Phil's View of the Walk!
Night One
Having arrived by train a few hours before the remaining amigos, I took an extended look round Millgavie town centre. This occupied about 3 minutes. The problem with time on the hands is that you start to think; as a result I worried that I didn't’t have enough energy food for the adventure ahead so I emptied the local Tesco of energy drinks and bars. Sound in theory but the weight was horrendous. Anyway more of this later.
Once the gents arrived we went into town and found a pub followed by an excellent Chinese, served by a pleasant Chinese lass with a penchant for discussing golf. Graham argued about how best to split the bill. I was then locked in a hotel room with Martyn who I had met for the first time earlier that evening. His opening salvo was literally breathtaking, the remainder merely tonally and nasally abhorrent. Dawn cracked all too soon and Martyn’s dawn chorus cracked with it.
Day One
In summary it rained. As we left Millgavie following the official photographs (all taken four times, once per camera) we realised the popularity of the WHW, when we saw the view of fellow walkers stretched in front of us reminded me of a soviet bread queue. The walking was pleasant enough, hardly challenging with a stop-off at a distillery tour which at least kept the rain of my head for a couple of hours. On arrival in Drymen I was allocated a single bedroom – luxurious but slightly smaller than a Swan Vesta box. We ate in a local hotel after which Graham argued vehemently about how to split the bill. Following nightcaps in two pubs and the B&B lounge we all repaired to bed.
Day Two
Today saw a walk of two halves, both
of about seven miles. The first took us to the shores of Loch Lomond
along forest tracks and over the moorland to Conic Hill, whilst the
second half had us start the long trek up the side of Loch Lomond itself.
Again the weather wasn't
too kind with showers through most of the day, however the view of
the chain of islands dotted across the loch from the top of Conic Hill
was well worth the climb. Graham and I got to the youth hostel ahead
of the others and in time to be towards the front of the check-in queue.
As we checked in and saw the room I remembered why I gave up youth
hostelling. There were three double bunks in a room the size of a
single garage with nowhere to hang wet kit, no mini-bar, no room service,
no pay-per-view TV, no food, limited toilet paper and just two showers,
one blocked and the other having the cleanliness of a Ukrainian coal
mine.
When we found the luggage my £10 special bag which had
seemed like such a bargain just two days before had split wide open;
possibly due to excessive weight and I had “lost” my sponge
bag. So now I was miserable, wet and could see no prospect of life
ever looking up. Having changed, we dodged the downpours and went back
along the trail to the local hotel which was stowed out with other
bedraggled walkers. Through Barry’s charm we were promoted to
the dining room where we had an excellent dinner served by an East European lass. Saddened to leave the warm and comparative luxury
(having listened to Graham ague about splitting the bill) we returned
to the hostel to the sight of several young German’s dressed
as elves and another walking outside with a small tree on his head.
Day three
Joy, no wash, no shave and no breakfast. To this
add no bag worth the name. To save weight I ditched several items including
my old boots. (With hindsight the need for spare boots as well as two
pairs of trainers and a pair of sensible shoes may have had an influence
of the bag’s demise when coupled with 16 bottles of energy drink,
about 20 energy bars and six rolls of Trebor mints). Anyway walking
was soon underway in good weather. The walking was quite easy albeit
with a lot of up and down as the path wended its way along the edge
of the Loch. Breakfast / lunch was at a hotel after about six miles.
I decide to stock up on four rounds of sandwiches, two large cakes
and two pots of tea.
Feeling better the afternoon was a great improvement,
Graham and I soon left Barry and Martyn behind and seemingly quickly
arrived at the evening’s lodging, the Drovers, a pub which made
the youth hostel look like an sterile operating theatre. Graham and
I sank a couple of pints and waited for the others to arrive. My, they
were not happy. It appears that the official route guide is a complete
fabrication. Yesterday’s 14 miles was at least 18 miles and as
for today’s walk it was a damned sight more than the advertised
distance.
Still we finally got to the rooms - they were in a separate
clean, luxurious building where I was “allocated” Barry
as my soul mate for the night. The others washed whilst I contacted
the bag carriers and made plaintive enquiries as to the whereabouts
of my soap. The kind gentlemen fully accepted my explanation that the
failure of my bag was entirely due to my complete incompetence (no
point trying poker with no cards whatsoever), and he kindly returned
to the Drovers and hand-delivered my sponge bag and he gave me a replacement
bag which was better than the one I had started with.
Washed
and shaved and after a long session of whisky and putting the world
to rights we adjourned across the road for an evening of food and more
drink. The food was excellent, served by Australian lasses,
and having listened to Barry demanding a toothpick from the surprised
waitress and having Graham tell us how to split the bill we repaired
to the bar where we all drank too much, listened to a terrible Scottish
singer and joined in a knees up. As we started to feel relaxed and
smug, about 25 young elfin clad German’s arrived hoping to find
beds for the night. Dream on Fritz!
Day Four.
The day started with a blinding headache, which I surmised had been
caused by helping the others to drink whisky. I vowed never to
touch a drop again and after watching the others eat we all set off.
Happily the headache soon cleared and the scenery changed entirely
as we passed up towards the head of the valley and round to the Bridge
of Orchy.
Again Graham and I had shot ahead of Barry and Martyn, so
had ample time to load up on an excellent lunch of fish and chips and
do some shopping before they appeared. I bought a walking pole, not
because I needed one having managed for 48 years without, but somehow
I felt out of place without one given my technology laden companions.
With my new, sartorial image as the John Steed of the hills we set
off on the afternoon’s trek across to the Bridge of Orchy. Again
Graham set off like a scalded cat and I chased behind him.
After what
seemed like forever we dropped down to the bunkhouse by the Bridge
of Orchy hotel where we checked in awaited for the others. The rooms
were “compact” and again I found myself sharing with “Two-tones
Smith”, the UK snoring champion. Dinner in the main hotel was
a quiet affair, we were all tired following the 18 mile stint, and
following a long interlude whilst Barry asked the Australian
waitress to find him toothpick, there was hardly any bleating as Graham
explained how best to split the bill. Knowing that the following day
was the “big
push” of 22 miles we were all a bit concerned and repaired early
to bed.
Day Five
At breakfast I was informed that
Barry’s snoring had kept Graham
and Martyn awake through the breeze block wall. On the other hand I
had not heard a thing. The team were anxious to get underway as quickly
as possible whilst I felt the need for a full breakfast (nearer two
full breakfasts to be strictly accurate).
Once we started to walk it
soon became clear that the day was going to be tough on the feet, as
General Wade’s road over the corner of Rannoch Moor was in pretty
poor condition and rocky underfoot. After climbing a gentle slope for
what seemed like an age the snow clad might of Ben Nevis abruptly sprang
into view giving us a sight of the full distance we had to cover over
the next one and a half days. Lunch was a fairly quick pit stop at
the Kings House at the head of Glencoe, before we attempted the “Devil’s
staircase” by which the old military road passes out of Glencoe
and into the Mamores mountain range. The staircase itself was easier
than expected but the walk out to the village of Kinlockleven itself
seemed to take an age with a long downhill into the town itself being
especially painful. We were all grateful to see the excellent B&B.
We were all tired and dinner in a local pub, served by a Scottish lass, was initially a quiet affair until Graham and Barry decided to resolve the question of the way forward in Iraq. To summarise, they have polar views and even with another thousand years it is unlikely that:
- They will resolve their differences
- They will reduce the volume by which they share them
This continued even to the extent that Graham could barely define how to split the food bill. Like true no-fuss Brits, Martyn and I left the pair of them and went to look at the Kinlochleven fire engine instead. To summarise:
- It’s red
- It expressed no views on Iraq.
On retiring to the B&B the United Nations continued to consume whisky and debate the way forward in the Middle East whilst Martyn and I repaired to bed leaving nothing but a faint odour in their room. Revenge was sweet.
Day Six
Another fine day and since the third day we hadn’t seen a single drop of rain nor a single midge. Despite being billed as fourteen miles in all honesty it seemed further. The views were splendid, the full might of Am Bodach and other southern guardians of the Mamores to our right as we climbed the valley and eventually Ben Nevis directly in front of us as we passed over into Glen Nevis. The walking was easy enough underfoot, but the last few miles in particular seemed to go on for ever, not helped by my urgent need to photograph everything in sight including every flower and caterpillar. Due to various aches and pains our walking styles could best be described as interesting, Martyn in particular affecting a gait like a homophobic crab.
Eventually we arrived in Fort William and having taken the obligatory pictures found our B&B. Barry and I were sharing and unlike Graham and Martyn, who set a land speed record up the stairs, sadly didn’t have an en-suite. Barry opted to have the first shower and returned saying that there was water in the bath that he had had to let out, and that the supplied soap and shampoo were excellent. I followed him narrowly beating an Australian who was left wondering at the sudden queue for the ablutions and why the level in his bath water and shampoo had suddenly dropped.
Cleaned and scrubbed we hit the town. Having the whole fresh produce of the Highlands to aim at, my colleagues felt the need for a Chinese and found a dubious establishment at the very far end of town. The paucity of decoration, hygiene and the balding waiter did nothing to prevent Graham deciding how to split the bill.
We returned to the B&B with the others promising to be up early in the morning to see me off as I had to catch the 07:30 train to Abergavenny whilst they had a more leisurely bus ride back to Glasgow.
The Final Day
As I left the B&B at 07:00 the sonorous sound of snoring in my ears reminding me of the hearty promises of the night before…….
Footnote
On arriving at Glasgow Queen Street station I took a taxi to central station – well it is a good 800 yards.
