West Highland Way, Day 6: Inveroran, A Place of Real Escape

We stocked up on lunch food at the Green Welly Shop in Tyndrum before setting off to the north through the Bridge of Orchy to Inveroran (not to be confused with Inverarnan), ten miles today but it will be three days before we come to a grocery again. We preferred to supply ourselves with cheese, crackers and fruit to eat on the trail rather than traditional lunch food. Kathleen and I had some differences about the tasteless crackers she liked, but I would count that as one of our greatest differences. Our clutch of ladies is getting on well, all mavericks that we were.

Our morning walking traversed the slopes of a munro, Ben Dorain at 3524', and a wannabe munro, Ben Odhar at 2948". I could relate to Odhar. Not so long ago, he probably met the 3000' requirement for a munro and now he was just a sub-munro. I used to be 5'4 and a half inches, now I'm 5'3 and a half.

These guys are conic mountains of volcanic origin, truly beautiful structural shapes. The big guy in the distance is Ben Dorain.


The flanks of our Bens were grazed by herds of sheep and Highland Cattle, an ancient Scottish breed that survives, even thrives under harsh conditions, much like the Highlanders themselves.


Beats me how they see past that mop top, but it must serve some survival purpose. They all seem to have the same hairdresser.


This sharp horned guy was pretty intimidating, but fortunately they seemed to be pretty even tempered animals as we had some up close and personal encounters.


In the fields just before Bridge of Orchy we came across either an antique piece of farm equipment or field sculpture. I couldn't decide which, but it looked the part.


We stopped to chat with a couple come out from the city to tend an elderly mother's house and garden, in her 80's she was and not wanting to move away from her home. I was in love with the shed. It had seen its share of hard weather, probably like its owner. It had a distressed look in furniture parlance, but naturally come by.


The hamlet of Bridge of Orchy was named after the bridge over the River Orchy built in 1751 by the government, again part of the transport project for control of those pesky Highlanders. Guide books referred to the "famous" Bridge of Orchy but I couldn't figure for what it was famous. Nothing significant happened here, no one famous lived here or did anything here. Just this beautiful old bridge, good for river watching. One of the best white water rivers in Scotland.




We lingered lunch beside the river.


As we headed up and out of Glen Orchy, I turned for a glimpse back at this peaceful little spot. I find myself doing that more often these days, at an age I know the probability I'll be back this way again is pretty small.


We crossed through a pine forest, hillsides covered with heather,


emerged onto open mountain on Mam Carraigh and scrambled up to a little cairn* to what one of Sally's guidebooks touted as the most beautiful view in Scotland, a panorama impossible to capture with a single shot, looking out over mountains, heather covered hillsides, sky, and water. Pure tranquility, and clear weather to view it all, pretty chancy in this part of Scotland, or all of Scotland for that matter.
*cairn = from Gaelic carn, a mound of stones piled up as a memorial or marker.


Looking northeast over Loch Tulla, I could see our route tomorrow crossing the small col* between Ben Toaig and Meall Beag onto Rannoch Moor, and my heart rate went up a bit. Our map and guidebooks cautioned there is no escape route or shelter crossing the moor, you are on your own, the weather is notoriously cruel, don't step off the track into the bog. Hm-m-m, just my kind of place.
*Col = a pass between mountain peaks or a break in a ridge


We hung out on our cairn a good long while with this landscape candy,


before taking the path down the mountain to Inveroran where our inn is the whole of the town.


We continued our lingering on a stone wall just a few yards from the door of the inn, as usual not wanting our walking to come to an end for the day.


The Inveroran Hotel is a rambling, narrow staired inn with eight rooms, blessedly in the middle of nowhere. The inn has been here since 1703 and, remote as it is, has had guests the likes of Samuel Taylor Coleridge, William Wordsworth and his sister Dorothy, Charles Darwin, Charles Dickens, and the great Gaelic poet Duncan Ban Macintyre who was born just down the way on the shores of Loch Tulla. The Palestinian author Raja Shehadeh writes this description of his visits to the area.

I wondered whether funky Highlander Black Watch carpeted the floors when those famous guys stayed here.


Our room faced out toward Loch Tulla,


and after leaving my bag in the room I took a walk back outdoors, catching these red deer in the back field.


Later we all took a walk - just couldn't keep off our feet - and watched the muted colors of afternoon fade into the shadows of sunset.


Tomorrow, crossing the Rannoch Moor.

West Highland Way, Day 5: Glens, Straths, Kirks, and Lachans

My shoe duct-taped up, we struck out into the heart of the Highlands toward Tyndrum. We have a good twelve mile walk today, the first six miles winding through beautiful Glen Falloch,


following the river toward Crianlarich, spectacular gorges and waterfalls on either side.


I had to give up on the shoes a couple miles along the trail and change into my reserve pair of trail hikers. The duct tape had shredded. At least I had a back up pair of walkable shoes - I learned that lesson crossing the Salkantay in the Andes wearing Mary Janes. Thank God it wasn't raining because my spare pair wasn't Gore Tex. Indeed, they were pretty permeable and crossing those streams was rather dicey not to mention the lack of ankle support jumping across the rocks.

We had to share our glen with railroad tracks and the A82. Before I moved to California I always said I would never preface highways with "the", but then I thought I would never "do lunch" either. By now our path was following an old military road built by the English after the '45 to transport troops.

Once we turned northwest away from Crainlarich we were well into forest. We were in no hurry to finish our 12 miles, what with six foot foxglove,


a fairy forest, and no signs of civilization.


Sally had a way of finding a spot for a few minutes of reading all along the Way.


We descended out of the forest into the pastoral valley of Strath Fillan, looking for the ruins of a 13th century kirk.


For the reader, a strath is a wide, flat river valley, a glen is a narrower, deeper, secluded valley, and a kirk is a Scottish church.

We found St. Fillin's Priory in a small grove of trees, just a remnant of what was once a magnificent building restored by Robert the Bruce in 1317. St. Fillan walked and taught the Christian way in this valley in the 8th century. The Bruce carried one of the priest's arm bones into the Battle of Bannochburn and restored this monastery in gratitude for his victory.

On a knoll next to the priory we found the cemetery of a Celtic church dating back to the 8th century.


St. Fillan was the patron saint of the mentally ill. A path down to the River Fillan took us to the Fillan's Holy Pool. Until the 18th century people thought to be insane were dunked in the pool, then left overnight strapped to a bench in the priory. If the bonds were loose in the morning, they were cured! An early version of our seclusion and restraint!

We had only three more miles into Tyndrum, but we were walking history here.


This is the story. Robert the Bruce and his guys, just defeated at the Battle of Methven, came to the priory in 1306 seeking sanctuary. Seems that Alistar MacDougall was a little pissed off that The Bruce had killed his father-in-law in the Greyfriar's Kirk a few months earlier and tracked The Bruce here to St. Fillan's. A battle ensued in a nearby field, now known as Dal Righ (the King's Field) and things didn't go well for the outnumbered Bruce side. As the guys fled east, Bruce covered the retreat of his men by bringing up the rear, killed three men who attacked him at the same time, and the MacDougall Highlanders backed off when they saw this. During the skirmish, though, he lost his cloak and magnificent brooch, still kept today at a MacDougall castle. A few yards from where Bruce killed his assailants he threw his sword and stuff into this little lake called Lachan nan Arm (Lake of the Arms) in order to more quickly flee with his men.
* a lachan is a little lake, this one glacier made.




We had begun to develop a habit of lingering on the last bit of trail at the end of the day, especially a nice day weather wise as this one. That's not to say it wasn't a little wet off and on, just no downpours. Finally, we relent and walk into town.


Being at the junction of several glens, Tyndrum has some history itself, dating back to the days of drovers and their cattle staying here on their way to markets in central Scotland. Rob Roy made one of his escapes from government soldiers by sneaking out a back window of The Old Village Inn while his pursuers were coming in the front door.

Just to the west lies Glen Strae, home to the MacGregor family from the 9th century until they were annihilated in the 18th century. One of our grandfathers times many greats, Sir Parker Steele, came to Glen Strae in the 1600's and had a son born here, Alexander, who died before his son, Reuben, our immigrant, could be born. Alexander, I'm sure, would have come through Tyndrum. Did he stop for a mug of ale? Was he hanging out with Rob? Did he leave the glen when the Campbells hunted down and murdered the MacGregor chiefs? Where is that time machine when you need one?

Tomorrow, we go to the best view in Scotland.