Learning about spirituality on the West Highland Way (pt6)

Sunday arrives, and my longest section of the trail. 19 miles distance and across some terrain much wilder and more remote than anything I’ve encountered thus far. Morning Prayer seemed to be emphasising the goodness of God. I reflected on the beauty and grandeur of this landscape that I had inhabited thus far. Aware that it has also been tainted; the occasional pieces of rubbish lying around as well as the historic injustices that have taken place such as the Highland clearances and the massacre at Glencoe. Much of today will be on the Old Military Road, built in the 1750s to allow troops from the south to quell rebellious Scottish clans.

I had been awake in the night, a little anxious about the day. My biggest concern was that when I reached the latter third of the walk I would be so tired and, possibly, feeling alone and miserable that I would slow down further and not enjoy the experience.

I breakfast as soon as the restaurant opens and am on the trail for 8. I had spent some of my time awake working out the times and distances to the, albeit few, obvious break points. The trail is quiet and relatively easy and so I am pleasantly surprised to pass my first possible lunch stop by 11am. Sadly, my American companions will be stopping here tonight. Crossing under the railway at the Bridge of Orchy, I pass the van containing my suitcase (amongst many others). I wish it a safe onward journey. I keep on going from the Bridge of Orchy towards Inveroran. I know this next section will be tougher, gaining altitude into the mist and then back down on the other side. I continue to delight myself by walking into the Inveroran Lodge by noon. A cup of tea and a piece of cake are in order, along with a brief chat with walkers I’d met on previous days. There was a solitary backpacker I had walked briefly alongside on the first day, who was making a Youtube video of this walk, and then two young women whose backpacks appear bigger than they are. We encourage each other out and back into the drizzle.

However, as I set out just after 12 the rain gains intensity and falls heavily for an hour. I am cocooned in my rain gear, and try to keep going and enjoy a sense of the elements and being able to keep moving. It is impossible to stay completely dry, and I had invested in an expensive coat and over-trousers. I had also layered up underneath with clothes that could cope with the rain. The track rises steadily through pine woodlands before emerging onto Rannoch Moor itself. The hills in the distance look unfinished as the tops are lost in the cloud and I am alone to my thoughts. I walk alone with a few walkers ahead and behind. The trail is clear and obvious, so this is purely about perseverance and having faith that I am making progress. The attention required here is not focussed on the trail or trip hazards, but in the continual pacing of oneself. The undulating nature of the moor makes it difficult to judge distances. It is only in the slow keeping going over a period of time that one can measure progress. Impatience or frustration at slow progress are the dangers here. There is no plan B, no alternative route, no road or rail connection to offer respite. Once you are on the trail, you are committed.

I was looking out for a landmark. Ian Fleming’s brother Peter died on these moors of a heart attack whilst out shooting, and there is a memorial near the path. This would be my indicator that I was approaching the far end of this stretch of moorland. I knew I was making good time, even though it was impossible to see any real features to use for a bearing. Finally, around 3:30, I passed the Fleming Memorial and rounded a headland.

The approach to Glencoe opens in front of me. After walking without a frame of reference for so long, the ability to see the end point now makes me feel I am making no progress whatsoever, so slowly do the distant objects move closer. I can make out Kingshouse, nestling in the bottom of the hills on the others side of the valley, and the busy A road up to the islands. To my left, the majestic Buachaille takes centre stage at the join of the two valleys that make up Glencoe and, further to my left and still out of sight, Glen Etive.

I sit in the bar at Kingshouse and enjoy two pints of beer and a bag of crisps. They hardly touch the sides!

By the time I had reach my room for the night, take a shower and eat I know I am done for the day. Thankfully, for once, there is very limited Wi-Fi in the rooms. I allow my tired body to grab an early night. I am glad of today. I couldn’t have learnt about keeping going and remaining contained within myself without actually walking that distance in the mist and rain.