Susan and Jim – Wandering the Highlands

Hello my friends and any enemies I may  have managed to cultivate in the last year.  Yes, it has been almost a year since I have invaded the sanctity of your inbox with tales from the far side.  Just after my news flash of eleven months ago, we ventured into the hinterlands of West Virgina to attend the 43rd consecutive, annual, family volleyball weekend with a family that we are not part of.  The invitation was most likely due to  common knowlege that I am able to just reach the net with the aid of a springboard and the not so recent disclosure of the on-going negotiation between myself and any game that involves a ball.  Just ask anyone who has had the pleasure of assisting me in the search for my golf balls. Due to our age I have discounted the possibilty that we were invited to widen the West Virginian gene pool. The invitation probably had to do more with Susan’s general likability and social skills – but if we’re going to go down that road she can do her own blog!!  Before fully pursuing this tangental digression, let’s steer back on course and suffice it to say that somewhere before or perhaps during this event I became one of the early, fully vacinated Covid break-through cases.  It was not a pleasant week for me and I still tested positive for weeks after recovery.  Not a surprise considering my generally positive disposition but in the end  provided the benefit of relieving  me of weeks of social obligations as well as, and most importantly, the opportunity to indefinitly fall back on the diagnosis of Long-Covid to answer for a wide array of shortcomings. Hi Ho!

Many things have happened between then and now which you will never hear about because I can’t remember them – ah- …….long-covid!  But as the fates would have it I, as well as many of you out there, have entered into our eighth decade…… and lucky we are to be here!  To celebrate the comencement of this new chapter in my life I mentioned to Susan  that I would like to do one of those hikes in Scotland where you amble through the highlands from village to village to a snug little inn, a warm meal and a local beverage at the end of the day. ( If ever I have any half baked idea,  all that’s necessary is for me to mention it to Susan and it can become reality!)  Sure enough, after a great deal of research, lots  of planning – and I mean A LOT – airline, hotel, train, bus, restaurant reservations as well as deciphering travel insurance and artfully jumping through various covid hoops, Susan made my birthday wish come true.  We hiked five days and 57 miles of the West Highland Way, which followed the east coast of Loch Lomond and on up into the highlands.  And it was beautiful!  Sunshine and bluebells!

Our first day began at a distillery which puts one in the right frame of mind for a bit of  “hill walking”, as they describe it for reasons soon to be discovered. They do, after all, call it the Highlands!  Who Knew?

The scotch and chocolate tasting was followed by a pleasant 8 miles of rolling terrain along the banks of Loch Lomond of which there is a catchy little tune involving high roads and low roads, that once lodged in one’s subconscious will not soon depart and repeatedly raises the question over who exactly will take which road? A charming little ditty that will wear on one’s traveling companion after several hours……so I am told.

Day two involved around 14 miles of  “ambling” through the highlands much of it still along Loch Lomond, and it’s accompanying melody, with dramatically changing scenery and a perpetual change of wardrobe as well,  from raincoats on to raincoats off, repeat, repeat, repeat………………. But beautiful yes. For those of you familiar with the “Outlander” series on Netflix you will understand when I say that behind every large rock or bush I expected to see Jamie and Claire indescretely performing their own impassioned version of the highland fling! Hi-Ho!!

For us it was ups and downs with ankle breaking footing, streams to cross and a bit of a time crunch if we were to meet our ride to our lodging.  At the end a bit of a run was involved which was actually not a part of my earlier vision of  pastoral perambulation. Hi-Ho!!  Weary feet but a glass of wine, a good meal and a soft bed healed most of our wounds.

 

Day Three.

We were awakened to the sound of steady rain with nothing else in the forecast to accompany us across the 12 mile expanse of The Rannoch Moor.  Nothing except steady wind, gusts of wind and wind carrying a lot of water.  By midday a lot of that water was in our boots! By days end it was in everything. Note the ponchos we started out in –   photo below.

The wind and horizontal rain, in a matter of just a few hours, turned these fashion forward accoutrements into fragmented ribbons that danced in the wind like Gene Kelly and Cyd Charisse on illegal drugs.  So be it.  At some point midway through this slog I noticed that we had passed no one on the trail for nearly three days.  However ……… we had been passed by almost everyone!  We were not the youngest by any means to undertake this endeavor and Susan pointed out that we were doing OK, half the people our  age were home getting knee and hip replacements……..but they were dry!  At that point in the journey I figured when we got home I’d go for the double hip procedure………. but just the one knee – for now.

The day’s trail ended at a warm cozy pub with a tall remedial beer.  We were able to dump the water out of our boots and await our ride to a nice hotel and great meal, pleased that we had enjoyed great windswept scenery and a real taste of highland weather.  We didn’t know there would be another flavor the very next day.

Day four.

Today was more of the moor – I couldn’t wait to write that! – and then the daunting Devil”s Staircase,  about a one hour  rapid change in elevation into thinner air with breath-taking scenery in every direction. There is ongoing debate as to the actaul cause of the breathlessness.  For now we’ll go with the scenery since there was plenty of air blowing in every direction.  Somewhere in the brochure the apex of this vertical assault was described as a nice place to have a picnic lunch: written by someone comfortable picnicking in 40mph winds or……….who had never been there!   Undeterred and not nearly hungry enough to picnic at such a choice location we took the requisite photos and continued accross the mountain and began our descent still pleasantly dry and warm.  About ten minutes off the peak, from no where came horizontal rain and sleet and hail that struck like little blades of ice and there was no where to go.  Our only thought was to cover our faces and keep moving but in seconds we were entirely drenched and our boots once again topped off with water.  It probably only lasted for five of the longest minutes of our lives but made one give serious consideration of the outcome if it persisted for much longer.  As soon as we could talk I said  “You could DIE out here!” Susan captured the moment in glorious, poetic, understatement responding  “Yes, it’s not ALL sunshine and bluebells.”

On long hikes in the open air there are times when conversation stops and the mechanical act of walking puts you in a restfull, calm, content, translike state where your mind wanders into philosophical domaines not often accessed in the hustle and bustle of our busy lives.  Without getting too philosophical, I kept thinking –  – Who the f***  would wear a kilt in a place like this!?!

In truth, we would have been disapointed if we did the hike without the experience of highland weather. It was a true Scottish welcome.

Day five.

Our longest day. Fifteen miles of mostly gentle ups and downs with Scottish weather all day, spitting at us one minute and gracing us with sunshine the next.

But it was the Scotland of myth and lore. Vast vistas of mountain and mist, meadows, waterfalls, stone walls, isolated whitewashed farm houses with black slate roofs, thistle, heather, wildflowers, distant ruins of earlier times, pastures with sheep scattered across hillsides and in many places just the infinite emptyness of mountain and moor.

 

I sat on a rock in the sunshine and tried to take it all in, hoping to store it somewhere in my memories where it would not soon be forgotten knowing that all too soon it would fade.

Heavy feet carried us to the center of Fort William where the West Highland Way ends for all hikers and where we and all others who complete the trek have our picture taken with “The Weary Hiker.”

That is the end of this adventure and I fear that I have perhaps infringed too much upon  your happy hour. I have nothing but love and bottomless thanks for  the tour guide of my life who made it possible for me to age in such a magnificent way.

Back from sabbatic,

Grumpa

OK.  Since you asked.       A shifty looking guy in a kilt walks into a London pub, asks for a pint and carefully puts down his bag. The Bartender asks “What’s in the bag?”  The Scot answers  “Six pounds of explosives”         “Thank God for that” says the barman “I thought it might be bagpipes!”