The taxi delivered us to Rowardennan and we set off once again with our rucksacks. There are two alternative paths alongside Loch Lomond, and because it was very wet we chose the upper path, a very easy logging route. However the two routes eventually converged and we were soon struggling over tree roots and rocks and were fording streams. We were never far from the sound of water, as there are numerous waterfalls. Arriving in Inversnaid, we stopped for lunch at the hotel before diverting from the WHW to our guest house by Loch Arklet.

A Backward Glance

Today was interesting. Starting from the hotel car park where we arrived yesterday, we followed signs to West Highland Way and soon were tracing the shore of Loch Lomond on our left again, but now at a higher elevation through a thick pine forest. Water cascading down from the hills on our right was impressive as too were the culverts diverting the deluge under the path we were on. We commented that walkers on the lower path nearer the Loch would probably have to negotiate the torrents and we felt quite smug about choosing the higher one. Soon the lower path rose up the hill to join ours and we were suddenly scrambling over boulders and climbing up tree roots along a sometimes narrow ledge. It’s frightening and surprising that the walk actually allowed those using it to traverse the roaring cataracts without helmets and diving suits. Carol said “you go first”. We’ve been here before I thought, only last time we had Otto to show us how. There was the slippery looking stepping stone. So taking a deep breath I stepped into the thundering maelstrom. Carol quickly followed behind, and pushing past said “keep up”. This is not for the faint hearted I thought as we continued up the twisting bone breaking rocks, when I saw coming towards us down the slope on what looked like a chopper bike, a blond haired child about ten years old bouncing all over the place. As he passed he didn’t even glance at me, his steely eyes fixed on the rocks he was some how managing to bump his bike over. Two things crossed my mind in that moment, where did this crazy child come from and, the poor chap’s going to have to carry his bike all the way back when he meets the shocker we’ve just had to cross. But within minutes we were facing another rushing wall of liquid ferocity, but this time no stepping stone. But that’s not possible I thought, I must be dreaming, but reality kicked in when Carol repeated her mantra, “you go first”. I looked at the throat the water was crashing straight down into, feeding the insatiable loch a hundred feet below. That child on their bike crossed this! After much trepidation I did what I’ll only describe as a ‘highland fling’ landing on a dinner plate sized flat stone where I did a Scottish Jig (hands waving over head, hopping on one leg while twirling on the spot). Carol was not impressed and rearranged the look on her face from fearful to terrified. Passing across her walking poles it was agreed we’d use them to help her make the leap. Knowing she was clutching at straws, she closed her eyes and did what many of us do when our options get desperate. Then miraculously a firm arm appeared alongside the poles with the kind of hand that could unscrew tops from jars of unopened marmalade. Immediately Carol transferred her trust and was pulled safely across by a young chap who’d just arrived behind me. “Good one” he said and immediately leapt the gap as though the water wasn’t even there, and he was gone. Not much later we met little Evel Knievel’s twin and their parents. All on bikes: Mum and Dad’s loaded with large pannier bags. Dad’s leg was bleeding from cuts to his shin and it was clear that this little one had stayed behind to look out for his less nimble parents. Today was interesting.