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.