Further into the far north, camping wild, midges, tics and firths

We've reached Bonar Bridge and a night not in tents. The drizzle mist keeps coming in waves from the hills and over the Dornoch Firth. Walking over and watching the misty view widen out this morning (fourth picture) we stopped and made coffee by the road just as a bus full of Australian and American tourists pulled up and looked on in fascination. I think we may be in some holiday albums.
The first photo is our camping spot above the Guisachan forest, a few days ago. We had to search hard for this after a long walk on a wide scar of a track over empty hostile rocky, muddy, heathery landscape. It was perfect though, and quieter than you can imagine.
The second photo is our camping spot in Glen Strathfarrar, just by Loch Beannachran. Just as we had pitched, an osprey came flying up the glen. Up the glen to the west, huge mountains with snow fields towered silently.
The not-so-lovely thing about wild camping in Scotland in July is the midges. You can set up camp in a high breezy light place and feel pleased that you've avoided them, and by the morning the drizzle has come through and the wind has died down and the midges come out like you would not believe. The morning above the Guisachan forest, there were so many millions of them they sounded like a swarm of bees. And tics ... tics. It doesn't matter what you do, they will get you.
Because of the morning midge, we've found it's better to just get up and leave, and stop and make coffee later on. The third photo is coffee making in the porch of Struy church. Best coffee ever. This followed a slight change in the route plan after an experience close to purgatory, walking at less than 1 mile an hour over pathless heathery, brackeny, boggy moorland.
So, this and the fact that I am now putting medical tape over the holes in my tent to stop the midges coming in - oh, and that the hip belt on my rucksack has nearly given up - I am quite glad that it's only 7 or 8 days to go!
It is all incredibly beautiful though, in ways I've not really experienced before. Everything is huge, strange, stunning, and weathered. And here in this corner of the country the LEJOG cyclists converge. We've seen lots yesterday and today. No other walkers though ...!
Lairg, Crask Inn and then the vast remote Flow Country awaits. For now, tea and beer.

Saying goodbye to the West Highland Way and Waywalkers, Scotland under a heatwave, views of lingering snow, the Great Glen, and looking north

Continuing from the last post, from the top of Glencoe, under the towering Buachaille Etive Mor, the rest of the evening was spent round a campfire with two dutch friends. We talked and sang and drank whisky and tea and when we finally went to our tents at midnight there was still light in the north sky. I will always be grateful for that day and evening. And my coat still smells of bonfire.
The next day took a long path along Glencoe to Altnafeadh. The landscape is so big that you can walk for an hour and feel as though you are in the same place you started. I don't think I've had a day where I could still see my campsite two and a half hours after I left it. The first two photos are from the Devil's Staircase - the last view of Glencoe and Rannoch Moor, and the view north to the Mamores. A steep descent to sea level and Kinlochleven became warmer and warmer as Scotland started its heatwave. The last day of the WHW, over to Fort William, was hot. I walked fast to get to the shade and was treated to a full clear view of Ben Nevis. It really looks like the biggest mountain in the UK. The third photo is Ben Nevis from the forest road down into Glen Nevis and Fort William. From my pint in Fort William I watched the walkers come in, hot and tired, and kept having to remind myself that this time I hadn't finished. The fourth photo is the Lochaber Schools Pipe Band amidst their regular weekly performance in the town. They were good!

The last two days have been on the Great Glen Way, to the busy, touristy FortAugustus, in intense heat, along the wide, silky, deep blue Caledonian Canal. The fifth photo is of Ben Nevis, still visible after miles, with snow in its gullies, reflected in the River Lochy. And the sixth is of the canal looking back down to Loch Oich. 

I have company now. My dad is walking with me up to John O'Groats. 15 days to go. The last couple of days have presented no navigaton issues and I realise my thoughts are turning back to Leicester and work and people. But the next 15 days will require much concentration and energy. My bag is heavier than ever as we don't pass through many settlements. Wild camping  and plotting our course along old tracks and ancient drove roads ... it doesn't feel so anxiety provoking now that I'm here. But I am a little bit relieved that it's only another 15 days! I'm not sure how much I'll be able to blog from now. But I'm on my way!

18th-19th July. Connections of water, rail, road and sound (trying this again with photos attached!)

Still on the West Highland Way.A stunningly beautiful day yesterday along Loch Lomond, continuing to meet and re-meet fellow walkers from all over the world. At the beginning of the day two Israeli Jews prayed outside the Rowardennan hostel on the banks of the Loch, with full prayer scarves, and the little boxes on their heads (I can't remember what they're called). The day was breezy and sometimes sunny, so no insect life hanging around. This makes me happy. I saw a slow worm - very long and snake like, moving slowly, and unbothered by me. The first photo is a little bay looking south, almost at the north end of the loch, swept by wind and inland sand. Later, in the campsite in Glen Falloch, I sat outside the bar by an open fire with three lovely dutchmen and a wonderful young dutch couple, passing the evening with good conversation, beer, and an elementary lesson in counting in dutch. It was the kind of evening that I wished could last and last. And as I lay in my tent I heard the late night Glasgow to Oban train, and listened to a singer in the bar singing all the songs I learned at ceildhs on Iona.Today has been as dreich as anything. I don't think I've ever seen Tyndrum in sunshine. The walk up Glen Falloch - a glen which I've travelled by road and rail so many times in my life and holds deep memory - was half-lit by misty sunshine trying to show itself through the swirling clouds. The clouds won, and by the time I'd reached the sign to Crianlarich it was raining. What did I do at the Crianlarich sign? Not like me to break with tradition, even though I wasn't technically in Crianlarich.... It's a Saturday today and I saw the morning train up from Glasgow. There would have been people in it heading to Iona. I nearly ran after it shouting 'wait for me'! But still 280 miles to go. The second and third photos are Glen Falloch - railway and road. Tyndrum is busy. I think it's always busy. Tomorrow Rannoch Moor. Contrasts, connections, momentary meetings, reflection, and memory. The wilderness is getting closer.

High empty wilderness, the unexpected meetings, and beer under the great mountain

Up and out of Tyndrum the landscape opened out and it was the beginning of feeling smaller and smaller under the huge mountains, half lit under the low wisps of cloud. After a coffee at the Inveroran hotel - the place where, two years ago, an angelic figure strode into my life - it was up and onto Rannoch Moor, the last, biggest uninhabited wilderness of the UK. The massive mountains to the west still had pockets of snow, and the vast expanse of silvery streaked moor spread out to the east. About half way along the track I met a large group of walkers. It turned out they were out from Oban for the day, and one of them used to be a colleague of my dad's. So we walked together for the last few miles, and now I am having beer with two lovely Dutch men under the Buachaille Etive Mor at the top of Glencoe. Maybe this could last forever ...?

Connections of water, rail, road and sound

Still on the West Highland Way.
A stunningly beautiful day yesterday along Loch Lomond, continuing to meet and re-meet fellow walkers from all over the world. At the beginning of the day two Israeli Jews prayed outside the Rowardennan hostel on the banks of the Loch, with full prayer scarves, and the little boxes on their heads (I can't remember what they're called). The day was breezy and sometimes sunny, so no insect life hanging around. This makes me happy. I saw a slow worm - very long and snake like, moving slowly, and unbothered by me. The first photo is a little bay looking south, almost at the north end of the loch, swept by wind and inland sand. Later, in the campsite in Glen Falloch, I sat outside the bar by an open fire with three lovely dutchmen and a wonderful young dutch couple, passing the evening with good conversation, beer, and an elementary lesson in counting in dutch. It was the kind of evening that I wished could last and last. And as I lay in my tent I heard the late night Glasgow to Oban train, and listened to a singer in the bar singing all the songs I learned at ceildhs on Iona.

Today has been as dreich as anything. I don't think I've ever seen Tyndrum in sunshine. The walk up Glen Falloch - a glen which I've travelled by road and rail so many times in my life and holds deep memory - was half-lit by misty sunshine trying to show itself through the swirling clouds. The clouds won, and by the time I'd reached the sign to Crianlarich it was raining. What did I do at the Crianlarich sign? Not like me to break with tradition, even though I wasn't technically in Crianlarich.... It's a Saturday today and I saw the morning train up from Glasgow. There would have been people in it heading to Iona. I nearly ran after it shouting 'wait for me'! But still 280 miles to go. The second and third photos are Glen Falloch - railway and road. Tyndrum is busy. I think it's always busy. Tomorrow Rannoch Moor. Contrasts, connections, momentary meetings, reflection, and memory. The wilderness is getting closer.

Days 63 & 64. The West Highland Way, Germans, another Dutchman, Sallochy, and the bonny busy banks o' Loch Lomond

The first photo is a sign I saw in Glasgow. It just made me smile a wee bit ...

It's good to be back on the West Highland Way, meeting mostly Germans, and lots of them, and a Dutchman, not with yella hair this time. Yesterday began in heavy rain, and the first walkers I saw were when my path joined the WHW. I'd started in Lennoxtown and saw no one most of the morning. The second photo is of the Campsie Fells from Drymen, looking dark and wet. I stopped at Drymen last night ... no dry men there. I have used that pun far too often but I've only ever seen it in the rain.

Today was a gloriously clear, sunny, warm, insect free day. The third photo is from the side of Conic Hill looking up Loch Lomond. You can see The Cobbler in the middle and Ben Lomond to the far right. I didn't remember this view from last time, but then realised it was because last time I rounded the side of Conic Hill I walked straight into a heavy hail storm. Not today fortunately. The banks of Loch Lomond are busy. I have seen many walkers, swimmers, drivers, boaters, relaxers. I walked through Sallochy today on the way to Rowardennan. I nearly camped at Sallochy again, but I'm kind of glad I didn't. It was busy and felt different, although still as beautiful. The fourth photo is Sallochy, and the fifth is the Loch from Rowardennan, where I'm sitting in the yha lounge looking at the water out of the large bay window, and half listening to a slide show being given by a National Trust Ranger. I've paid £3 for this wifi session though and the pressure, combined with the background talk, is killing my creativity .... I have just learned though that the source of the River Forth is above me on Ben Lomond. And later this year they are doing a candlelit charity event on the mountain. Cool.

I can't concentrate!

Slaps, thieves, the central belt, dog football, and piano

The sun kept shining through the Borders until the day over the Pentland Hills when rain threatened all day and the wind got up and the sky darkened, over the high, remote-feeling moors, but didn't break until we were into the small central belt towns at the end of the day. I was accompanied by a friend, who mostly survived, although I haven't asked recently how his ankle is ... (better do that..). It was good to be accompanied, and for the first 2 or 3 hours I found I was talking and talking. This introvert occasionally needs company. The first photo is a Victorian footpath sign at the top of the Cauldstane Slap. A slap is an old trading/droving/travelling route, and this one, through the Pentlands, is ancient ... sheep, shepherds, traders, religious fugitives, the persecuted, the rich, and thieves (its nickname is 'the Thieves Road'), preceded us. After we came down off the Pentlands, a last, pathless this time, rise over Corston Hill, and we could see Edinburgh, Arthur's Seat, the sea, the Forth Bridge, and all the wee towns and large industrial areas of the Central Belt towards Glasgow (second photo).

I'm now in Glasgow, having spent a couple of days of rest with a good, generous, hospitable friend, and other lovely people who live here or pass through. I've played a lot of football with the dogs, and played a lot of piano too.

It feels like another milestone has been passed, and tomorrow I head towards and onto the West Highland Way, and into the final wilderness. Only about 340 miles to go. I imagine the WHW will be busy and I am strangely pleased about that. The next 100 miles are familiar territory and I have looked forward to it all journey. For now, I am grateful to those who have shown me kindness and hospitality in this place.

Slaps, thieves, the central belt, dog football, and piano

The sun kept shining through the Borders until the day over the Pentland Hills when rain threatened all day and the wind got up and the sky darkened, over the high, remote-feeling moors, but didn't break until we were into the small central belt towns at the end of the day. I was accompanied by a friend, who mostly survived, although I haven't asked recently how his ankle is ... (better do that..). It was good to be accompanied, and for the first 2 or 3 hours I found I was talking and talking. This introvert occasionally needs company. The first photo is a Victorian footpath sign at the top of the Cauldstane Slap. A slap is an old trading/droving/travelling route, and this one, through the Pentlands, is ancient ... sheep, shepherds, traders, religious fugitives, the persecuted, the rich, and thieves (its nickname is 'the Thieves Road'), preceded us. After we came down off the Pentlands, a last, pathless this time, rise over Corston Hill, and we could see Edinburgh, Arthur's Seat, the sea, the Forth Bridge, and all the wee towns and large industrial areas of the Central Belt towards Glasgow (second photo).

I'm now in Glasgow, having spent a couple of days of rest with a good, generous, hospitable friend, and other lovely people who live here or pass through. I've played a lot of football with the dogs, and played a lot of piano too.

It feels like another milestone has been passed, and tomorrow I head towards and onto the West Highland Way, and into the final wilderness. Only about 340 miles to go. I imagine the WHW will be busy and I am strangely pleased about that. The next 100 miles are familiar territory and I have looked forward to it all journey. For now, I am grateful to those who have shown me kindness and hospitality in this place.

Southern lowlands, southern uplands, a unique high altitude meeting, the generosity of Borders people, and the question of who controls it all anyway

The first full day of Scottish walking was the wettest day I've had since Land's End. I guess this means I've been incredibly lucky, but it didn't feel like it at the time. The mist clung to the lowlands and the Eildon Hills all day, as I joined the St Cuthbert's Way all the way to Melrose. Late afternoon the sun came out though and has been unceasingly shining since then. In the Melrose campsite I met a lovely couple, the Romseys, who took my blog address and fundraising details. In the light of the current news, this feels so relevant.

The Southern Upland Way is wonderful. This is all new walking territory for me, and I am definitely coming back to walk the whole of the SUW, sometime! The view from the Three Brethren, as pictured, was breathtaking in every direction.
All of the walking in the Borders is well signposted and maintained. I feel like I need to say this after walking in the Midlands! A few miles after this point I found myself catching up a walker ahead with a backpack at least half again bigger than mine. And who should it be but the man walking from Cape Cornwall to Cape Wrath. I had heard about him from other walkers I've met and didn't think I'd ever see him. His name is John Sutcliffe, and we walked together most of the rest of the day, exchanging stories of people and routes and weather and life. He is a great man. A geologist, he still works although he is in his 70s, and spoke about the shape of the land that we had passed through. As we passed a path coming up from the left, before Minch Moor, a bearded chap in red Ronhills, a dirty t-shirt and a wide-brimmed sunhat came yomping up towards us, followed by hundreds of flies. He had a strange Geordie/Aussie accent, and his enthusiasm about the history of the hills and his need to tell us was untameable. I think we were both glad to be rid of him as he skipped off up the hill, flies following. I said goodbye to John Sutcliffe after Traquair beer at Traquair House. Look out for his book ... I'm so glad I met him.

The following morning I popped into the Innerleithen greengrocers for some fruit and the greengrocer, after finding out why I was walking through, gave me money for the fundraising and made her next three customers do the same. It was a hot walk to Peebles and in town Coltman's cafe was recommended to me. Over good coffee I chatted to Sophie, a lovely friendly waitress, who walked 28 days on the northern route of the Camino to Compostella last year - also a solo walker - and loved it, and, crazily, would like to walk from Lands End to John O'Groats. In the words of a mountain biker, met in the Innerleithen campsite, 'so, not a lot of people walk that ... doesn't that tell you something ...?' . Sophie, do it. Increase our number! 

The Peebles conversations got stranger when I was joined for a hilarious half hour outside the campsite bar by a double act from Edinburgh, Stevie (the skinny one) and Buster (the fat one). Stevie was three sheets to the wind already and thought my teeth were gorgeous, and Buster was, in fact, charming and polite and hilarious too. And they said they'd donate too. And this morning, early, the lovely kind lady in the Food for Thought cafe donated too. 

And the strangest Peebles conversation was with a Jehovah's Witness yesterday afternoon. This is the second time in the walk, and the second time in my life, I have been JWed. I stopped her before she began to give me the evangelistic spiel and told her I worked for the Church of England ... She said that was wonderful, and then carried on anyway, and as I tried to back away politely she asked me who I thought controlled the world anyway. I said it depends on so many factors ... so she gave me a leaflet. It asked the same question. Turns out she'd memorised the leaflet. 

Talking of the big questions .... I am in the luxury of a b&b tonight so have been catching up with the news. Now might be a time to remind you of what I'm fundraising for. Please read below. We are so privileged to live in a country free from violent conflict. 

Tomorrow, 17 miles, in the company of a friend. After seeing that much rain is predicted, we may not be friends by the end of the day ... 

The crossing video

Blogger won't let me publish the video. Apologies! Find someone with a facebook account, if you feel so inclined - it's on there. It's only me talking though, and then struggling with the gate, singing a song and then filming the silence.
It feels strangely southern and busy once again, being in Jedburgh. Which, I guess, it is.

Days 50 to 54 ... the Wall, the forest, the lonely places, youtube, a ukulele, the Northumbrian outback, silence, and the rusty border gate

This has been 5 days of complete contradictions and contrasts. After a very comfortable night at Naomi's in Carlisle, onto Hadrian's Wall. I didn't realise it was such a popular walk, particularly with North Americans. In one conversation I was asked whether I'd had an argument with my boyfriend which had resulted in me walking for three months. I like meeting Americans on walks - there is not a lot of reserve about them so the conversations are always pretty deep and often funny, and they always seem to be having a good time. The first photo is of a little self-service refreshment hut by Crosby on Eden where I was watched by a tiny wide-eyed cat. I saw two or three of these wonderful places in only two and a half days on the Wall. Not long after this hut, I met an 80 year old Nova Scotian walking with his brother, son and daughter in law. He was so overcome when he learned what I was doing, that he interviewed me for his youtube video! I can't remember what he said the title would be though. As the Wall moves east, it becomes higher and wilder, and windier too. 'Robin Hood, prince of thieves' fans will recognise the second photo - Sycamore Gap, or as it has become known, the 'Robin Hood tree'. No sign of Kevin Costner, or Alan Rickman, unfortunately. Only an early morning runner and an early morning photographer, who turned out to be the only people I saw all day, until the third photo - another old barn in a farm called Horneystead, after long stretches of open moor and lonely forest in the wind and rain. They had a kettle, all kinds of drinks and snacks, including a wagon wheel - the first one I've had in years! As I was leaving the farmer came out to help move the horses who were leaning on the stile and wouldn't move for me.

Day 53 moved into lonelier, remoter places, with the feeling of being very far north, where hardly anyone seems to go, and where it's important to stay on the right side of the complete anxiety and agoraphobia line .... which, if you start thinking about it too much in that lonely place, you might stop moving altogether. I saw no one all day, between Bellingham and Byrness, in spite of being on the Pennine Way. The first half of the day on wide open high moor, and the second in the massive, empty, silent Keilder forest. It had rained all the previous night, and the forest was steaming in the sun (fourth picture). Into the lovely, strange, tiny village of Byrness, on the remote A68, consisting of three long terraces of houses and not much else. I camped in the garden of the Forest View Inn, in the old yha building, and met Christine, and Martin and Edmund, doing the final stage of the Pennine Way. We were regaled all evening with PW horror stories over pints of local ale. The proprieters were the kindest of people, in a strange but hospitable place. During the evening another camper turned up - Rhys, who had been wild camping the whole of the Pennine Way, sustained mostly by weed and chocolate. I'd passed his tent earlier that day although no sign of life from it. He had been carrying a ukulele from day 1 but couldn't play it as it was out of tune. I tuned it for him, to make his last couple of days worthwhile! He then disappeared off up the hill. 

Into day 54 and the final push over the Cheviots into Scotland.  A steep uphill through forest and out onto the ridge in cool early morning sunshine, with views all around of the Cheviots and the forests and the Scottish Borders. I had been anxious about this day for weeks but the night in Byrness and the clarity of the weather made the anxiety cease. If you know the PW you'll know that it actually fgoes in and out of the border a couple of times. The fifth photo is a sign by the first border crossing. What is it about borders and military firing ranges? I passed Rhys' tent but no movement from it. He was probably stoned, and clutching his freshly tuned uke. Then, high up in remote northern England, I finally crossed for the last time, and into Scotland properly! The last two photos are of the gate , and my feet, one in England and one in bonny Scotland. 775 miles done and a huge milestone. I even made a video. It was silent except for the skylarks. No huge welcome (the gate was stiff and the fastening rusty!), no political statements, no words ... just the silence of the high, remote earth. As I stood, in silent celwbration, I saw a person coming towards me! A lovely Scots lady, out for the day, and we stood and chatted, she in England and I in Scotland. Then, on leaving the PW at that point a long trudge on Dere Street, all the way to Jedburgh, from where I write this, having a rest day. 787 miles done. Halllooooo Scotland.