Shimmering Lochs & Shapely Peaks - a Week on the West Highland Way

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June 19th 2023

Published: June 24th 2023

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Backpackermatt

Postcard from the Highlands

Following an old military road towards the conical peak of Beinn Dorain

A decade ago I spent the second year of a three-year working holiday in Scotland. Having spent the first year in England my expectations when it came to the weather were low indeed, yet still I managed to be disappointed when the summer of 2011 brought just three sunny days with a temperature of over twenty degrees - two in the first week of June and another at the end of June. So as I finally headed back to Scotland to kick-start my adventurous northern summer of 2023, it was with a fair degree of trepidation - even more so once I decided to tackle the country's most famous multi-day walking trail - the West Highland Way - as a camping trip, staying in my tent rather than in the various hostels or B&Bs scattered along the way.

So imagine my surprise when I arrived in the UK to be greeted by five straight days of sunshine in London and nearby Harlow, after which the forecast predicted even more sunshine and warmer temperatures for my return to Scotland the following week! Perhaps the weather gods were finally going to pay me back for the prolonged suffering they had bestowed upon

Mile Zero

Trailhead obelisk in the centre of Milngavie

me all those years ago? In any case, having so often been thwarted by bad weather on my previous visit, I was determined to make the most of any good weather that came my way...

Just a 20-minute train ride from central Glasgow, the quaint village of Milngavie (pronounced roughly 'Mill-guy') marks the start of the West Highland Way, which runs north for 96-miles (not including side-trips) to Fort William. It was here that the popularity of the walk became evident - in the ten minutes or so that it took me to devour my breakfast wrap and coffee and slather myself in sunblock (which I didn't even own the last time I was in Scotland) I must have seen at least a dozen other walkers - mostly fully laden with camping gear like myself - arrive at the obelisk in the centre of town that marks the official southern trailhead, before disappearing into the shadows beyond.

As I hoisted my pack and plunged into those same shadows, the Way immediately had me falling under its spell. Weaving through the riparian woodlands beside a narrow but lively stream, the sense of tranquility was overwhelming. And with just the

The First of the Hills

View of the Campsie Fells, with Dumgoyne in the centre

odd local out walking their dog for company, I could fully appreciate the harmonious combination of dappled sunlight, trickling water and birdsong that accompanied me for those first few magical miles out of town.

Emerging out into the open above the shores of Craigallian Loch, the trail then briefly skirted Carbeth Loch before passing a number of quaint and colourful cottages, just as the only hiker I saw all day heading south ventured by. It wasn't long after this that the Way crossed a low rise, and after passing through a pair of farm gates all of a sudden emerged into a completely different world, as the rugged profile of the Campsie Fells rose up to dominate the landscape.

After contouring around the tree-covered volcanic plug of Dumgoyach - with the barren rocky knob of Dumgoyne rising beyond it - the Way then crossed a fast-flowing stream before following the line of an old railway out across the flat valley floor of Strath Blane, where I couldn't resist the temptation of a short detour to the Glengoyne whisky distillery, for an hour-long tour that concluded with a dram each of their 10- and 15-year-old single malt whiskies. And

Ageing Gracefully

Yearly variations in different whisky casks at Glengoyne distillery

though it might not have been the best idea to knock back a couple of whiskies on an empty stomach, it had been my earnest intention to follow this with a hearty lunch and refreshing pint of ale at the Beech Tree Inn only half-a-mile down the track, except that I happened to be passing by on the one day of the week (Tuesday) when the pub is closed!

Thankfully I had an adequate back-up plan, which involved pressing on for another half-mile until I reached the Turnip the Beet delicatessen, where I took full advantage of their delicious offerings by not only grabbing a wrap and cold drink to have for lunch, but also a vegetable curry and naan bread to take away with me for dinner! And from there it was only another hour of pleasant (if somewhat underwhelming) walking to my first overnight stop, at a campground about a mile-and-a-half short of Drymen - where I had the luxury of only having to set up my inner tent for the night.

With the sun rising at 4:30am (and setting at 10pm) I was up at the shockingly early time - for me at least -

Filtered Sunlight

Sunshine and shadow at Drymen Camping on day one

of 6am. Even more unbelievable was the fact that I was on my way shortly after 7am, having decided to head into Drymen for a proper breakfast. Unfortunately due to the early hour nothing was actually open when I got there, until a nice lady who was setting up tables outside Skoosh cafe took pity on me, and before long I was chowing down on pancakes with bacon and maple syrup... followed by a delicious toasted sandwich that I had bought to take away with me!

After an undulating start to the day I emerged from Gharadhban Forest to be greeted by the sight of Conic Hill's multiple summits thrusting skyward like a giant set of knuckles, with the deep blue waters of Loch Lomond visible beyond. And as the trail continued onward it was easy to identify the line of the Highland Fault, which runs right across the country dividing the Lowlands to the south from the Highlands to the north, with the elongated form of Conic Hill lining up perfectly with a series of islands spread across the southern end of Loch Lomond like stepping stones.

Needless to say the views from the top of Conic

From the Lowlands to the Highlands

Approaching Conic Hill, with Loch Lomond in the background

Hill were spectacular, and aside from providing ample compensation for what had been a gruelling climb, it also whet the appetite for the remainder of the walk, with the Way ahead set to follow Loch Lomond for the best part of two days. First though I had to tackle the steep descent from Conic Hill down a brilliantly-constructed but knee-destroying stone stairway, which eventually led me into the centre of tiny (but outrageously busy) Balmaha - where unlike the Beech Tree Inn on day one, the Oak Tree Inn was not only open for business but doing a roaring trade catering to hordes of day-tripping tourists.

After enjoying a leisurely lunch washed down with a couple of Scottish beers, the afternoon was spent alternating between sections of forest - mere fragments of the great Caledonian Forest that once covered much of the country - and stretches of shoreline, where the sheer number of people splashing about in the water or sunning themselves on the shingle beaches was hard to believe... it seemed the long-suffering Scots were determined to make the most of this unprecedented run of sunny summer weather!

Eventually, some ten hours after I set out, I

Straddling the Highland Boundary Fault

Sunning myself on the upper slopes of Conic Hill

reached my second overnight stop at the Lochan Maoil Dhuinne camping zone in Loch Lomond and the Trossachs National Park, where I had speculatively booked two nights in the hope that the weather would be good enough to make an attempt on Ben Lomond - a 974m high mountain rising up from the eastern shore of the loch - the next day. Never in my wildest dreams could I have imagined being fortunate enough to pitch my tent (once again trusting my inner tent to provide all the shelter I needed) on a tiny bit of flattish ground in a shady grove of trees, only metres from a gorgeous shingle beach on the shores of Loch Lomond... and in the most glorious weather imaginable!

Within minutes of my arrival I was plunging headlong into the water for one of the most enjoyable swims of my life; while later I was able to lie back in my little one-man tent and gaze out from the comfort of my sleeping bag at the aforementioned beach. And to top things off, a steady breeze had kicked up not long after my arrival, which would successfully keep the midges (incessant, irritating little biting

Beach-side Campsite

Enjoying the picture perfect tent site at Lochan Maoil Dhuinne, by the shores of Loch Lomond

flies that are the bane of every camper in Scotland) at bay. Now all I had to do was cross my fingers and hope that the weather would hold for another 24 hours...

Sure enough, the next day was a carbon copy of the previous two, allowing me to tackle the climb up Ben Lomond - thankfully with just a daypack weighing around 5kg (4kg of which was water) rather than my full 15kg+ backpack, which was taking a rest day back at the tent. For the first half-hour I sweated my way up through woodland on the lower slopes of the mountain, before breaking out into the open where a cooling breeze provided sweet relief from the rising temperature.

For the best part of two-and-a-half hours I plodded upwards while revelling in the scenery, as views of Loch Lomond became steadily more extensive the higher I went. And then as I finally approached the summit, a line of cliffs that until now had been hidden away on the eastern side of the mountain were revealed, along with a whole host of other mountain summits spread out in every possible direction. But the star of the show was

Halfway up the Mountain

Halfway up Ben Lomond, but still with a long way to go

undoubtedly Loch Lomond, stretching for 24 miles through the bed of a deep, glacially-scoured valley, with a dozen or more islands forming a small archipelago at the southern end.

Rather than simply retracing my footsteps back down the main trail, I decided to complete a loop back to Rowardennan by tackling the more challenging Ptarmigan Route, which led steeply down from the summit before traversing over the top of Ptarmigan peak, offering the most spectacular views yet of Scotland's largest loch by surface area (Loch Ness has a greater volume due to it's superior depth). Unfortunately the steepness of the terrain took its toll on my knees, which copped a pounding from constantly having to halt my momentum; and as a result it took me just as long to get down the mountain as it had to get up it. But the effort had been duly rewarded with spectacular views for the vast majority of my five hours on the mountain; and if any further reward was required, it came in the form of a pub dinner washed down with a couple of beers at the Clansman's Bar of the Rowardennan Hotel that evening.

Unfortunately by the time

Stunning View

Looking back over Loch Lomond from the climb up Ben Lomond

I got back to my tent a plague of midges had descended on the campsite, and having been caught unawares I was soon covered in little red spots from their incessant biting - which although painless causes an itch that is almost impossible not to scratch. And with little or no wind to drive them away the voracious hordes were still hovering about the next morning, making the packing away of my tent a truly infuriating exercise. If there is a more annoying, insidious creature on the face of the planet I am yet to meet it - though New Zealanders might say the same thing about their sandflies!

When I did eventually get going I ran into another problem just a mile down the road - the public toilets I'd used the day before at the Ben Lomond trailhead weren't due to open until 8am... and it was only 7:15am when I arrived! Not having had any facilities whatsoever at the campsite, I was in rather dire need of a bathroom (being a human rather than a bear I've never been a fan of shitting in the woods), which left me with quite the dilemma - wait around

Lakeside Splendour

View of Loch Lomond from the trail on day four

for 45 minutes while an entire squadron of midges eates me alive, or continue on knowing that the next bathroom won't be until Inversnaid in three hours' time! Not trusting myself to last that long, I dumped my backpack and proceeded to walk around in ever-increasing circles (in an effort to keep the midges at bay) for 45 minutes... which then turned into an hour when the bastard whose job it was to unlock the doors turned up fifteen minutes late! First world problems, I suppose...

After such an inauspicious start the rest of the morning passed uneventfully, as the West Highland Way climbed steadily through the oak woodlands rising up from Loch Lomond's eastern shore, before dropping back down to the shoreline where views of rugged mountains stood juxtaposed against the shimmering blue expanse of the loch. By the time I stopped in Inversnaid to prepare a hot meal on my little camp stove in the shade of a giant oak tree, I couldn't help wondering whether I'd stumbled through an invisible portal to the Mediterranean - between the people sunning themselves on shore and the boats and jetskis jostling for space in the water, the scenery was

From the Highlands to the Med

View over lunch from the Inversnaid Hotel

more reminiscent of the French Riviera or the Italian Lakes than a Scottish Highland loch! I can't imagine there are too many Scots complaining about climate change.

Pressing on from Inversnaid I faced what was said to be the most difficult section of the entire West Highland Way, as the trail followed a rollercoaster route along the steeply-sloping banks of the loch - making use of all manner of rocks and tree roots to facilitate progress - whilst keeping as close as possible to the shoreline. But having encountered even more arduous terrain on the descent from Ben Lomond the day before, I found this section to be one of my favourites so far, with the undulating terrain simply forcing me to slow down and enjoy the serenity of my surroundings - the sound of water lapping gently against the shore, the ever-present birdsong, the sunlight filtering through the trees. When I found an oak tree overhanging the loch right beside the path, I couldn't resist dropping my pack and lying back against one of its three trunks, with my feet dangling over the water and the breeze softly caressing my face. I couldn't remember a time when I

A Last, Lingering Look

Looking back down Loch Lomond from beyond its northern shore

felt so relaxed.

Eventually the Way climbed away from the shoreline for the final time, and as it climbed over a low hill there was one final view back over the northern end of Loch Lomond, before a new vista started to open up of Glen Falloch to the north. It was into this valley that I would descend to reach the campsite at Beinglas Farm (complete with its own pub, the Stagger Inn) just as the first dark clouds of the trip started to gather overhead. Thankfully the wind preceding the coming storm was sufficient to keep the midges to a tolerable level (if there is such a thing), but there would be no more setting up my tent without the waterproof fly for the foreseeable future!

I emerged from my tent the next morning to the curious sound of stakes being hammered into the ground nearby, and it soon became apparent that my fifth day on the trail (including my day-hike up Ben Lomond) would be coinciding with the annual West Highland Way Race, where competitors attempt to run the entire 154km trail in under 24 hours! Throughout the day a veritable conga line of masochists

Well-shaded Lawn

Set up as far away as possible from the bar at Beinglas Farm

would pass by, each one looking more forlorn than the last, as we all followed the wriggling route of an old military road up Glen Falloch - with the lowlight of the day, for me at least, coming in the form of a cattle creep (basically a low-clearance pedestrian/cattle underpass crossing underneath the railway line) that was clearly created with dwarves, elves, hobbits and the like in mind... forcing me down onto hands and knees (with full backpack on) to make it to the other side, while uttering the odd expletive under my breath. The runners, meanwhile, simply ducked down and made it through without breaking stride. Arseholes.

The gentle gradients of the military road made for relatively easy walking, so as I neared the halfway point of the day - where I had planned to divert one mile down a side-trail to the town of Crianlarich for lunch - I decided to save myself the two-mile round-trip by continuing on to a cafe about an hour-and-a-half down the trail. When I reached the junction in question a crowd of at least twenty onlookers was on hand to cheer on the runners as they reached the halfway point of

Highland River

The River Fillan, near Artisan Cafe & Deli

their race - though one man in the crowd also offered me some encouragement with a shout of "Hooray to the walker too, well done", to which I replied "Cheers! I wasn't expecting such a big turnout!" Unfortunately no-one was inclined to offer me a massage though, which I found somewhat discriminatory.

After climbing up through the damp shade of a pine plantation and then dropping back down through the ugly wasteland of a cleared forestry block, a rude shock then came in the form of a busy two-lane road carrying an unbroken line of cars... and then just when peace seemed to have been restored, I turned a corner on the quiet country lane I was following to find a sea of cars and people all milling about, as the support crews for seemingly every runner in the race had congregated at one of the few vehicle accessible points along the track. The runners I didn't mind too much, but all of the hangers on that go with them were starting to ruin the 'wilderness vibe' that is such an integral part of the West Highland Way experience! Of course that's not taking into account all of the

Time for Indulgence

Enjoying a hot chocolate and tiffin at Artisan Cafe

pubs I had been visiting along the way...

Salvation arrived when I took a five-minute detour from the track only a couple of miles short of my overnight stop at Tyndrum, to visit the Artisan Cafe & Deli in a restored church. And what a find it was! Pretty soon I was tucking into a honey mustard sausage sandwich, followed by a slice of Tulla Tiffin (a local type of cake) and washed down with a delicious mug of hot chocolate - those ultra-marathoners had no idea what they were missing out on! After returning to the trail I fell into conversation with a young German couple (Pascal & Johanna) whom I had exchanged hellos with a couple of times already, and before I knew it we had arrived in Tyndrum - where they were booked into a bed & breakfast, while I headed to the By The Way hostel & campsite to pitch my tent before the forecast afternoon downpour hit.

The next day promised to be my longest on the West Highland Way - a 30km haul from Tyndrum all the way to the isolated Kings House Hotel. I had been considering splitting the stage over

God's Country

Early views from the trail on day six

two days with an overnight stop at Inveroran, until a glance at the weather forecast put paid to that idea: while Sunday would be cloudy with little to no rain, Monday was looking like a complete write-off with showers forecast throughout the day. As a result of this I decided to tackle the full distance on Sunday and make Monday a rest day instead. Unfortunately the half-bottle of whisky I had bought on Saturday night to take with me - to help pass the time whilst confined to my tent all day Monday - hadn't actually made it through Saturday night, so I was going to have to find some other form of entertainment...

In any case, my longest day of the walk couldn't have started out any better - the weather was cloudy and cool, the scenery was mesmerising (with no forests or woodlands to speak of, it was all wide open spaces filled with mountains and glens as far as the eye could see) and there were no bloody runners huffing and puffing their way past! After crossing a low watershed at the base of Beinn Odhar it was the conical peak of Beinn Dorain that held

Bridge of Orchy

Stone arch bridge over the River Orchy

the gaze for an hour or more, while an enchanting little glade of trees beside the Allt Kinglass river provided a glorious spot to linger halfway down the valley.

Eventually I passed through the tiny settlement of Bridge of Orchy, where the single-arch stone bridge that lends its name to the town carried me across to the start of the day's first climb - a sweaty ascent to a point (known as Mam Carraigh) on the ridgeline of Ben Invermore, overlooking Loch Tulla. It was here that I got talking to a couple of German girls (Bella and Melissa) who, after hearing the weather forecast, had also set their sights on making it to the Kings House Hotel that afternoon. But first there was the small matter of a stop at the Inveroran Hotel, where a pre-packed pasta salad from the adjoining shop and a pint of beer from the tiny bar were enjoyed all fresco (and blissfully free from midges) while kicking back in the sunshine that had finally broken through.

But this was a mere interlude in the lengthy symphony of our day, so after a brief conversation with Pascal & Johanna (who had just arrived

Halfway Mark

Reaching the Inveroran Hotel halfway through day six

and would be spending the night in Inveroran before pressing on to Kingshouse in the rain the next day) we shouldered our packs again to once again follow an old military road up onto the broad expanse of Rannoch Moor. With a name resembling one of Tolkien's fictional settings and a reputation as one of Britain's most isolated and desolate corners, I was relieved to note that the weather seemed to be holding out - on a previous visit to Rannoch Moor during my working holiday in Scotland I had been pushing my bicycle towards Corrour train station into the teeth of a gale when, lifting my head briefly to monitor my progress, the hood of my rain jacket had been flung back and my woolly hat torn from my head and sent hurtling back down the track from which I had come. Few places I have visited in the world match the description of 'barren and windswept' as well as Rannoch Moor!

But on this occasion the weather was far more benign, allowing me to enjoy the peculiar 'sensory vacuum' of this gently undulating moorland, where the almost total lack of either sound or any visible movement created

Lonesome Location

Passing the ruins of Ba Cottage, on the crossing of Rannoch Moor

a sense of peace, tinged with a slight sense of eeriness. Even the midges were conspicuous by their absence; though it seemed they had simply swapped shifts with another of Scotland's more infuriating residents: the cleg. A type of horse-fly - though one that flies silently - the cleg has a much more painful bite than its smaller cousins, the midges, but is also much less numerous and easier to kill.

As I rested on Ba Bridge roughly halfway across Rannoch Moor, the solitude was suddenly shattered by a procession of eleven trail bike riders, who kicked up clouds of dust as they zoomed past. I wondered whether it wasn't some of the trail runners from the day before who had come back to haunt me! But with peace and quiet once again settling over the moorland, I finally emerged from that great expanse of nothingness to be confronted by the mountainous sentinels standing guard over the eastern entrance to one of Scotland's most famous (and indeed notorious) valleys: Glen Coe.

Etched into history for the massacre that took place in 1692 - when around thirty members of Clan McDonald were slain by government forces in an apparent

Historical Highway

Following the old military road down from Rannoch Moor towards Glen Coe

ambush after having been taken in and promised safe harbour by their rivals, Clan Campbell - Glen Coe also happens to be one of the most visually striking of all the Highland glens, with brooding mountains walling either side of a classic, U-shaped glacial valley. Most famous of these mountains is Buachaille Etive Mor (The 'Old Man of Etive'), which rises like a gigantic shark's tooth over the eastern approach to the valley. And directly opposite this imposing pyramid stands the isolated but luxurious Kings House Hotel, a modern replacement for the old hotel that served travellers from near and far in the days when the old military road was the only road through these parts.

With the hotel itself (and even the attached bunkhouse) being well out of my price range, I pitched my tent on the grass behind the hotel while giving thanks to Scotland's 'Right to Roam' law, which was introduced in 2003 and gives people the right to access private land for recreational activities and even to camp for free, provided they keep well clear of any residential buildings and leave no trace of their visit. A similar concept applies in the Nordic countries where

Curious Onlooker

Male red deer near the Kings House Hotel

it is known as 'Allemansrätten' (literally 'every man's right'). Coming from Australia where this rule doesn't apply - but where most hiking trails run through publicly protected lands, with no shortage of established campsites - I couldn't help but notice how many informal tent sites I had passed each day, with the telltale flattened patch of grass usually being located near a burn or loch (stream or lake to non-Scottish speakers) and often in a beautiful setting.

As I was pondering all of this over a pint in the Walkers Bar of the Kings House Hotel, a male red deer emerged beside the car park - my first ever sighting of a (semi-) wild deer in Europe! He was clearly somewhat accustomed to people (I had read that a small herd lives in the vicinity of the hotel, where I suspect they are fed to encourage them to visit) as he simply stood there staring at the gathering throng of tourists edging closer to snap their pictures. Only when one fool tried to pat the animal and another approached to feed it a carrot did he take a step backward to show his displeasure, but then he would go

The Old Man of Etive

The pyramidal peak of Buachaille Etive Mor l, seen from outside the Kings House Hotel

back to just standing and staring! And though his antlers were only small, they would no doubt grow quite rapidly in preparation for the autumn rut, after which all of the males cast their antlers for the winter, before growing them back again even bigger the following year. (It's only in reindeer/caribou that the females also grow antlers).

And with that my first week in Scotland drew to a close, just as the mountains of Glen Coe disappeared behind a veil of clouds as incessant showers swept the countryside (as predicted) the following day. Finally the true face of the Highlands was beginning to emerge.

To be continued...

Note:
The winner of the 2023 West Highland Way Race completed the 96-mile (154km) course in a time of 16 hours 35 minutes. The last competitor to cross the line took 34 hours 21 minutes. All of which was a far cry short of the all-time record of just 13 hours 41 minutes.
Out of a total of 220 participants,
49 did not finish.

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