A lochside walk

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I set out in the morning northward through the woods along a muddy road. It is cool and overcast. Dipping down to the water’s edge, I slip around on wet granite, playing with a composition of foreground puddles and the distant far shore. Returning to the road, it gradually climbs, and after a bit I come to the junction of the trail leading down to the lochside. The road and trail are both considered legitimate parallel routes for this section of the WHW. The lochside route has earned a reputation for being a torturous scramble up and down and around boulders, outcrops and fallen trees. Naturally this is the path I choose.

There is a small cohort of other hikers and small groups that also choose to take the “pro” route (including a group of undaunted older hikers!). I pass and trade places with folks as I periodically stop to take pictures. A sturdy wooden bridge passes over a rushing burn (Scottish for a small stream)—I spend some time here taking pictures of the water cascading over mossy rocks.

I am entranced by water shimmering like quicksilver as small waves lap in the shadows under low reaching boughs. I walk through a lush lissome oak forest, carpeted with ferns and grasses, glowing in cloud diffused light. A succession of sinuous duckboard walkways provide easy walking through these. Climbing around a corner straight pillared pines are arrayed in a grove of stillness and calm.

The low and high routes rejoin, and an easy path continues on through pine woods among iridescent green grass. I come upon ruins, low broken mossy rock walls now enclosing a spray of fern fronds. A small family unit of dad, son, and mom come marching by at speed. The trail turns again towards the shore, and I am walking once more through oaks and a procession of small splashing burns. Again I encounter the fast family (they must have stopped for a rest!), but once again they pull away before me.

A cascade, and Inversnaid

Rounding a rocky bluff, a growing hiss of white noise is revealed as the low thunder of a tremendous waterfall gushing down into a small improved harbor. Men in wet water gear bustle around a pair of canoes, preparing to embark upon the loch. I have arrived at Inversnaid, which seems to consist primarily of its namesake hotel. I spend a few minutes exploring the rushing waters above the main falls, seeking compositions that might adequately convey the power of these. Crossing a bridge a bit upstream, I walk down to the carpark in front of the hotel where there’s a better view of the roaring main falls. It’s an awesome sight, the vast gushing white water thundering into the cove below. Too much to try to capture in an image. Maybe if I was in one of those canoes…

Wandering across the carpark I see where the WHW continues, but my accommodation for the night I believe is a half mile climb up a road behind the hotel. I ask a father and daughter I see exiting the trail if they know. The dad doesn’t, but we decide it must be up this road as there is no other. He offers to give me a ride, and gratefully I sling my daypack into the trunk, er, boot, of their car. I get in the front passenger side, on the left of course, and gormlessly exclaim “Wow, this is my first time in an English car!” “What!” he responds, “this is a Scottish car!,” but he seems more amused by my gaffe than offended. After a fairly brief drive we identify my lodgings, and they drop me off—”that’ll be three-hundred pounds!” he jests (I hope!).

The Inversnaid Bunkhouse

The Inversnaid Bunkhouse is an old church building which has been refitted as a guest lodge. It’s a fairly large two story white plastered structure. It begins raining as I arrive, and I push aside a light black netted curtain to an entryway where a couple of other folks are fussing with their bags (after some reflection I realize the netting is an anti-midge measure, not a goth affectation!). I’m early (again!), so I settle in on a chest and eat my lunch. Eventually a young guy breezes by and tells me it’ll be another hour before he can check me in, but that I’m welcome to go wait in the main hall on the upper floor.

It’s the nave of the old church, which has been converted into a dining hall and hangout space. White fairy lights are strung along the oak ceiling beams. There’s a bar and coldcase at one end, behind which is a kitchen. At the other end are some comfy sofas in front of five stained glass-like backlit panels, which depict apostles or some such. Funny little curios and things are placed around the periphery of the room in the alcoves of the natural light windows. Perhaps a dozen dining tables are arrayed in the main space. Overall it has a pretty cool/chill vibe.

Finally the guy swings back by and introduces himself as Shaun. He leads me outside and down a few steps to a natural wood outbuilding perched above the strongly flowing burn. Mine is one of two lovely rooms there, with a large window facing leafy trees growing up from the bank. The room has a queen bed, and a bathroom is shared between the two rooms. What a great spot!

For dinner in the main hall later I order “Linguine Cacioe Pepe,” which has a very tasty cream sauce. A cold IPA and warm crusty bread with butter round it out. It’s super delicious, and not just because I’d hiked a few miles! Groovy light jazz music is playing, and the hall is filled out with fellow travelers enjoying their repasts.

Returning later after dinner Shaun introduces me to a couple of recommended scotches: the Glengoyne 12 yo, and Bunnahabhain 12 yo. To be honest, I don’t remember much about them, but they provide a bit of fiery/glowing warmth at the end of a somewhat chilly day of walking.