R and R between The WHW and the GGW

One would think that on a Saturday, every ferry would be running to every little island, but such is not the case. We had a choice: Skye or Knoydart:





Knoydart is not really an island but it is accessible only by boat:




First one takes a train from Fort William—assuming one is in Fort William—to Mallaig, where, it turns out, there is a very good tea room, and more important, a store that sells gloves, which are supposed to be waterproof. I hope we don't have to test them out, but they are in the pack, just in case.

Then one catches a ferry or a small boat, depending on your destination, but don't think that tickets for both are sold in the same place; they are not. But such is the smallness of the town that one can run hither and yon seeking out the tickets one needs and not miss the boat, which, fortunately is timed to meet the train.

The peninsula is home to less than one hundred people, who have a long tradition, it seems, of zealously guarding their land:




Actually, they didn't have to fear foreign invaders so much because they were so awful to each other, that they killed each other off without any outside help.

I almost forgot; the quiz:





Another natural wonder, the bark of a cedar tree:




Isn't that such a great photo?

Rhododendrons grow like crazy here:




The people of Knoydart do art:




The "island" has gorgeous walking trails. We had only a couple of hours to sample one. That was sad-making until it started to rain. We took refuge in the local pub where the food is surprisingly delicious. It may be about the only business on the island.


Once, this building was probably a church; now it is some lucky dude's house:




Three times a week, the mail is delivered:





So many wonderful views:





Back to Mallaig where we were greeted by this proud fellow:




The little port has its odd characters, that is for sure:





The train goes over the Glenfinnan Aqueduct made especially famous in the Harry Potter movies:



Not the answer you were expecting!



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Ben Nevis

Our climb up The Ben was scheduled for Saturday, but after much equivocation, very very much, we opted for Friday, originally our rest day. Neither day promised great weather (there are clear views from the top only a few times a month), but, among several weather variables, the deciding factor was the temperature. It was predicted that Saturday would be about ten degrees colder, which, at the top, is no small thing, so we took our chances with the rain, and set out.

The climb is about 4,409 feet and the round trip takes ordinary people some seven hours. I say "ordinary," because there are meshunignehs who actually run. Some of them are participating in The Three Peak Challenge, an event that challenges climbers to do the three tallest peaks in the UK in twenty-four hours. Does that sound like fun or what? Then we learned, granted, after the fact, that Saturday was the Rat Race. This is a triathlon of sorts that combines some crazy off road bike ride, mountain climbing, and a third jolly entertainment. On any day, The Ben is teeming with people, people who get going at dawn (at this time of year between 3:00 and 3:30 a.m) and are on their way down by 9:00 a.m. or so, people starting the climb at least as late as 4:00 p.m. (at 10:00 p.m. it is still light), and even nuttier, as we learned from a taxi driver, some, not deterred at all by the dark, who ascend and/or descend using head lamps. What can I say, this peak has a reputation and EVERYONE wants to climb it.

Of a truth, it is not excruciatingly difficult, like, say, the severe ups and downs at Lullworth on the Southwest Coast Path. It is a long slog and one does have to watch the placement of one's feet almost all the way. But maybe if you are twenty, you don't. I would not know. But I will boast about this: we were told that most people are stiff for at least two days after the climb. I was not; Jerry Anne, "some."

A wee section of the path:





About an hour into the climb, we came upon this enterprising fellow selling chocolate bars, cans of Pepsi, and cookies, and had a little gas burner going for making tea or coffee:





That spot was his....




It was a freezing rain on Friday, and boy, did our hands get cold. The top of the Ben is a persistent challenge because when it is fogged in, which it is a lot of the time, you cannot see. There are cairns, but you cannot see from one to the next. There was snow, too, lots of it, deep and slushy. The snow adds to the visibility problem. However, since there is so much traffic on the mount, you try to keep close to someone in front of you on the way up, and on the way down, you just wait for someone on the way up and head the same way. Then you wait for the next person—you don't have to wait long, that is for sure--and so on until you are below the densest fog.

Now, I want to explain just how cold and wet it was. We did not linger for two minutes at the summit, we did not try to get our cameras out to commemorate the moment, we turned and slid through the snow; we were on the way DOWN! There were some people climbing with a dog. Jerry Anne greats all dogs, big and small, and always has loving words for them. Not on The Ben. Silently we passed the pooch and continued on our way. About two miles from the top, it warmed up enough for photos:

Congratulations!



Congratulations!





A spectacular gorge runs down the mountain:




Down....




Down....



Until, at last you reach bottom and can say, "I did it!"

In case you want to try it, be warned, there is NO WHERE to use "a loo" on Ben Nevis!

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The Devil's Stiarcase

Our top-of-the-line B and B, provides not only fluffy-spa-like robes, but dinner, if one desires. Of this offering we took advantage last night. Fresh trout (Jerry Anne) and salmon (me), certainly beat pub food. An extravagant breakfast that surpassed the deliciousness of dinner, fortified us well for the Devil's Staircase.

First, another quiz. (Answer at the end.) What is this:






On the way to the famous landmark, as one looks to the left, one sees:




And to the right:




And straight ahead:




Before the ascent, an urgent roadside stop:





But, awww, dandelions brighten a corner of the abandoned wreck:





The Devil's Stair case is not devilishly difficult nor does it have any stairs. But it was gratifying to reach the top:





Jerry Anne heading for some stepping stones:




A gorge:




Is this a gorgeous display of daisies, or what?




And we thought we had left the bluebells behind at Loch Lomand:




Answer to the quiz. Yeah, I know. It is the same as the last one!






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Bridge of Orchy to Kings House, sort of

Three nights at Ewich House, from which place we were taxied to our starting point for the morning's walk, or picked up in the afternoon, were lots of fun. The owner, whose affect made you want to salute and say, "Yes, SIR!" was actually most accommodating, efficient, and thoughtful.

While there, we had dinner a the local pub with other walkers, one evening with a couple from Amsterdam, and the next, with a couple from Norway, all of whom spoke extremely good English. The time was cheerful and comraderie-ish.

Today, much of the scenery was eerily bleak and dramatic against stunning skies:






In case you are wondering what it looks like to do a long-distance walk carrying all your gear, meet Joe:





And this is what your legs can look like after a while, even it you don't carry all your gear, because Joe is carrying the tent:





A big cairn, strangely marking nothing obvious:





Another view, one with water yonder:




Sometimes, ya just gotta stop and take a rest, as these guys from the Czech Republic demonstrate:





A view from one side of Ba Bridge:





And from the other:





As we approached the Kings House Hotel, we were surprised by some red deer. Being in the process of shedding their winter coats, they are mangy, so all their beautiful redness not not show through yet:




And of course a buck was part of the group:





Although we walked to Kings House, we are not staying there. We are staying in Kinlochleven, the destination for tomorrow's walk. Having arrived early, we decided to catch the 3:18 bus to Glencoe Village. We shlepped to the bus stop and waited and waited and waited and waited even longer in the freezing freezing cold for the bus that never came, so back to the hotel we trudged, and called for our ride.


Whilst waiting, we met these good-natured guys, who were also waiting for a ride to Kinochleven, having, like us, broken a 21 mile stretch into two days. They claimed to be The Beetles because their names are John, Paul, and George, but Ringo is really Mark. See the fellow on the right? He boasted that he holds the record for being the most obese person ever to have climbed Kilimanjaro, and that since he reached the summit, the mountain is not quite so high as it was before his ascent.





Our B and B for tonight and tomorrow is luxurious. The beds have super thick quilts and pillows, the room is spacious and bright, and something I have never seen before in a B and B, fluffy bathrobes are provided, as if this were a spa or something.

Here is the view from our bathroom window:






Except for yesterday, we are still being favoured with excellent weather, so the walk continues to be easy. Tomorrow, we have "The Devil's Staircase" to contend with, but it is a short day, so how hard could it be?


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A Short Day-Make That Two- and Off The Trail

Nine miles in fine weather, through gorgeous scenery feels like a short stroll, and in fact, today's walk was essentially a half day. No drama, but still, much prettiness to see on the way. For example, this bridge:




And whoa, what a tunnel!




Shamrocks in flower:




And here are some dancing on a log:




Snow atop a Munro (Just guessing--a Munro is a Scottish hill, which is over 3000 feet):




Our B and B, a very nice one, may I say, is a working farm. Here are a few of the residents. First meet the long-haired rabbit:




These ladies provide eggs for breakfast:




And this poor alpaca is fresh from the shearing:




People ask, "What do you DO on these walks? Doesn't it become boring?" No, not for a minute. Get out there and try it, I say. It is exhilarating. Following the nine miler was a just-shy-of twelve mile day, from Ewich House to The Bridge of Orchy. We made tracks today! Even though Jerry Anne had to stop and put plasters on her sore foot, in the pouring rain, yet, we reached our destination, soaked, before 1:00 p.m. Yes, it rained today, rather hard. Why has someone has not figured out how to make waterproof gloves? Why did the rain gear get soaked through? Why did the lovingly-sno-sealed boots admit water--well, that one I have answer to, we had to go through some too-deep water crossing a stream, but even so. Probably all these things came to pass so that there would be something to complain about. Oh--no photos today; hands too cold.


At the Bridge of Orchy hotel, divested of sopping wet gear, we plunked down for a hot latte (for Jerry Anne, a hot chocolate) and some lunch, then taxied back to Ewich House where a splendid hot bubble bath in a huge tub felt like, well, I am guessing, an expensive spa treatment. AND we have all afternoon to read, do crossword puzzles and, would you believe, relax?


Off the trail there is so much to do. Find the B and B, ask the essential questions: Do you have wi-fi? Is it possible to have breakfast at 7:30? Where is a good place to go for dinner? (Or else, import a picnic, which we do as often as is practical.) Then up to the room, and it is zip zip zip: Zip the side pocket of the pack, take out the camera. Zip the other side pocket, check the GPS, record the mileage, turn it off. Put it back. Zip zip again. Zip zip zip the suitcases. Zip open the pack with all the electrical supplies. Zip it shut (lest an adaptor get lost). Zip zip the lunch bags to throw away the refuse. Zip zip, the bag that has one's "evening wear." Zip the cosmetics--a hot shower is waiting. The chorus of zippers seems not to stop. Empty out the unused water, do the laundry, throw away today's maps and get out tomorrow's. Look them over, put them in the pack. Figure out how to procure provisions for the next day. Since arrival time at the B and B is usually 4:30-5:00 p.m., there really is not a lot of time before dinner to get all these things done. Housekeeping takes time! A walk about town, if, in fact, there is a town, is always a must. Then there is keeping up with the blog, some newspaper articles, and trying to read some Spanish. Sometimes the B and B owners are very chatty, sometimes not. Before bed, one has to make sure all is in order for the next day. An early bed time allows for a bright start the next morning; another feast for the senses awaits.


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