Cold, Lone and Still (2 page)

We had had a toss-up about the late start, so I did not argue. We went to Drymen, just as we had arranged to do, and turned in early. On the following morning we took a look around the little place before going on to Balmaha, where we had booked accommodation in a cottage.

Drymen is built around what, in England, would be called the village green. The hotel was excellent, the welcome cordial and the food good. We had been told that the shops were the best we should find for the next sixty miles, so we took the opportunity next morning to stock up on our rations and buy a couple more batteries for the torches. I also went to the bank, having previously arranged for this. I never like being short of ready cash, particularly on holiday when one never knows what unexpected calls may be made upon one’s pocket.

‘I wish we hadn’t missed the earlier part of The Way,’ said Hera. This, I thought, was rather unreasonable of her. We had agreed from the beginning to set out on our walk from Drymen. I began to wonder whether our relationship was going to stand the strain of a fortnight of pointless argument.

‘If we had set out from Milngavie, we should have had the pleasure of Carbridge’s company,’ I pointed out. ‘Be thankful we made the plans we did.’

‘It’s easy walking from Carbeth. I wasn’t thinking of starting from Milngavie. From Carbeth, The Way goes through farmland and I don’t suppose we shall see much of that further along the route, shall we?’ she said.

I answered impatiently, ‘Well, there is some between here and Balmaha.’

‘We could have followed the old railway track,’ she said. ‘That would have been rather fun. Still, as you say, it’s too late to think about that now, or the woods and the hills and the little river and the plank bridge and all the rest that’s in the brochure.’

‘You’ll have all you want of hills and woods later on,’ I told her.

To reach Balmaha we needed to cover only six and a half miles, so we lunched as early as we could at the hotel in Drymen and then made it an afternoon stroll. We identified Conic Hill and had to use a bit of the main road, but even then the journey was far from dull and we soon struck the countryside again as we turned past a farm. After that it was all farmland and forest and then on to grassland which merged into moorland. Hera was satisfied and there were no more complaints.

Some of The Way was rough, but the Garadhban Forest was worth any amount of rough walking. We climbed through sparse plantations of conifers and, looking back, we saw a great hill appearing over the top of the moorland ridge. We were sheltered to some extent in the forest itself, but when we came out to the moors again the air was fresh and the wind quite keen.

One of the strange things about hills and mountains is that they seem always to be shifting about as one travels. We had already seen Conic Hill when it appeared to be slightly behind us, but now we met it. As the day was fine, we could have taken the easier lower path, but Hera was determined to climb the hill for the sake of the view from the top, so she had her way without any dissent from me. I wanted no more arguments.

The bracken, as we climbed, was already high, but we managed to find the markers which charted The Way and, in any case, I had a map. The views from the top were magnificent, not the least being a panorama of Loch Lomond and its mountains.

Balmaha proved to be a tiny place. It had a shop where food could be bought, but already we had stocked up all we wanted to carry, so we found our cottage and introduced ourselves to our hostess. She had taken it for granted that we were married for I had booked for the two of us only in my own name, but Hera soon straightened matters out and I was despatched to a neighbour’s cottage for the night and saw no more of my strong-minded fiancée until breakfast-time.

F
rom Balmaha, The Way followed the east side of Loch Lomond. We had half thought of taking a boat-trip to the island of Inchcailloch, the largest of the little archipelago at that end of the loch, but the brochure had mentioned the geology of the island as one of its attractions and, after our meeting with Perth and the polytechnic students, the word ‘geology’ put me off. Hera had wanted to follow the nature trail on the island, but, because of the students, Todd and the clownish Carbridge, I decided to push on to Rowardennan, which was our next stopping-place.

This part of our walk was rewarding but, along one shortish stretch, it was also hazardous, for it debouched on to a narrow, hilly, winding road with blind bends around which cars could give unwary walkers an unpleasant surprise. Some of the walk was up and down quite considerable slopes, but some of it was along the side of the loch. Hera sang and, if I knew the tune, I whistled it. We were very happy. The holiday was going to be a success, after all.

Inland, we passed through natural woods as well as through more of the Forestry Commission’s plantations. Now and again we loitered at one or other of the small beaches which we came to beside the water. We also stopped to look at the views ahead and astern of us and, as we walked on, we could look across the loch to the motor-road which ran along on the other side past Tarbet and Ben Vorlich and on to Ardlui.

Sometimes we paddled in the shallows or sat and tossed stones into the water. One way and another we walked or idled away the time and ate some of the food we had bought in Drymen. Altogether it was a very easy-going, pleasant day. The weather was perfect but not unduly hot, the oak woods through which we passed were magnificent and so were the views when we came again into the open country or on to the shore of the loch.

All that day we found that the markers which charted The Way were well posted and easy to follow. The sign was a thistle inside a hexagon and there were also unmistakeable yellow arrows on signposts where The Way diverged from what appeared to be the obvious path.

We were so happy that, where this was possible, we walked hand-in-hand, more like children than like a sensible couple who had planned to test the temperature of a possible future together. I had begun to have my doubts at the outset of the walk, but they were all resolved on that halcyon day when we trekked from Balmaha to Rowardennan, where we were booked in at the youth hostel.

The magic in the air came from the weather and the scenery, of course, but, even so, I had learnt something of value to me. Hera and I could expect to have our ups and downs, a rough passage at times, frustrations and disagreements, but there would also be compensations, ‘port after stormy seas’, a benign providence somewhere in the offing, the isles of the blest for a safe anchorage at the end of the day. How one deceives oneself!

The youth hostel at Rowardennan was backed by trees and a hill, had a curious little turret and was beautifully situated on the shore of the loch. It had a hundred beds, served meals from Easter to September and there was also a members’ kitchen, but it was very much more convenient for us to buy a meal there and conserve our emergency rations.

Ben Vrackie was away to our right as we faced the hostel, and the huge bulk of Ben Lomond loomed ahead. We were booked for two nights at Rowardennan and next morning nothing would satisfy Hera but to take the ferry across Loch Lomond to Inverbeg. It was running, so, together with a number of other hostellers — although none of them, so far as I could see, were acquaintances of ours — we boarded the boat.

Once ashore, we had lunch in Inverbeg and then walked along the road which follows the river through Glen Douglas. We crossed the railway and reached the Garelochhead-Arrocher road where, thanks, I think, to Hera’s beauty, we thumbed a lift to Oban by way of Inverary on Loch Fyne and the Pass of Brander.

I had to hire a car and a driver to take us back to Inverbeg and we missed the boat on its return journey and had to spend the night at Inverbeg and cross back again in the morning.

‘I wish we could stay here another night,’ said Hera, when we stepped ashore at Rowardennan again. I felt the same urge and, in any case, I wanted to explain why we had not taken up our option of bedding down at the hostel the night before. We knew we were not the only hostellers who had crossed the loch on the previous day and some thoughtful soul had reported to the warden that we had missed the boat. I asked whether we could stay an extra night. The hostel was not full, so permission was readily granted and we spent most of the daylight hours on the little loch-side beach in front of the hostel, except for part of the afternoon when we took another trip on the water to the head of the loch and back.

It would have been possible to follow the example of some of the other hostellers and climb Ben Lomond, a scheduled half-day excursion by a well-established route, but we decided upon a lazy day instead, as there would be enough walking to do before we reached Fort William and Ben Nevis.

Part of our time on the beach was spent watching canoeists, for the place is the centre for the Scottish Youth Hostels’ canoe club. We could have gone trout-fishing, had we wished, for permits were available. However, the long, lazy daylight hours suited our contented mood and I do not know when I have spent a pleasanter or more relaxing time. Hera had one complaint, but she voiced it with a smile.

‘It’s a lovely holiday,’ she said, ‘but everything is going much too well. It isn’t testing our relationship at all.’ Obviously she had forgotten any strained feelings after we had left the airport hotel.

‘Give it time,’ I said. ‘We haven’t got to Crianlarich yet, let alone to the edge of Rannoch Moor and the Devil’s Staircase.’

‘I shall be glad to be on the move again tomorrow,’ she said. ‘Even if that other lot are walking all the way from Milngavie,’ (we had been told to pronounce it Milguy), ‘they can’t be all that far behind us now. We’ve spent a lot of time on The Way. I know we must have passed them early on, but they’ll be catching up with us soon.’

I had forgotten Carbridge and his press-gang.

‘Heavens, yes,’ I said. ‘It reminds me of
An Inland Voyage
, when I think of the possibility of running into that lot again.’

‘Well, this isn’t an inland voyage so far,’ said Hera. ‘We’ve been more or less beside Loch Lomond all the time and we even crossed it yesterday.’

‘I meant Stevenson’s book. He and his friend met some Belgian canoeists who more or less invited them to canoe with the local champion, who would make himself available if they would wait until the Sunday. They didn’t. They sneaked off. He says, “And, indeed, it was not time for scruples; we seemed to feel the hot breath of the champion on our necks.” Now that you have mentioned Carbridge, I seem to feel his hot breath on mine. We’ll leave first thing in the morning.’

We were unlucky. The gang, some of them looking extremely jaded, turned up just as we left the beach that evening to go into the hostel for supper. The person who showed no sign of fatigue was the effervescent Carbridge. He came in with Todd and was shouting loudly and gleefully to him as they entered, ‘And where did
you
get to last night, you sly moonlighter? Trust a don to find a donah, eh, you
hidalgo
, you! And, damme, look who’s here, old boy, old boy!’

Well, it is not possible to leg it into a youth hostel and make a dash for your own room or to have your own separate table for meals. As soon as we appeared, we were seized upon by Carbridge and the others and found that it was impossible to escape. For what remained of the evening, including the supper-time, we were unwilling listeners to stories of the adventures, mishaps and triumphs of the party as they had made their way from Milngavie to Rowardennan. Only the hostel rules of lights out and silence broke up the gathering and cut short the flow.

Carbridge made one more attempt to persuade us to join the rest of them on the walk. When it failed he said, ‘Well, if you can’t join us, beat us. I challenge you, old boy, old boy.’

‘To what?’

‘That we’ll reach Fort William before you do.’

‘I don’t know that we’re bothering about Fort William. We shall probably knock off at Kinlochleven,’ I told him. ‘The rest of The Way is over an old military road, I believe, and might not be very interesting.’

‘Make it Kinlochleven, then, although, if you end up there, you’ll be missing the best part of the trip.’

‘I think not, from what I’ve heard and read.’

‘It’s a first-class YH at Fort William and we shall climb Ben Nevis from there. You’ll be missing all that.’

‘I wish you the joy of it.’

‘Well, five quid that at least two of us, me and a lassie, as they say in these parts, get to Kinlochleven before you two do. Walking all the way, of course. No more of this bus and train lark of yours. Am I on?’

‘No, of course you’re not. If we fancy taking to the public transport, we shall do just that.’

‘Cissy stuff, old boy, old boy.’

‘I’m glad you didn’t accept the bet openly,’ said Hera, when we had seen the gang off next morning, ‘but, all the same, we
will
get to Kinlochleven before they do. Him and a lassie indeed! I’m a better walker than any of these women he’s got with him, I’m certain of that, and I’m going to prove it.’

‘But we may feel the urge to take a bus or train here and there. The weather may change. We may get blisters on our feet or even sprain an ankle. All sorts of things could happen.’

‘So they could to Carbridge and the others. Look here, Comrie, if I had been one of your men friends you wouldn’t have turned down that bet.’

‘Yes, I should. Under no circumstances am I prepared to go into any sort of a huddle with that irritating blighter. Anyway, although I told him we were only going as far as Kinlochleven, of course we’re finishing at Fort William. All the same, I’m going to see that we hang about long enough to make sure that he’s left Fort William before we get there. I’m not going to run into that gang again if I can possibly help it. Of all the boring evenings I’ve ever spent, last night was the worst.’

‘Kinlochleven is not a place to hang about in. Isn’t it all factories and works and things?’

‘We can cross by the Ballachulish Bridge, then, and not go into Kinlochleven at all. We don’t have to stick to The Way.’

She said no more, but I knew, by the obstinate set of her chin, that if she had her say, we were to walk The Way to Kinlochleven come hail, wind, physical injury, rain or snow.

I had seen the others loading up with food at Rowardennan, so it looked as though they were going to bivouac on the way. There was little chance that we should catch up with them, I thought, at any rate on the first stage of the journey. It was only just over seven miles to Inversnaid and they had set off at half past eight from the hostel, so I guessed that they would pass the burn and the waterfall and be well on their way to Inverarnan before they rested and had their lunch. We ourselves had decided upon a mid-morning snack and a drink at Inversnaid, where there was a very good hotel. We were also booked in for the night there — separately again, of course.

It was a place I had seen once before, but not when I had been walking The Way. My mother and father had taken me on a coach tour when I was very young and we had followed the Glasgow to Arrochar road to turn off for Glencoe. The lunch stop had been at the Inversnaid hotel, however, and to reach it we had to be ferried across the loch and then back again in the afternoon to rejoin the coach.

As I recall it, the boat was supplied by the hotel and to get into it we had to step up on to an empty petrol can. I could not remember the lunch or anything about the hotel except that I saw two young men drop a large, heavy crate of eggs just outside the entrance. They stood and roared with laughter at the extremely messy result. I think they must have been Irishmen come over for the summer season to provide extra help at the hotel, for I cannot believe that Scotsmen, even Highlanders, would have regarded such a wasteful catastrophe with such uninhibited joy. We laughed, too, of course. Such laughter is really rooted in shock.

I particularly wanted Hera to see the waterfall. It is immensely high and so early in the summer there would be a lot of water coming down. Wordsworth admired the torrent, but, when we came upon it after having heard it from a long way off, Hera quoted from Gerard Manley Hopkins: