43.58 kms: Balmaha-Milarrochy-Sallochy-Rowardennen

A few wines. Oops, I mean whines. It had to happen.

Also a swear word. It had to happen.

Top: Bluebell time of the year Bottom Left: Any reason to get these off your back; great coffee an even better excuse Bottom Right: Looking back along Loch Lomond

I have worked as a waitress, as a travel agent, as a shop person. All jobs where you deal with the public. And let's face it, the public is a temperamental, annoying, demanding entity, but they are your livelihood, even if it is via the person who owns or runs any given service enterprise. I have a huge inability to understand bad service. Even though it happens often, today's serving was the worst I have experienced in a long time. We're staying at the Rowardennen Hotel. The staff at the hotel are fine, but we went in to the Clansman Bar attached to have dinner and I have no recollection of experiencing such rudeness in a service industry. Ever. They have a captive audience. To a degree. Walkers on the West Highland Way seem commonly to bypass Balmaha and stay here the night. But can I say this to you—and to anyone who will listen—reconsider that idea. And if you stick to the standard plan, stay at the hostel, eat at the hostel. Do not go to the Clansman! And beside that, the meal was sub-standard: we had rehashed breakfast sausages on dried out mash with a gravy of broth-like proportions with no greens. We got out of there as quickly as humanly possible. Vile!

Why am I sick again on this section of the walk? I am starting to think that there is a more divine reason. We stayed a day in Balmaha to try and help me leave this cough behind. Last time I came this way, this night in Rowardennen was spent sitting almost upright coughing all night long. (I do recall a dissatisfaction with the bar last time too, but I didn't write about it at the time). The one day off this time has not helped. Do you think someone or something is trying to stop me going further? Does something ominous await me on the trail past Inversnaid? I'm not listening, but I am mightily annoyed. Walking up hills brings on asthma-like episodes, coughing is giving me a massive headache, I can't sleep nights. I am, in short, having a truly miserable time. And it is so much worse to have a miserable time on holidays when the expectation to enjoy yourself is so high. Feeling like this is making me panic, like I did last time, about accommodation because the last thing in the universe I want to do is sleep on some precarious rocky ledge in a goretex body bag. Call me crazy, it just doesn't appeal.

Left: Walking in the bluebells Right: Skimming stones on the loch: an idyllic life

This grumpiness will pass. My knees will hurt less, all my other joints will stop carrying the slack my knees create, the sun will come out, the midges will stay away, the walking will get easier and the pack seem lighter. But at this stage I really wish there was a friendly bar around where I could drown a whine or two with a wine or two!

Good night to Rowardennen (except for the two arseholes at the bar), good night to you.

30.34 kms: Drymen-Conic Hill-Balmaha

Last time I did this stretch of countryside I was in a foul mood. It was just one of those days. And doing it again made concrete a life-fundamental, things are harder when your emotion fights against them. I remember the long slog uphill to the forest, the distracting signs due to forest works, the long, almost waterfall like path ascending Conic Hill, the pain-inducing descent, the nightmare gate which was too small to allow me and my bag to pass through together and which was on a hill which made dropping the bag over the fence very difficult. Today it was like coming back to a beach you used to frequent as a child to find the waves are not nearly as big as you remember them. All the unpleasantness of that day was to do with the fact I was grumpy. Sure it was a slog up the road to the forest, sure the forest was a little more like a plane of tree stumps than a forest, sure Conic Hill was hard, up and down, and that damn gate is still as annoying, but I actually quite enjoyed my day. The only thing that could have made it better would be getting rid of this cold. I've reached the green and yellow phlegm stage. It's so nice for those around me!

Can you spot the path we have to climb?

I've done lots of catching up today with the free wifi at the Oak Tree Inn in Balmaha (thanks, and the spinach and butternut squash lasagna was quite nice too), but I'm cutting it short tonight to get some rest. See you in the morning!

Top Left: Heading back down, towards Loch Lomond and Balmaha Botton Left: Blue skies, fluffy clouds, stone walls and sheep Top Right: View from atop Conic Hill Bottom Right: Windswept selfies

Good night to Balmaha, good night to you.

643.4 kms: Easter Drumquhassle-Drymen-Garadhban Forest-Conic Hill-Balmaha.

So sad. There is an end to my tunnel and I can see where it is. The sign at the end does not say John O'Groats, it says Bridge of Orchy. I mean, who has even heard of Bridge of Orchy. It means I have four more walking days, one day to get from the middle of nowhere (Bridge of Orchy) to somwhere sort of somewhere (Fort William), one to bag a big munro (thirteen hundred meters) and one to get from the sort of somewhere to the central somewhereness of Edinburgh for a next day trip to The Big Somewhere (London). Four more days. It is breaking my heart. I want to carry that big lug of a backpack for longer, I want to unpack it fully every single night and pack it all back up again every single morning. What am I saying? (Possibly just that I don't want to go back to work.) The train trips from Fort William to Edinburgh, and from Edinburgh to London take about the same amount of time: the distance between the first two is about a hundred and eighty kilometers, between the second, six hundred. Methinks the first train will take a very indirect and stop-filled route. It does appear to go down the side of at least a couple of lochs, so it will probably be lovely. Ooh, I like the trains!! There is the silver lining. 

I don't know how they did it, but those midges managed to get to places doctors don't get to. Actually, for me, being the great lover of doctors that I am, that could mean anywhere. Okay, places where only lovers should go. If any family are reading this, that is a theoretical and artistic statement, not personal or subjective. I just read about it once in a book. I was so glad to see the sun shining through the perspex window of my beehive this morning. Thought it may deter them. No, midges like sun too.

 

Short day. I spent a fair bit of time wandering around Drymen in a sort of stupor, trying to work through the above plan in my head. All the snot and irritation that have moved into my head seem to be having a detrimental affect on my thinking ability. Get this. Drymen is not a big place. It has no cafes or bars with wifi (that I could find or be referred to), it has a public phone that can only and exclusively be used to make emergency calls and no private pay phones in any bar or pub: it is a communication black spot. But it has a public library with computers? What? Actually I did use one in Kirkintillloch too, but prior to that, the only library I saw had four wheels and was being driven by an erratic geriatric who nearly collected me on the road—that would have been an ironic death, killed by the books I love. This library was amazing. It had two staff members. One was ringing locals to make sure they knew Jim had died and were they okay, and did they know the funeral was today. The other called Gwen to let her know a great coffee table book highlighting, in pictures, the reign of Queen Elizabeth II had come in, and that she thought it was something Gwen may like to pop in and have a look at. But no, no more Jill Andrews' had come in, don't think she has written anything for a while.

Balmaha's Bay on Loch Lomond

The walking was delightful in the sun. I even relished the chance to climb a rather steep hill—until I got to the downhill bit. I cursed at the kissing gate perched on a hill that wasn't big enough to get my pack through, meaning I had to take it off and then do the major swing to get it on my back while perched on a cliff face. I asked some Americans how my downhill would be. They answered: 'I don't know, I only went up it.' Um. Going up gives you some indication of what it would be like to go down, doesn't it? It is the same hill. Am I the only fool that accesses the upness of the hill for what it would be like to go downhill on. I am staying in a bunkhouse in Balmaha., There seem to be millions of people upstairs, but I have, at last look, a room to myself on the bottom floor. Maybe I coughed up some of the flem that has taken over my body when I booked over the phone this morning, and they have shoved everyone else out of my way for the interests of public health. They are very sweeet though. And I am hoping, forth night lucky, to maybe get a good nights sleep tonight. Cross fingers.

 

Good night to Balmaha, good night to you.