So Part Two has tips for beginner backpackers. And after the tips, the trips: a couple of two-day hikes designed to get you going on this game of carrying the big rucksack along the valleys and through between the hills. Learn how to do it not by deep study of the literature, but by doing it, and doing it wrong. Discover for yourself the setting up of a damp camp when you’ve been walking in the rain for four hours. Find out that you should have put your dry pants in a plastic bag. And if you did manage to forget the tent pegs, there’s a bothy alongside to crawl into with the sodden sleeping bag, and a train home tomorrow so that the suffering is at least reasonably short.
Part Three is the proposition that Glasgow (or Loch Lomond) to Fort William is one of Scotland’s good walks, so simply ignore the WH Way altogether. Here are the damp little paths along Loch Etive, and the peaty ways through the heart of Rannoch Moor.
After two days of waterfalls and windswept heather, come down to Kinlochleven (say), do your shopping, eat a big hot meal plus sticky toffee, stay in the hostel there. Set out again at dawn, or whenever you manage to get out of bed (let’s hope it’s quite early). At the back of Kinlochleven is a wooded valley. Waterfalls splash down into a river that zigzags across slabs of bare rock. Walk up the slippery stone path below the birches and the oaks. After four miles you come up to this bleak, bleak reservoir, the Blackwater. You find the old path through the peat, and you come to a lochan, and beside it there’s a beautiful bothy that hardly anybody uses, as it’s not really on the way to anywhere. But if a roof of any sort is repugnant, you can carry on and camp beside the water. All night the ripples murmur against the stones. And at four in the morning, the curlews are crying in the air above your tent.
The fairly good path continues for a couple of hours, through a heathery slot in the hills. It’s Gleann Iolairean, Eagle Valley. You might see that eagle soaring overhead; you’ll almost certainly see some ravens. Come out to the next big reservoir. Now if you turn left, it’s up along a stony stream with waterfalls, and alder trees, and grassy riverbanks for the path; then gradually down again as you’re now in Glen Nevis. You walk below big Ben Nevis on one side, the shapely Mamores range on the other. The heather gets denser, the river bigger, and the air gets slightly cosier as you lose height. Suddenly you’re in the meadow at the glen’s end, with the Steall waterfall tumbling over grey quartzite, and the great tree-hung Nevis Gorge. Then it’s out to the youth hostel for another big meal.
If the twined-together routes of Parts One to Three are the stalk, then Part Four is the flower. As the train clatters south across Rannoch Moor, your feet are sore but your head is filling up with ideas. Outwards and onwards lies the whole of the Scottish Highlands.
The other way to Fort William: the book’s first backpack, Route 15, passes Steall Waterfall on its way down Glen Nevis
The West Highland Way, with its well-made path, its centuries of history, its mountain surroundings, is the best long path in Scotland. But the best is just the beginning. Here’s the follow-on: which is ‘Not the West Highland Way’.
When to go
April is still winter on the summits, but down in the glen the WH Way path offers good walking then and in May. The leaves are breaking, the birds are busy, and the midges are harmless larvae lurking in the bog. At these off-season times the busy footpath can be almost deserted – I walked it at the end of March and met four other parties. Youth hostels of SYHA may be shut but the independent ones are open all year round, and at quiet times you probably don’t need to book in advance.
Meanwhile, the mountaintops above may be suffering sleet and hail, and be covered in soggy wet snow. On the other hand, the air may be clear and crisp, with sunshine on the white top of Ben Nevis. So walk the path if it’s wet, and if the sun comes out, hit the heights.
May and June are enjoyable at all altitudes. These are the least rainy months in the Highlands; the leaves are fresh and green; there are 18 daylight hours, enough for even the most energetic. The one annoyance can be the cuckoos, mocking you as you go.
July and August can be hot and humid, with less rewarding views. This is also when the WH Way path is at its busiest, and midges are at their most vigorous, infesting the glens. The last two weeks in August do bring out the best of the heather – although there are no really huge heather moors on the WH Way.
Midges hang on until the first frost, normally some time in September. October often brings clear air and lovely autumn colour. The woodland along Loch Lomond can be excellent as the birch leaves turn gold (the third week in October being the ideal moment in most years). More surprisingly, Rannoch Moor goes orange all over. In between times there’ll be gales.
The red deer are being shot at from the middle of August until 21 October. The West Highland Way itself is a right-of-way, as are almost all the backpacking routes in Parts Two and Three (blue and orange on the overview maps). Many of the hill routes in Part One welcome walkers year-round, but a handful do have limitations on access during the three autumn months (see Appendix A).
Winter is a time of short days and often foul weather. Snow lies on the high tops from December to April, with patches in the corries obstructing some routes even into May. Few will attempt the routes in this book during the cold months. Those who do could just enjoy crisp cramponing along the ridges, views of hundreds of mountains, and buttercup-coloured sunsets; such a journey is described later in this Introduction.
Safety in the mountains
In the glens of Part Three you can be a day’s walk from the nearest road or habitation, and without a mobile phone signal. In the mountains, especially north of Rannoch Moor, the ground you need to get off by may be steep with crags. Safety and navigation in the mountains is best learnt from companions, experience, and perhaps a paid instructor; such instruction is outside the scope of this book.
Most of the routes and outings in Part One are no more than moderately serious, and a walker used to day walks in the Lake District or Snowdonia should feel at home on them. The main difference is that in various places, Part One takes you off the trodden paths. This can be disconcerting or worse if you are unhappy with your navigation.
The international mountain distress signal is some sign (shout, whistle, torch flash or other) repeated six times over a minute, followed by a minute’s silence. The reply is a sign repeated three times over a minute, followed by a minute’s silence. To signal for help from a helicopter, raise both arms above your head and then drop them down sideways, repeatedly. If you’re not in trouble, don’t shout or whistle on the hills, and don’t wave to passing helicopters.
West Highland Way, above River Falloch
To call out the mountain rescue, phone 999 from a landline. From a mobile, phone either 999 or the international emergency number 112: these will connect you via any available network. Reception is good on most summits and ridges, but absent in places without direct sightlines to settlements such as Bridge of Orchy, or to the mast behind Kings House. Sometimes a text message can get through when a voice call can’t; to register your phone and enable 999 text messages visit www.emergencysms.co.uk.
Given the unreliable phone coverage, it is wise to leave word of your proposed route with some responsible person (and, of course, tell that person when you’ve safely returned). Youth hostels have specific forms for this, as do many independent hostels and B&Bs. You could also leave word at the police stations at Glencoe or Fort William.
Being lost or tired is not sufficient reason for calling the rescue service, and neither, in normal summer weather, is being benighted. However, team members I’ve talked to say not to be too shy about calling them: they greatly prefer bringing down bodies that are still alive…
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