Walking Home

reveries of an amateur long-distance hiker

Walking to Cape Wrath, Day 13, May 23, 2022

May 24th, 2022

Walking to Cape Wrath, Day 13, May 23, 2022

A typical day hiking New Zealand’s Te Araroa on the South Island is rising in the morning to hike alongside a river, heading upstream so the path continually rises as the river diminishes. Usually by around noon, the trail crosses a saddle, and you can look back at the watershed you have just traversed, and then look out over a new valley, so the afternoon is spent walking down by a growing river. Although not quite as dramatic, much of today followed that pattern (in miniature).

I left Comrie fairly early (before any of the coffee shops opened—thankfully my inn had packed me a breakfast bag). The path followed the fast flowing Lednock river, leading up to the Devil’s Cauldron waterfall. Then after some more climbing, some wet pasture traversing, I followed the trail over the pass near Ben Chronzie, moving midday into the watershed of the River Almond. It was very much a day of isolation as I only saw one other hiker (who had just climbed Ben Chronzie) and one farmer on a quad bike with two border collies on back. The day alternated between well-benched farm tracks and very faint paths that were often just streams. And of course it rained a lot, off and on, across the day. The bog walking was, as yesterday, a slog, but I was reminded of a wonderful part of a Robert Macfarlane book. I wrote a little bit about it here: https://walkinghome.lmc.gatech.edu/pointless-essays/wonderlust/ But the gist is here: “In the last chapter of Landmarks, a book on disappearing place-names, Robert MacFarlane describes the activities of children exploring their version of the Hundred Acre Wood. He examines the language they invent to mark out their daily wonders. One child became obsessed with watercourses, speculating that much of it disappeared by flowing beneath the ground, a phenomenon he called “secret water.” Since reading that chapter, I’ve have found myself in many boggy places on the Te Araroa hearing a deep gurgle and saying (usually out loud, as I have no social censor in the bush) secret water!”

Then late in the day, the New Zealand pattern repeated. I left the River Almond watershed to go up a narrow glen to a pass that led me down through even more bogs into the Loch Freichie area. Up on the ridge was amazing as the new watershed didn’t just open. Instead there were several hollows where water clearly collected but had no obvious outlet to join either burn— the one I had just hiked up, or the one I was slogging my way down. In other words, there was a lot of water in that pass. Wildlife abounded, with a moment where I saw the silhouette of a deer on the ridge above me (reminded me a o scene with Robert DeNiro in The Deerhunter). It hesitated briefly then ran down the other side. Soon after, a momma quail pulled the broken-wing walk on the path in front of me, leading me away from her brood who were squawking on the bank. After about ten yards, she turned and grunted at me (as much to say, “fooled you!”), returning to her nestlings.

The Scottish National Trail guide notes that there are no accommodations (including) transportation at Loch Freichie and recommend wild camping. I looked hard for a site as the path lead to the lake, but with all the rain (and all that secret water) there were few likely places to pitch. I turned onto the paved road which had a number of houses and farms on it, still looking in vain for a site. Then I happened onto a small walled-in field with no livestock and a shed behind which I could tent. Was a long tiring day, but glad to find a spot before the evening rains returned. Tomorrow Aberfeldy!

T. Hugh Crawford

Walking to Cape Wrath, Day 12, May 22, 2022

May 24th, 2022

Walking to Cape Wrath, Day 12, May 22, 2022

When I was a wee lad, my father taught me to make him a drink for his just-home-from-work relaxation. He drank Scotch whiskey (here, just whiskey) and my favorite glass to give him had a picture of a ring-necked pheasant etched on the side. I never knew what became of those glasses, but would love to have a set now. Today I was excited and surprised by running up on one in the bogs. After a bit more trekking, it became clear they were being bred in this area for the shooting class, but that did not diminish my pleasure seeing one break from the bracken on my approach.

Today was billed as an introduction to the highlands, and while probably tame compared with what awaits up near Cape Wrath, it was a rigorous introduction. It commenced with a fairly steep climb out of Callander to the “Crags” a geological formation I am sure is spectacular but only if visibility is more than 20 ft. The all night rain shower ceased well before my departure, but a heavy mist (that often approached rain) hung over the landscape until late morning. In many ways, today’s walk was a slight preview of what is to come: some fairly steep climbing, some trackless navigating, and a lot of mud and bog hiking. Much was in complete isolation (apart from the omnipresent sheep) passing abandoned houses and farms. There were lots of ice-age drumlins and so many small burns, rushing to join all that water in the valley.

A few moments stood out— at one point where I crossed some active farms, I was passed by a pickup with a smiling, happy older couple waving from the front seats while the back swarmed with black hound dogs. On crossing into their farm I passed a series of kennels built of the same stone as the houses, clearly of the same era—a classic working-dog breeding farm. Not long after that, I came up over a rise and saw on the road at a distance what I assumed was a small red dog. I looked for the human owner to appear on the road, but no one came. Then this “dog” stopped, obviously scenting me, turned and ran back down the road wagging a long, full red tail with white tip. As much of Scotland is being rewilded (if not always having been wild), encountering a fox should be no big deal, but it was a special moment.

Even though I finished mid afternoon in Comrie, the day felt longer than most—a lot more up and down, more refined navigation, added to how exhausting slogging in a bog can be. Bog hiking can take many forms. Today’s was of the deceptive field variety: you approach what looks to be a fairly rough pasture, only to discover the tall grass was growing in about 3 inches of running water. At first you look about for slightly higher ground to proceed, but then that unfortunately familiar sensation of cold water filling your shoes obviates all that, and instead you just plow ahead hoping it’s just one field and not a couple of kilometers.

Coming off the slope, I stopped at the Melville, a pub in Comrie, for a pint or two before catching a bus to Creiff where I had booked a room and, after a short visit to the Meadow Inn (wonderful pub, great staff), I slept like the dead.

T. Hugh Crawford

Walking to Cape Wrath, Day 11, May 21, 2022

May 22nd, 2022

Walking to Cape Wrath, Day 11, May 21, 2022

Drymen to Callander. The night at the Drymen campground was much like many on the American Appalachian Trail, a whole bunch of tents set up pretty close to each other. I could hear the snorers, every word spoken by an anxious woman calling home on a cell phone, and the two German men apparently recounting their day’s walk though my ignorance of the language makes that an open question. I had a muffled phone conversation, head buried deeply in my sleeping bag hoping not to disturb my tent community.

Early morning— which given how early the sun comes up is pretty early—I begin that familiar ritual: put on fleece that was serving as pillow, put all loose items in stuff bag and cinch down clothes compression sack. Stuff sleeping bag and line all the bags up on sleeping pad outside tent. Dress, take down tent, and do that slow careful process of arranging all the bags in the backpack— each in their long-determined spot. Most tents seemed quiet as I made my way out, headed back to Drymen and turned my back on the West Highland Way pilgrims as I set my sights on the Rob Roy Way. Today’s stretch was, I’m afraid, less than inspiring. It was either a long minor road walk or a lot of industrial forest roads. The only interesting part was a muddy path crossing some pastures but the path was devastated by mountain bikers. I think in the distant future archaeologists will find fossilized tire tracks and wonder what strange species we were. One stretch of the path was on a path over an aqueduct built in Queen Victoria’s reign, to bring water from Loch Katrine to Glasgow, and engineering marvel similar to the Union canal. The best bit of trivia I encountered about that was that after the new water flowed into Glasgow people stopped buying as much soap as they had prior— the clear, soft water cleaned without so much chemical.

Afternoon brought more forest roads, soon descending to the Callander valley, the paths soon crowded with Saturday walkers with their dogs— all were working or hunting dogs (no cutesy parlor breeds in the near highlands). Mid afternoon I wandered Callander on the off chance a room would be available, but of course it is a May Saturday, but also this remains a Trossachs town and so part of the network of holiday destinations for the well to do, effectively crowding out the itinerant hiker, so off to the Keltie Bridge campground for the night, but first some time in the Crags Hotel pub, watching the Scottish Cup final (Rangers/Hearts) and eating chicken curry while the Hearts prevail in OT. Rainy night tenting at the Keltie Bridge campground— good people there.

T. Hugh Crawford

Walking to Cape Wrath, Day 10, May 20, 2022

May 20th, 2022

Walking to Cape Wrath, Day 10, May 20, 2022

In 2016 I rode the train up from Biarritz to St. Jean pied de Port, the starting point of the Camino Frances. The cars were full of eager, but tentative faces, people clutching shiny new trekking poles and immaculate backpacks, others with studied indifference holding tattered and patched packs. The train emptied and, after an evening in a hostel, the throng commenced. The train from Glasgow to Milngavie had echoes of that trip. Sprinkled amongst the city commuters were West Highland Way trekkers, all of whom made their way to town center and the obelisk marking the commencement of the most popular long walk in Scotland.

The path itself was pleasant and easy, a good bit on an old railway line, and there were some pretty woods where I scared up a pair of ring-necked pheasants.

The Scottish National Trail overlaps the WHW for one day, then turns northeast onto the Rob Roy Way and other paths heading toward the Cairngorms. But for today, I walked with the pilgrims on their way to Fort William— a jovial and expectant bunch strung out over the first 12 miles of that trek. As you cannot wild camp in the Loch Lomond region and I’m planning a double length day tomorrow and a large storm crossed the area mid afternoon, I opted for a campground just outside Drymen, unpacked, pitched my tent and strolled the mile into town just ahead of the rain, spending the afternoon in the Clachan Inn (est. 1734, the oldest licensed pub in Scotland ) and crowded with WHW pilgrims, reading John McPhee’s The Laird and the Crofter.

T. Hugh Crawford

Walking to Cape Wrath, Day 9 May 19, 2022

May 19th, 2022

Walking to Cape Wrath, Day 9 May 19, 2022

I usually try to keep up with the local football teams when I visit a country or city. The other day in Peebles, I sat in a pub watching Celtic win a game and be awarded the Scottish Premier League championship trophy, then watched Liverpool win the FA cup over Chelsea in PKs, all in one afternoon. Yesterday in Kilsyth, I noticed some people walking about town draped in a flag, but given my sore feet, I was focused on getting plasters, etc. and neglected to check what was up. Later in the night I heard what was clearly a fan-base ruckus, and out of my hotel window saw red and blue smoke bombs deployed. It wasn’t until today, on stopping by the Hotel Artto to drop my bag, did I learn that Rangers had made it to the Europa league final, only to lose to Frankfurt in penalties. Now, here in Glasgow the afternoon after the game, tables of fans sitting in the sun on sidewalks by pubs occasionally erupt in chants, cheers, and table thumping.

The morning walk out was uneventful but the weather was beautiful. A good breakfast at the Kilmyths “Coachman” and I was down the road, soon gaining the canal path for a last day’s flat hike. The early hours on the canal are good for some solitude (only the occasional jogger), so the birds, particularly the waterfowl, are not yet disturbed. Yesterday’s swans were definitely one-upped by today’s. A pair were feeding in the canal and, on my approach, took to the air, or at least got off the surface briefly. The wings beat hard and they each push at the water with both webbed feet in unison, trying to propel themselves in the air. Then they were airborne, wing muscles powerful beneath all those feathers, they flew briefly, landing in the next widened part of the canal where, from my vantage point, they touched beaks, making the familiar double swan-necked heart image seen on countless Hallmark cards. Then the male proceeded forward while the female gathered from the rushes half-dozen cygnets who paddled behind her, making their way slowly upstream.

Thankfully today marks the end of the canal section of the trek (note: anyone considering the Scottish National Trail should arrange to bicycle that section). Tomorrow begins a whole new phase, heading into the Trossachs, an area I’ve visited before (Walter Scott land), and then on to the Cairngorms. So today I took the train to city centre Glasgow, wandered a bit, took care of some minor resupply, and rested my sore feet.

T. Hugh Crawford

Walking to Cape Wrath, Day 8 May 18, 2022

May 18th, 2022

Walking to Cape Wrath, Day 8 May 18, 2022

An unusual but (generally) pleasant evening required hotfooting it back to the Loch House Farm campsite as the rains rushed in. It showered, off and on all night, but my new ZPacks duplex performed. It starts getting light around 5, so I got an earlier start on the day’s walk — 32 official km on a flat canal path. I’m ready for some variety and to get off this pavement which is really hamburgering my feet. The early start meant grabbing some fresh rolls and an orange drink from a local convenience store (with the usual parade of folks stopping to buy a newspaper—something I really enjoy), then stretching out on what was essentially the same walk as yesterday.

The main difference is that this part of the trail crosses the fall line dividing Edinburgh and Glasgow. Most people know what incredible engineers the Scots are and those who are unaware of that need only walk this part of the National Trail (Union Canal Way). The subtle but overwhelming evidence is that, for all these km out of Edinburgh I’ve been walking for two days, I’ve passed 50+ bridges, and only later today did I pass a lock. Basically the canal’s engineers built a perfectly level canal the distance from Edinburgh to Falkirk— more than 30 miles as flat as a spirit level. The fall line brings a different story and the drop is considerable. On the Edinburgh side today I passed a three- lock sequence, with a boat just commencing the process, and then came to the Falkirk Wheel— a 21st century old-fashioned engineering marvel that takes the place of 11 traditional locks by swinging a piece of the canal up on a giant wheel, whisking canalboat and canal up 35 meters in 5 minutes. The only way to understand is through the picture below (I was lucky that it was in action when I arrived this morning).

Apart from the engineering, today brought a couple of interesting encounters including a woman insisting that the worms wriggling on the pavement were leeches— I can neither deny nor confirm the report, only to verify that there were wriggling creatures on the pavement wet with last night’s rain. Later I passed a man in hiking gear with a day pack walking in the same direction with purpose. He had a fascinating rough, thick countenance like a character from an old movie. He asked where I was heading— I gave the usual Cape Wrath eventually but to X for the day answer. Today’s X is Kilsyth which I pronounced “kill sith”. He said you mean “kill syth” (rhymes with Blythe). Grateful for the correction. A bit later I passed a fit middle aged couple and for the first time someone asked me if I was on my way to Cape Wrath. The Scottish National Trail is a fairly new route and most people down here aren’t thinking someone is walking the length of the country (unless it’s someone walking Lands End to John O’Groat). Apparently most people try not to think about the Cape Wrath Way. Was refreshing to talk to someone who understood the magnitude of the trek and expressed enthusiasm.

The other encounter on the path wasn’t with a human but rather a swan. All this trek I keep bumping into swans on the edge of the path or in the water, and I always think of William Butler Yeats’s “Wild Swans at Coole”—“But now they drift on the still water/ Mysterious, Beautiful”— or his brutal “Leda and the Swan”: “Being so caught up,/So mastered by the brute blood of the air,/Did she put on his knowledge with his power/ Before the indifferent beak could let her drop?” The latter poem prompts a healthy respect regarding the possible violence that swans can inflict, so I circle them on paths warily. But today a swan in the air rushed past, flying down the middle of the canal, and I was immediately taken back to 2015 and the New Zealand Te Araroa trail. The full day is detailed here—https://walkinghome.lmc.gatech.edu/te-araroa-walking-south-with-the-spring/day-28-2 — but I quote the swan scene here “I got half-way across the dyke, smiling at the sun drying all the stuff on my back, when from nowhere along comes a hail storm, which ultimately got to pea-sized, then the lightening began to strike on either side, like an artillery detachment determining range, and there I was, the only elevated upright figure anywhere nearby. The thunder was accompanied by the honking clatter of swans– a pair of black ones in the river beside me who were unsettled by the crack and boom. One took flight, the muscular effort to raising that bulk so it was just skimming above the water, going up the narrow channel as if it were a landing strip.” This is all just to say the notion of a graceful swan is a misnomer— they are powerful, intimidating, and ultimately supernatural creatures, something I glimpsed in that flight today.

The day’s hike wound down at the Auchinstarry marina, before turning up to Kilsyth for dinner and a bed. There were rows of canal boats on the water, one classic one was occupied by two older women talking on the small deck to the fore. Next to them was a brown spaniel, head on the rail looking longingly at the water just there below him. I settled into my room, treated the wounds my feet have suffered by the hard pavement on the canal path, then wandered to the Scarecrow Pub for pints and a prawn, chorizo and blood-pudding salad— delicious.

T. Hugh Crawford

Walking to Cape Wrath, Day 7 May 17, 2022

May 17th, 2022

Walking to Cape Wrath, Day 7 May 17, 2022

As much as I enjoy wandering Edinburgh, today felt as if I was fleeing the city. The entire trek was on a paved canal path so the kilometers clipped by and the sounds of the highway diminished with each step. On a long trek, there are always those nice moment when you spend more than one night in a place. I returned to the Snax Cafe for my breakfast before departure—the person who took my order recognized me, so we talked a bit. Then it was off to the trailhead. The day’s walk was uneventful. The path was narrow and crowded, particularly with bicyclists, so I had to listen hard for the ting of a bell to jump off the path in time, and once was brushed back by kids on-off road motorcycles. But by and large the walk was pure peace.

By midday the canal was populated by long boats— mostly from a vacation rental company, so the pilots were anxious but clearly enjoying the process. Reminded me of afternoons in Oxford watching the boats pass by, though here the canal (the Union Canal) has no locks, quite an engineering feat, as are the aquaducts that carry the boats high above fast flowing river valleys.

On the approach to Linlithgow, I passed on the path a man in dress pants, white shirt and a sweater, who turned after we passed and said I looked to be someone on a great journey. I explained what I was doing and then noted that my day’s journey was almost over because I was right next to the town. He proceeded to tell me about Saint Michael’s church where Mary Queen of Scots was baptized and then directed me to the best old pubs in town. Love this place. Wandered through Linlithgow, finding a campground on a working farm (Loch House Farm) set my tent up in the corner of a field, walked back to the Black Bitch Tavern for a pint. Outside the town, the pub’s name is a bit controversial, but it refers to a local legend—the story of a black female greyhound who would swim the loch, taking food to her master who was imprisoned on an island in the loch. The Greene King corporation acquired the Black Bitch and was planning to change the name, a move that caused quite a controversy. (I wish someone would make an app to identify all Greene King pubs— while the local ambiance of the pubs they acquire can remain, the standardized menu always disappoints).

Had fish pie at the West Port, then a pint at the Crown Arms before heading to the tent before the rains came in.

T. Hugh Crawford

Walking to Cape Wrath, Day 6 May 16, 2022

May 17th, 2022

Walking to Cape Wrath, Day 6 May 16, 2022

When I was young growing up in the Shenandoah Valley, the highlight of the year was the county fair. There was barbecue, cotton candy, harness racing, carnival rides, hoochie coochie shows, and of course the livestock barn. Given that many of my classmates grew up on farms and showed at the barn, it always got a careful tour. Today’s walk was a misty wet stroll— had to get out all my foul-weather gear including gaiters and slipped my way across a couple hours of seemingly empty moor. Only a dozen miles or so from the center of Edinburgh, cell service regularly dropped and the landscape was only populated by wild ducks. However, on either side were intensive agricultural areas. It was like a really long version of the Shenandoah County Fair livestock barn.

I’m still following the recommended Scottish National Trail itinerary, but this slow circling of Edinburgh reminds me of all the days it takes to get past Auckland on the Te Araroa. Tomorrow I’ll double up some of the days, stretch my legs out and make my way out into the countryside. But for today, at the end point Balerno, once again I caught a bus to downtown and a hostel that had a laundry. Out of the rain, I got everything clean, then went for fish and chips at the Malt Shovel; then a brief wander about old town which made for a complete and fairly satisfying day.

T. Hugh Crawford

Walking to Cape Wrath, Day 5 May 15, 2022

May 16th, 2022

Walking to Cape Wrath, Day 5 May 15, 2022

Traquair (Innerleithen ) to Peebles (21 km)

Walking Old: Since I often teach seminars on the literature and philosophy of walking, I’m regularly sent internet links to articles touting the benefits of walking for mental and physical well-being, claims often quite miraculous. There is a peculiar dichotomy in that discourse as, on the one hand, walking maintains youth and health, yet in our culture (here I guess I mean the United States) walking is often associated with people we term “elderly.” Young people have no need of walking as they can run, jump, gambol— why do something as pedestrian as walk?

Obviously since I tend to go off on all these long distance treks, I think about walking and health a lot. Each new trail prompts a serious re-evaluation of my ability to do it, and I have to admit that my ambitions have scaled back a bit. The rough mountain trails of the US hold less of an appeal than the more sedate paths in old countries like Scotland (this is not to say Scotland trails are easy, just that an approach to them is not so intense— perhaps as I finish this trek in the far north highlands, I’ll eat those words). Although I’ve backpacked most of my life, I only took up serious distance hiking in 2011 when my son Bennett and I did the first third of the Appalachian trail. While not young, I didn’t consider myself old then, and was happy to dive into the rigors that the AT brings. Three summers of getting back into trekking shape, losing more toenails in total than I have at any given moment, helped me understand the complex dance that is walking on uneven terrain with time constraints. But of course age brings additional constraints which for me included arthritis leading to knee replacement, something I recount here: https://walkinghome.lmc.gatech.edu/pointless-essays/learning-to-walk-again/ But also I consider a general diminishing of strength, stamina, and flexibility, which is just to say I approach the trail with a little more wariness than in the past

Which all brings me to the question of walking old. Without doubt, what I have found most fascinating this week are the older men and women I encounter on the path. In the States, the word elderly calls to my mind a certain feebleness, but here the paths are crowded by older, fit walkers whose faces glow with the pleasure they clearly feel by their exertions and encounters with the natural world. Much of this is geographic— Scotland has many small villages, each of which has walking paths radiating from city center, and right to roam laws make it possible to travel from town to town unmolested. I frequently encounter pairs of older people (or people at least as old as me) wearing well-warn hiking clothes, sitting nonchalantly on a muddy bank sharing a thermos of tea— faces radiating contentment. (I hesitate to compare their equanimity with the stress of American’s rushing to the gym or home for a peloton experience).

I wonder what life and health care in the US would be like if we simply had access (near our own front doors) to paths that wander about in our own neighborhoods, our own community. I wonder what the status of the “elderly” would be given those circumstances. Of course that would have to include a population ready to give up some false sense of security to grant the simple right to walk across a field. If people in the US had the chance to see the pure pleasure on the face of that old couple sitting on a muddy bank, listening to the birds, greeting other walkers, and sipping tea, they would see that while wrinkles on their faces betray their years, their expressions are anything but “elderly.”

Oh yeah, I did walk from Peebles to West Linton today. It was in some ways a summary of the days leading up (without the traumatic weather). Some edges of town, hiking up through pastures, some open moorland, a lot of forests, and of course I lost track of the path twice, the second required all sorts of bushwhacking through a field quite close to a Manor house. One fascinating moment included watching farmers in the distance— far left and right— herding sheep on their quad bikes (now there is a transformative agricultural technology). I also spent much of the day on a drove road, and got to walk through the Cloich Forest which, while imposing, was just one more bit of industrial forestry. The latter part of the trek brought me through newly lambed pastures with one young lamb momentarily imprinting me, following as fast as she could (soon overtaken by her solicitous mother). Got to West Linton early afternoon in time for a pint and a phone charge at the Gordon Arms Hotel— fine establishment—then caught the bus to downtown Edinburgh to get a new pack cover and some maps, settling into a hostel over the Guildford Arms, one of Edinburgh’s great pubs— a fine evening spent there over whitebait and pints from an Orkney brewery.

T. Hugh Crawford

Walking to Cape Wrath, Day 4 May 14, 2022

May 14th, 2022

Walking to Cape Wrath, Day 4 May 14, 2022

In hiker’s parlance, a zero day is a rest day— walking zero miles (or kilometers). A Nero is short for “nearly zero.” After the last three long days, today was pretty close to a Nero— officially only 12 km. Of course since I was in Innerleithen, the actual trail was already a few km away, and because I got (sort of) lost, it might not qualify as a true Nero. Still, the whole point was to rest my weary bones.

I’d thought I’d have a quiet cup of coffee before setting off, but time in the northern latitudes wakes sleepers early, so I was ready to walk long before the cafes opened. Trusting my usual luck though, I passed a wonderful bakery which supplied me with a sausage pastry and coffee. Hiker’s tip— a meat pie is always preferable, but while walking, a sausage pastry can be held in one hand with no chin gravy. With the streets empty, I made my way out of town, heading back toward Traquair, finding a short cut to the Traquair house, part of which was originally built by 1107 and is the oldest continuously inhabited house in Scotland. I was there long before the doors opened but was able to wander a bit in the silence. An impressive place.

Unlike the last few days which have been on well-established old tracks—the St. Cuthbert and South Upland Ways— today required point to point navigation with little to no signage (which accounts for a number of missteps). Fortunately the destination was always clear— due west along the River Tweed to Peebles. I guess to provide some variety, the path-makers decided to take me up a ridge above the river through an old forest, past on old slate works (a geology lesson in itself) where I flushed a deer (reminded me of home). The tough part came when the path markers gave out. I think Storm Arwen has forced a rerouting of a number of paths, and while some were probably re-signed immediately, others (like the one I was following) drifted off the map. By mid-morning I found myself on a well-made forest road that, according to my navigation software, was not where I was supposed to be. Fortunately I knew the river was down the ridge and there was likely a road there (hopefully on my side). I proceeded cross-country scrambling over down trees to gain a road that soon became my route. Never was a crisis, but was cause for some excitement in what was supposed to be a calm stroll to Peebles.

I was curious about a sign on a broken down fence I encountered in my perambulations: “Private Shoot.” I’ve been reading Nick Hayes’s Book of Trespass which tells stories of hunts on private land, so it was interesting to think my disorientation was somehow linked to some upper-class pleasure. My pleasure was gaining the paved bicycle path in Cardrona, then following it to city center in Peebles—a lively town full of Saturday wanderers enjoying the sunshine. I found myself in a Costa, sipping coffee looking out the window with the sun shining and people walking about. I felt I needed to get out there to walk around, then I remembered that’s all I’ve been doing the last 3 1/2 days. Spent the latter part of the afternoon in the Crown Hotel Pub watching Celtic take the trophy of the Scottish Premier league(and listening to drunken Scots argue over nothing). A day well spent.

T. Hugh Crawford