Walking Home

reveries of an amateur long-distance hiker

Walking to Cape Wrath, Day 15, May 25, 2022

May 25th, 2022

Walking to Cape Wrath, Day 15, May 25, 2022

Compared to the past few days of absolutely solitary wandering, today was a veritable social hour. I have to admit, for me the draw of long-distance trekking has always been the solitude— something shared by Rousseau whose Reveries of a Solitary Walker has long served as a model for me. Over the years, solitude is something I have craved, though of late, I’m at cross-purposes, relishing my isolation but missing intensely my current life in Atlanta. Years ago I wrote a brief essay on solitude when commencing the Te Araroa trail in New Zealand: https://walkinghome.lmc.gatech.edu/pointless-essays/solitude/

The structure of trails determines to a great degree the level of solitude a walker can experience. The Te Araroa is an isolated walk, while the Camino de Santiago is a traveling party. As the Scottish National trail is a cobbling together of parts of already established trails with some complicated connections, it lacks the social continuity of those paths. As mentioned earlier, my brief overlap with the West Highland Way brought memories of the Camino, not just because of the crowd of walkers but also the support system along the trail— coffee shops, etc. set up close to the path— and of course the pub culture at the end of the day, where weary walkers gather to exchange tips, names, and sympathy.

The past few days have been up and over hills and passes, skirting towns and civilization in favor of the high, uninhabited moors. Today was mostly a river walk (actually three rivers with a hill climb between two of them), passing through towns and villages. I started in Aberfeldy, wandering along the River Tay to Grandtully (where regrettably the Chocolatier shop had not yet opened). There I crossed a “weakened” bridge (there are plenty of those in the area, but apparently my crossing is not their concern) and headed up over a ridge, then down the other side to the River Tummel where I wandered Pitlochry a bit. In preparation for a couple of days in the wilds, I bought supplies at the coop, picked up some extra gear at the Hawkshead equipment shop, and had a full Scottish breakfast at the Cafe Biba. A bit weighed down—both pack and belly— I made my way out of town, down along what became the River Garry, passing through Killicrankie, ultimately arriving at Blair Atholl.

The day was full of encounters: runners on the river path out of Aberfeldy, dog walkers most everywhere, and on the streets of Pitlochry and Blair Atholl there were many serious trekkers. Outside the pub in the evening, there was a pile of well-worn fairly large Osprey packs, signaling some serious trekkers I’m surmising.  The most pleasant social encounter was up on a forest road above Pitlochry. As I descended I heard many loud, talkative voices, something I’ve not encountered all this trip. On breaking for the forest, I walked into a group portrait of more than a dozen women from Canada on a town-to-town trek. Of course I volunteered to take the picture so they could all be in it. We talked a bit—they were hiking this area town to town,— fairly short days— in the highest of spirits. Given how slipping in the mud on a long grade up can be discouraging, I was happy to see their good-natured enthusiasm, something rare on tough trails.

The latter part of the day bounced from trail to minor road, to well-graded path, past farms— including a horse training facility where I stopped a bit to watch someone training to jump horses. Blair Atholl was a pleasant surprise— such beautiful stone homes with distinctive architecture. It appears much of the early part of the village was built by the same architect, probably at the behest of the Laird. The people at the campground were kind as all Scots seem to be, I took a quick turn around the castle before settling into the Bothy Bar for a heavy meal in preparation for the next few day’s privations.

T. Hugh Crawford

Walking to Cape Wrath, Day 14, May 24, 2022

May 24th, 2022

Walking to Cape Wrath, Day 14, May 24, 2022

Woke at 5:00 to the crowing of a pheasant which was soon accompanied by what I took to be a mockingbird imitating R2D2. My tent was pitched behind a corrugated steel shed in the middle of an unoccupied stonewall-enclosed pasture. Of course the sun was already high (Scotland in May)— and, surprise surprise, the sun was actually shining after a couple days of dark, damp mist and some periods of straight-up torrents. Many years ago (while in high school) I took canoe trip on the Shenandoah river with three friends. One night we camped on the riverbank in a cornfield. I remember the next morning hustling to get out before the farmer caught us. His truck was crossing the bridge as we floated past (at least that is how we all remembered it). Today I woke with the same concern— even though the Scottish right-to-roam laws should have protected me, still I hustled to get packed up and out on the road before a farmer on a quad bike with a bunch of dogs appeared to question a vagabond in his pasture.


So far there have been occasional days with the morning sun bright and low, casting fantastic shadows on the landscape. My early morning was walking out of the glen up toward a highland road to take me over the pass into the Aberfeldy valley. Unfortunately the farmsteads have become commonplace even as their incredible beauty remains arresting. Out in the wilder areas, it always give me pause to see remnants of farms and homesteads, many surely predating the great Highland clearances. Those fields are now populated by sheep, even up high where the only thing that seems to grow is heather and cotton grass. Today took me up a minor road to a long undulating otherworldly plateau that then descended by the Urlar burn slowly into Aberfeldy. Toward the end all the water rushed into a series of cataracts including the Morness falls, before finally joining the River Tay just past the town.

The day’s trek was shortened by my having extended yesterday’s, so I arrived in plenty of time to get my tent pitched at the Aberfeldy Caravan Park before the afternoon rains rushed in. I showered and did my laundry — needed some relief from all that bog water, and retired to the Schiehallion Hotel Pub to plan out the next 4 days which will involve much wild hiking and serious isolation in the Cairngorms. I also plan to revisit Nan Shepherd’s account of her walks, just to get my head right for this part of the trek.

T. Hugh Crawford