Today was bright and sunny all day until the last mile, when it began to rain (and David stubbornly refused to stop and put on his raincoat)! We set off early from Bridge of Orchy, climbing steeply for the first two miles. We were gradually overtaken by other walkers who had chosen to spend that extra half hour in bed! We descended to the hamlet of Inveroran, where we stopped for coffee. From there we followed the Military Road again, which was ‘improved’ by Telford in the late 19th century, by adding bridges. It was a long, slow climb over Rannoch Moor, before we reached the top, with views of mountains, including Ben Nevis in the distance. We descended to Kings House Hotel, to relax and snack whilst we waited for a taxi to take us to our accommodation in Kinlochleven. It was an expensive ride, as the main road into the village was closed due to a landslide, and we were driven all the way round Loch Leven!

A Backward Glance

Bridge of Orchy is a small hamlet that grew up around an impressive bridge attributed to Caulfeild, who probably had nothing to do with it’s construction except to point a finger saying, “Bridge there and make it quick”. It’s the same today; behind every little team leader in oversize shoes there’s an army of talented unrecognised slaves losing sleep and beating themselves up to achieve something remarkable. And they did with the Bridge of Orchy over the white water rapids it spans. The ordinary are more extraordinary than the extraordinarily ordinary they serve. (Major William Caulfeild supervised Road and bridge construction, to be fair). After crossing the bridge it was a zig zag climb up the steep valley side giving us a bird’s eye view of humanity’s machinations lost in the immensity of natures greater creation. The miniature hotel and surrounding buildings, the tiny train slowly moving along the opposite side of the valley parallel with a thin thread of road dotted with articulated trucks, just visible, like grains of sand on a green baize carpet. Over the top it was a gentle down hill stroll through an ever widening mountainous landscape to a small place called Inveroran where we met John at the 100 km marker line for the West Highland Way trek. John is an electrician by trade and was taking time out to help get business going at the small coffee shop there. He sat at a table on the line strumming his guitar and singing his heart out to us walkers as we passed. John was born to perform. He sang ‘Jolene’ to us as we drank our beverage from a paper cup beside him. If I closed my eyes it was as if the busty Dolly Parton was sitting right next to me and I could almost smell the lipstick on her breath. Then I was joined by Bob Dylan as he sang ‘Tangled Up in Blue’ in that unmistakeable gravelly voice of his. John reminded me of our beautiful five year old granddaughter Ophelia whose happy friendly dials are constantly turned up to the max. John is too bright a spark to remain an electrician, his light is meant to shine. The remaining five hours of walking were not too strenuous and I felt we were in the bosom of Scotland’s Highlands, while the sky over was gradually putting on its grey face the further we travelled. A fish in water doesn’t feel wet, a walker in weather shouldn’t either. Dressing and changing are start and end activities; other sportsmen don’t change their kit while still playing just because it starts to rain near the end of a game. We have seen walkers with umbrella’s: to me they look like spectators who’ve wandered onto the pitch. I rest my soggy case your honour.