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.

Seventy Thousand in Forty Five Seconds

May 31, 1970. A powerful, 7.7 Richter earthquake in central Peru killed 70,000 people. Ten thousand were killed in the town of Huaraz, climbing center for Huascaran, the highest mountain in Peru at 22,000 feet, and the town was reduced to rubble. In the town of Yungay, a few miles north of Huaraz, all 18,000 inhabitants were killed when a huge piece of ice broke from the top of Huascaran and created a massive ice and mud slide traveling at 150 miles per hour. Only the 300 children away on a field trip to a circus survived.


The only surviving structure was the front of the church which stood on the central plaza, and still stands in the memorial park with the beautiful Huascaran in the distance.


Tragedy on an unimaginable scale. Sometimes Mother Nature isn't so motherly.

West Highland Way, Day 4: In the Footsteps of Rob Roy

Today would be our roughest walking, 14 miles to Inverarnan beyond the northern end of the lake, over rocky outcrops, boulders, rubble, and streams through some of the most beautiful scenery on earth with Highlands rising on both sides of the glacier gouged lake. It is wild country through the forest, silent other than the lake lapping at the shore below our craggy path.




We had been able to accumulate enough food along the way to have our usual picnic lunch at Inversnaid, not much here except a coach tour hotel which we avoided.


The afternoon walking was even more rugged than the morning through old forest,


but about a mile north of lunch we came to a spot I had been anticipating, as my walking buddies could tell you. Aside from having to put up with my renditions of "Oh, Flower of Scotland" they had to endure listening to me go on about Rob Roy MacGregor. The guy is either a Scottish hero or a cattle thief, but if you have watched Liam Neeson in the Rob Roy movie how could you not see him as a hero. So when we came to the spot of Rob Roy's cave, one of his hideaways at shore's edge, I was coaxed to have my picture taken.


Rob Roy actually went by his mother's name, Campbell, as use of the MacGregor name was abolished for over 170 years after the battle of Glen Fruin in 1603 in which the outnumbered MacGregors whupped the butts of the Colquhoun clan.

The Scottish Parliament in 1617 declared,

"...the name of MacGregor should be abolished and that the whole persons of that name should renounce their name and take some other name and that they nor none of their name and that they nor none of their posterity should call themselves Gregor or MacGregor under pain of death .... that any person or persons of the said clan who has already renounced their names or hereafter shall renounce their names or if any of their children or posterity shall at any time hereafter assume or take to themselves the name of Gregor or MacGregor ....that every such person or persons assuming or taking to themselves the said name .... shall incur the pain of death which pain shall be executed upon them without favour."

Family legend and The Gathering of the Clan by Carl Steele claim Alexander Steele, one of our grandfathers with five greats prefixed, was chief of the MacGregor clan, elected in 1714. He was born in Glen Strae where a branch of the MacGregors were concentrated and could have been a MacGregor using the name Steele since the MacGregor name was banned. All other evidence, however, does not support this family contention but rather that he was the son and grandson of English knights. How an English knight ended up Glen Strae - it must have been a pretty miserable place given the condition and status of the MacGregors at the time - is anyone's guess. He certainly would have hobnobbed with the MacGregors and was the same age as Rob Roy so I'd like to think they hung out together.

The loch was beginning to narrow and we realized we would soon be leaving it behind.


Climbing past the tip of the lake we could look back and see the beautiful little Island I Vow, or Eilean a' Bhò in Gaelic, where the MacFarland clan once had a castle stronghold.


We took a few minutes to say goodbye to the Loch,


and turned north to Inverarnan and our night's lodging at Drover's Inn, here since 1705 on an old drove road.


A sign in the room warned about the Scottish midges and in the bar "No Bloody Swearing". Waiters in kilts, my favorite beer in the whole world, another tasty dinner following a 14 mile walk along Loch Lomond.

Contentment, except that just at the end of the rough part of the walk my left shoe sole began flapping. I've borrowed some duct tape from the innkeeper. Let's hope it works.

West Highland Way, Day 3: The Bonnie, Bonnie Banks of Loch Lomond

We waited over breakfast for the rain to clear but by 8 AM we knew we were in for some heavy rain. We geared up - gaiters, ponchos, umbrellas, backpack covers - and met out front under the 500 year old oak tree that gave our inn its name.


Even in the rain and mist, the Loch was mysteriously beautiful and we had only seven miles on foot today to reach our destination, Rowardennan.


We walked an up and down path along the banks of Loch Lomond, through the dense woodland of Arrochymore and Lag an Arnair Wood, coming to a ranger station just before lunch. After answering our questions, the ranger began to play a strange flute like instrument and, encouraged by our attention, he soon donned a wreath of leaves. It's these little intimate moments that make traveling on foot rewarding.


We found a spot for lunch on the shore after our serenade, and what a beautiful spot,


even with the rain and midges that come out in the damp weather. Jan had her own system for staying dry and protected.


After lunch the skies cleared and the lake was a beautiful mirror.




We walked on through the oak and pine Rowardennan Forest and Ross Wood, one of those experiences confirming that God is the master landscape designer.


We had plenty of time today to pick berries, straight off the bush to our mouths as nature intended. Yum.


We reached our inn in mid-afternoon. One of the nice things I enjoy about traveling on foot is never knowing what the guys at MacsAdventure have in store for us in the evening. It could be a B & B, dairy farm, room over a pub - but I always know it will be an experience.

This evening we stayed at the historic Rowardennan Hotel, dating back to 1696, where one of Rob Roy's sons brought a kidnapped heiress and forced her to go through a marriage ceremony - earned him the gallows in Edinburgh - and where drovers stayed on their way to markets in Stirling and Falkirk with their cattle.


The inn sits on the edge of Loch Lomond and at the foot of Ben Lomond, the first of the munros of the Scottish Highlands. (A munro is a mountain over 3000'.) The view from our window is breathtaking.


With the long "white nights", we had lots of time to enjoy the area and Kathleen and I took a walk on the beach, each of us taking some quiet time.


Along shore was another reminder of Scotland's sacrifice, the Ben Lomond Memorial dedicated to those who lost their lives in service.


Dinner on the patio on the shores of Loch Lomond, the best fish and chips in the world along with a half pint of Scottish beer...it doesn't get much better, except if Patty was here.


Tomorrow, Rob Roy country.

Charleston Ice

I was visiting the better half of Pat and Kathie in Charleston this weekend. My fingers were too cold to take the usual pictures of those wonderful Charleston houses and ironwork, but I couldn't resist this frosty fountain downtown.



It was a chilly weekend. Patty says I've got to come in April and May to see Charleston on its best behavior weatherwise.

West Highland Way, Day 2: Clash of the Titans

After a tasty breakfast at The Bramblewood, reviewed on TripAdvisor as "must be very close to the pinnacle of B & B's", we set out for Drymen to catch the trail to Balhama, only an eight mile walk today; OK, what with our mile back into Drymen, side trek up Conic Hill, and walking around Balhama it was over ten but still an easy day. The only other alternative was 14 miles directly to Rowardennan and the second half would have been a little rough. We wanted to stretch out our time along Loch Lomond and enjoy the experience along the way. I think it's an age thing.

We stopped in a little grocery in Drymen and bought some cheese and crackers for lunch. Kathleen volunteered to carry a good size melon I found, and we were off to find the thistle.


We had another overcast, sometimes drizzly, off and on rain, cool day. The first half of the walk was through Garahdhban Forest, part of the Queen Elizabeth Forest Park.


Still a pretty leisurely stroll,


Then opening up to moorland and our first glimpse of Loch Lomond.


Conic Hill is in the distance, the first of the Highlands. The hill really is a hump compared to some mountains Jan, Sally, and I have been up, but it is uphill and we are excited. The marked trail skirts around the north flank, but we decide to go a bit off track to bag the summit. Kathleen, as usual, was always up for any adventure.


The hill wasn't as conic as mountains farther up the highlands; indeed, it is just a ridge with several humps, and the ridge is the Highland Boundary Fault. From this ridge several islands string across Loch Lomond, all on the spine of the fault line. It was here about 430 million years ago that land masses that formed Scotland and England collided with each other, closing an ocean between them and causing a land buckling that built mountains as high as the Himalaya. These little nubbins and the Highlands are what is left of those huge mountains. A little humbling I would say.


Rain and wind picked up on our way up the heathery climb, a little rough and steep in spots, but once at the top we had an amazing view. From here we could follow the continental smash line across the loch, to the north the old continent of Laurentia and to the south the continents of Avalonia and Baltica. And us, just subatomic specks in the timeline.


The summit was so cold and blustery we stayed just long enough to soak in the significance of the moment and headed back down. Crossing a col we got a better peak at the faultline islands of Inchcailloch, Torrinch, Creinch, and Inchmurrin through the Scottish mist.


The rain wanted to follow us, but we found shelter and a lunch spot in a mysterious forest just above the village of Balhama. Yum, the melon and cheese was delicious.


The Oak Tree Inn was on the shores of Loch Lomond and we were finding it was hard to settle in once we got to our destination at the end of the day, each of us usually finding some way to get out and walk around some more, "exploring", "checking it out", but the truth is walking is what humans are meant to do, not sitting in front of a TV.


After another tasty meal in the downstairs pub we settled in for the night. I noticed my left toenail was beginning to turn bluish. Oh well, I'll think about it tomorrow, said Scarlet. I wakened in the early morning hours to the sounds of heavy rain.

Tomorrow, the beautiful Loch Lomond.

West Highland Way, Day 1: Not Your Best Foot Forward

As soon as I put on my shoes I knew I had brought the wrong hiking boots. These were my old boots from a few years ago before my feet spread from old age. My half size larger boots were back home in the trunk of my car, ready for that spur of the moment hike. What to do? Oh well, suck it up and get out the door for our 95 mile trek up the West Highland Way, plus another 15-20 miles off track at our daily destinations. I was sure plenty of drovers and soldiers had walked the same route in too small shoes, and if they could do it so could I.

The evening before, my three buddies and I took the commuter train a few miles out of Glasgow here to Milngavie (say Mull-guy) to catch the trailhead of the West Highland Way, a footpath northward from Glasgow to Fort William. Already I got us befuddled looking for our first night's accommodation, a bed and breakfast aptly named Best Foot Forward.

This was a luxury trek compared to the 150 mile high altitude, expedition style Himalaya trek Sally, Jan, and I had done two years earlier. We were self guiding up the West Highland Way, but MacsAdventure had provided our maps and arranged local accommodations as well as door to door bag service. All we had to do was carry our day packs, move our feet, and follow the thistles.


Sally and Jan were seasoned long distance hiker-trekkers, don't let the grey hair fool you. Red headed Kathleen was new to the sport but she was Scottish and I knew she would be fine.

Our weather was overcast, drizzly, and cool and we came to love the weather of western Scotland, often rainy, sometimes gloriously sunny, but always unpredictable. We had average mileage today, 12 miles, but it was still lowlands, a nice, easy introduction to the trail.

Soon out of Milngavie into the woods north of town we had a reminder under our feet to give up all those worries and embrace the reason we undertake these walks.


We traveled through woods, across marshy meadows,


into the beautiful Scottish countryside.


Pastures,


flowers,


the requisite Scottish thistles,


things that can be experienced in this way only on foot.


After lunch at a country pub in Dumgoyne, I took three of my favorite shots of the day.

A farmhouse probably from the 1800's,


a farmhouse door a little farther along,


and this tree turning lime green against a navy sky from light through a coming rain.


Kathleen was loving the whole experience. This smile never left her face the whole way.


Late afternoon we reached the village of Drymen (say Drimmen), sad to be at the end of walking but partly made up by having to walk a mile out of town to our accommodations, a mile back into town for dinner, and another mile back. We had a beautiful secluded bed and breakfast at Bramblewood and dinner in town at the oldest pub in Scotland, The Clachan. I had already grown to love those pubs walking across England.


In the village green was another reminder of the grief of Scotland. 100,000 men lost in World War I alone.



Tomorrow, Loch Lomond and into the Highlands! Taking the low road to the high road!