A Journey Along the West Highland Way
This seemed like a straightforward adventure, I thought, as I downloaded the West Highland Way map—just 96 miles. The elevation changes looked manageable, and there were ample water sources along the route. But I couldn’t shake off a sense of impending doom with a dash of pride before a fall. After all, I had traversed entire countries and hiked across the Sahara, all while navigating around landmines. I viewed myself as a contemporary Indiana Jones for women. However, five days later, as I peeled off my boots after enduring 13 hours of relentless rain, I felt more akin to Bridget Jones.
I am a 61-year-old adventurer based in Morocco, passionate about hiking with a caravan of camels to carry my gear, food, and water. Yet, despite my adventurous spirit, I had never set foot on one of Scotland’s most renowned trails.
The West Highland Way stretches from Milngavie—just north of Glasgow—covering 96 miles up to Fort William in the breathtaking Scottish Highlands. I was determined to undertake this journey solo, wild camping and self-supported. The well-marked paths and the trail’s popularity drew me in; if anything went awry, I knew I would encounter fellow hikers along the way.
On a sunny August morning, with a vibrant blue sky overhead, I hopped off the train and strolled through the urban parks of Milngavie, heading north. I had packed minimally for the nine-day trek, but I still had to acclimate to the added weight of 15kg on my back. Along the way, friendly cows licked the sweat off my hands, and I reveled in the blooming hedgerows. Life felt gloriously sweet as I reached the enchanting banks of Loch Lomond, 17 miles later.
This segment of the trail is often regarded as one of the highlights of the journey. It meanders alongside the stunning loch and through lush woodlands. I encountered families enjoying the sun on pebbly beaches and luxuriated in the verdant dampness of the forest. After Inversnaid, I set up camp on a small beach, praying that the tide wouldn’t encroach upon my tent. The gentle sunlight woke me at 5 AM, prompting me to take a refreshing dip and wash up. But as I emerged from the water, a swarm of midges descended upon my large, white bottom, marking the beginning of my challenges.
Then came the rain, which persisted for six consecutive days. Loch Lomond turned into a treacherous landscape of slippery boulders, but eventually, I found my way to the longed-for refuge of Beinglas Farm Campsite, where hot tea and venison curry awaited. I shuffled to the bar like a weary zombie. “Hand over your waterproofs and boots, and I’ll place them in the dry room,” said Thomas, the kind-hearted barman.
As I walked in the footsteps of Robert the Bruce along this historic route, I passed the site of the Battle of Dalrigh, making my way to the Lochan of the Lost Sword. Legend has it that he and his followers flung their weapons into the water to avoid capture, and it’s said they still lie there beneath the surface.
I trudged across Rannoch Moor via Thomas Telford’s “Parliamentary Roads.” The incessant rain had transformed the flagstones into a canal, and water seeped over the tops of my boots. By the time I removed them that night, my feet resembled sponges—I had trench foot. Every step was painful, which was less than ideal for a hiking holiday.
Every hike has its lowest point, and mine was at the Devil’s Staircase. Emerging from the dramatic valley of Glen Coe, I maintained a steady pace when I heard the cheerful voices of American mid-Westerners. Impeccably dressed and the youngest among them in their mid-seventies, they breezed past me, exclaiming, “It’s not far now, keep pushing on!” When I finally reached the summit, I encountered another equally disheveled hiker trying to catch a glimpse of the view through the fog. We shared a sandwich as we sat together in the drizzle.
The final stretch toward Fort William across Lairigmor was breathtaking. The hills were ablaze with vibrant yellows and purples, and the clouds parted occasionally to reveal the majestic mountains. Yet, that night, I felt an unsettling chill for the first time. Snuggled in my sleeping bag, I heard footsteps circling my tent, leaving me to ponder whether I should reach for my penknife. Instead, I pulled my hood tighter around my head and attempted to sleep. The next morning, I discovered the outer zip of my tent had been unzipped.
After hastily packing my belongings, I set off with a sense of relief. Just fifty meters down the path, I encountered a sign flanked by the scarlet berries of the rowan tree. It commemorated the last stand of a group of Campbells, “undone by the blows of McDonald swords. Our commander lies slain on the battlefield. The Lochy river now runs red with the blood of Argyll’s finest.”
Typically, the sun blazed down for my final miles as I approached the statue of the man with sore feet, seated on a bronze bench in Fort William—my journey’s end. My cousin Charlie was there to greet me with warm, dry clothes. I tossed my boots and waterproofs into the bin. “Did you enjoy it?” Charlie asked. “It wasn’t fun, but it was a genuine adventure. Scotland is magnificent,” I replied honestly.
A few days later, with my feet back to normal, I reflected on my experience as a joyous achievement.
How to get there
- Milngavie is just 25 minutes by train from Glasgow Queen Street station.
- Fort William is approximately three and a half hours away by train or bus from Glasgow.
Where to stay
- Several companies offer West Highland Way packages, including bag transport and accommodation, such as Wilderness Scotland, HF Holidays, and Macs Adventure.
- Accommodation options along the route include B&Bs, hotels, campsites, and camping pods, but it’s essential to book in advance. Wild camping is permitted along the entire route, except for one stretch of Loch Lomond during the summer months.
More information
- The West Highland Way is best tackled in late spring or early autumn.
- Be sure to pack good boots and waterproof gear.
- The writer utilized Going the Whole Hogg’s West Highland Way guide and map for navigation.
