Day 57- Milarrochy to Inverarnan 20 Miles

  Hoping to stay ahead of the hoards I left early, leaving the camp a little before eight and marching the kilometer or so along the road before ducking back into the wooded coastal path. Mist was heavy

across the Loch creating a wonderfully aery view. A head of me there was already another hiker within five minutes, but as he seemed to walking in zigzags I overtook him quite quickly. A forty something year old struggling with a heavy looking pack on, what I suspect, was his first attempt at a long distance walk. We talked a little while, seemed friendly enough but as he spoke little English conversation was difficult. I eventually bid him goodbye and walked on. The first slope was hard on still asleep legs, small foot steps easing the progress a little. The ground after was much easier, dipping and rising as an open dirt path. Probably struggled more than I remember but the route after lunch from Inversnaid makes it look like an easy stroll.

Loch Lomond in the early morning haze

  Unfortunately I'd camped in the first site along Loch Lomond and by the time I past the last one three miles later, Sallochy Forest campsite, the path was full of people again. Sallochy looked like a great campsite, little pods in the woods along the loch just like in Australia. No car parks and nothing but hikers everywhere you look. The sheer volume of people staggered me and I wasn't sure I liked it one bit, that said the group of men sat having breakfast weren't the worst companions I could wish for.
  Along the way four military type men overtook me carrying small packs, wearing camouflage trousers. They said hello friendly enough but they pace was just too fast. A little later I overtook a mass of walkers in a organized group holiday, muttering 'excuse me' and trying to squeeze through small gaps I slowly past. Near the front of the group I began to talk with a woman, a farmer on a holiday who'd never walked more than eight miles at once. I enjoyed her company but struggled to keep to the groups pace and eventually left them behind.

  At Inversnaid hotel I stopped for something to eat, the inside full of other walkers, a room to the left of the entrance nearly full of varied shaped backpacks. I had yet another bowl of fries along with a cup of tea before leaving. While collecting my pack I exchanged a few words with the soldier boys, discovering they were planning to walk the 100 miles of the West Highland Way in four days in preparation of a march abroad. Over the next hour we past each other a few times. I admired them, and in particular their leaders calmed assured manner. 
  From Inversnaid to Inverarnan the path never rose above two meters from the loch but its a hell of a work out full of ankle breaking descents and paths so narrow you have to climb around to get through with a backpack. Progress was horribly slow and not the slightest bit enjoyable. Very little of my memory of today included the loch, mostly I recall clutching on to trees and praying I didn't break my neck. It did strike me that this was indication enough that I should never try climbing mountains, struggling as I did two meters up.

Last stretch before Inverarnan

  Talked to yet another hiker, American on an extended bachelorette holiday before getting married in the Carrabian- some of those details I might be remembering wrong so don't quote me. When they stopped to stretch I carried on. The last few hills once the loch was finally set behind me were hard. With so many people I also felt unable to stop or relax at my usual slug pace. After 20 miles I was ready to collapse.
  Beinglass Farm Campsite finally came to my rescue and I trudged into camp at 4:45 eager to see  the tennis score and have a cold drink. There was a little awkwardness with the camping as it had been nearly three months since I emailed them but I was eventually allowed in without paying- since it normally cost £8 I was grateful. I pitched my tent without looking at the grass properly. Although the sun was blazing the grass was horribly water logged, water pooling around my feet every time I stood still and the patch around my tent already looking muddy after a few minutes of me walking around. I considered moving but it was too much effort and higher up only looked slightly better.

Beinglass Farm Campsite- before the majority of people arrived.

  Seeing Murray had won I got some supplies and cooked myself a meal, talking to two men from Sweedon about Federer and another couple from Poland about their plans. I was getting more comfortable with the large amount of people, in the last day I'd met more walkers than the entirety of England. Along the trail I was told by the two Americans with the Australian photographer (who I'd past yesterday and yet again today) that they'd encountered two Israelis. That evening when I heard Hebrew spoken on the table beside me I pounced on them. We talked for something like an hour. A lovely coupled traveling around Scotland, a first year teacher with his wife who was in her last year of studying a PhD in Jerusalem.
  The campsite although full quietened quite early. That said I struggled to get to sleep again, horribly aware how damp it. There was also a rather unpleasant smell I couldn't put my finger on, I'd checked both my boots and found nothing so settled for ignoring it. I did miss been the only tent in camp, there were close to thirty parked in this field alone. Tomorrow I hope to wild camp and get away from it all a while.        

Day 56 - Drymen to Milarrochy 10.5 miles

Even though I had a rest only four days ago I'd covered roughly 85 miles in that time and was flagging a little. The inconvenience of been unable to wild camp in the eastern shore of Loch Lomond turned into a blessing as I'd be stuck with either walking close to thirty miles to Inverarnan or ten or so to Milarrochy. I needed to wash my clothes in any case, charge my batteries and rest.

View approaching Loch Lomond, Clonic Hill in the distance

  I wound along the road for a few kilometers before going along the Old Military Road and joining a dirt track. Just after the road I stumbled on a few wild campers, and another load within the next ten minutes. Logging was taking place in volume here, carving up the landscape horribly. It did however allow for dramatic views of the loch which was fast approaching below. Soon there were several hikers ahead and behind me and I began to realize how truly busy this trail was.
  Competitiveness is a little ridiculous in a long distance hike, some of the best and most experience hikers I've met took their time, enjoying the land they were traveling to and clocking off the miles without counting. These things I knew. I also knew I'd rather die than let anyone over take me. As I left early it took a little while before the hordes joined in. Most were day walkers who'd parked in Balmaha and walked up to the three peaks of Clonic Hill which over look the Loch from 360 meters above.

Loch Lomond from Clonic Hill

  The climb up was made easier by passing another heavy ladened backpacker, a man in his 30s, and

desperately striding to keep ahead of him. Near the start of the climb I past three hikers with smaller packs two Americans and an Australia taking very elaborate photos- it made be badly miss my SLR. Near the top two tents marked a couple of wild campers, and the ton of rubbish they'd dumped around them. It angered me. When I wake up after wild camping I feel like that small patch of earth belongs to me and I owe it something, I wouldn't dream of damaging it.
  I paused as the main path went down, to my left there is a smaller more rocky path scrambling up the edge of the hill to the peak. It was another twenty meters and I remained out of breath. I must have stood there three or four minutes before trudging back and beginning to climb the last bit. If it took that long to decide then I'd regret it if I didn't and when I reached the top the decision proved the right one. The view was possibly the best on the entire hike.

Descending Clonic Hill

  Hundreds of people were about today, and walking down I noticed a large number of backpacks as well as family parties. Balmaha was at the bottom and after walking through the information centers I reached the town's version of a high street: a shop with a cafe on one side and a pub/hotel on the other.  The shop yielded snacks and meals, the hotel some cheesy chips. I was slightly unsettled by just how many hikers were there, every single resident seemed to be donned with varying sized packs and walking boots. Three younger men were sat outside the shop with their sacks lent back against the chair, eating snacks before shoving each other to their feet before continuing.

  In less than an hour I'd entered Milarrochy Bay Campsite and Caravan Club, only a little climb along the coast of Lock Lomond and a stint along the road before reaching the camp. The decent from Clonic Hill had made my legs shake badly, the jolting seeming to jolt the muscles and I reached camp tired through. Nearly out of charge I left my EasyAcc external battery at reception and loaded the washer with my clothes. Since I was short on battery I sat and read Master and Commander for an hour or two. The midges made the outdoors unpleasant so after I lay in my tent and listened to the reports from Wimbledon washed and cushioned on top of my freshly laundered and warm clothes. By night fall the section I was camped had another five or so small tents on it. One had the same Deuter backpack as me, which I pointed out to him in an excited geeky manner before even introducing myself.

Milarrochy Bay Campsite and Caravan Park

 

Day 55 - Queenzieburn to Drymen 22 Miles

    It rained all night, and by the time I woke up there were nearly twenty slugs on my tent. Removing them was not the funnest task I've ever I've had in the morning. All night I'd been sliding down the tent and my legs had stiffened horribly.
  I trotted down the slope to the gate I'd past yesterday, the ground before it became very boggy. Peering out I climbed over and felt the sudden relief of having done something naughty and gotten away with it. The path back down was as steep as I remember it. Once back on Queenzieburn I carried straight on towards the next section of Forth and Clyde Canal, the rain also continued and my rain pants were no not merely split as gaping. There must look ridiculous.

Bike track along Glazert Water

  3 miles more of canal and then I was off into Barleybank and a quick break in a McDonalds, breakfast and internet. I also enjoyed their toilet facilities after my camp in the wilderness. From there I switched between the canal path to a bike track along Glazert Water. I barely noticed Lennoxtown as I skirted it and then along the fields near to the rather impressive Dunglass mound into Strathblane. A hotel here provided me with tea and yet more internet. Gladiator soundtrack, which I'd downloaded at McDonald, had bawled me over and I was listening to it a third time. I took this break as a chance to get a few more of Hans Zimmer's work, grinning when I got confirmation that he had in fact
written Pirates of the Caribbean.

Dunglass Mound

On reaching the WHW

  Finally the West Highland Way!!! There was a struggle between Strathblane and joining the trail, the path going through overgrown fields where the route is too indistinct to work out where the hell I'm meant to go. Without View Ranger GPS there is no way I'd not have gotten very lost here. In the end I ran across a field full of horses and joined the road, putting up with traffic for a clear path.

 West Highland Way began with a nice easy track, flat and wonderfully clear of brambles and nettles. I'd already walked nearly 20 miles my this point and boredom was not only welcomed but cherished. I played the Gladiator soundtrack again and grinned my head off having completed a section of the walk I was dreading. There would be campsites galore from now on. More than than Wimbledon was about to start! Life was good.   I reached camp and was shocked at the amount of other small portable tents tottered around the campsite. In the past weeks I'd seen maybe half a dozen other hikers traveling with a pack, and there was that number here in one night. East Drumqyhassle Farm is a lovely camp, the grass was a little long but there was a shelter for the kitchen, showers were included and it ran on a honesty box where you paid the mere £5 fee. I love these rough and tumble campsites and they offer just as much as the larger corporate  ones. They feel more homely and safe, moreover no fire code prevents them from offering up pluck sockets. something I cherish above all things after a nights wild camping.  

East Drumqyhassle Farm campsite

Day 54 - Linlithgow to Queenzieburn 25.5 miles

 Last night I debated leaving my tent in camp and catching a train back at the end of the day. There is no campsite between here and the West Highland Way, I have also been told that I would be passing through some of the poorer and rougher parts of Scotland. Yet the train would in total equal £14, plus the cost of another night at the campsite (£8) would be too much and I found myself packing up in the morning. I'm also dependent on the freedom my pack gives me to carry on as long as I want without been worried about not reaching the target.

Union Canal

Falkirk Tunnel

  The Union Canal was on top of a raise in the ground but once I'd reached it the entire day would be completely flat. Knowing this I set a quicker pace than normal eager to get some distance covered. From here there is very little to describe, the canal is pretty but for the first 10 miles the path consists of just that: a river style canal, sun, and either fences of crops of wood land on either side. At one point there is a 800 meter tunnel which was a little disconcerting, I used to ride through one of similar lengths in Bristol, but its very different walking though it at 2.5 miles an hour.
   The Falkirk Wheel is an impressive sight, grand in scale and full off sightseers. I stopped to look around a little, bought a bottle of ice tea and at some rubbish from my bag. From here I switched to the Forth & Clyde Canal and began to trudge onwards. My feet had already began to ache so I switched to my sandals.

Falkirk Wheel

  At Kilsyth I headed into town in search for some snacks before heading into the hills. 20 miles already complete I was foot sore, though my legs felt find after hardly having to climb a single hill. Liddle provided me with necessary nourishment and I kept an eye out for somewhere to fill up my water. The pub I was aiming for turned out to be burnt to the ground, a common problem it seems in Scotland. A man was using a hose to wash his bike and approaching him asked him to fill my water bladder.
  At Queenzieburn I began to climb towards the Gray Mare hills, up a very windy steep lane. It was actually a relief to be using my leg muscles a little. A man on his way down suggested I try the first farm to my left, drop his name and asked if I could camp on his land. This is something I should have done every time I wild camped. Bracing myself, hoping a woman answered the door I waited. An old man with a half full mouth answered and denied me. I left embarrassed and slightly upset even though he'd answered cordially enough. Seeing empty fields all around I felt rejection. I didn't stop at any other farms and struggled up another mile before starting to seriously look around for a camp.
  Once I reached Corne farm I circled back, climbed over a stone wall and wondered through the woods near Corrie Plantation. The land is steep and a lot of it boggy but I felt sheltered and secure that no one would stumble upon me. I planted my tent and crawled inside without eating much. As I did so rain began to fall and continued all night which is exactly what you most want when wild camping and are uncertain of the neighborhood. No one goes wondering around the hills in heavy rain. I knew I'd spend a lot of the night slipping down to the end of my tent, the patch I'd chosen was hidden and dry which I figured was adequate compensation against the gradient. I do miss my inflatable mattress though, this foam one is rubbish. I felt its inadequacy even more so since that my entire body was stiff from 26 miles walking with only a half hour break. 

Camp

Tent further away in the woods so that you can see just how hard it would be to spot me

From ten meter away its hard to see, from the path I wouldn't be able to see it

  

Day 53 - Pentland Hills to Linlithgow

  The first two hours of last night were spent with me either frozen or having a heart attack when I thought someone might be approaching. It would be one thing to be found on a bunk in an official bothy and quite another to be lying in the center of the room on the table. At one point there were loud bangs outside the door and shuffling desperately out of my bag I inched towards it arranging my best welcoming but guarded expression. Subconsciously or not I'd also made a note of exactly where I'd put my knife. When no one entered I finally tensed and opened the door scaring a whole lot of poor sheep seeking shelter under the bothies porch.

Pentland Hills

  These were not my only visitors I had that night and between very little bouts of sleep I spent a

Bothy in the Pentland Hills

good deal of time throwing my sandals, pieces of clothing and small objects at the rats who were eating my food and climbing onto the table beside me. As I'd grown up having rats as pets I couldn't bring myself to throw things directly at them and was simply aiming to scare away. They would shuffle off but within half an hour they would be back and I would be woken my the scuffling and movement of my food bags as they broke through the packaging. Then I was too hot, then the table underneath the crappy foam mat was painfully hard. I have a lot of built in padding but I couldn't lie on my side without my leg going numb, or bones digging into me. Never has my small tent looked more comfortable. Next bothy I see I'm walking straight on by.
  Unsurprising I left earlier than usual, finding my half eaten wraps with bite marks along the rim as proof of last night's visitors. Once I left the place I felt myself instantly relax, and the weight on my shoulders ease- ironic as I'd just donned my sack. I climbed back to the path and felt suddenly euphoric, possibly because of the lack of sleep. I'd also not quite realized that last night I was actually scared and it wasn't till I was far enough away that I admitted just how much.
  The Cross Boarder Drove Road (CBDR) carried on down the hills to Harperrig Reservoir, an easy path with some pretty views. Phone signal reached me which was a lovely surprise and I took the chance to ring home and catch up on events. At Harperrig I found an outside tap and refilled my now empty water bag, I felt a little guilty at stealing the water but I wasn't going to knock on peoples doors at 8am and risk waking them up. This diversion, mainly caused by the large number of cows on my original route, meant I left the CBDR earlier than intended. From here I followed a series of roads, and worked hard not to be run over by the ridiculously fast cars passing. One upside is that Stephan Fry was on Desert Island disks and utterly charming, keeping me entertained for the next 45 minutes. Made friends with a few horses although the biggest wouldn't come and meet me.
  Next I joined the Leyden Road for several miles before taking a break in yet another garden center for a sausage and bacon bun and a rather good milkshake. Then a short but pretty stint high up along the Union Canal and a horrible struggle through the Industrial Estate on the edges of Broxburn. It was a rough area too, and I spent a while stumbling around a dump/bike park trying to re-find the path. When the route went into an over grown field I groaned thinking back to my struggles through the farm land on the edge of Bridgewater a month ago. I saw the land raised two or so meters on the edge of the field and I decided to scramble up through the brambles to have a look. The canal came into view before I reached the top and a lovely flat path running alongside it.
  I struggled on but found the next 8 or so miles long, painful on my souls and
boring. This is very unfair as the canal is actually very pretty and the land around it charming. It was, however, a relief when I reached Linlithgow. A big Tescos provided me with a range of reduced foods for dinner, a bean salad, a slice of quiche and a potato salad. After a rather long walk through town and up to the campsite I dropped my stuff and knocked. No answer but after consulting with a caravan person I pitched my tent and showering collapsed down for dinner and an episode of two of Buffy.  The M9 is along the campsite and loud, even with the empty caravan sits blocking a little of the traffics roar. Just a few more days the West Highland Way!

Day 52- Peebles to Pentland Hills 16.5 miles

Peebles drifting into the background as I climb up to Hamilton Hill

    I packed up slowly, stopping to talk to another camper for a little while and eating breakfast before leaving. My battery, unlike my last attempt, had charged completely which seems to reassure me. Knowing I can go several days without an electric socket and still have power for my phone and the maps on it seems to be something of a comfort blanket.

Hamilton Hill

  I carried on up Rosetta road from the campsite, climbing up through Standalane to the lower path around Hamilton Hill. Its only 150 meters but straight after the start its a bit of a slog. I ate a lot of biscuits and listening to loud music trudged up. A path along several fields before joining the Cross Borders Drove Road north. The lands very pretty here, the valleys and hills blocking all signs of people.
  Entering yet another logging plantation I found two people clearing the path from a fallen down trees, one with scrapes on his cheeks which looked painful. I scrambled through the edges of path, pulling a lot of branches out with me and walked on. It began to rain again and I rushed along the B7059 from Romannobridge to get into West Linton and a cafe.  On the road in I met an elderly gentleman who proceeded to tell me of the year he'd spent living out of his tent. He even offered me a down sleeping bag but declining I only received a rather awkward hug.
  The Olde Toll Tea House was the first place to catch me eye, a small cafe on the side of the road
with a small cottage feel and very little space. As I was pretty wet, as was my bag, I left it outside and ducked into the cafe. Its wonderfully cosy, and with a lot of character. I ordered a breakfast bun but spent a lot of the meal chilled. The weather might be wet but it was also very humid, and when asked the other couple they agreed it should remain open. I stayed quiet so there was no one to blame. Half way through I rushed outside to cover my pack with my raincoat to guard it from a fresh downpour.

 Cross Boarder Drove road along the base of Drum Maw

  A quick toilet break and stroll through town and it was back to climbing into the hills. A large group of hikers were assembled near the hotel and rushing on hoped they weren't heading in my direction. I was still yearning to remoteness and walking with a group of Duke of Edinburgh students was not my idea of this.

Wonderful gate house along B7059

  The rest of the walk was easy enough but I'd passed where Janet had told me I'd find the bothy in the with no bothie in sight. I was also short on water and was looking around in the hope of seeing a spare tap easily accessible. No luck, I'd just have to take care and refill first chance tomorrow. Its also Scotland, and they seem to have an abundance of fresh springs. Soon after I gave up on the bothy I noticed a faint path going down along a stream to my left. There was nothing in view but as Janet had told me the bothy lay out of sight I took the chance and followed it down a little way and discovered my objective. Boy do I wish I hadn't.
  It was still quite early and in broad daylight it was clear just how ramshackle this structure was. The floorboards were broken and inside there were no bunks or areas you can sleep on except a very hard table. What worried me more than this was the four pack of beers on the side suggesting someone might be returning, but none of the other gifts hikers often leave for the next lot through. Outside on the wall there were engraved names and dates going back decades.

Bothy, Pentland Hills

  I sat around and ate a large pack of salt and vinegar fish and chips crackers and read my book. Watched a few episodes of Buffy and in general had a relaxing afternoon with plenty of hours to spare after only 16 miles covered today. The weather turned chilly though and in the end I tucked myself in my sleeping bag
early. Even then it was cold, possibly because of the high roof and the lack of insulation which my small tent would have provided. 

Day 50- Galashiels to Peebles 19.7 Miles

River Tweed

 I woke to the same sound as I'd gone to sleep to, lots and lots of sheep. Next wild camp will not be in a field anywhere near the plastered creatures. My sleeping mat had once more deflated and I accepted it had got a puncture, hopefully Peeble would have an outdoor shop. Even less appealing where the patches of the tent where I'd not cleared the grass quite carefully enough. There were advantages to my camp, I'd climbed a hundred or so meters out from Galashiels yesterday which meant the first hour of today was down hill. The path goes through penned in farm land full of life stock of various shapes and sizes. I spotted a sheep which looked as if it had been badly injured on its rear but for all I knew it might have simply given birth. I decided to keep my eye out for a farmer.

View Near Brown Knowe looking back towards Galashiels and where I camped

  The land descends quickly till you pass Fairnilee Farm and over the River Tweed. There were a few tents camped before the bridge, too big for hikers or wild campers. The lane follows the river back west for a few hundred meters before heading up into the hills. Steep and stoney the path is far from fun and I quickly found myself out of breath and hot. The woods here are, once again, forestry plots and you pass several areas where active felling is taking place, including a sign which advice me to wait till someone waived me through. As there was no one in sight I ignored it and carried on.

  Without having realized it I'd joined the Southern Upland Way, a 212 mile track stretching from Portpatrick on the south-west coast of Scotland to Cockburnspath on the eastern seaboard. I'd only received a day taster as from Peeble I'd be joining the Cross Boarder's Drove Road.  However short a taster it was enough for me to appreciate why 'upland' was in the title. Once the climb is over you get a real sense of isolation. Felling was obvious but with no houses in view or family strolling along I felt myself revive slightly. It helped, if I was been honest, that the path leveled out a little.

Southern Head Upland Way near Lucken

  I did pass two other hikers, with smaller sacks, doing the Upland Way in stages and had fun talking to them a while, and later an elderly couple with the look of people who'd walked the hills all their lives. I also came across the bothy Janet had told me about, extremely picturesque and tempting but it was too early in the day, after barely 10 miles I couldn't stop however tempting it was. I'd carry on to Peeble and no matter how ridiculous the campsite's price would pay it and have a day off.
  Innerleithen came into view but on the other side of the River Tweed, and instead I carried on along the B7062 around the base of Wallace's Hill. This section is horribly dull 6/7 miles but apart from the group of cyclists which past there was little traffic and I entered silly fantasy stories in my mind while listening to Lorde, who I unexpectedly rather liked.  

View from the B7062

  When Peebles came into view I couldn't have asked for a more picturesque looking town, the large church standing elegantly behind the gently curving river. I crossed an ornate looking bridge and headed towards the nearest campsite. A camping shop dutifully appeared in my path and dropping in I resupplied myself with another mat, foam this time, some new cutlery and a new piece of kit I'd been assured I would come to need imminently- a head net for the midges.

Peebles over the River Tweed

Rosetta House, center of Rosetta campsite

  Rosetta Holiday Park's office had shut at five and unsure of what to do sat for a moment to rest my feet.  A lady was kind enough to tell me to walk further up and that the campsite keepers were on the bowls lawn in front of the big house. £10 was still a bit pricy compared to the £6 and £7s I'd been paying further south but I didn't care. They had laundry and plug sockets but it was a money making campsite with season workers and so personality even with the wonderful buildings. There was a cafe but it was shut except for weekends, a bar but shut because it was too quiet. In fact all the features which would have warranted the inflated cost were unavailable yet the price had remained the same. Take all this with a pinch of salt, by the time I finally allow myself a day off I'm at the end of my tether and I tend to feel like everything is horribly unfair and set against me when it really isn't.