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!

Home Alone

Finally, we know what the kitty critters are doing while we're out of the house. Not sleeping and pining for the owner to return, according to this morning's paper.

A cat food company cammed 50 cats and found 12% of the time was spent looking out the window.


12% of the time playing and interacting with other critters in the house.

8% was spent climbing on chairs.

6% was spent watching television, computers, or DVD's.


6% hiding under tables and chairs.

5% playing with toys, or in my house ripping up socks.


Only 6% was spent napping, well deserved after the busy day.


Now we know.

Remembering Our Family Veterans

Hayley turns 15 next week. That's about the age Jotham Nute from our ancestral family enlisted as a New Hampshire soldier in the Revolution under the command of Colonel George Reid. I figure he was following his 27 year old brother, Samuel, our direct ancestor, after Samuel signed the Colony of New Hampshire 1776 Revolutionary War Proposal and went into the army himself.

In consequence of the resolution of the, Honorable Continental Congress,
and to show our determination in joining with our American brethren in
defending the lives, liberties, and properties of the inhabitants of the
United Colonies,
We, the Subscribers do hereby solemnly engage and promise that we will to
the utmost of our power, at the risk of our lives and fortunes, with arms,
oppose the hostile proceedings of the British fleets and armies, against
the United American Colonies.

I haven't yet been able to trace the path of Samuel through his battles, but young Jotham was captured at the battle of Hubbardton as the American forces were withdrawing from Fort Ticondaroga. I just finished Diana Gabaldon's page turning account of this encounter with the British and Hessians. Perhaps our Jotham came across Jamie Fraser. He would have been a lad of only seventeen. Likely killed himself a couple bears by then, but the fighting and being captured by the enemy must have been scary for a young boy.

Somehow Jotham escaped or was released by the British as he shows up later with his company in New York. He rose to the rank of sargeant and was wounded in the hip by a musket ball "where it still continues" according to the pension. His wound happened "in a very severe skirmish near Kingsbridge in which one fifth part of my Party were killed or wounded". Kingsbridge was that strategic part of Manhattan George Washington and his boys were trying to defend against the British. Sargeant Nute mustered out of the army in 1781 after his injury, now a seasoned veteran of twenty two. His merit for "faithful service" was signed by George Washington. His grandson, Alonzo, fought with the New Hampshire Sixth Regiment for the Union and went on to Congress in 1888.

We are standing on their shoulders.

Glasgow: Tea in the Alley of Willows

After two days on my own in Glasgow, my walking buddies began to appear in the city - Jan and Sally in the morning after a long trip from Point Townsend, Washington, and Kathleen in the afternoon from Edinburgh. By this time, I could get around by foot, bus, subway, train, and the occasional hitchhiking. It was time to show off my city to my buddies.

I couldn't get enough of Glasgow architecture, from the old at Charing Cross


to the new Glasgow Armadillo.


But what I wanted to hunt down was some Charles Rennie MacKintosh. With persistence and a personal form of GPS - that is, pick a likely prospect, best an older gentleman, and ask directions - Sally and I located the Willow Tea Room just up the street from the Cathedral, on Sauchiehall Street, Gaelic for "willow meadow". No wonder we had trouble finding it - a jeweler now occupies the ground floor of the building.


MacKintosh, a celebrated Glaswegian architect, designed the building and Willow Tea Rooms for Kate Cranston, a restaurateur, in 1903 in an art nouveau style, originally four floors. Only the Gallery and Room de Luxe remain but they give a feel of how magnificent these rooms were at the turn of the twentieth century.


MacKintosh had a hand in the design of everything, the building exterior and interior, furniture, down to the spoons. These high back chairs are his signature design.


After Sally and I had a bite of lunch in the Gallery, I peeked in at the Room de Luxe upstairs. In its heyday, this room would have been the place to be, with its fireplace, silver high backed chairs, soft gray carpet, mauve upholstery and leaded glass windows looking out to Sauchiehall below.


Later in the afternoon, Jan and I checked out the Charles Rennie MacKintosh exibition at the Kelvingrove. More great stuff, another chair,


and his signature Glasgow roses.


I woke up that night with Charles Rennie MacKintosh going through my head. How about a CRM room in my house, maybe a bedroom do over. Who says a house has to be all one style? I already have Modern Californian Victorian with a touch of Asian and Charleston. Why not?

Sign of the Times

Walking down the hill from Stirling Castle to the train, I was a bit taken aback.


Mus be awl dose cheezburgers.