Advertisement
Halfway to the Sky
Looking down on the Lochan Meall An T-suidhe, nearly halfway up Ben NevisAfter waiting out the rain inside my tent - and inside the bar - at the Kings House Hotel on the seventh day of my West Highland Way adventure, it was straight back to business the next morning as I finally packed the tent away and strode out along the old military road towards the gaping maw of Glen Coe. With a low blanket of clouds and the brooding peak of Buachaille Etive Mor combining to provide a foreboding atmosphere, there was no mistaking the Highlands for the Mediterranean as there had been at times the week prior! After resting for a while at the trail crossroads of Altnafeadh - where I was befriended by a playful red-breasted robin - I shouldered my pack and readied myself for the daunting Devil's Staircase, where the trail zig-zags it's way up and over a ridgeline that serves as the watershed between Glen Coe and the Leven Valley basin to the north.
While the Devil's Staircase turned out to be far easier than expected, there was an unfortunate sting in the tail which was entirely my own fault - having stopped for a rest at the highest point, I was then over a
The Old Man of Etive
Passing Buachaille Etive Mor on the way towards Glen Coe kilometre down the track before realising I had left my sunglasses back at the top... necessitating a half-hour round-trip detour to retrieve them! Anyone who knows of my penchant for breaking or losing sunglasses will not be the least bit surprised. After winding its way around the mountainside, the Way eventually led down a steep forestry road into the compact hamlet of Kinlochleven, which despite sitting at the head of Loch Leven (actually an inlet of the sea, though often no distinction is made between sea and freshwater lochs) offered no views of the loch whatsoever. Nor did there appear to be even the slightest hint of life, as the streets lay almost deserted. It was hard to escape the conclusion that if not for the constant stream of foot traffic passing through on the West Highland Way, there would be no activity in the town whatsoever. Maybe I'll retire there someday.
Having arrived in Kinlochleven by midday (a deliberate ploy to avoid the showers forecast for that afternoon) it wasn't until a full 24 hours later that I finally made my escape, after lingering at the campsite the next morning to wait for the persistent showers to clear.
Sleepy Town
Kinlochleven on a buzzing Tuesday morning At one point I ran out of patience and had made it about fifty metres down the road when the next shower hit, so I turned around and headed straight back to the campsite again! I'm sure any Scottish hillwalkers reading this would be shaking their heads in dismay at the spoilt Australian who's afraid of getting wet, but when you've grown up in a place as sunny as Queensland it's only natural to have much higher standards than long-suffering Scots, for whom any interval between showers of longer than half-an-hour constitutes a lovely day indeed!
As it turned out I timed my departure perfectly, and within fifteen minutes had to stop to change into shorts and t-shirt, as the sun burst through the clouds just as I reached a hilltop viewpoint from where a gorgeous panorama of Loch Leven and its surrounding mountains was spread out before me, with even the town of Kinlochleven (which had seemed a rather dreary place while I was there) looking inviting as it basked in the sunshine. It proved to be only a brief interlude however, for as the Way stretched off into the distance through an uninhabited glen seemingly cut off
Lonely Glen
Following the old military road through Lairig Mor from the outside world, so the clouds returned to secure a dark ceiling onto the wall of mountains sealing the valley shut on all sides.
For the next hour-and-a-half I headed further and further up the Lairig Mor valley, where the only building to be found was a long abandoned shieling (farming hut) now lying in ruins, and couldn't help noticing that for the first time since leaving Milngavie I could see for more than a mile in either direction without sighting a single other person... if it hadn't been for the reassurance of my offline map I might have wondered whether I was even on the right path! But all of this served as the perfect counterpoint to my experiences of the previous week, and I had the overwhelming feeling (as I had done during my crossing of Rannoch Moor) of penetrating deeper into the Highlands, which surely is the entire point of walking the trail from south to north. And who wants to be walking towards Glasgow anyway?!
Eventually a break appeared in the wall of mountains as the path contoured around a ninety-degree bend to resume its northerly march, and as the miles slowly passed
Big Ben
View of Ben Nevis from the opposite side of Glen Nevis beneath my feet, so the imposing bulk of Ben Nevis (at 1344m the highest, and probably largest, mountain in Great Britain) began to reveal itself, without ever shedding its uppermost layer of clouds to expose the summit. Five hours after my belated departure from Kinlochleven, a broad, stoney forest road finally brought me down to the valley floor of Glen Nevis - still 5km short of the official end of the West Highland Way in Fort William, but more importantly directly across the river from the trailhead for the climb up Ben Nevis. The West Highland Way could wait - first, I had a mountain to climb...
Eleven years ago I climbed Ben Nevis in the company of another Australian whom I had met only fifteen minutes into the walk, but having celebrated our successful ascent back in Fort William that evening with a rather lengthy drinking session I had scant memories of the day - aside from slipping and sliding all over the place and consistently ending up on my arse due to my lack of proper hiking shoes combined with the layer of snow cover blanketing the top few hundred metres of the mountain (it was in
Tunnel through the Trees
Looking down on Glen Nevis from the climb up the mountain April that I had tackled the climb). This time around I had proper hiking shoes, no snow to worry about, and close to a hundred miles worth of training in my legs, yet even still I was surprised to find myself on the summit just two-and-a-half hours after leaving the hostel, despite taking a break beside the so-called 'Halfway Lochan' and countless stops to take pictures of the ever-improving views.
I was also surprised at how many dogs were making the ascent (which, starting at close to sea level, entails an elevation gain of more than 1300 metres) in the company of their owners, especially given that despite possessing four legs rather than two, all four of those legs put together would barely be as long as one of my own! Some of these tireless hounds even assented to being hoisted up onto the summit cairn for the obligatory 'highest dog in the UK' summit picture - though how much choice they had in the matter remains to be seen.
The summit cairn in question (which sat atop a rocky mound a couple of metres high) provided a source of mirth, as a permanent queue trailed from its
Head in the Clouds (almost)
Nearing the summit of Ben Nevis base full of people lining up to have their picture taken on the highest point... though in truth an even higher perch sat just thirty metres away where a former meteorological station has been converted into an emergency shelter. Being claustrophobic there was no way I was going to try to contort my oversized frame into this diminutive bivouac, but I was more than happy to stand beside it while looking ever-so-slightly downward (both in a literal and figurative sense) on the waiting summit selfie crowd nearby! Meanwhile, just metres from the summit cairn lay the shattered remains of a stone pillar that had been blown apart by a lightning strike only the week before my visit.
After making my way back down the mountain in a little over two hours - having stopped to give my last half-litre of water to an older man who was suffering badly from dehydration, just twenty minutes short of the trailhead - I spent an enjoyable couple of hours relaxing back at the hostel, before calling upon my remaining energy reserves to follow the delightful trail alongside the River Nevis to visit the Ben Nevis Inn about a mile down the valley.
Highland Feast
The chicken rumbledethumps at the Ben Nevis Inn Now I'm not sure exactly what this says about me as a person - and don't get me wrong, the climb up Ben Nevis was tremendously rewarding - but the reward-to-effort ratio on the hike to Ben Nevis (the pub) was infinitely greater than on the hike up Ben Nevis (the mountain)! I'm no great food connoisseur, and I've historically put as much effort into avoiding haggis as avoiding midges, but the chicken breast served with sliced haggis on a bed of green beans and mashed potato with a whisky and peppercorn sauce could truly be described as a party in my mouth. And the traditional clagachan dessert (shortbread with whipped cream, roasted oats, raspberry, honey and whisky)? Don't even get me started. Thank goodness I only had three miles left to walk the next day...
Those three miles were knocked off under leaden skies, as I diverted from the 'official' route of the West Highland Way (which follows the main road into Fort William) to instead take a narrow but scenic walking trail up and over Cow Hill, which offered wonderful views over the town of Fort William sitting at the southwestern end of the Great Glen, opposite
The Finish Line (almost)
High above Loch Linnhe on the way into Fort William, near the end of the West Highland Way where Loch Eil meets Loch Linnhe (both of which are sea inlets). Unlike the ultra-runners of the previous week, I had completed the West Highland Way in just over ten days, having visited 10 pubs, 6 cafes and 1 distillery (and climbed 2 Munros - but more about that later) along the way. And while there's no right or wrong way to experience the West Highland Way - whether running or walking; camping, hostelling or staying in bed & breakfasts; carrying your own food or eating out every meal - there was no doubt in my mind as to which was the best way to do it!
But no sooner had one adventure ended, than another one began...
Twice during my year-long working holiday in Scotland a decade ago I made it to the wonderfully rustic and secluded SYHA hostel beside Loch Ossian, a mile or so down a gravel road from Corrour railway station on the bleak expanse of Rannoch Moor. With a wind turbine providing electricity and the sort of cosiness and camaraderie one would expect from such an isolated outpost, these were amongst my most treasured memories from that year; and the only regret I
Early views from the trail
View of Cannich from Comar Wood Dun had was that I'd not made it to the other 'wilderness hostel' in Scotland: Glen Affric. Located about eight miles beyond the road-end at Loch Affric Dam to the east, and ten miles from the village of Morvich on the West Coast, visiting the hostel in Glen Affric requires a walk-in of at least 3-4 hours. This precludes about 95% of people from ever visiting. This in turn is one of the main attractions for the other 5%. And this is how I was introduced to Scotland's most recently established multi-day walk: the Affric-Kintail Way. But before tackling the walk, I first had to survive an evening at the Slater's Arms pub in Cannich...
To set the scene for you, Cannich is a wee town that probably punches above its weight class by sporting a cafe, a supermarket and a pub - the last two of which sit side-by-side at the opposite end of town to the cafe. Curiously, between the supermarket and the pub was a small undercover area with a couple of plastic tables, where a merry band of around twenty revellers were swigging beer from plastic cups. A quick visit to the supermarket revealed that, much
Woodlands & Water
Viewpoint overlooking Loch Beinn a' Mheadhoin to my surprise, the beer in plastic cups had come from a pair of beer taps located behind the counter, where the checkout lady was doing a roaring trade pulling pints! 'Welcome to small town Scotland' I thought to myself... though I couldn't help wondering why the crowd gathered outside weren't residing in their natural habitat: ie the Slater's Arms pub next door. It would take me the best part of two days to unravel the mystery.
My first impression of the Slater's Arms was that, true to the claim on their website, it was most definitely a dog-friendly venue, as there were at least six or seven pooches sprawled out on the floor. After being completely ignored for a good couple of minutes at the bar - with my head almost scraping the ceiling I found it hard to believe the barman, who was presumably also the manager, hadn't seen me - I eventually walked away with a pint of the local Pale Ale, which I had just begun to sip while kicking back on the couch when all of a sudden all hell broke loose as a rottweiler belonging to a visiting couple launched into a barking
Shady Shoreline
View from the trail alongside Loch Beinn a' Mheadhoin frenzy that would have put the fear of God into a pack of wolves! Quite who or what had provoked this response I wasn't sure, but within seconds a number of his canine companions were contributing to a chorus that was only marginally less offensive to the ears than your average bagpiper.
When things had finally settled down somewhat, I approached the rather gruff bartender/manager to ask whether I needed to sit in the restaurant to order food, or could do so in the bar. "Have you booked a table?" he asked me. "No" I replied. Eyes almost popping out of his head, he half-stifled an exasperated laugh while shaking his head and saying "you'll nae be able to order anythin' when we're this busy - we're flat out tryin' to keep up as it is, and the kitchen's closin' in a minute." I glanced around, noting that just four of the restaurant's tables were occupied - and the largest group were clearly already finished their meal as the kids were outside playing on the deck, making almost as much noise as the dogs. I then glanced at the clock: the time was 7:50pm, on a Friday no less!
Wild Waters
Rapids on the River Affric Returning to my spot on the couch I was soon joined by a father and son from England, who like me damn-near shat themselves when once again the rottweiler behind us went absolutely berserk at something or other, after which the older man said to both his son and me "we should have brought our two dogs - they're both Scottish terriers and they're quite 'yappy' to say the least... they would have fit right in - nobody here seems to give a shit!" At this point a couple visiting from Canada walked in, and after being ignored at the entrance to the restaurant for a couple of minutes, the man approached the bar to ask whether they could take a seat. "Have you booked a table?" I heard the manager ask...
In the morning I sat around waiting for the intermittent showers to clear, before finally getting going just before midday for the 20km section of trail (mostly along old forestry roads) through to the road-end car park beside the River Affric. With my pack feeling uncomfortably heavy I enjoyed a prolonged lunch break beside the car park at Dog Falls, before crossing the river and heading
Sunlit Splendour
Viewpoint overlooking upper Glen Affric up through one of the few remaining areas of native woodland in Scotland. At the top of the climb a viewpoint overlooking the eastern end of Loch Beinn a' Mheadhoin offered a glimpse of things to come, as the next two-and-a-half hours were spent following the southern shoreline of the loch through shaded woods.
Arriving at the far end of the loch, I found a tent set up beside a picnic table just above the river, and cursed the person who had taken such a perfect tent site. But it was only after dropping my pack to follow a couple of loop trails nearby - one following the river past a series of scenic rapids, the other climbing a hillside to a viewpoint looking out over the valley - that I realised this was the ONLY decent tent site to be found. So after searching forlornly for an alternative campsite, I decided to make use of the long daylight hours by continuing on up the trail.
Unfortunately the little makeshift campsites that had been scattered liberally alongside the trail above the first loch were conspicuous by their absence as I passed the second, and it was with a
Lonely Road
Still searching for a decent campsite late on day one of the Affric-Kintail Way growing sense of frustration and tiredness that I plodded on, in the vain hope that wherever I ended up would be worth the extra effort of getting to. And then just when it looked like I might end up continuing all the way to the hostel (which I had only booked for the following night) I finally laid eyes on the glorious white sand beach at the far end of Loch Affric, which was backed by a vast expanse of soft, green grass, and with not a single person anywhere to be seen. After walking 27km for the day I could barely believe my luck!
Bounding down the grassy slope leading to the beach, I finally dropped my pack just after 8pm, only moments before the sun disappeared behind one of the steep mountains enclosing the loch. But with a couple of hours of daylight remaining, I was in no hurry to pitch my tent; and no sooner had I done so than I was plunging into the water for a brief but refreshing swim. As I then stood by the shore allowing the breeze to blow me dry, a 4WD passed slowly by along the track above the
Every Camper's Dream
The beach at the western end of Loch Affric - great view, flat grass, no-one else around loch shore that I had only recently been following. Figuring they were far enough away I didn't bother covering myself up, until the driver stopped and then reversed off the side of the track, so that the vehicle was now pointing directly at me from above! Wrapping my little microfibre towel around my waist, I watched as the 4WD then crept slowly back along the road, before coming to a stop only a couple of hundred metres away, in clear view of my campsite. Needless to say, I found all of this just a little unsettling!
Nevertheless I got on with the task of cooking dinner, while giving thanks for the consistent breeze blowing off the loch, sparing me the usual onslaught of midges. In the fading light I could make out three or four figures standing around the parked 4WD, though what they were doing I had no idea. It wasn't until the following morning when I emerged from my tent that I noticed the vehicle in question had a pop-top tent! Whoever it belonged to must have seen my picture-perfect campsite and decided that if that gorgeous view was good enough for me, then it was good
A view worth waking up to
Next morning at Loch Affric beach enough for them as well! I've no way of knowing whether my nakedness had added to the allure or not...
Wide awake by 6am due to the sun shining on my tent unimpeded from the far end of the loch, I was packed up and on the trail within a couple of hours - once again manipulating my starting time to take advantage of a narrow weather window, as the forecast predicted consistent rain from late-morning onwards. And as luck would have it, due to my unplanned extension to the previous day's walk I only had 7km to go to my next overnight stop at the Glen Affric wilderness hostel, arriving at the ridiculously early time of 10am... only minutes before the first raindrops started falling!
Having been greeted cheerfully by the English caretaker of the hostel, Marc, I then spent the rest of the day and most of the evening holed up in the cosy communal living room, passing numerous hours chatting about anything and everything to Marc; before being joined by another Englishman who was also walking the Affric-Kintail Way (it had been his tent pitched above the river at the road-end car park the previous
Follow the River
Heading further up-valley on day two afternoon); the same father and son I had sat opposite at the Slater's Arms pub in Cannich two nights previously; and an eccentric old Scottish 'Munro-bagger'.
For those unfamiliar with the curious Scottish past-time of 'Munro-bagging', a Munro is any Scottish mountain over 3000 feet in height - which sounds impressive until you realise that 3000 feet is only 914.4 metres! In any case, an old bloke named Munro (who clearly had nothing more constructive to do with his time) once compiled a list of all the 914.4m-high mountains in Scotland, and as it turns out there are 282 of them! And ever since his list was published, thousands of Scottish people (along with the odd bored Englishman), who also clearly have nothing better to do, have made it their life's mission to climb every Munro on the list. And for those that manage to achieve the feat, there is also a list of Corbetts (2500-foot/762m mountains), Grahams (2000-foot/609m mountains), and, well, let's just stop there before we all lose our bloody minds! Don't get me wrong, anything that gets people outdoors into nature and keeps them fit is surely a worthwhile pursuit; but seriously, I can't help wondering
Oasis of Solitude
Glen Affric wilderness hostel whether some bored Dutchman has ever thought about compiling a list of hills over 3000 inches (76.2m) in height? What a truly bizarre past-time indeed.
As it turned out the father and son from England were also partial to a spot of Munro-bagging, though rather than any hillwalking exploits it was their description of events at the Slater's Arms two evenings previous that seemed to capture everyone's attention; and it was this that led to the revelation from Marc that only a few days earlier three Danish guys had stayed at the hostel, who mentioned that they too had visited the Slater's Arms - only to be invited outside for a fight by the bartender after querying the cost of their round of drinks! According to Marc's local sources, the reason the supermarket in Cannich were doing such a roaring trade in tap beers was that most of the locals had been banned from the pub - presumably for failing to book a table and then trying to order food! Small town hospitality at its best.
With 17km of the Affric-Kintail Way still to go to make it out to Morvich on the West Coast - followed by
Splendid Isolation
View from the trail in upper Gleann Lichd another 7km of road walking to reach the nearest hostel in Ratagan - there was nothing for it but to take my chances with the weather and head out (reasonably) early on Monday morning. And thankfully, for the first couple of hours at least, the rain did hold off, because those first few miles were pure magic! The first hour saw me continuing up to the head of the Glen Affric valley, before I crested a low rise amongst a sea of crumpled hills to find myself now walking ever-so-slightly downhill, in the same direction as a stream pouring down off the mountain to my left. At one point a spur coming down from the mountain almost blocked the way forward, forcing the infant stream to carve a narrow gorge through the rock where the valley reached its narrowest point.
It was here that I spotted the trail ahead suddenly plunging downwards across the steeply-sloping lower flanks of the valley, and after rounding a corner I was confronted by the sight of a beautiful waterfall, perhaps twenty metres in height, pouring over the lip of the gorge. What a stunning sight! One can't help but feel humbled in the
Wild Scenery
Grandda Falls, with Sgurr a' Bhealaich rising up behind midst of such a wild landscape, and to have it all to myself - I'd not seen another person since leaving the hostel that morning - was a truly unforgettable moment. I had expected Glen Affric to be the highlight of the walk - and it had certainly not disappointed - but had read nothing at all about this new valley (the upper end of Gleann Lichd) that I would now be following all the way to the sea... so with no expectations to live up to it was only natural to find myself completely awestruck by my surroundings. The best moments are always the ones you don't see coming.
It wasn't long after this that the rain finally started to fall, but though it was probably the heaviest rain I'd had to walk through during my two weeks in the Highlands, it was never quite heavy enough to justify putting my rain jacket on; and though the accompanying wind made things uncomfortably cool, it also ensured that within five minutes of the rain stopping each time I would be more or less dry again. This then become the pattern for the next couple of hours, as the wind
Rain-swept Valley
The inevitable downpour sweeping in over Gleann Lichd and occasional rain squall would do their best to sour my mood, while at the same time letting me off lightly, all things considered. And though the walk down-valley inevitably became a bit of a plod - with only the resident sheep and their adorable little lambs to hold my attention - it was nonetheless a straightforward and relatively painless end to what had been an extraordinarily scenic and (particularly when compared to the West Highland Way) refreshingly peaceful experience.
Now if only they could do something about that bizarre pub in Cannich...
Advertisement
Tot: 0.173s; Tpl: 0.021s; cc: 25; qc: 81; dbt: 0.0963s; 1; m:domysql w:travelblog (10.17.0.13); sld: 1;
; mem: 1.4mb
D MJ Binkley
Dave and Merry Jo Binkley
The Highlands
We've been wanting to go back to this part of the world a lot recently so this blog is messing with our minds...... thanks for taking us along.