Before embarking on my final year of undergraduate studies at Northeastern University, I flew off to Scotland for 1o days of hiking in the countryside.
The West Highland Way is a popular 96-mile long trek extending north from Glasgow, Scotland. It passes through beautiful lochs, peaceful towns, rolling moorlands, and impressive mountains. I completed around 70 miles of the trek in 5 days, starting in Rowardennan and ending up in Fort William.
While not without challenges, I generally find solo hiking trips to be a phenomenal time. I love the opportunity to meet fellow wanderers, move at my own pace, and practice a meditative mentality while physically exercising my body. Enjoy these photos that I took while on the trek and the story snippets that accompany them.
The first three days took me through the loch section, getting me well acquainted both with midges and blackberry bushes. The terrain was a dense woodland right on the edge of the crystalline Loch Lomond. I crossed paths with many other hikers, weaving up and down the shoreline on a footpath knotted with tree roots and moss.
Hiking out of the lochs and up into the highlands, I passed over several brooks and streams before following the old military road up into sheep territory. There was even a brief stretch through a pine forest where I was grateful for the branches to ward off some rain showers. Red fairy mushrooms littered the underbrush and everything was very quiet. I breathed in the crunch of gravel under my boots, the distant jingling of cattle bells, and the sound of the wind soaring up and down the rollercoaster of hills.
I thought things couldn't get better but then they did. I stumbled out onto Rannoch Moor after a 17 mile day to be accosted by wind and the threat of a heavy rain. As I kept walking along the military road, I gambled with the sky on when to pitch camp. My gamble paid off and no sooner had I tucked my boots under the awning of the tent than the clouds unleashed a torrent of water. I huddled inside my tent, munching on a cheese wrap and reading my book until the rain subsided. Clambering out of my tent, I was met with a full rainbow stretched over the moor. The breeze was enough to keep the bugs at bay and I happily sat in the grass, marveling at the Earth until sunset.
Hiking out of the moor, I was welcomed into the thick of the highlands with gorgeous views of mountains around every turn. Although there was more elevation in this last section, my legs and feet were used to the long days by now, and I had plenty of cheese and peanut butter wraps for fuel. Near the end, I had the choice to split my remaining mileage into a 10 and 7 mile day, or complete the trek a day early. About a mile in, I met a Scottish gentleman who hiked the trek in its entirety every month. We were on a flat stretch of trail and as he engaged in conversation, I slightly sped up to fall in step. We spoke about his family in the United States, his wife and the car buisness he was long since retired from, and what keeps him going in life. He told me stories of the two ancient women who live on a farm up in these highlands and refuse to leave. Well above 95, they are fit as fiddles and plan to stay there for many years still. What keeps them healthy I asked - raw goat's milk and no telephones was the response. Suddenly I realized that I had been pushing my pace all morning to keep up with this man and his stories of old Scotland. I was 9 miles through and it was not even lunchtime. The Scot did not stop for lunch, so we parted ways and I planned the rest of my trek. Getting to Fort William a day early allowed me to head back to Glasgow a day early as well and spend a little time in the city.
I made it back to Glasgow and cleaned up from my trek. The first shower always renders me a completely different person and this time was no different. My chosen reacclimation to society was a Glasgow pub crawl of live music venues, as it was a Saturday night, so what else could I possibly do. I started off with a pub advertising swing music and found a plethora of retirees dancing to Dean Martin, Frank Sinatra, and Nat King Cole tunes sung by a huge man sporting a fedora and vest combo. I befriended two women at the bar who were out on the prowl and watched them successfully pick up men for the night and leave for the drag show up the road. Life aspiration right there. Next, I happened upon a corner pub and was lured in by the dulcet tones of Tennessee Whiskey. Sadly, it was that singer's last tune, but the next band did not disappoint. They pulled out a trumpet and accordion, filling the dimly lit space with jazz funk music, reminiscent of New Orleans. I kept wandering and found a basement cafe lounge, my resting place for the night. The space was better lit than your typical pub, and full of couches and armchairs surrounding the stage. The singer had a strong voice, and she made you feel like singing along even if you didn't know the lyrics. I relaxed for the rest of their set, getting up to dance with everyone for their ending zinger, I Will Survive. The next day I made my way home to Boston, sure that this would not be the last time I visited Scotland.