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.