Sunday Oct. 1, 2023
- Start: Rowardennan (mile 26.8)
- End: Inverarnan (mile 41.5)
- Distance Hiked: 15.2 miles (14.7 miles on WHW + 0.5 mile to Drover’s Inn)
After a buffet breakfast at the Rowardennan Hotel, I carried my duffel bag back outside to the hotel’s “departures” shed, and crossed my fingers the driver for the baggage transfer service would find it without any trouble.
Part of me was skeptical, since the driver didn’t seemed to realize the important difference between the luggage “arrivals” and “departures” sheds yesterday. But only time would tell if my bag made it to the Drover’s Inn up in Inverarnan this afternoon. For now, it was time to get hiking.
THE MUNROS
The weather was already drizzling when I stepped back onto the West Highland Way at a quarter past 8 am. This was 45 minutes earlier than I’d started hiking yesterday, but today was going to be another 15-mile day, and everything I’d read indicated that the terrain was slightly harder. So I suspected I might need the extra time.
Barely a half mile north, I passed some signs for the Rowardennan Youth Hostel and came face-to-face with a 10-foot tall granite sculpture resembled the letter Q (at least in my mind). I’d seen it in photos many times before but I had no idea whether it was just a random piece of art or something more meaningful.
A nearby plaque informed me this was actually a memorial. The sculpture and the surrounding park had been dedicated to the fallen Scottish soldiers from World War I and II. Moreover, there were currently two wreaths of red poppies resting at the memorial’s base in their honor.
The clouds hung low over the loch, so I wasn’t able to see clear across through the sculpture’s center, but the sun seemed to shine through the clouds as if deliberately framed during my visit.
On a better day, I might have been able to see Ben Vorlich’s peak on the opposite side of Loch Lomond. But I knew it was out there somewhere behind those thick clouds. This popular mountain is as good of a segue as any to discuss the uniqueness of Scottish geography.
Most folks are away that ‘loch’ is simply the Scottish word for lake. So, Loch Lomond and Loch Ness are really just Lake Lomond and Lake Ness, respectively. But the names for the nearby mountains aren’t quite as straightforward.
The word Ben (or Beinn) is the Scottish word for mountain. Thus, some of the peaks in Scotland have names that begin with that term, such as Ben Lomond, Ben Vorlich, or Ben Nevis. Yet other peaks have names beginning with different titles such as Cairn, Stob, Sgurr, Meall, or something else entirely.
The geographic term ‘munro’ is completely separate from those other names, and it is reserved for any Scottish mountain with an elevation above 3,000 feet (or 914 meters). This elevation category for Scottish peaks originated with Sir Hugh Munro, who published the first table of the 282 qualifying mountains in 1891.
The West Highland Way doesn’t crest any of these Scottish munros, as the highest point on the trail (1,800 feet) falls well short of the requisite elevation. But I hoped to lay my eyes on plenty of these peaks as I made my way further north into the Scottish Highlands.
IDAHO
Not long after I passed the memorial, the trail veered into the woods and I came up behind a crew of four walkers. These were the same American ladies who’d also been searching for their mis-delivered luggage at the Rowardennan Hotel yesterday afternoon.
As I pulled even with them, I offered a hello and asked them where they hailed from in the US. Imagine my surprise when they announced in unison that they were from Idaho! Here I was – all the way in northern Scotland – walking beside some ladies from the Pacific Northwest!
We chatted for a minute or two before I stopped to take advantage of an honesty box that looked like a tall telephone booth filled with snacks and drinks. I hadn’t ordered a sack lunch from the hotel, and I figured this booth might be the best option to grab something for my lunch today.
Who knew what else I might pass along the shores of Loch Lomond, and whether anything would be open. My prior two long distance hiking experiences in Europe were on the Camino Frances and Camino del Norte where very few amenities seemed to be open for hikers on Sundays. So, better safe than sorry.
I was just placing my cash into the honesty box when the skies decided to open up. Rain started pouring down around me. Thank goodness there was a small metal overhang on the front of the booth, because that was the only thing that saved me form getting completely soaked as I pulled my rain pants out of my pack and donned my inexpensive plastic poncho to keep my daypack dry.
TAKING THE HIGH ROAD
Two miles further ahead, I came to a fork in the road where the West Highland Way split. The main route stayed low near the water – but it was likely going to be muddy and slick in this inclement weather. Meanwhile, there was also an alternate ‘high route’ that followed paralleled the main route on an old jeep road.
My friend Bonnie told me about this alternate route, and she even had it marked on the paper map of the West Highland Way that she left me borrow for this trip. It was a solid option in bad weather she assured me, and I hoped nothing had changed since her hike here several years ago.
A local Scotsman recommended the high route to Bonnie on a rainy morning when she, her husband, and her stepdaughter walked the West Highland Way. And so, I followed suit, parting ways with the route most of my compatriots were taking today and hoping this option would do a solid job of keeping my feet dry.
It turns out Bonnie (and her Scottish fairy godfather) weren’t wrong. Not only was the trail easy to walk on, but there were tons of lovely waterfalls pouring down the mountainside one after another. It was, without a doubt, every bit as scenic as hiking beside Loch Lomond!
As I followed the high route, the rain slowed to a drizzle before stopping entirely. In the past few hours I’d seen overcast gray skies, downpours, and now there were blue skies peeking through the trees.
I was beginning to suspect that today might be one of those Scottish days where you experience four seasons. And so, I began stripping my rain gear in hopes that the worst was already over.
A Mystery voice
After about an hour, the high route dropped back down the hillside and merged with the West Highland Way again near the water’s edge. Orange and green fern fronds crisscrossed the trail in front me, while small waves broke against the mossy rocks lining Loch Lomond’s shoreline.
I continued hiking north, but then I heard what sounded like a man’s voice over a loudspeaker and began wondering where this noise was coming from. Was there a football (soccer) stadium nearby?
The voice got louder and more clear, and seemed to be emanating from behind me. So I turned around to see if maybe there was a guide leading a tour on the trail. But I was all alone. Then a movement out on the water caught my eye. It was a water taxi or shuttling passengers north on Loch Lomond, and clearly someone aboard was using a microphone to point out some the sites along the shore.
The boat’s passengers could clearly see me on the trail, and half a dozen of them started waving as their guide informed them that the West Highland Way ran along the loch’s shores.
What an odd experience this hike was turning into. Normally, I have my eyes peeled for animals and creatures along my hikes. But, in a bizarre turn of perspective, I now felt as if I was the wildlife being spotted in forest!
INVERSAID
The ferry boat picked up speed and motored off out of earshot, presumably heading to the pier at Inversaid. Or at least that’s where I guessed they were going. It was a logical deduction, given how few places there were for large watercraft to stop. And there was a hotel there too.
As I got closer to the hotel, the West Highland Way diverted me inland toward some truly majestic waterfalls. Water from Inversnaid Falls rushed down toward the loch so fast that it was nothing but opaque white rapids. The early autumn rains seemed to be helping the keep the water flow strong as ever.
From the falls, it was just a matter of walking across a bridge and then down to the pier where the Hotel Iversnaid sat facing Loch Lomond.
I probably could gone indoors to eat lunch at the hotel’s restaurant, but there were several picnic benches out front with equally good waterfront views. Since the rain was on a hiatus, why not take advantage of the limited window of opportunity? It was the perfect spot for a little lunchtime picnic with my eclectic array of honesty box items.
ROB ROY’S MYSETERIOUS CAVE
I returned to the trail after my short break to discover the West Highland Way was changing dramatically. The traditional single track muddy trail had all but disappeared. And in its place were rocks and boulders instead!
One of my fellow hikers characterized the three-mile section north of Inversnaid as a “boulder scramble.” But that description wasn’t really accurate, in my opinion. It was a combination of walking up and down steps cut into the sides of large boulders or on a boulder strewn trail. But there wasn’t a need to actually do any real scrambling.
Nonetheless, it was a slow going through this new terrain. My brisk pace from this morning’s high route was now plummeting as I made my way around the rock strewn trail. It mostly reminded me of the trail Keith and I hiked in the Adirondacks last summer on our way to summit Mt. Marcy (New York’s highest point). Slow. Tedious. And slick from the morning’s rainfall.
I gradually picked my way forward, all the while waiting for a sign for Rob Roy’s Cave to emerge. I’d read that the Scottish outlaw and folk hero, Rob Roy McGregor, hid out from his pursuers in a rock cave near these shores. And so, I expected to see a historical sign or marker leading hikers off to this remote landmark. But somehow I missed it entirely.
In hindsight, I have to assume that either: (1) there wasn’t an obvious sign for this landmark; or (2) I was simply too engrossed in watching where to put my feet amid my the rocks that I totally missed it. By the time I had the sense to check my GPS for this waypoint, I was already 1/3 of a mile past where the cave was supposed to be. I’d totally overshot it and didn’t feel like backtracking.
Don’t get me wrong. I had no problem whatsoever walking a mile off the West Highland Way to see a castle or some other highlight. But I suspected the cave was just going to be a rough opening in the boulders (that I wasn’t going to use my headlamp to explore). I’d already visited a cave with interesting geologic features earlier this summer, and I was pretty sure this Scottish cave would probably pale in comparison, so I just kept on walking north.
VIBRANT WILDLIFE
As I continued on the path beside Loch Lomond, I crossed paths with some wildlife that I hadn’t really expected to see in Scotland – frogs. I was just walking along the trail when a frog about the size of a golf ball jumped onto the path and stopped. But the main reason this frog was so interesting was its color. The little guy wasn’t brown or green like most common frogs in the US. It was a brick red color instead.
He wasn’t the only red frog I saw either. Over the next mile, I saw dozens more of these vibrantly colored frogs, including a baby one that was barely the size of a dime! I kept my eyes carefully glued to the ground in an effort to avoid stepping on any of them, and I found my already sluggish pace dropping even more as a result.
As I continued toward Loch Lomond’s northern end, I stumbled across some unusual carved benches beside the trail. The bench seats appeared to be leaves, while some stumps had been carved into foot rests that resemble acorns. What an absolute hoot! Someone had a sense of humor.
But then the rain began again in earnest, and I was digging my rain gear back out of my pack once more on my way toward an elevated bridge near a waterfall. It wasn’t like any of the earlier bridges though. This one had a wooden ladder that required hikers to climb up several rungs just to get up to the bridge’s decking.
So, between today’s rocks, the rain, and the rungs on this ladder, I was starting to feel like I was on a bit of an obstacle course. It wasn’t quite as rugged as American Ninja, but the last three miles had been of super slow. I was now pretty sure I knew why people warmed me today would be more challenging than yesterday, and I was grateful I’d opted for an early departure from the hotel.
The difficult terrain seemed to more to less end near mile 38 though. The trail crossed through a flat delta where two streams emptied into Loch Lomond. Then the rain stopped. The skies were blue again, and songbirds seemed to welcome me as I finally said goodbye to the rock-strewn trail.
DUONE BOTHY
Meanwhile, back out on Loch Lomond, I spotted several motorboats racing across the water, including one pulling a waterskier across the dark glassy surface. That’s one just one more sight I didn’t expect to encounter in Scotland in October! What a day.
I was nearing the end of the loch, and less than a mile further ahead, I crested a hill to see some picturesque buildings set above the water. One was cordoned off with concertina wire with small yellow signs warning hikers not to approach it. Its roof was entirely missing and it was little more than a crumbling shell of a building. Nonetheless, the ruin itself was picturesque in that setting as the rain water turned the trail into a small river.
Meanwhile, off to the building right stood the Duone Bothy. I wasn’t familiar with the word ‘bothy‘ before this hike, but it’s essentially a mountain hut or cottage set aside for hikers to use in inclement weather. This particular bothy had thick stone walls and roof, making it a suitable place to ride out a storm, if necessary, but the inside was definitely rustic.
I unlocked the bright green door and pushed my way inside to find a wide raised platform on one end of the bothy where hikers could sleep. The opposite end contained a two more smaller platforms, a small table, and a wood burning fireplace for warmth.
The structure had a familiar feeling, and it sort of reminded me of the Chestnut Knob Shelter in Virginia (one of the rare four-sided shelters along the Appalachian Trail). But that nostalgia for the AT certainly wasn’t pushing me to cancel my lodging reservation in favor of these accommodations.
BENGLEIS AND BENJAMIN
As I continued hiking north from the bothy, the opposing shore of Loch Lomond was closing in. Like many of Scotland’s lakes, Loch Lomond is a linear lake similar to the Finger Lakes in New York. At its southern end the loch is about 8 kilometers (or 5 miles) across, while the northern end narrows to just an about 1 kilometer (or 0.6 miles) from bank to bank.
I could now see the top of the lake, where a cluster of white buildings stood forming the town of Ardlui. And a small pier with a sign sat on the loch’s edge listing the times the ferry service shuttled hikers over to the town.
Ardlui looked like charming little town, but tonight’s reservation was just a few miles further ahead in Inverarnan. So this was where I’d say my finally goodbye to Loch Lomond, as the West Highland Way turned away from it and continued north into the Scottish Highlands.
In those final few miles, I still had one more muddy hill left to climb before the trail dropped down to a lovely little campground at Bengleis. I knew I’d arrived when I spotted the small camping cabins sitting in neat little rows at the campground, while a wide flat grassy field was set aside for people who wanted to tent camp.
Despite how slow I felt I’d hiked today, it was only 2:40 pm when I arrived at Bengleis. So I decided to pop into the campground’s little pub/restaurant for a pint of hard cider. As I made my way past a cluster of picnic tables in front of the bar, I saw a face I recognized. It was Benjamin (the dog!) and his noisy human from the UK.
I recalled Benjamin’s human originally planned to walk a 25-mile day on this first day out here, but he must have come up short. We were now at mile 41.5 at the end of day three, putting his average closer to 12-mile days, or half the pace he’d intended to walk.
Thank goodness he decided to pump the brakes. I’d been worried about how Benjamin’s paws might hold up under such an ambitious hiking itinerary. I’m sure there’s some working and herding dogs that might be capable of walking 25 miles in a day, but I doubt most ordinary pets like Benjamin are able to manage such a task. And so, I was relieved to see he hadn’t been on a death march to satisfy his human’s whims.
DROVERS INN
After some time petting Benjamin and showing him some love, I finished up my cider and mid-afternoon snack and broke off from the West Highland Way. My stop for the evening was the infamous Drover’s Inn – a half mile detour off the trail in Inverarnan.
The Drover’s Inn takes it’s name from the local drovers, who are somewhat akin to Scottish cowboys. Their job was to drive the kyloes (black cattle) from the Highlands down to market, but they had to be careful to limit their mileage to less than 10 miles a day so the livestock didn’t lose weight (and therefore market value).
Because of the drovers’ duty to protect their precious inventory from theives, they were permitted to carry pistols and daggers. And they had to know the landscape exceptionally well – including where the best passes and grazing lands were located.
The Drovers Inn wasn’t infamous because it was a stop for these cattlemen on their journey to and from market. No, its true notoriety came from the fact that this place claimed to be haunted (much like the Hotel del Coronado in San Diego, CA). And even if you don’t believe in ghosts or haunted places, then the Drover’s Inn is wholly unforgettable because of its odd decor.
The place was dimly lit (giving it a spooky quality) and filled with taxidermy animals everywhere you looked! When I make this claim, I don’t just mean there were a few deer heads mounted to a wall. The Drover’s Inn had stuffed and mounted animals all throughout the place, including a small black bear standing on its hind legs in the front lobby beside a baby seal in a protective glass case. Talk about quirky decor!
