains to climb, paths to walk (and cycle), and enough scenery to last a liftetime of holidays. But it was aluminium which established the village, hamlets either side of the River Leven being joined up to serve the smelter built (together with the hydrelectric scheme I had already encountered) early in the 20^th Century. The very end of that Century, the smelter closed, too small by then to compete on the world stage.

The former smelter now has two uses, as a mountain activity centre (complete with the world's highest indoor ice-climbing facility and the UK's highest indoor articulated rock climbing wall and bouldering facility) and a brewery. The activity centre, known as the Ice Factor, has been instrumental in reinventing Kinlochleven a tourist centre.

The vehicle track from the upper to the lower manifestations of the hydro-electric scheme was easy to walk except in a couple of places where the surface appeared to have been undermined by flood water. While the track takes a wide detour to lose height, the water-pipes plunge steeply downhill.The WHW turns aside before the old smelter buildings are reached. I meekly followed as it crossed the water pipes on a very dodgy wooden bridge, the River Leven on a better bridge, and then skirted a housing estate before following the river bank round to the main bridge, by which was the Tailrace Hotel, my overnight stop.

Day Forty Seven

Sunday 19 September – Tyndrum to Inveroran

Next to my hotel in Tyndrum was the Green Welly Stop, which is a bit of an institution round here. It's effectively a service area for traffic on the A82 and A85 roads, which are joined together between Crianlarich and Tyndrum. There's a shop, a restaurant, petrol pumps and everything else the tired and hungry tourist needs en route to the West or the North, and of course you can also buy your souvenirs if you are travelling the other way.

The shop didn't appear to have any fruit, so I walked the 50 yards to the only other shop in the village, where I stocked up with all I would need for a short day's walking. The West Highland Way leaves the road just by the shop, heading almost due North. It was raining, not hard but steadily, and all the tops were swathed in cloud, which hardly shifted all day. The rain, however, only lasted about half an hour, with just a bit of occasional mizzle after that.

It was maypole ribbon time again. On the left the main road, with the footpath in the middle and taking up the right hand position, the railway – just the one again now, the Fort William and Mallaig line. Very soon the order changed, the path going over a bridge to the right, again using one of the old military roads.

The hillside rose fairly steeply to my right; sheep and cattle grazed peacefully in the rain. In less than a mile it was sheep creep time again. Actually it might have been a cattle creep – there was plenty of room for a cow or a short walker to pass under the railway without stooping.

Mercifully the main road swung away to the left flank of the valley; even on a Sunday morning there was plenty of traffic as the churchgoers rushed to catch the service (!). The railway, meanwhile, took an opposite course, looping round two side valleys, which it crossed on long bridges.

The old road here was a feat of engineering; a substantial retaining wall had been built to keep the track from falling into the burn below. I followed the track down to cross a larger burn, the Allt Kinglass, on a farm bridge. It was then level and straight walking the remaining three miles to Bridge of Orchy.

Highland Cattle strolled across the track, completely unconcerned by the presence of a damp walker. The first bit of Bridge of Orchy I came to was the railway station, looking suitably bleak against the backdrop of swirling clouds obscuring hilltops and dragging against spruce trees. Beyond the station was the main road and, much more appealing, the Bridge of Orchy Hotel, where coffee and something was taken in company of about a dozen other walkers.

Beside the hotel runs a side road which goes over the eponymous bridge. This road is a dead end, going just a mile beyond my overnight stop, the hotel at Inveroran. The road takes a long Highland Way, which goes over the top. The climb was the first real work I'd done all day; muscles which had idled through the morning were suddenly called to duty and, after a bit of grumbling, they all responded admirably.

After passing through a belt of trees, the track grew less steep as it reached a bare, grassy hilltop, not actually in the clouds itself but with good views of the many tops which still were. Then it was downhill all the way on a decent surface, wide enough to take a Land Rover.

The path met the road almost immediately opposite the hotel. Despite the early hour (I had only walked 9 to 10 miles), the hotel was ready for me. I relaxed in the very pleasant lounge and typed these words.

Day Forty Six

Saturday 18 September – Inverarnan to Tyndrum

I don't think the scalp facing me at breakfast was an elk, more likely a moose. I had no trouble identifying the stuffed bear by the front door, or the stag which had loomed over my supper, not to mention the alligator and the assortment of birds.

The character of the walk had changed. From the wide open space of Loch Lomond I had moved into the comparatively narrow confines of Glen Falloch. The West Highland Way ambles up and down the right hand (Eastern) side of the glen as it heads North then North East. I passed some people I recognised and some I had not met before – the spacing of available accommodation makes everybody pick a combination of long and short days (or just short days but more of them). For me, this was a shortish day, about 13 miles including a diversion into Crianlarich if I chose to take it.

Interestingly I passed two parties of women – four and six, respectively. I imagine that one of the things which might attract women to this route is that there are several companies offering baggage transfer. I had considered it myself, and decided that I was not sufficiently well organised to split my stuff between wanted and not wanted in a day sack. I had instead reduced my load by carrying half as much clothing as I needed for the week. So I was depending on the promised availability of a washing machine at the hotel I was to stay in at Tyndrum at the end of today. I was asked to photograph both parties; they were obviously all women of good taste in photgraphers!

Across the glen, the main road was busy with traffic. Beyond that was the railway, only occasionally busy. Shock! Horror! The sun wasn't out! This was quite a change after the previous three days. Cloud rolled around the tops and, a couple of miles into my walk, it started to rain gently. This lasted about 20 minutes, and after that we had no rain all day, although it remained overcast and occasionally threatening. What sun there was lasted a few watery minutes at a time.

The railway took middle place in the line-up of routes (now road/railway/footpath) and soon there was another change as the WHW passed under the railway by means of a wonderfully-named sheep creep, a very low tunnel which wouldn't trouble a sheep but might cause a problem for people with large rucksacks. My middling one just scraped the top a couple of times. A more generous tunnel took the path beneath the road, and the Way soon joined what the map calls the “Old Military Road”.

I had met such roads before, in the borders, and was to meet more of them before I was through. Built either by General Wade or his successor, General Caulfield, these military roads were intended to aid the rapid deployment of English troops to keep the troublesome Scots in order. Sometimes the old roads have been incorporated in the routes of today's main roads, and sometimes, as here, they have been left to revert to tracks.

A mile and a half beyond the sheep creep, there was a decision to make – turn off for Crianlarich or press on to Tyndrum. I was in good time, and I knew Crianlarish promised comestible goodies, so I turned right and entered woodland. The half mile into the village was mostly downhill, but not precipitous, otherwise I might have come to regret my decision. Crianlarich is tiny (fewer than 200 people), but it has pretensions well beyond its size, as the “Gateway to the Highlands”, no less – a claim made by several other places. You can see why it's made for Crianlarich. For centuries it has been a crossroads on East-West and North-South routes. In the 18^th Century it was military roads which met here; in the 19^th Century it was railway lines; and in the 20^th Century, “A” roads. It is said – by the mysterious people who say such things – that the name appears on more road signs than any other location in the UK.

Whatever the truth of all that, the fame of the Station Tea Room is beyond dispute. Hill walkers plan their routes to include a visit to these hallowed premises. It is privately run, so no leftover British Rail sandwiches are likely to be found here. The link track reaches the vilage immediately opposite the station, so I duly paid a visit to the Tea Room for coffee and something, and saw no more of Crianlarich.

Back on the WHW, I climbed steadily through woodland, heading now roughly North West through Strath Fillan, with the River Fillan occasionally to be glimpsed through the trees. The path descended to pass under one of the railway lines. Let me explain: the line splits at Crianlarich, one branch (the one I was walking beneath) heading for Oban, the other for Fort William and on to Mallaig. But for about five or six miles the lines run roughly parallel with each other up Strath Fillan – very roughly parallel, since each line has to wind along its respective contour, following it around headlands and side valleys.

There is no civilised crossing of the road here – it's a straightforward wait for a gap in the traffic and a dash for the other side. Beyond the road, the WHW starts to make friends with the river, both meandering along the flood plain which serves as grazing for sheep.

Signs galore informed me that this area was adminstered by a university research team which is experimenting with possible improvements to farming methods, as well as interpreting all this for visitors. The strange huts I had seen yesterday are apparently called wigwams. I don't think the Sioux or the Iroquoi would regognise them. Here they were available for hire alongside caravan parking and a campsite. The remains of St Fillan's Church and Priory have been allowed to moulder gently in a beautiful tree-shaded position in the centre of the valley.

Back across the valley went the path, this time passing safely beneath the road. There's history to be had round here. A bench marks the field for the Battle of Dalrigh.

The Battle of Dalrigh was fought in the summer of 1306 between the army of King Robert I of Scotland (Robert the Bruce) and the MacDougalls of Argyll, allies of the English. Bruce's army, reeling westwards after defeat by the English at the Battle of Methven was intercepted and all but destroyed, Bruce himself narrowly escaping capture (Wikipedia)

Another bench marks the Loch of the Legend of the Lost Sword. The legend is that Bruce & Co dumped their (very large) swords in the loch to hasten their escape.

A pleasant woodland walk is interrupted by a desolate patch of dead ground, the site of a lead processing plant. The mining and processing of lead was once the main source of income in this area. Although the site has been levelled and treated, nothing grows.

Because the path is through woodland, Tyndrum does nor reveal itself until you are almost in it. A caravan park can be seen through the trees, then a cottage appears, and this is Tyndrum. The village is no bigger than Crianlarich, fewer than 200 people living here. But it has a similar significance, being a meeting place for roads and rails. The railway lines which split at Crianlarich are still only a few hundred yards at this point, the line to Oban and that to Fort William each having a station here to serve this minuscule population, plus the walkers, climbers and other tourists who invade the place in Summer.

As I said, in the past, lead has been mined here, and there was even a rather understated gold rush. Panning for gold still goes on in nearby burns. As for me, I headed for the washing machine.

Day Forty Five

Friday 17 September – Rowardennan to Inverarnan.

From my window at the Youth Hostel I could see the growing light over the loch, somewhat dimmed by the anti-midge net. I had so far not had the pleasure of encountering these particular natives, probably because the breeze had been fairly strong. But I hadn't lost the chance.

There was still a breeze as I set off, but not enough to spoil another lovely morning. There was a prospect of a bit of work to do today. The guide books speak of the section of the West Highland Way either side of Inversnaid (half way into today's walk) as being the toughest part of the whole 95 miles. But this was to come. First I set out along a forestry track which rose gently as it entered the trees.

At Ptarmigan Lodge, the map shows a choice of onward routes for the WHW. I think this is because the forestry route has been closed in the past while tree-felling has been going on. I peered down the steep, vegetatation-choked slope between the track and the shore for a glimpse of the lower path, but I could not see it. I suspect it would be a harder prospect than the saunter I was enjoying. Eventually the track narrows, becomes rougher, and takes on the aspect of a loch-side path.

The ups and downs are much less gentle, with rocky climbs to negotiate around or over bluffs and big trees. I heard someone quote a guidebook giving gloomy prognostications on the presence of tree roots to trip the unwary. But tree roots can be your friend as well as a playful threat. Often the roots form the very steps you need to climb or descend the hillside.

Above me, to the right, a very steep slope rose up, tree-lined to a certain height and bare above it; these were the skirts of Ben Lomond and its pals. Across the Loch to my left was a curious phenomenon – an invisible rush hour. The main A82 road runs very close to the Western shore, less than a mile away, and I could hear lots of early-morning traffic. But the trees obscured all but a few glances of the cars and trucks, which was great.

As Inversnaid grew nearer, the going got rougher - nothing to worry about, just good exercise. You drop into Inversnaid from above, the path climbing to cross Arklet Water (the outlet from Arklet Loch, far above) on a footbridge. Steps lead down to the back of the Inversnaid Hotel. A door was marked “walkers' entrance”.Inside there was room for muddy boots to be parked. Mine weren't muddy, so I kept them on. A door led to a large, empty room with a dance floor. I walked round the edge of this, nervous about sullying it, even with unmuddy boots.

Beyond was a bar, already occupied by a couple I had passed and been passed by several times since the start of the walk a couple of days ago. One other man, evidently local, was standing at the bar having a wet.

I ordered coffee and something, which was brought by a very cheerful barman, who then proceeded to empty all the paninis from a cool cabinet. ”These will have to be chucked”, he said. “they're all Friday's.” Bemusement all round. One of my fellow walkers piped up, “But it is Friday”. “It's not, is it?” from the barman, “I thought it was Saturday.” He turned to the local man: “What day is it?” The man thought it was Friday. Two American walkers then appeared, to be asked, not “What can I get you?” but “What day is it?” They plumped for Friday and the paninis went back on sale.

Resolving to check on which time zone Scotland comes into, I left to resume my walk. Things now started to get interesting. The shoreline was very rocky, with the path squeezed between the water and the rockface. There were never more than a few yards of level walking between precipitous ups and downs for the next couple of miles or so. Progress was necessarily slow, but by no means unpleasant. Dappled sunshine lighted the way, and conditions underfoot were never particularly soggy or slippery.

Rob Roy's Cave, marked on the map, should be called Rob Roy's Crevice. There were several of these clefts in the rocks along the shoreline, none offering a comfortable billet to a tired outlaw. I presume that Rob Roy came by boat, choosing this spot because it was (as I had found out) not easy to surprise him by land,rather than because it offered all – or any – mod cons.

After passing a heavily-wooded island I reached a very narrow part of the loch. The path goes behind a large headland, emerging on what I can only call a meadow, not a very Scottish Highland concept. It was positively Alpine, with sun-drenched mountains surrounding it and gorgeous views in all directions. All that was lacking was a girl in a dirndl skipping through the grass singing Rogers and Hammerstein, but sadly she couldn't make it. The Julie Andrews moment came just before a hut which is maintained as a bothy. What a terrific spot to choose for it.

The path then returned to the loch-side, but was now much gentler. As the head of the loch drew near, I crossed another meadow and climbed to pass through a valley between the high hills on the right and a neat rocky outlier on the left. When I reached waterside again, it was not the loch but its feeder, the River Falloch. My journey's end was in sight across the valley. But to reach it I had to walk on for a few hundred yards to reach Beinglass campsite.

A few tents were already erected. Some small, tent-shaped huts offered alternative accommodation, and the buildings included a cafe/restaurant and a shop. But my way led to the left, along a rough road leading to a bridge over the river. I took this, crossing the bridge and turning South briefly to reach the Drovers Inn at Inverarnan, my place of refuge for the night.

It was not very pleasant to be back beside a main road, but the inn itself was very welcoming. I gather that this place is the stuff of legend. The rooms, an informant had told me, are “odd”. Mine wasn't very odd, but the corridors and stairs twist and turn eccentrically, and I expected to meet a stuffed elk round every corner.

Day Forty Four

Thursday 16 September – Drymen to Rowardennan

This was one of the great days. Great weather, great walking, and starting with a great breakfast. Naturally my hostess gave me a lift to the resumption of the walk (just part of the excellent service) - this was on the outskirts of Drymen.

Drymen grew up because it was the nearest point to Loch Lomond at which a bridge could be built over the Endrick Water. It profited in the early 18^th Century from being on a military road from Stirling to Dumbarton. The Clachan Inn, in the main square (where I had enjoyed an excellent supper – I know I'm always writing about food, it's a favourite subject), has a sign claiming that it was first licensed in 1734. Then the rage for all things Highland, stoked up by Sir Walter Scott, brought tourists through here en route to the Trossachs or Perthshire. Today the most lucrative transport connection is probably with the West Highland Way - it is the obvious first stop-off.

After a short stretch just a hedge away from the main road, The WHW turns North and soon enters woodland. After a mile it crosses the Rob Roy Way, which starts at Drymen, and which I had walked last year. Turning West, the path followed a forestry track through Garadhban Forest.This is also part of the Queen Elizabeth Forest Park. This is a bit of an oddity. It seems to consist of a string of separate bits of woodland – I was in and out of it all day.

I gained height sufficient to be able to look over Drymen to Loch Lomond, glittering in the early morning sun. With a few cloudy intervals the sun lasted all day, feeling warm when I was out of the moderate wind. Leaving the woodland, the path kept on upwards, the immediate objective being the ascent of Conic Hill.

Conic Hill reaches 1184 feet, and is notable for being right on the Highland Boundary Fault, which stretches (on the mainland) from Helensburgh in the West to Stonehaven in the East. The geology is beyond me, but I did understand the reference to a collision of tectonic plates, 400 to 500 million years ago, which rucked up the land to the North. Now the hill was looming above me.

After a brief dip to bridge a burn, I started a steady, rocky climb, strenuous enough to work off at least some of my ample breakfast. The WHW doesn't actually go over the top of Conic Hill. It takes you up to about 1000 feet and passes around the Northern flank. But an obvious and easy side path took me up to the summit, from which the views were more than worth the extra effort. In particular, I was pleased to catch sight of the Firth of Clyde, beyond the Southern end of Loch Lomond; this was the first time on this inland journey that I had caught a glimpse of any of the route of my coastwalk, which kept me occupied for 12 years of holidays, finishing a couple of years ago.

The descent from Conic Hill is more precipitate than the ascent, testing on the ankles. Eventually the route levelled out and entered another piece of woodland before reaching Balmaha by way of a large car park.

As well as catering for West Highland Way walkers, and climbers intent on ticking the most southerly Munro (Ben Lomond) off their lists, Balmaha is ideally positioned to serve tourists from Glasgow wanting to reach a pretty bit of Loch Lomond without the need to crawl through the built-up area around Dumbarton. At the height of Highland mania, steamers regularly called at the now-defunct steamer pier; now, a return ferry trip to Inchcailloch Island is all that is on offer.

As the song has it, “By yon bonnie banks and by yon bonnie braes / Where the sun shines bright on Loch Lomond / Where me and my true love will never meet again / On the bonnie, bonnie banks o’ Loch Lomond.” Who wrote it, nobody knows. The chorus is fairly clear, but the meaning of the verses has long been a favourite subject for theorising. Depending on who you read, Loch Lomond is 22 or 24 miles long and 5 miles wide. It’s not a sea loch, and so is fresh- rather than saltwater. It’s the largest lake in Great Britain by surface area, although Loch Ness beats it on volume of water. The lake contains about 30 islands (exactly how many depends on the water level), several of which are crannogs, prehistoric artificial islands built probably for defence.

Being so near to Glasgow, the banks of Loch Lomond, and the loch itself, have been a holiday playground for centuries. Watersports have been popular, particularly at the Southern end, and ferries have plied the loch between the various resorts. At the Southern end of the loch today is Loch Lomond Shores, a romantically-named, massive retail opportunity which I thankfully missed by joining the loch part way up the Eastern shore.

At the pub in Balmaha I had a very good salad, before setting off for what I fondly imagined would be an afternoon stroll up the Eastern shore of Loch Lomond. I should have paid more attention to the map, in particular to the contour lines. Like so many coastal stretches, the loch shore consists of a series of bays, often sandy, interspersed with rocky bluffs or larger headlands. Since the path can't go through the hilly bits, it has to go over them. This is the price paid for avoiding the road which, although it ends at Rowardennan, is busy enough to be worth avoiding. The road has its ups and downs, but my impression is that they are nothing compared to the switchback of the path. Having said all of which, it was lovely.

Idyllic moments beside the loch alternated with woody walks far above the water, sometimes but not always in sight of the shore. Many of the woodland stretches were part of the curious Queen Elizabeth Forest Park, as mentioned before. The inlets and bays are often the sites for caravan parks and campsites, with pleasure boats anchored just offshore. Less formally, small groups were assembled around smoky camp fires. This is part of the Loch Lomond and Trossachs National Park, and the park authority is trying to clamp down on wild camping and fires on the loch shore, much to the annoyance of many who cherish the historic right of access in Scotland, now enshrined in law. I am sure that there are good arguments on both sides, but I certainly appreciate the benefits I have gained from Scottish access rights, which I wouldn't like to see watered down.

After yet another steep up and down, the path rejoins the road near the Rowardennan Hotel. I had been expecting to have my supper here, but I had been told that the Youth Hostel, where I was to stay, another half-mile or so furher on, now did evening meals, much to the disgust of the hotel owners. This proved to be the case, so I passed the time before supper sitting beside the loch in the hostel garden, typing these words. The perfect end to a perfect day? Pretty damned nearly.

Day Forty Three

Wednesday 14 September – Milngavie to Drymen

The West Highland Way doesn't start in the Highlands. The “official” start, through an arch on the main street in Milngavie, has a distinctly lowland feel to it. It isn't until a day and a half into the WHW that you cross the Highland Line, a geological fault line caused by... stuff that happened a long time ago (a few more details later).

In the meantime, the path follows tracks, lanes and an old railway line roughly North West towards Loch Lomond. As soon as I passed the starting arch, I found myself avoiding a bread lorry in the shops' service yard. The WHW signs are thick on the ground here, which is a good thing, as footpaths leave and arrive in all directions. Behind the trees lurk housing and commercial buildings, but the Way itself is surprisingly peaceful surprisingly soon.

Allander Park is a dog-walker's paradise, and a great many dogs were being walked as I passed through. Mugdock Wood (part of a country park of the same name) was delightful, the sunlight dappled and the wind held at bay by the trees. The forecast was for high winds and heavy showers. The wind was brisk but not oppressive, and for much of the day I was sheltered from it by the folds of the land and by hedges and trees. There were no showers.

The walking was good underfoot and fairly level. Although, as I said, this is by no means Highland landscape, it is hilly and pleasantly green. By and large, the WHW finds a route round the hills, following what are probably old trackways between the settlements. Sheep and cows were enjoying the sunshine.

The Way avoids Strathblane village (town?), and gives good views of the rugged Strathblane Hills without actually climbing them. An outrider of the hills, Dumgoyach, is rather reminiscent of Castle Crag in the Lake District. The hill seems to rise almost vertically on its Southern side, rough rockfaces poking through thick vegetation. Behind the hill, just beyond Dumgoyach Farm, the WHW picks up the aforementioned ex-railway.

In use as a route into Glasgow until 1951 (so an interpretation board told me), this now provides nearly four miles of almost straight, almost level walking. It was rather boring, but the views of the hills added interest. By now, some of the more serious hills, which were to be a feature of days to come, could be seen to the North and West. Alongside the path was a grassy hump, inside which (the same board told me) was a pipeline carrying drinking water from Loch Lomond to Glasgow. In fact it was probably this I was sipping as I walked, having filled up at my Glasgow hotel.

A large sign on a farm trailer advertises Dumgoyne Distillery. I was not tempted to plod across a field to sample the wares, but quite a few were. Just before I reached the turn, a large party were heading back from the distillery towards the path. In fairness I should say that they were walking without any sign of over-indulgence but, once they reached the path, they just stood. I suppose they were waiting for stragglers. They cheerfully parted to let me through.

By now I had passed several other walkers with backpacks, some heading Northwest and some towards journey's end at Milngavie. At Gartness, I turned off the old railway on to a lane, and immediately the walking got more interesting, with twists, turns and gentle ups and downs. Easter Drumghassie Farm, a notice informed me, is the only campsite in the Drymen area, but I was of course heading for more substantial accommodation, so I pressed on.

The lane gained sufficient height for me to get a distant view of Loch Lomond to the West. Tomorrow I would reach its shores at Balmaha. At the A811 I turned off the West Highland Way and headed along a side road into Drymen. Some cloud had been passing across, but I approached the village in full sunlight. The busy square looked very attractive, and a handy cafe looked even more attractive.

After coffee and something (the coffee topped up freely – how civilised) I decided to spurn a lift offered by my hostess and walk to the b&b (Green Shadows: I had stayed there before, so I knew that lifts to and fro were only one ingredient in a luxurious mix of good things). From the signposted village viewpoint, it was a straightforward and attractive walk across a field and through some woodland to reach an intricate network of roadways leading to houses surrounding the remains of Buchanan Castle, and to a golf course where the golfers were hard at it.