Walking Home

reveries of an amateur long-distance hiker

Walking to Cape Wrath, Day 23, June 2, 2022

June 5th, 2022

Walking to Cape Wrath, Day 23, June 2, 2022

SORRY— this one is out of order, too many days out in the glens

A day of two passes, divided by some time in a pub. It rained a bit in the night, just enough to give each blade of grass a crown. As I wanted to time today’s trek to get lunch at Cluanie Inn, I lingered in the tent, watching the morning sun—itself a surprise—gently lift the water from the fabric, getting a late start. The walk out was along a squtichy boggy path first up the Glen then up and over a pass in the gap between Creag Liathtais and Creag a’Mhaim (I missed that turn, adding 20 minutes to my day). The landscape remains magical, particularly in the bright morning light. Soon I was up and over, slowly descending to a well built road which historically was part of the “Road to the Isles,” which is now defunct because of hydro-electric projects. It made for a quick final 5km to the Cluanie Inn. There the proprietor let me hang out in the pub charging my devices (something I’ve become obsessed with given the frequency of encounters with civilization). Soon they opened for lunch, and I gorged myself, then lingered out front in the sun sipping yet another pint delaying my afternoon which was, in many ways, the mirror image of my morning.

On leaving the Inn I found the track into the An Caorann Mòr, a long gentle climb on a land rover road which, on giving out became in indistinct path even boggier than the morning. After several hours of slogging about I finally sighted the Affric river beyond which I could see the hostel, my end point. I gratefully forded the river in the last 1/2 km, happy to wash away the day’s accumulated muck before settling in. The Glen Affric Hostel (run by the Scottish Hostel group) is an isolated off-the-grid establishment frequented by mountain bikers and Munro baggers. Initially there was a mixup with my reservation, but it was soon resolved, and I spent a toasty evening by the fire (while it rained outside) talking with a whole crew of hard-core outdoors aficionados.

T. Hugh Crawford

Walking to Cape Wrath, Day 25, June 4, 2022

June 5th, 2022

Walking to Cape Wrath, Day 25, June 4, 2022

I stopped briefly at a bothy this afternoon and had a conversation with Simon, a man walking part of the Cape Wrath Trail. He had settled in for the day while I was planning to push ahead to the next bothy about 8 km further on. A hot day tempted me to stay, but I want to get used to much longer days as the last week will be full of them. We talked about stopping in towns, and he took the familiar line used by most trekkers— a certain contempt for “civilization” as trekking takes you out in the wild and keeps you there.

That narrative thread is strong in most of the Cape Wrath Trail discourse— its draw is the wild. Of course I’m all for the wild— I relish the solitude of wandering in what seem to be empty spaces (one of the reasons I almost always trek alone see https://walkinghome.lmc.gatech.edu/pointless-essays/solitude/). And, for example, today I saw almost no one except Simon over a 30 km walk which took me via very steep and narrow paths down the side of one of the tallest waterfall in UK, Falls of Glomach measuring in at 113 meters. I walked around lochs, slogged through more bogs, and crossed several high ridges. In other words, I got the full wild experience.

But I also want to say a word for towns. I’ve had to coordinate maps, websites and guidebooks to see just how close the SNT comes to various towns— many it deliberately misses— in order to have the chance to visit them. For me, towns (crossroads, villages, hamlets— the maps have the full gamut of place names) can be every bit as interesting as an isolated mountaintop.

The Appalachian trail only passes directly through a few towns along its 2000 mile + corridor. Resupply usually involves hitchhiking down off the ridge to towns at some distance. Towards the end of my trek, I realized how much I enjoyed staying in decrepit motels near the trail. Mattresses lumpy, television often limited, the rooms had no real appeal except there was always an old lawn chair on the walk in front of the room, facing the parking lot, where in the evening you could sit, read, and talk to the people arriving. Hardly “exciting” but a real pleasure nevertheless. Since then I’ve hiked many trails, most with a similarly fraught relationship to towns. Of course there are exceptions— the Camino de Santiago winds its way through the main street of every town it approaches (primarily to afford pilgrims the chance to pray in each of the churches on the way). But by and large on most long trails, towns are viewed as infrastructure— a place to support the wilderness seekers— and not as another sight to be seen. Just a word for towns— they can bring such pleasure.

Today no town for me. I’m sleeping in the Bendronaig Lodge bothy— a comfortable estate bothy with a flushing toilet! (Of course you have to bring buckets of water from the spring). And tomorrow I will wild camp somewhere past Craig, a crossroads I should pass mid day. But the following day brings the village of Kinlochewe, and another place to explore—a town.

T. Hugh Crawford

Walking to Cape Wrath, Day 24, June 3, 2022

June 3rd, 2022

Walking to Cape Wrath, Day 24, June 3, 2022

Quite possibly the most beautiful walk I’ve ever taken. Woke early as the Munro baggers were itching to get started and my bunk was just above theirs—had coffee with them later, a good lot. I was the only one walking out what for many is the last leg of the Glen Affric Way. I was expecting more bog hiking, but after a few kilometers was surprised by a well-benched track that held through the day, and what a day. I began walking up the watershed of the Allt Beithe Garbh, but so subtly, the flow changed to the west and I spent the rest of the morning descending with the Allt Grannda.

The wind had picked up in the night, coming in with the rain, so the early morning was brisk, cloudy, and damp, but it was clear the skies were going to clear, so I bopped along at a rolling pace. After a few clicks I passed a simple bothy and had a short but pleasant conversation with a couple who were finishing the Glen Affric Way that day. They were lingering over morning coffee before heading out.

Later in the day I encountered mountain bikers heading up the glen, and, closer to Morvich, the walkers were out in force. One part of the path crossed a cattle pasture with some highland cattle (or some hybrids I suspect) which included a glowering bull and many calves. I passed warily, but he seemed unconcerned, as he would be, given the place he gets to live. Later the path joined a land rover track that quickly brought me to the Morvich Campgounds, a short day earned by going long the previous two. Shower, laundry and a long walk to the Kintail Lodge for a huge meal and obligatory pints.

It must have been the combination of a well formed path, the beginnings of sunshine, the narrowness of the glen, the height of the mountains, and the non-stop waterfalls—each more impressive than the last— that turned the day exquisite. It is difficult to mark a tipping point, that move from a painful, difficult walk, to a tiresome trudge, to a lighthearted amble, to something that is close to pure joy—but that line was crossed today.

T. Hugh Crawford

Walking to Cape Wrath, Day 21, May 31, 2022

May 31st, 2022

Walking to Cape Wrath, Day 21, May 31, 2022

Equipment day—the other day I broke a trekking pole—pair of graphite Leki’s that have been around the world. I’d been concerned about them all trip, and now that I’ll be in the wilds, it seemed prudent to replace. After breakfast at the hostel, I stopped for coffee by the canal, then caught a bus to Fort William, the largest town in the region and home to several equipment shops, including Cotswolds which, though at times pricy, always has quality equipment. Got new, high-end Leki’s, a warmer hat, and laid in some super power bars to have as backup food supply in the event I get caught out in the wilds longer than anticipated.

Fort William is charming, a man playing music in the square, and lots of dayhikers as Ben Nevis looms over the town. This is also the home of the Jacobin Express, the steam train featured in the Harry Potter movies. All in all, a low key day, welcome after the rigors of the last couple.

T. Hugh Crawford

Walking to Cape Wrath, Day 18, May 28, 2022

May 29th, 2022

Walking to Cape Wrath, Day 18, May 28, 2022

The walk out of Glen Feshie to Kingussie was uneventful. Typical cloudy day with occasional showers but no strife like the previous one. I was off before anyone woke up (and I think I was sufficiently quiet for the one person who ended up sleeping in the room I was in).

The only real observation I made, apart from the mass of firewood all the houses on the way into Kingussie had stored) was the river itself. Though not a particularly long river, the Feshie is a stunning geological feature. On the South Island of New Zealand, you regularly encounter braided rivers— extreme flows of water that wash the gravel scree from adjoining mountains, forming and reforming channels almost overnight. You can never know what a river crossing might be on any given day because of the astonishing speed that channels are re-arranged, particularly in spring flood-time. On the Te Araroa, crossing braided rivers was always a time of stress and often a time of failure— knowing that failure meant walking miles out of your way to find a ford or a bridge (or failure could be drowning). I didn’t have to cross the River Feshie and unless the weather was much more severe, I doubted it would be difficult. Still, looking down on those braids brought back memories and some anxiety.

The day finished early with my arrival in Kingussie which began with late breakfast at the Sugar Bowl, then I wandered to the Duke of Gordon, a fine old hotel I’d secured cheap lodging in, and a long hot bath.

T. Hugh Crawford

Walking to Cape Wrath, Day 16, May 26, 2022

May 28th, 2022

Walking to Cape Wrath, Day 16, May 26, 2022

As I would be wild camping up in the Cairngorms area, I was in no real hurry to get started. Last night I made arrangements to eat in the Atholl Arms restaurant for breakfast, opting for eggs Benedict instead of another Scottish meat festival. The yoghurt and fruit were exceptional, as were my eggs. Leaving that lovely stone town, I found the path alongside the Tilt river, which was to be my hiking companion for the better part of the day.

As this was my entrance to the Cairngorms, I was expecting greater difficulty, but most of the day was on a well-made farm road slowly ascending the range, sticking close to the river. At first the glen was very narrow, the sheep stood oblivious at impossible angles on steep slopes. Slowly the landscape widened, with the path passing small farmhouses, some inhabited, others abandoned. Later it entered a forested section, reminding me of riding the train to Aviemore some years ago. I recall on passing the Atholl estate noting the dense forest. John Murray (1755-1830), fourth Duke of Atholl, who was nicknamed ‘Planter John’ was one of the first industrial tree planters in Scotland, planting millions of larch in the land abutting the Cairngorms. Planter John’s vision has clearly been carried forward as the path took me past a textbook example of modern industrial farming. On passing Forest Lodge, the largest farm I crossed, I watched as a harvester cut off scrub deciduous trees, ripping some directly out of the ground, clearing the way to cut the large old pines. The ground shook as the roots snapped, and the “useless” lumber was tossed aside. Later the path passed a huge pile of logs cut to length, partially stripped of bark, stacked, and ready to be loaded out.

Finally near the end of the trek, the water subtly shifted directions as I left the watershed of the Tilt and entered that of the Dee. There is something exhilarating about walking a river to its headwaters, something I wrote about here in one of my favorite blog posts: https://walkinghome.lmc.gatech.edu/pointless-essays/a-walker-of-rivers/

After following the Alltan t-Seilich (a tributary to the Dee) for a few short kilometers just before Bynack Burn, I came to Bynack Lodge, a ruined stone home sitting on a rise, in the middle of nowhere. The only road to it a Land Rover track. Just a circle of wind-twisted trees, crumbling walls, and sheep grazing to keep up its well-mown appearance. The wind was blowing hard and the weather alternated bright sun and brief showers. I pitched my tent in the lee of the house at what seemed the calmest spot (a relative concept). After inspecting the grounds I took shelter and read well into the evening, while my tent flapped, trembled, shook, but ultimately held.

T. Hugh Crawford

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

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