photography, San Miguel de Allende, Scotland - West Highland Way, Writings

Hiking the West Highland Way, Day 7: I’m no Ansel Adams

The infamous Green Welly for all your laundry, camping, and souvenir needs in Tyndrum.

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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photography, San Miguel de Allende, Scotland - West Highland Way, Writings

Hiking the West Highland Way: Day 6, ‘Wouldn’t be Scotland without the rain’

Crainlarch to Tyndrum: 7.5 miles, Degree of difficulty: Magical

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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Memoirs -- fact and fiction, photography, San Miguel de Allende, Scotland - West Highland Way, Writings

Hiking the West Highland Way: Day 5, the cinematic splendor of it all

My hiking companions Brian Connors, Susan Shors, Kim Scholefield, and my beloved Rose Alcantara set off to discover their own infinite possibilities this morning.

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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