Day 47 : Drymen to Inverarnen

Friday 2nd March 2007

Distance Walked: 24.7 miles
Start Time: 7:51
End Time: 17:26
Elapsed Time: 9:35
Weather: Atmospheric. Then very wet.
Distance walked so far: 868 miles

Loch Lomond has the largest surface area of any body of fresh water in the country, and today I walked its entire length, transfixed by the moody beauty of it all. The waters were still, the clouds slowly drifting across the peaks, and the grey morning light reflecting on the surface like a seductive mirror. This is a special place.

From the tiny harbour town of Balmaha, the Way attempts to hug the shoreline as it winds northwestwards. It largely fails in this pursuit, forced onto the road that leads towards Rowardennan, or settling for tracks through the wooded lands that sit by the water, but occasionally the path emerges on the very edge of the loch itself, at deserted stony beaches where the gnarly trees protrude from the water in sinister ways. Somewhere up above is Ben Lomond, the southernmost of the munros (the peaks above 3000ft that denote mountain status), but the overhanging fir trees prevent any view of it. It's the sporadic glimpses of water that dominate, each new vista exposing another delight as another island becomes visible or a brief burst of sunshine changes the greys to greens and browns. It’s splendid stuff, each new image inviting admiration and calm reflection.

But I had many miles to cover, for again my ambitions were threatening to cripple me. Passing through the logical stopping points of Rowardennan and Inversnaid, with their inviting but bland hotels, I pressed on. The literature says that the section of the way between Inversnaid and Inverarnen is the most difficult of the entire West Highland Way, scrambling sharply over rocks, roots and roughage, so of course, at that point, the rain began to fall to add an extra dimension to the challenge. It was certainly hard going, the prospect of slipping into the water never far from reality, but somehow both a snapped ankle and soaked arse was avoided. If you’re wondering what the perfect soundtrack for such an activity might be, try the soundtrack to “Shaun Of The Dead”. It worked for me and, as the last dregs of light faded along with the signals on the GPS and mobile, the clouds rolled in and I finally reached the point where the huge expanse of water narrows, almost inconceivably, to a minor river.

Once again, I hadn’t booked ahead for a place to stay, so all day there was the nagging concern that I was heading towards disaster but, though the facilities at Beinglas were closed, a treat was in store across the bridge in Inverarnen. The Drovers Inn claims that it’s not a Scottish theme pub. If so, this is what all theme pubs aspire to, for it’s a wonderfully evocative place. Three hundred years of history accumulating in the wonky rooms, held together with spittle and dust. The roaring fires in the wooded bar encourage celtic cavorting, as do the kilted barstaff, though they’re actually from the southern hemisphere and slightly tetchy.

They provide me with shelter, though, and a thoroughly decent feed, before I retreat upstairs as the bar band begins to twang the life from a dozen Americana classics. In the rickety bedroom there’s a rickety bedside cabinet, with a Gideon’s Bible stashed within. Inside the front cover somebody has scribbled, “All the best, God”. Unfortunately, that somebody was me.

Song of the day:

Richard Ashcroft
“Check the Meaning”

When I'm low, and I'm weak, and I'm lost
I don't know who I can trust
Paranoia, the destroyer, comes knocking on my door
You know the pain drifts to days, turns to nights
But it slowly will subside
And when it does, I take a step, I take a breath
And wonder what I'll find

Day 46 : Twechar to Drymen

Thursday 1st March 2007

Distance Walked: 23.4 miles
Start Time: 9:06
End Time: 17:04
Elapsed Time: 7:58
Weather: Sunny after morning gloom
Distance walked so far: 891 miles

Last night’s scramble for food resulted in a dubious feast of Babybel, Pepperami, Guiness and crisps. To compensate, the morning breakfast is so bounteous that it completely covers two plates, with waves of toast to sweep me back out onto the towpath and along the few miles to Kirkintilloch, from where I escape the pull of the Glasgow suburbs and head north along the reformatted railway line towards the evocative profile of the Campsie Fells.

It’s such a relief to be away from the canal that even the myriad of mishaps that befall me cannot douse my spirits. The housing developments in Lennoxtown that block the path and cause me to wander for a mile in the wrong direction. The soggy, overgrown path from Strathblane that I use as a shortcut but which attempts to suck the boots from my feet. And finally reaching the West Highland Way, doing a little dance, and then realising that I’d dropped my hat half a mile back down the squidgey path and having to squelch my way back to get it.

Still, the West Highland Way is a veritable highway, slicing a flat, easy passage towards the beckoning hills. In the distance the snowy peaks glisten in the rare afternoon sun, and it’s a wonderful moment to realise that maybe it was the right decision to head west from the capital after all. As the last hill of the day is conquered, the huge expanse of Loch Lomond is revealed, and it is magnificent.

The village at the entrance to the loch, Drymen, is home to the oldest pub in Scotland and, for a night, it’s home to me too. The Clachan Inn doesn’t trade on its status, which is a refreshing change after the Edinburgh experience, and I’m able to enjoy a quiet evening admiring the fantastic hairstyles and beards of the Greenpeace crew sitting conscientiously in the corner of the bar as I hack my way through the biggest chunk of lamb I’ve ever seen. Some battles are definitely worth fighting.

Song of the day:

Iron & Wine
“Each coming night”

Will you say to me /
When I’m gone /
Your face is faded /
But lingers on /
Cos light strikes a deal /
With each coming night

Day 45 : Linlithgow to Twechar

Wednesday 28th February 2007

Distance Walked: 24.7 miles
Start Time: 8:47
End Time: 16:57
Elapsed Time: 8:10
Weather: Strong wind. Driving rain. Pretty shitty really.
Distance walked so far: 868.1 miles

In Edinburgh Castle it’s possible to visit the room where Mary Queen of Scots gave birth to her son, the future James I. In Linlithgow are the remains of the castle in which Mary herself was born. I was born on the bathroom floor of a terrace house in Blackburn. It’s not currently a tourist attraction.

I follow the Union Canal out of Linlithgow fearing the worst, for today the wind pummels the face, with the rain crashing down with it. It’s not a high point of the Walk. The canal lacks the infrastructure that you might expect from a potential tourist mecca. No pubs are provided. Just pain, puddles and poo (dog’s, not mine). I sink into myself.

Having crossed the Avon Aqueduct, the second biggest in Britain but impossible to appreciate from the narrow path above, the canal ploughs on towards the dismal environs of Falkirk. Here the grimy houses and foreboding prisons are briefly obscured from view as the waterway plunges for nearly half a mile through a dark tunnel, dug purely so that the land owner at the time would not have to view the passage whilst eating his breakfast.

In its operational days, the canal used to terminate in a series of locks, dropping the boats down to join the Forth & Clyde Canal, before proceeding towards Glasgow. As part of the regeneration of the waterway, the locks have been replaced by a shiny modern marvel, the Falkirk Wheel, an S-shaped device which ingeniously rotates to raise and lower boats from one canal to another. In the Visitor Centre I learn that it is so efficiently engineered that it is powered by a toaster, or something. Today there’s more demand for toast than for boat lifting, and the foreign, elderly and work-shy visitors sit forlornly in the café, wondering what became of themselves and their lives.

Though the canal is different, the second half of the day is an equally vapid experience. The downpours intensify and, by the time I reach Kilsyth, I’m in no mood for the kind of town I’m faced with. Leaving the towpath, I get half-way towards the town centre before determining that I’d rather sleep in my own arse than stay there a minute longer. Dusk is descending, the feet are complaining and it’s five miles to the next major town, Kirkintilloch, but thankfully I happen upon a B&B only a couple of miles down the path at Twechar where, though there are no places to eat and I’m the only customer in the pub, I manage to dry off and inspect the new blister which has formed on top of yeterday’s, like a sixth toe. Stabbing it with the scissors, I swathe my pains in Savlon and look to the hills, for the Highlands are almost within reach.

Song of the day:

Johnny Cash
“Hurt”

I hurt myself today /
To see if I still feel /
I focus on the pain /
It’s the only thing that’s real

Day 44 : Edinburgh to Linlithgow

Tuesday 27th February 2007

Distance Walked: 22.9 miles
Start Time: 9:34
End Time: 17:20
Elapsed Time: 7:46
Weather: Wet and windy
Distance walked so far: 843 miles

“There’s a reason why there’s so much water in the lochs over there, y’know” the landlady says, as she belays the morning sausage.
“Oh. Why’s that?”
“Because it never stops raining. Aye, reckon you’re in for a drenching.”
"…"
“Toast?”
……….

The price for walking all the way into Edinburgh is that I have to walk all the way out of it again, but thankfully the suburbs to the west are more scenic and hospitable than the southern passage and, though the rain is heavy, I have a luxurious supply of Jelly Babies to see me through the hard times. As the grim flats and warehouse outlets merge with the ring road and motorway junction, I slide down to the Union Canal which I’ll follow for the next day or so as it slithers towards Falkirk.

This is another path that has apparently benefited from recent investment and the walking is certainly easy but, christ, it’s dull. The project to regenerate the canal may have opened up the area to pleasure seekers, but there’s not much pleasure to be had. It’s drab, litter-strewn and brown. Not a sign of boats, cyclists or walkers. Even the sporadic wildlife looks depressed.

I tip-toe through the turds as the rain relentlessly falls. The Union Canal is famed for being at a single level for its entire length, winding around the hills and avoiding the possibility of interesting scenery or shelter from the elements. Walking along it in the rain and wind is a thoroughly miserable experience, and I’m left hoping that the decision not to go directly north from Edinburgh wasn’t a catastrophic mistake.

Even the bizarre highlights of the day, the huge slag heaps of rubble near Broxburn that stand like Ayers Rock above the grey, concrete estates, don’t elevate the walking above the mundane. At least, when the huge deluge arrives, I discover that the sexy coat is actually waterproof after all and that the moisture that had been gathering inside whilst walking the hills was purely internally generated.

But the coat doesn’t protect the feet, and the combination of leaking boots, driving rain and unforgiving towpath has resulted in bruising and an interesting blister beside the left big toe which I probe thoroughly once ensconced in the safety of the Star & Garter Hotel in the slim town on Linlithgow. With another day of pounding canal walking in store, I resign myself to the prospect of another stretch of struggle and strain.


Song of the day:

Shelagh McDonald
“Waiting for the wind to rise”

There used to be a time /
When I knew where I was /
And people would say to me “Are you crazy?” /
And I’d laugh at that /
There was no doubts, no complications /
Life was a game of situations /
For me to play, from day to day

Day 43 : Edinburgh (Rest Day)

Monday 26th February 2007

Distance Walked: 0 miles
Start Time: n/a
End Time: n/a
Elapsed Time: n/a
Weather: Cold but bright
Distance walked so far: 820 miles

Today I’m a tourist. Strolling into the centre with the morning workers, the options for entertainment are astonishing. It’s believed that civilisation began when men first developed the ability to grow and harvest their own food. Freed from the constant cycle of hunting and scavenging, different pursuits became possible. The concept of the job was born, and with it the city, where the workers could gain access to the food that was provided for them. Money was created to determine the value of exchanged products, and with it was created the pursuit of money itself. Into the cities flooded every perversion and decadence. Whatever you desired, you could acquire.

Cities offer choice. It’s all here. And it’s overwhelming. I ride the tour bus and whip through the castle. This may be history, but it's not my history. The struggle of the rich and the royal is as relevant to me as the preening of celebrities. The tokens of Scottish power, The Honours, glitter and shine and are fiercely protected but are simply ridiculous symbols of supposed superiority. People are slave to symbols. Beware the dangers of the logo! There are tokens of wars, and statues to men (always men) long dead who mean nothing now. What did Walter Scott actually do to warrant such a huge memorial? There seem to be more monuments to Waterloo than any other event other than the World Wars.

Holidays are stressful. The pressure to make the most of the time available becomes too much. There’s always something else that could be done. What if it’s better, more fun, than the current activity? Life drips away. I give up, and sit in the café of the beautiful sunlit foyer of the Royal Museum and watch the people as they wander through. It’s more interesting than any exhibit. And more relevant. I’m tired of the Walk and long for normality.

Back in the B&B, having carried a puncture repair kit ever since the overtrousers were ripped on Bodmin Moor, I try to plug the hole in the left boot with superglue and positive thoughts, but only succeed in fusing the sole to the shower tray. I persist with the notion that it’s only proper that the boots I embarked with will carry me to the top, and am loath to contemplate replacing them. Of greater concern is the left shoulder which, even after a day without the pack, aches with every slightest movement. Motionless, I plan for the future.

The logical route northwards from Edinburgh would be to cross the Forth Bridge and head through the Cairngorns directly to Inverness. Perversely, I’m heading west, adding days to the journey, but in search of drama. For west are the mountains and the lochs and the monsters. The Scotland of myths and legends and romance. The heart swells as the allure of the city fades.

Song of the day:

Don Cooper
“A Better Way”

It’s a job just livin’ in the city /
Tough breaks the only pay /
I spent many a year /
And too many tears /
Now it’s time to stop and say /
Surely there’s a better way /
Tomorrow looks as bad as yesterday

Day 42 : Peebles to Edinburgh

Sunday 25th February 2007

Distance Walked: 21.9 miles
Start Time: 9:04
End Time: 16:01
Elapsed Time: 6:57
Weather: Sopping wet
Distance walked so far: 820 miles

Weekly Audio Update: Dave on The Steve Show - Day 42



There’s a shop in Peebles that sells outdoor gear and, being in a bit of an outdoorsy mode at the moment, I popped in last night to look at all the kinds of things that I could be carrying, but aren’t. As I’ve progressed through this walk I’ve gradually become aware of the huge industry that is propped on man’s simple desire to experience nature from the comfort and safety of a Gore-Tex encased world. Yes, to a degree, I’m one of these people (there’s no doubting that I wouldn’t have got this far without my little black friend the GPS, or my light bouncy boots, or sleek sexy coat) but it seems that some are so obsessed with the gadgets and the gear that they forget that the intrinsic essence of a walk is the walking itself, and it’s slowly dawning on me that I’m pretty good at it, which is a pleasant surprise. As is the reaction of the woman in the shop when I tell her where I’m heading.

“Oh, you’re the first of the year!” she says “We always get them in, but never this early”

I’m beginning to wonder if my winter Walk is unique, though I seriously doubt that there’s much in this field that hasn’t been done before. Apart, maybe, from walking straight from Peebles to Edinburgh in the most direct, Northerly route possible. Rather than spend two days winding around the Pentland Hills before finally reaching the capital, my plan today involved a voyage into the unknown, initially along the remains of a disused railway line that seemed to allow access, though the legality of the passage was vague, particularly when hopping through a variety of back gardens and leaping over imposing fences. Finally forced onto the thundering, verge-less A703 by heavy industry, it was car-dodging mode for a few miles as the rain increased and my mood darkened.

From Leadburn, thankfully, a pavement, and though the ten miles of suburbs seemed to go on for ever, finally I was there. Edinburgh. Edinburgh!

Washed and polished I slipped out into the city night. And it was a marvel. Deprivation certainly heightens the senses and tonight everything tingled. The lights, the sounds, the atmosphere. I loved it all. Edinburgh is a beautiful city, but it was the overwhelming noise and vibrancy that moved me. The sheer energy of the place. I sucked it in. I’m going to need it.



Song of the day:

Van Morrison
“The way young lovers do”

And we’ll sit on our own star /
And dream of the way that we were /
And the way that we wanted to be /
We’ll sit on our own star /
And think of the way that I was for you /
And you were for me

Day 41 : Melrose to Peebles

Saturday 24th February 2007

Distance Walked: 24.5 miles
Start Time: 9:03
End Time: 16:29
Elapsed Time: 7:26
Weather: Gloomy. Damp clouds on hills.
Distance walked so far: 798.6 miles

The suburbs of Melrose are strewn along the banks of the River Tweed and, walking west along the cycle paths, I bisect the industrial estates that lead towards the housing projects on the outskirts of Galashiels. These are not the places that tourists and walkers are encouraged to see. Poverty doesn’t really exist in Britain (even the high-rise council flats are peppered with satellite dishes) but this is a grim contrast to the rural idyll of the pamphlets. It’s refreshingly normal.

There are many miles to cover today, and I approach them with foreboding. The Pennine Way has scorched itself into my head to the extent that I contemplate a stupidly long, winding route in order to avoid the high places that I now associate with tortuous progress and potential disaster, but I put my faith in Scotland and Scotland does not let me down.

The Southern Upland Way is fantastic; safe yet exciting. It’s a steep climb up Cribs Hill but, having overtaken the wobbling bikers, the gradually rising path towards the forested and cloudy Minch Moor is a delight. No danger of disappearing here. The pockets of rain clouds sweep amongst the fir trees, but the downpours are so brief that I barely notice. The shapely hills elevate the forest above those on the English side of the border, and the view of Innerleithen on the descent is almost Alpine in its sheer prettiness. I drop down to the village of Traquair, famed for its beer and royal connections (apparently), and then it’s a long, long couple of hours on the winding B-road that eventually leads to Peebles, where a cute girl with big eyes let’s me stay in her hotel for the night, for a fee. Bargain.

Song of the day:

Emmitt Rodes
“Blue Horizon”

I’m not excited and I’m not enthused /
I’m disillusioned and so confused /
Ask your questions, I hope you’ll try /
I feel no judgement, I’ll answer with a smile /

Day 40 : Jedburgh to Melrose

Friday 23rd February 2007

Distance Walked: 15.6 miles
Start Time: 9:35
End Time: 15:05
Elapsed Time: 5:30
Weather: Gloomy. Bright. Gloomy again.
Distance walked so far: 774.1 miles

Without the wooden hoardings and the running and the screaming and the fear, Jedburgh is actually a very picturesque town, centred around its large ruined abbey, and with an attractive collection of colourful buildings. I’d been looking for something uniquely Scottish with which to justify the clichés that have accumulated in my head but, apart from the haggis on the breakfast menu (which is actually delicious) and the change of bank notes, I’ve so far been disappointed. The only ludicrous ginger beard in sight is mine, and I gently escort it out of town as we take the back roads before linking up with the St Cuthbert’s Way at the River Teviot.

This long distance path runs all the way from Melrose to the coast (and beyond), linking the churches and abbeys that were apparently blessed with the holy guy’s presence and, though I don’t follow it religiously (ha!), the trip along today’s section was overwhelmingly positive. After the horrors of the Pennine Way's paths and markers, Cuthbert is comforting and reassuring. A real saint.

From the snowdrop-infused tracks by the river, to the long, straight and easy jaunt along Dere Street, and then the scoot through the villages by the River Tweed, it’s all pleasant and straightforward. Again, there’s nothing obviously Scottish about the experience. If anything, it feels like the Dales but, with the rain holding off, it’s a chance to recuperate and advance. A few miles are carved off the day by walking around, rather than over, the imposing Eildon Hills, and I’m into the small, historic midst of Melrose in time for afternoon cakes and evening beers. Sweet.

Song of the day:

Hayden
“Dynamite Walls”

Miles away or just up ahead.
It doesn't matter what /
Any of us is looking for.
We'll never find it, because /
It's not even there.

Day 39 : Byrness to Jedburgh

Thursday 22nd February 2007

Distance Walked: 20.7 miles
Start Time: 9:07
End Time: 16:13
Elapsed Time: 7:06
Weather: Wet.
Distance walked so far: 758.5 miles

The nights of sporadic sleep continue. Weeks of strange beds have taken their toll and, despite the effort exerted daily, I’m up at six and strapping myself into the contraptions that will convert this skinny, ravaged shell into an unstoppable limping machine. It’s quite an operation, but it’s strangely reassuring to pull on the supports and apply the gels. We are creatures of routine, and this is mine.

The rain had been crashing down all night and there are rivers forming in the streets as I squelch up the path through the forest that leads to Byrness Hill. The Pennine Way has one more treat in store, for up here I’m enveloped by cloud and sucked again into the earth. It’s hard to quell the resentment that forms. How irresponsible of them to suggest that people could walk here! Don’t the fools know how dangerous it is?

But I’m the fool and this is my punishment and, as I extract my feet from the mire and slowly prance over yet another bog, I adopt my most stoical posture and plunge pathetically on. It’s not entirely clear at what point I first cross into Scotland, there was no obvious fanfare at least, but for me the celebrations begin when I leave the Pennine Way for the final time, flop over a fence, and follow the scarcely discernible remnants of Dere Street, the old Roman road that should sporadically take me straight to Jedburgh.

The party in my pants soon fades. If this is Scotland, it’s as wet and bleak and miserable as anything that England had mustered. The historic, but soggy, delights of Dere Street soon fade and, heading for the safety of the tarmac lanes, it’s a long damp trudge into Jedburgh, a town which, when I arrive is, strangely, at war with itself. Shop windows in the high street are boarded and rain soaked youths are splattered across the streets. People are running wild. Screams reverberate. It’s carnage. The horror, the horror.

At the B&B I’m reassured that I’ve simply stumbled upon the town’s ancient, annual street-football game, one of those peculiar British traditions that defies reason or interpretation, and whilst I’m apparently permitted to side with either the Uppies or Doonies and join in, I instead opt for a traditional Scottish curry and an early night. I’ve got enough to worry about at the moment without the prospect of a marauding Scotsman pounding my head into the road for mishandling his misshapen leathery ball. I may be a fool, but I’m not stupid.

Song of the day:

Sufjan Stevens
“They Are Night Zombies!! They Are Neighbors!! They Have Come Back From the Dead!! Ahhhh!”

I know, I know my time has passed /
I'm not so young, I'm not so fast /
I tremble with the nervous thought /
Of having been, at last, forgot

Day 38 : Bellingham to Byrness

Wednesday 21st February 2007

Distance Walked: 16.6 miles
Start Time: 8:32
End Time: 14:24
Elapsed Time: 5:51
Weather: Foggy, then bright. Drizzle later.
Distance walked so far: 737.8 miles

Alfred Wainwright, the great overlord of British walking, believed that the Pennine Way should end at Hadrian’s Wall, and he was right. Instead it continues for fifty dreary miles until it nudges over the Scottish border and, if it didn’t, it’s almost certain that no one would choose to walk here. It is devoid of features and imagination.

My morning mood lifted with the fog and, as the light burned through to reveal the views below, I was admiring the way the bright morning sun toyed with the low drifting cloud on the hills and the horizon. Oh, how pretty, they’re drifting this way. Oh, I can’t see anything. Oh, I’m walking through marshland. The path is submerged. I’m sinking. My feet are wet. Bugger.

Walking is all about adapting plans to suit the conditions and my condition was that I was sick of the slow trudge through swamps. A detour down to the road from Abbey Rig and a few hasty minutes of replanning, and I was stomping along the lanes and tracks, free from the wetness and free from the Way. Not only was it liberating but it actually made sense, which for me was quite an achievement. Here the walking was smooth and easy, and led directly into the fringes of Kielder Forest, the huge, soulless expanse of firs, where the Pennine Way sheepishly rejoins me.

Kielder is manmade, and it shows. There's a lack of life and character, and the miles go by slowly. Finally I emerge onto a road through the trees. This is Byrness, a place that barely exists. If Wainwright had had his way there may be nothing here at all. Now there is a petrol station, a youth hostel, a hotel and the “First & Last Café in England”. I nip inside for a slow nibble of a chicken pie whilst the rain begins to fall outside, then head up to the Byrness Hotel where I’m initially greeted with desolation before eventually locating the entrance and being assaulted by three of the loudest, yappiest dogs you’ll ever see.

The standard of B&Bs varies greatly, but this feels mostly like someone’s house and my unwelcome presence is tolerated in small measures. I retreat to my room and think of Scotland, for tomorrow I will have walked through an entire country and will begin the assault on a second.

Song of the day:

The Shins
“New Slang”

I'm looking in on the good life /
I might be doomed never to find /
Without a trust or flaming fields /
Am I too dumb to refine?