My 48 hours in Edinburgh have given me more sunshine than the previous 9 days combined. I’m not complaining…just trying to explain why I spent so much time walking across the city rather than exploring the museums.
I have criss-crossed, looped around, and doubled back on myself a few times. But the result is that I have a working map of the city in my brain and I’ve seen several iconic spots multiple times.
Some moments that stand out from the past couple of days:
Eating a pastry outside of The Milkman (a popular social media spot) while a bagpiper played Amazing Grace
Watching rain clouds move in and across the city from Carlton Hill
Running into a military parade
Finding a random staircase down to the rocky beach while wandering about Leith
Sharing whiskey in a lost close with people from the US, France, Italy, and Australia
Laughing with strangers at a Ceilidh
That last bit – the ceilidh — it’s a traditional Scottish social gathering centered around dance. The dances are called and led, much like a square dance or contra dance. This one was attended by complete newbies (moi) and experienced dancers. Amongst this group of mostly strangers, there was a commitment to just try our best and create grace for one another’s mistakes.
I think that’s a thread that I have to pull through with travel — you have to commit to the experience, the highs and lows, the mishaps and the moments where things fall into the perfect, rhythmic place.
When I drove onto the Isle of Skye two days ago (or so?), I stopped at a distillery along the way. I sampled some gin and the guy giving the mini-tasting-tour let me sample some of as yet unbottled/unsold whisky that they are releasing soon. It was magical. He also suggested that I check out Armadale.
Armadale, meaning elongated valley in Old Norse, is located on the south part of Skye called Sleat. The area was long ruled by Clan Donald and is noted for the lower, rolling hills as compared to other parts of the island.
From the windy & misty summit of Cnoc Armadail, I could look northwest to see Loch Eishort and southeast to the Sound of Sleat. It was a fitting end to my time on Skye, but I didn’t linger long.
There was a bit of a time crunch — I had the 2+ hour drive back to Fort William so that I could catch a bus headed for Edinburgh. In case it hasn’t already been said, if the map says “2 hours 15 minutes,” just assume it’s going to take longer.
I made it to the station at Fort William with just enough time to drop off the rental car and hop on the bus. For the first half of the drive, we followed near the same path that I hiked just days before.
I did not need to hike 96 miles and change to get to Fort William. But by doing so, I savored the landscape. I felt the shift from lowlands to highlands when I descended from Conic Hill into Balmaha. I saw the results of decades/centuries of forestry on the landscape, the countless people and sheep who have cross the paths since then. I sat with people from near and far who were about the same journey as me.
The bus was convenient and took less than four hours. But my six-day journey offered far more than a convenient trip from point A to point B.
When I first started planning this trip, I thought that I might hike the West Highland Way and then head back to the U.S. But then I figured that I would already be here, so I might as well make the most of it. In my research — and casually queries for friends who have been here — one location came up over and over again. In fact, one friend responded to, “What should I do in Scotland?” With “Skye. Isle of Skye. Just – yeah, Skye.”
And after being here for the past 36 hours, I am starting to understand that sentiment.
The journey began from Fort William with a rental car. Driving on the left side of the road has been interesting, made even more invigorating by the complete absence of shoulders. And one-lane roads. And the occasional sheep in the road. Or coo/cow.
I spent the day driving around with a few destinations in mind, but also the willingness to just…be. It’s hard to let go of plans and intentions, especially when I know that there is so much to see. But sometimes being willing to take what comes (rather than force everything in) is the better way to approach the day.
The Quiraing, or Cuith-Raing, was a “priority” destination for me today — I headed there first thing this morning, since the parking lot tends to get pretty busy. The conditions shifted from rainy to sunny and back to rainy, with a spot of wind. And each shift changed the lighting, changed the vibe of the space. And the space already has a lot going on — from pinnacles of rocks to grass-covered plateaus that lived up like waves, each curve of the trail and pass through a bog offers up new views. There were many pauses to just stand in awe. So much beauty packed into a short hike. Years before there was a road leading up to the trails, the locals supposedly used the folds and curves of the landscape to hide their cattle from Vikings.
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The Quiraing is part of the Trotternish Ridge — a land formation created by landslides that resulted from lava flows over weaker sedimentary rocks. Years of shifting, glacier movement, and other Jurassic-era types of shenanigans created the lifts, folds, and rock formations that mark the landscape today. Another notable formation is the Old Man of Storr, or An Stòr.
Like my trip around the Quiraing, my experience at Storr was marked by shifting conditions. Mist hung low as I started up…and then I climbed right through. As I made my way to the view point — hiking between the Old Man himself and The Needle — the wind picked up and rain took on a much harsher feel. The landscape can make everything feel a little bit…wispy. It’s no wonder the folk tales that grew up out of this place.
Legend has it that giants once walked this land. This was the site of a great battle between feuding giants. And one of them fell here, on this spot. The landscape eventually closed up around him and left this thumb (or something else) protruding from the earth.
Other legends place responsibility on fairies or brownies. Whatever the source, the Old Man of Storr & The Needle are a site to behold in the mist or when conditions are clear.
The gentle babble of the river and birdsong were a pleasant greeting this morning. I readied myself for one more day, feeling a touch of relief that it’s almost over and a touch of preemptive nostalgia…that it’s almost over. (And a touch of nerves, because after this I rent a car and drive on the left side of the road for a few days).
Over breakfast, I chatted with the German gals next to me about their experience along the way. And our B & B host/owner shared a bit of the town’s history and offered a tip for a tiny side quest on the trail today. We all know I love a side quest.
With bags packed (one more time) and luggage tag in place (one more time), I headed out the door to find my trail. After working my way over the river and through the down, I met the trail that went…up. For a while. The hill climbed up out of the river valley for a while. And at the top of the hill, that’s where I found the side question. Just as the B & B fellow had promised, there was a light herd path heading off to the side. When I got to the end of the path, everything opened up in front of me — I could see the River Leven stretching towards the origin in the east and Loch Leven to the west. Hills stretching up on each side, just visible behind a layer of fog.
I settled onto the granite stones and enjoyed some coffee…and the silence. Already, I had seen about a dozen hikers and I knew that there would be more to come. The isolation of Loch Lomond and the peace of Rannoch Moor was behind me…and Fort William was ahead.
My predictions for the day were accurate, but a bit of early afternoon rain did help to dampen the foot traffic. But I continued to leap-frog hikers that I had seen off and on all week. With the final destination in site, we had all condensed into a smaller bit of space…or trail.
I think that was one of my favorite parts of this trail — even though I didn’t become best friends with anyone, there was a gentle picking up & dropping off of conversations as we went. There were threads that pulled us all together…at least for these 96 miles.
So when I arrived at the statue called Sore Feet and saw two fresh faces taking their finishing photo, it was easy to engage in conversation. I took their photo — and they joked about how they were too tight to cross their right leg over their left knee. When I sat down to take my photo, they challenged me to try…and naturally, I did. I told them that I taught yoga and they said that was cheating. We laughed and went our separate ways.
And yes — I am wearing mountain goat socks. They got many compliments.
But it included the Staidhre an Donais, or The Devil’s Staircase. There’s some debate on the origin of that name. Some sources suggest that the soldiers who built the trail got so exhausted hauling rocks up the mountain that they gave it an apt name. Others suggest that men (maybe the soldiers) used the path to cross from Kingshouse (where I started) to Kinlochleven (where I ended) for their evening trip to the pub. Some men didn’t always make it home because the devil “took his own.”
Either way, I think people need to calm down with the dramatics and leave that to the landscape.
After leaving my cozy inn beneath cloudy skies, I meandered along the base of the valley until I reached the base of a rocky climb. The Staircase zig zags up and up and up to the highest point of the West Highland Way.
Along the way, I paused to enjoy the way the landscape opened up around me. I appreciated the heather growing along the path (there are three types…I think I’ve identified two of them). And I ate a snack.
At the top of the staircase, you find yourself in a pass between two small summits. When I arrived, I opened up my PB&J and found a rock to rest. As I sat there, I watched other people come and go. This section of trail — unlike others — seems more popular for daytrippers staying in either Kingshouse or Kinlochleven. There’s even a parking area at either end!
I noticed that a few people would come and go on a trail heading in a completely different direction — apparently, there was the option to keep climbing. Since it would be all downhill from here, I figured I might as well keep going up…
I had the descent ahead…and one more day of hiking. But there’s something about being in the mountains that just makes me want to stay. For this chunk of time each day, the only thing I have to worry about is moving myself forward. Sure, there are still problems in the world and my email inbox is going to be absolutely bananas by the time I get around to dealing with it.
But for a few days more, I get to leave those problems there while I stay here.
I woke to the sound of rain, but it wasn’t a surprise. It just was. When you’ve made the decision to take on a six day trail, you accept whatever comes your way — rain, midges, and maybe the odd blister. Yesterday’s ease was the necessary reprieve to prepare for today.
But even with the right gear and the mental preparation, the rain can start to wear you down.
So when I made my way down the hill and an inn/pub came into view, I decided to stop.
Between the coziness of the setting, the cuteness of the cup & saucer, and the caffeine…I was ready to go again.
I set back out feeling a bit warmer and ready to take on whatever was ahead for the day. After a short, flat section of trail, the path began winding up onto the Rannoch Moor. As I climbed, the rain began to slow and the sun started trying to stretch around the heavy clouds…
…and a rainbow began to peek out between the grassy moor and the cloudy sky. I spent the rest of the day chasing after that rainbow.
When I wasn’t looking ahead to catch another glimpse of the rainbow, I was looking back to see how the fog was shifting over the moor. Each curve of the trail revealed another stream, another hill, another moment to stop and stare in awe.
This morning looked…precarious. One weather app said “RAIN” and two weather apps said “Probably not…but we make no promises.” As I ate my full vegetarian Scottish breakfast, I watched other hikers mill about. Some were in full rain gear, while some were holding out hope for sunshine. I was finishing my coffee before making any decisions.
Fueled by the final dregs and a Scottish tattie scone (my favorite part of breakfast), I gathered myself and my gear to venture out.
It wasn’t raining.
But would it?
Should I go ahead and put on the rain gear in anticipation?
I chose to be on the side of hope. And it paid off.
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The clouds hung close all day long and I splashed from the remnant’s of yesterday’s storms. But the day leaned heavily to sun and warmth. It was the ideal time to slow down and appreciate the little nuances of the trail.
Today was also the day for looking back. As I climbed higher into the hills, I took many opportunities to pause and look back. The sun streamed through the clouds and highlighted the hills. The nooks and crannies, the waterfalls too far away to hear, the wind-blown heather. It was all there just waiting to be appreciated. How many people pass through without stopping to look back?
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Today was truly all about savoring the trail — from slowing down to appreciate the little things to looking back to see how far I’ve come. It was a joy to be romping about the hills with the background noise of sheep and birds to accompany me.
I started the day in grey, but determined to make the best of it. Fueled by a hearty breakfast (including a Scottish tattie scone…yes, I will try to recreate this), I set off to get through as many miles as I could before it started to rain.
I passed by a field of cows and watched one of them lay down while looking me directly in the eye. I knew it wouldn’t last long.
Five miles done before I stopped to pull out the rain gear.
And from there, it was another five or so miles of hiking through the rain.
With those first ten miles done, I was about halfway through my day…but things were just getting interesting. This 21/22 mile day (everyone says 21.5…my Garmin says 22.5) is notoriously challenging.
You follow the edge of Loch Lomond (Loch = Lake) for the rest of the day. And that lake edge does what they typically do — it’s rugged, rocky, and rooted. The type of terrain that turns particularly precarious with a drizzle of rain. But add on a whole day of rain and it turns…slooooow.
Along the way, there were moments when I struggled to stay positive. I questioned many of my life choices, like, “Why do I like hiking?” So I began to make a list of things that I was grateful for like…
I am not camping tonight.
I don’t have to write any grants today.
There is not a rigorous timetable for me.
I have so many snacks in my bag.
I downloaded a new murder mystery audiobook because I knew that the rain would make the day drag.
OMG — look at the tiny frog.
Oooh — buying snacks from an “honesty box.”
Did someone take a bite out of that mushroom?
I lost count of the waterfalls.
He would have fit on a quarter.
The glimmers of gratitude helped to get me through the slog of a day (even when I slipped and fell into the river that had taken over a trail).
But eventually, shortly before the trail wound down into the town of Inverarnan, the rain faded. And I wouldn’t say that the sun shone…but something changed. I looked back and had my first clear view of the loch all day.
If you have ever considered a trip to Scotland or researched “what to expect when I visit Scotland” or “packing list for Scotland,” you know that rain is always on the forecast. No matter when you visit or where you land, you are to assume that rain will be part of your experience. So imagine my joy when today was filled with the most glorious sunshine.
The route — and community around it — is so well established, you’d think it had been around for at least 50 years. but it only officially opened in 1980. It follows a path, though, of a deeper history. Eventually, I’ll come to a pub that has been around for centuries, hosting the likes of Rob Roy and Gerard Butler.
But, I am trying desperately to take this a day at a time. I have a tendency to rush ahead and try to plan out the next seven steps. Or check the weather for the next seven days (spoiler: it’s gonna get interesting). In the meantime, please appreciate all of the new friends that I made today.
The journey – once the plane part is over and done with – begins in Glasgow. I have had just a tiny bit of time in Glasgow before moving onto more interesting places. But, I still wanted to “do right” by the city. Thus began the research.
The first thing I came across is a restaurant. But we’re not going to retell this story in chronological order. I’ll save the best for last.
Glasgow was originally just a little religious community founded by Saint Mungo. That community outgrew their smallness. Today, the Glasgow Cathedral stands as a testament to the power of that origin. And the community became known as Glasgu, or “little green place.”
On the edge of a river, Glasgow was poised to grow. Commerce, industrialism, academia, art, culture…today, fingerprints of this growth are all over the city.
In an effort to fight impending jet lag, I spent all of Monday wandering through examples of that growth. From botanical gardens to the university to a free museum or two…some of it was intentional and some of it just happened to be on my way from here to there.
And sometimes the right door just happened to be in front of me when the rain started pouring.
If you kept up with the World Cup or, at least, the Scottish shenanigans during the games in Boston and Miami, you might be wondering if the cone thing is real. I found one example that suggests it is, in fact, real.
After all of the wandering, exploring, raining, so on and so forth, I had to refuel myself. And the perfect place to do that was the restaurant…that I discovered before I learned anything else about Glasgow: SYLVAN.
I’m not sure they realized that they named a restaurant after my cat.
