West Highland Way: Part One

“If there is a hill, this path goes up it!” – Sympathetic Old Man in Rowardennan Forest after a particularly tough climb

Day One: Milngavie to Balmaha (20 miles)

Despite the ominous weather forecasts predicting grey skies and rain, we awoke on Day One to a beautiful and warm sunny day. Fiona’s parents drove us the short distance from Glasgow to Milngavie, the town that marks the beginning of the WHW. Fi’s father looked to be extremely proud of his daughter before he left us, and rightfully so!

We proceeded to the obelisk which marks the beginning of the WHW to find a good number of people milling about and making their final adjustments to their rucksacks before heading out. We couldn’t help but notice that most people had much smaller rucksacks than we did, which confirmed my initial suspicions that we had overpacked. But we were committed, heavy burden and all! After taking our snapshots by the obelisk, we were off.

After a short time we were in the wilderness, entering Mugdock Wood (very Harry Potter-esque sounding I thought) and then past Craigallian Loch. The path followed the banks of the loch, and then climbed slightly to a point where you could look back at the mile we had just walked. When looking back, you would be forgiven for thinking you were gazing upon Glasgow’s Sauchiehall Street because of the sheer amount of people making their way down the path. It was a great feeling though - already we felt part of a group, chatting with people as we walked by. Many of the groups we saw at this point would be seen many times again throughout the following five days.

The path then joined what was once the commuter railway line from the Highlands to Glasgow. We made our first stop near the town of Gartness, sitting in the grass overlooking a valley where you could clearly hear the bleating of newborn lambs. At this point we had walked 10 miles and were feeling quite good. It wasn’t until we stood up that we discovered a curious sensation that would occur again and again. Any period of prolonged relaxation would numb our joints to the point that the act of getting up and starting to walk again would be incredibly painful. It was also at this point I could feel the bruises on my shoulders from the weight of the rucksack. It was a sensation that became all too familiar from then on.

About 15 miles in we were quite exhausted, but from an unexpected source. The walk to that point had been quite reasonable – it was the relentless sun which, while very pleasant at first, was now beginning to sap our strength away. The cool shade of a Garadhban Forest was most welcome. Normally after the forest, one would climb Conic Hill before descending into the town of Balmaha, but as we were in the heart of lambing season, it was necessary to take a detour that unfortunately meant our final half-mile for that day was alongside the motorway. This part of the path did however cross the Highland Boundary Fault, meaning we had officially left the lowlands behind. The day was still gorgeous when we shuffled into the pretty town of Balmaha at about 5pm, and the first order of business was to grab two pints at the first pub we came across, which happened to be the lovely Oak Tree Inn. Never has the taste of cider been so lovely!

After checking into our room in the Balmaha Bunkhouse Lodge (a room that contained a bunkbed and precious little else including space), we spent the remainder of the evening sucking back pints at the pub. We hadn’t eaten much that day, so the pub grub tasted especially good that night. One of the great bonuses of walking holidays is that you can so totally justify that extra pint and daily pub grub.

Day Two: Balmaha to Ardlui (22 miles)

We knew that this was going to be our toughest day. Not only would we be walking 22 miles, but the final 5 miles of that day was going to be over what our guide book called “one of the most difficult parts of the route”. We also knew that we couldn’t base our pace of walking on our first day as that had covered mostly flat terrain. And a good thing we had realised this too. We were up at 8:30 and we wouldn’t arrive at our destination until 7pm, feeling very rough indeed.

We awoke to an overcast but dry day, and being up and away that early meant that we saw not a single person on the path for hours. After a short walk out of Balmaha, we were walking along the bonnie, bonnie banks of Loch Lomond, where the path would remain for the duration of the day.

A few miles into the walk, the sky cleared and we once again had a lovely sunny day, though luckily without the same relentless heat of before. The path for the first several miles would traverse beaches, then climb hills through forests before descending back down to lochside trails.

About 7 miles in, we ended up in Rowardennan which is essentially just a large hotel but strategically located at the base of another path which climbs to the peak of Ben Lomond. Mike and I had grabbed a pint here after our climb up the Ben almost one year ago (where did THAT time go???). This time, Fi and I enjoyed a nice pint of soda water and lime before heading out, once again partially regretting the time we took to sit as our legs once again had gone stiff and sore.

Being so close to Ben Lomond, the terrain past Rowardennan became very hilly, and while the views of both the Ben and the Loch were stunning, the terrain made for very tough going, especially with the rucksacks on our back. When we trundled into Inversnaid, (again, really just one big hotel) we were very sore indeed. The original plan was to stop in Inversnaid for the night, but the hotel was fully booked by the time we (well, not we, it was actually entirely Fiona for which I’m eternally grateful) began booking accommodation. As such it was necessary to continue on for another 5 miles before we came across a place we could stop for the night. But not any 5 miles, this was the infamous patch that would involve scrambling and very difficult descents. This was the only time in the entire trip where I saw Fiona look truly miserable as her calves and feet were absolutely killing her, and she had already walked 17 miles that day.

The sky had become overcast, and the going was as tough as our guidebook had indicated. We were quite fortunate to run into a small herd of feral goats on a ridge just above the path. The goats were once kept by Highlanders centuries ago and over the subsequent decades had become wild. It is now thought that there are only a few hundred left.

With about two miles left to go, a bit of drizzle started to fall and I was beginning to wonder if my legs were simply going to buckle under the strain. I looked back to see poor Fi doing her best but she was really struggling. I thought it would be funny to take a picture of her (after all, wouldn’t she one day look back at it and laugh?) but the look she flashed me quickly changed my mind. I took her rucksack and attached it to my front to do my best to relieve the burden on her. The views during this stretch were gorgeous, but I confess at this point neither of us cared anymore as we were really hurting.

You could not imagine our joy when we finally came across a solitary pole near a tiny dock on the bank of the loch. Say what? Well, as there was no accommodation on the east side of the Loch for several more miles, Fiona had booked a hotel in the town of Ardlui which was on the west side of the loch. On this pole was a large orange ball which we needed to hoist to call a ferry. It was quite late at this point and there was simply nobody around, so for a few miserable moments we worried that no boat was going to come, but these fears were quickly allayed when we saw a wee boat make its way towards us. After a quick and wet (the rain was fully falling now) ride across the loch, we were in Ardlui.

After a delicious meal of haggis pizza (yes, they do put haggis on everything over here) at the hotel we retired to our room to evaluate the damage. The ugly bruises on my shoulders and hips (from the rucksack straps) were nothing compared to the blisters on poor Fi’s feet. That girl is a trooper, and I was very proud of her for making it through that day. The funny thing about the night was, despite being as tired as could be, neither of us slept well because our muscles decided to keep doing their thing while we lay in bed. This would be the case for each of the four nights to follow.