Captain's Log

Chasing The Devil

It wasn’t until 06:30 before I poked my head out of the tent. I was too late to see off the ultrarunners in the Devil Of The Highlands race. The 500 runners set off from the village’s centre at 06:00 and the winner would follow the West Highland Way and reach Fort William 42 miles later, around about 11:20. I still had another 3 days ahead of me to achieve that particular target. In fact my target for the day was a little vague. I would head north from Tyndrum to the Bridge Of Orchy. From there I’d walk around the western end of Loch Tulla and follow the Drove Road on to the western edge of Rannoch Moor. I had an idea that I might pitch at the campsite at the Glencoe Mountain Resort, but it was the weekend and I wondered whether it might be full. If I could find a suitable pitch along the Drove Road, then the chances would be that I’d wildcamp somewhere along there.

The morning looked gloomy and grey and I was quick to pack up my tent so that it wouldn’t get wet. Not surprisingly it was quick to get back on to the West Highland Way from the By The Way campsite; I simply walked out of the front entrance onto it. The trail took me on a back route into town where I crossed a dried up riverbed. Tyndrum means ‘the house of the ridge’, but I’ve never seen many ridges with riverbeds on them. It is on the main east-west watershed of Scotland though and so in a macro sense it is on a ridge. The path brought me out at Brodies Mini Market. I'd bought some provisions from the nearby Green Welly store yesterday evening and the experience had made me a good deal poorer. Maybe I should have given Brodies a chance. It was still too early for either of them to be open. Tyndrum was still rubbing the sleep out of its eyes. I set off on the West Highland Way out of the village. 

At The Feet Of Giants

The rain in the air turned into a mizzle. By the time I’d escaped the last signs of the village, I’d stopped to put on my waterproofs. It wasn’t really that bad, but you never really want to get soaked, even gradually, when backpacking. The hills were all topped with mist. This was a little unfortunate since the mountains around here are giants. I headed north passing the mighty Beinn Odhar (901m), Beinn a’ Chaisteil (886m), Beinn Doranin (1076m) and Bein an Dothaidh (1000m). In some sense their tops capped by mist seemed to make them feel even bigger; it was left to my imagination to figure out how high they climbed into the mist.

I reached the broad col of the valley and viewed the long route north ahead of me. I could see just three other walkers. How different this felt from previous days, when the trail was clearly marked by walkers, both in front  of me and behind. Maybe people saw the weather prospects and just gave up at Tyndrum. In fact the mizzle had stopped now. A small patch of blue sky traversed the valley and disappeared over Beinn Dorain. It was the first and last blue sky that I’d see all day, but it did give me hope. I dropped down from the col as the A82 and railway line diverged on either side of the trail. The railway engineers had a small problem when they had to cross the Allt Kinglass on a tributary valley and they resolved it by creating a viaduct. I was too far away to get a decent picture of it though. The walkers who use trail shoes must hate today’s walk on the West Highland Way since most of it is on hard stone following the Old Military Road. It did make for fast walking though and I soon found myself dropping down to the Bridge Of Orchy. 

Bridge Of Orchy And The Germans

A tunnel took me under the railway line and I entered the village. There was a large hotel on the side of the A82 with a sign outside advertising coffee. The female French walker I’d talked to on our tramp along the Military Road headed straight for the entrance. It still seemed a little early to me and I wanted to get some more miles under my belt, especially with this constant, imminent threat of rain in the air. With steely determination I walked past the smell of coffee beans and walked down to the bridge. It brought back memories of family holidays when I stood on top of the wonderful stone bridge. There was a picnic area on the other side which can be used for wildcamping. I stopped at a wooden table and ate a flapjack. Maybe I should have gone for a coffee. 

It is possible to take the single track road around to the Inveroran Hotel, but the West Highland Way continues to follow the Old Military Road over Mam Carraigh. It was a gradual climb and my legs actually enjoyed the change in gradient from this morning’s flattish walk. Remarkably, I caught a group of Germans up. They looked to be in their 30s and spoke very good English. At the viewpoint at the top of the hill, they told me that they were from Munich.
‘Why have you come to do this particular walk?’ I asked them.
‘Our friend did it three weeks ago and recommended it to us.’
‘Aren’t there similar walks in Germany?’
‘Some of them in the Alps may still be covered by snow at this time of year.’
They decided to stop for lunch. It was certainly a magnificent view from the summit. Loch Tulla stretched out below us and beyond that was the massive expanse of Rannoch Moor. On the north side of Loch Tulla are the houses of the Black Mount estate which became the Highland retreat of Ian Fleming (the author of the James Bond books). I’d had no invite from the gentry that owns it now and so I headed down towards the Inveroran Hotel instead. 

Inveroran Hotel

It was all downhill to the hotel and it didn’t take me long to reach it. After the exertions of Mam Carraigh I could have done with a coffee, but the only review of the place of which I was aware was by Dorothy Wordsworth. She’d called in here with her brother William, on their tour of Scotland in 1803. Her account of the hotel’s all-day breakfast didn’t sound too appetising:
‘...the butter not eatable, the barley-cakes fusty, the oat-bread so hard I could not chew it, and there were only four eggs in the house, which they had boiled as hard as stones.’  
It didn’t sound too good and so I decided to give it a miss. There was a surprisingly well stocked shop at the end of the buildings though. It was pricey, but given its rather remote location I was more than happy to pay a premium for its provisions. I ate one of its sandwiches and drank a can of Coke at a patio table. A runner trotted by and I wondered whether she was a late starter from this morning’s Devil Of The Highland’s race. The day looked even gloomier now and there was the occasional drop of rain in the air. It didn’t look too hopeful for getting my tent pitched before a downpour. I heaved the rucksack onto my back, and made my way around the western end of Loch Tulla to the start of the Drove Road across Rannoch Moor. 

Rannoch Moor

There is no fear of losing your way on the West Highland Way over Rannoch Moor since the Drove Road is a bit like Dorothy’s Yellow Brick Road. In fact later on, I came across a pickup parked halfway across it, left presumably by an estate worker. Even so, it doesn’t detract from the feeling of remoteness and wilderness of the place, especially once the plantations have been left behind. The route is slightly elevated and so there is an extensive view eastwards across the moor. Visibility was somewhat hampered today by the weather conditions. To the west, the tops of the high mountains of Stob Ghabhar (1090m) and Stob a Choire Odhair (945m) were inevitably capped with mist. 38 years ago I had seen dozens of deer run across their lower flanks. I couldn’t see any today though. Maybe my eyes had deteriorated or their camouflage was better. I’d left the A82 behind at the Bridge Of Orchy. Somewhere over Rannoch Moor it found its way through the moor’s many lochans.  We'd meet again near Kingshouse. The railway line was even further away, heading north and I wouldn’t see it again before I reached Fort William. I’d not seen any other walkers for an hour or so now. It felt a bit like I was the last man on earth.

It had been rattling through my brain as to whether to wildcamp or push on to the campsite at the Glencoe Mountain Resort. The latter was at least an hour's walk away, maybe two. In the end, the weather decided for me when a short sharp shower gave indications that it would soon be followed by a longer one. I found a reasonable pitch not long after Ba Bridge and I quickly erected the tent and threw my rucksack in just as the deluge started. I laid on my sleeping bag and as the rain pattered my tent and I drifted off into a nap. I woke up to hear a buzzing sound. I looked around the tent, but couldn’t see any midges or clegs. I put on my boots and climbed up to the track and saw a couple of walkers further along putting a drone back into a rucksack. I presume that somewhere on the internet there is some YouTube footage of me sleeping in my tent. At least the rain had stopped, although it didn't feel long before it would be back. I wandered back up to the track an hour later to find that The Germans were approaching. I stood at the side of the track and waved at them as they approached. I turned the wave into a ‘high-five’, but then I realised that it might be a bit embarrassing if none of them did one back. In a moment of indecision, I inadvertently straightened my arm to avoid it. Unfortunately, this meant I gave them the impression I was giving them a ‘Sieg Hiel’ Hitler salute as they passed. How embarrassing. If there had been a bog right next to me, rather than the hard stone of the track, I would have buried my head in it, right there and then. I did meet up with them again at Kingshouse the next morning, and they were very gracious not to mention my unfortunate bizarre behaviour of the previous day.

It had been a grey, dismal day weather wise. The rain had held off for the most part and I enjoyed my last day of dryness on the West Highland Way. The weather had introduced a menacing atmosphere to the place though, that rather suited it. Those mountains seemed bigger than they probably were and that moor seemed infinite as it disappeared into the mist. Despite the weather, and probably because of it, I really enjoyed today’s walk.