The Last Legs

The weather on day six made both Cash and I long for the idyll of the day before. The rain came at us sideways as we trundled through the pass and down into Kinlochleven, where I gladly found a dog friendly pub for lunch. After some much needed protein I put all of my wet weather gear back on and stepped out onto the road. I took a few more steps before realising my follower wasn't quite so faithful as usual, and looking back, I saw him sitting in the doorway of the pub with an unmistakable frown. He limped along when I called and certainly let me know he wasn't for going on, he had completely stiffened up. So, with tail wagging, we went back inside where he curled up again. So Cash's trip was over and I would get an afternoon off, not so bad. Michael, Cash's owner, was due to meet us in Kinlochleven that lunchtime to do a section of the walk but had had a flat tyre near Glasgow. Once it was fixed he kindly came and picked Cash up anyway so I could carry on, he even relieved me of some unnecessary bag weight which was very much appreciated.

When Michael and Cash left me it was 5pm and the rain had cleared to make way for a lovely spring evening. I had written half a day off but now saw an opportunity to make up some time with a quick evening walk. The next section of the way goes quite sharply uphill before a descent into Glen Coe via the so called Devil's Staircase, by most accounts it takes about three or four hours, so I had just enough daylight. With the time constraint on my mind and a lighter pack on my back, I quickly consulted my map before setting off up the hill in high spirits. It was a lovely walk with really great scenery, as you may be able to see behind this oddly placed road sign. Then, my mind returned from one of my many daydreams to a pretty miserable reality, I had gone the wrong way. I checked the map and discovered I had inexplicably missed a turn and walked for three miles on the wrong path. So a bit disheartened, I had little choice but to find a place to camp and back track in the morning. The ground I was on was under a reservoir and consequently soaking, not much good for tents. Walking up towards the reservoir I found the only dry, sheltered and flat ground in the garden of an abandoned cottage and quickly pitched up. Only when darkness fell did I realise how spooky this place was. Now I'm not usually superstitious in the least, but that night I was nearly convinced that I'd have to have a showdown with the witches from Macbeth. An image of them crouched and cackling in some cheap movie version had reappeared in my head, as the old building next to my tent creaked in the strong wind I envisaged them emerging with knives to steal my iPod before challenging me to what would surely be a losing fight. After further strange imaginations I remembered that I had left my iPod with Michael and was reassured, why would the witches rob me if I didn't have my iPod? Not overly rational I know, I blame it on tiredness.

After sunrise the next morning I packed up and set off again. I arrived at the top of the Devil's Staircase and was rewarded with one of the most spectacular views of the West Highland Way, over Glen Coe (below).

And here's the oft pictured other side of Stob Dearg from the Way as it approaches Rannoch Moor.

The first obvious change in terrain on the West Highland Way came at Rannoch Moor, where the rocky mountains above give way to the vast emptiness of the moor below (Western extremity pictured o the left). Supposedly, a great part of the appeal of the Way is this progress through changing landscapes and land uses, with the varied history of each area. Most people do the Way Northwards, from the lowlands near Glasgow to the highlands before Fort William, whereas I did it Southwards. For me there really is a big difference. I got the sense that, in historical terms, my journey was a progressive one- from the highlands, where modernity is almost absent (at Glen Coe, even the lone road cuts a respectfully small and snaking figure through the giant rock formations on either side) to Glasgow, a formerly successful industrial city of a million people trying to adapt to a post industrial world. In that respect going South better represents the historical journey of Scotland and as such there is something to be said for it, yet going North is perhaps a bit more escapist, nostalgically travelling back in time. Perhaps I'll try it the other way next time. 

Essay done for now, just one leg to go.