Sorry for the Dad Joke. It just came to me in the wee hours of Sunday morning. Turns out, the Cosmos is as corny as I am.
“Hey, shiny new Artificial Intelligence program: Write me a poem about walking through the Scottish Highlands and do it in the style of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.”
OK, I didn’t do this. I may still do this — but I didn’t.
Not yet.
Recently, I re-read Longfellow’s “Song of Hiawatha” for the first time since my childhood.
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A long hike is never really over.
We finished walking Scotland’s West Highland Way on September 18. It is still very much on my mind and I suspect it will be hanging around.
There were lessons learned. Both about myself and the trail.
That’s really what it is mostly about in the end, isn’t it? Nobody walks – let’s call it 100 miles – and walks away not knowing something new about themselves.
Even if it is only whether or not you love toe socks.
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There are many ways to hike Scotland’s often challenging 96-mile West Highland Way, between Milngavie and Fort William.
You can walk until you tire and pitch a tent. You can stay in posh hotels. You can stay in bunkrooms. You can stay in budget B&Bs. You can carry all your possessions in a backpack. You can have your luggage shipped to the next night’s lodging. You can dine in decent restaurants. You can eat in pubs. You can stock up on Ramen, fruit, and power bars at convenience stores.
One thing everyone has to do is walk the walk.
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Long hikes through Scotland’s Highlands are hardly a new concept.
Why, as far back as 1654, the 1st Marquess of Montrose (James Graham) marched his 1,500 Royalist troops and Irish mercenaries 36 miles south to Inverlochy in 36 hours in knee-deep snow to surprise the larger and better-stationed troops of the 1st Marquess of Argyll (Archibald Campbell).
Montrose quickly routed Argyll’s men in the battle just north of Fort William — the end point of our West Highland Way trek — and chased them down this path to the spot where I am standing, about 7.5 miles south of Fort William. Argyll’s men were slaughtered, not so much in battle, but in retreat. Barely 400 of his 1,900 troops survived. Montrose lost less than a dozen.
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The barmaid in the first pub you reach when you walk into Kinlochleven is keeping busy pulling drafts. Lots and lots of drafts. It is around 1:30 p.m. and the place is filled with hikers who already completed their 9.5 miles from Kingshouse.
There is a celebratory feel to the day’s finish, probably because one and all have conquered the steep switchback challenges of the Devil’s Staircase, the highest point along the entire West Highland Way.
They all have something else in common: Check-in time for lodgings all over Kinlochleven — as if by mandate — is 3 p.m. Hikers who aren’t filling the pub are sunning themselves in the nearby park, lounging on sidewalk benches, picking up supplies at the Co-op, or seeking other pubs and restaurants.
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In Scotland, there are beinns and munros (hills and mountains). Hills are most anything below 3,000 feet and that is what we’ve been mostly skirting on the West Highland Way. They are impressive as you walk trails carved into their lower regions. They form majestic, sloping walls on either side of gentle glens.
Today we are heading into munro country but to reach it, we must cross 50 square miles of the Rannoch Moor, a boggy region of grasses and heather and scores of small ponds and lochanes. I don’t think anyone who wanders off across the moor would ever be heard from again. It is a beautiful and unforgiving place.
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I spent way too much time in the Green Welly mega-plex yesterday. It is right next door to our hotel, The Tyndrum Inn, and among other enterprises, it offers two coin-op washing machines and a dryer. By the end of Day 6, I was badly in need of both.
Surprisingly, the machines were available — maybe because they are outdoors and the wind and rain were formidable or maybe because the bigger washing machine charges 10 pounds per load. Well, desperate times call for desperate measures — or maybe just digging in deep for some cash.
The washing machine quickly ate the money and refused to work. (That begs for a joke but I’ll refrain.) The shop’s maintenance man, Frank, was there in minutes and got my load spinning.
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Yesterday, we all marveled at our good fortune. Five days of walking the West Highland Way with absolutely sublime weather – crisp Autumn mornings, cool afternoons, scattered clouds – perfect for hiking.
So, of course, Day 6 would start in a misty drizzle. It stayed like that off and on all day.
“A perfect Scottish morning!” I replied to one hiker’s greeting.
“It wouldn’t be Scotland without rain,” she replied with a laugh.
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If Van Morrison had taken the walk with me today from Inverernan to Crainlarich, he’d surely want to write a song about it. He’s not a Scot, sure, but I think he’d get it in his Celtic heart. Titles like “A Sense of Wonder,” “Into the Mystic,” “In the Garden,” and even “Cyprus Avenue” were in rotation in my head as I walked beside the River Falloch.
This was a gentle one — thank God, after yesterday — no rock piles to climb, few inclines to surmount, no risk to life and limb.
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The WHW trail from Rowardennan to Inverarnan has a bad reputation. No doubt about it. Books call it the hardest stretch in the whole trail. An experienced hiker yesterday called it “Green Hell.”
Let me add to all that: This is one of the hardest things I’ve ever done in my life. Physically, I mean.
The books say this segment is broken into two parts for a total of 14 miles. The reality is you can add a few more miles to that, and a lot of them require climbing up and down, up and down, up and down — over rocks and tree roots, through boggy bits, up steep steps, some ladders, and along nervously narrow cliff-side paths. There are a lot of undulations in that trail.
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Musings, Magic, San Miguel and More 