West Highland Way Copyright © Barry Smith 2012. All Rights Reserved. Phil's View of the Walk! Night One Having arrived by train a few hours before the remaining amigos, I took an extended look round Millgavie town centre. This occupied about 3 minutes. The problem with time on the hands is that you start to think; as a result I worried that I didn't’t have enough energy food for the adventure ahead so I emptied the local Tesco of energy drinks and bars. Sound in theory but the weight was horrendous. Anyway more of this later. Once the gents arrived we went into town and found a pub followed by an excellent Chinese, served by a pleasant Chinese lass with a penchant for discussing golf. Graham argued about how best to split the bill. I was then locked in a hotel room with Martyn who I had met for the first time earlier that evening. His opening salvo was literally breathtaking, the remainder merely tonally and nasally abhorrent. Dawn cracked all too soon and Martyn’s dawn chorus cracked with it. Day One In summary it rained. As we left Millgavie following the official photographs (all taken four times, once per camera) we realised the popularity of the WHW, when we saw the view of fellow walkers stretched in front of us reminded me of a soviet bread queue. The walking was pleasant enough, hardly challenging with a stop-off at a distillery tour which at least kept the rain of my head for a couple of hours. On arrival in Drymen I was allocated a single bedroom – luxurious but slightly smaller than a Swan Vesta box. We ate in a local hotel after which Graham argued vehemently about how to split the bill. Following nightcaps in two pubs and the B&B lounge we all repaired to bed. Day Two Today saw a walk of two halves, both of about seven miles. The first took us to the shores of Loch Lomond along forest tracks and over the moorland to Conic Hill, whilst the second half had us start the long trek up the side of Loch Lomond itself. Again the weather wasn't too kind with showers through most of the day, however the view of the chain of islands dotted across the loch from the top of Conic Hill was well worth the climb. Graham and I got to the youth hostel ahead of the others and in time to be towards the front of the check-in queue. As we checked in and saw the room I remembered why I gave up youth hostelling. There were three double bunks in a room the size of a single garage with nowhere to hang wet kit, no mini-bar, no room service, no pay-per-view TV, no food, limited toilet paper and just two showers, one blocked and the other having the cleanliness of a Ukrainian coal mine. When we found the luggage my £10 special bag which had seemed like such a bargain just two days before had split wide open; possibly due to excessive weight and I had “lost” my sponge bag. So now I was miserable, wet and could see no prospect of life ever looking up. Having changed, we dodged the downpours and went back along the trail to the local hotel which was stowed out with other bedraggled walkers. Through Barry’s charm we were promoted to the dining room where we had an excellent dinner served by an East European lass. Saddened to leave the warm and comparative luxury (having listened to Graham ague about splitting the bill) we returned to the hostel to the sight of several young German’s dressed as elves and another walking outside with a small tree on his head. Day Three Joy, no wash, no shave and no breakfast. To this add no bag worth the name. To save weight I ditched several items including my old boots. (With hindsight the need for spare boots as well as two pairs of trainers and a pair of sensible shoes may have had an influence of the bag’s demise when coupled with 16 bottles of energy drink, about 20 energy bars and six rolls of Trebor mints). Anyway walking was soon underway in good weather. The walking was quite easy albeit with a lot of up and down as the path wended its way along the edge of the Loch. Breakfast / lunch was at a hotel after about six miles. I decide to stock up on four rounds of sandwiches, two large cakes and two pots of tea. Feeling better the afternoon was a great improvement, Graham and I soon left Barry and Martyn behind and seemingly quickly arrived at the evening’s lodging, the Drovers, a pub which made the youth hostel look like an sterile operating theatre. Graham and I sank a couple of pints and waited for the others to arrive. My, they were not happy. It appears that the official route guide is a complete fabrication. Yesterday’s 14 miles was at least 18 miles and as for today’s walk it was a damned sight more than the advertised distance. Still we finally got to the rooms - they were in a separate clean, luxurious building where I was “allocated” Barry as my soul mate for the night. The others washed whilst I contacted the bag carriers and made plaintive enquiries as to the whereabouts of my soap. The kind gentlemen fully accepted my explanation that the failure of my bag was entirely due to my complete incompetence (no point trying poker with no cards whatsoever), and he kindly returned to the Drovers and hand-delivered my sponge bag and he gave me a replacement bag which was better than the one I had started with. Washed and shaved and after a long session of whisky and putting the world to rights we adjourned across the road for an evening of food and more drink. The food was excellent, served by Australian lasses, and having listened to Barry demanding a toothpick from the surprised waitress and having Graham tell us how to split the bill we repaired to the bar where we all drank too much, listened to a terrible Scottish singer and joined in a knees up. As we started to feel relaxed and smug, about 25 young elfin clad German’s arrived hoping to find beds for the night. Dream on Fritz! Day Four The day started with a blinding headache, which I surmised had been caused by helping the others to drink whisky.  I vowed never to touch a drop again and after watching the others eat we all set off. Happily the headache soon cleared and the scenery changed entirely as we passed up towards the head of the valley and round to the Bridge of Orchy. Again Graham and I had shot ahead of Barry and Martyn, so had ample time to load up on an excellent lunch of fish and chips and do some shopping before they appeared. I bought a walking pole, not because I needed one having managed for 48 years without, but somehow I felt out of place without one given my technology laden companions. With my new, sartorial image as the John Steed of the hills we set off on the afternoon’s trek across to the Bridge of Orchy. Again Graham set off like a scalded cat and I chased behind him. After what seemed like forever we dropped down to the bunkhouse by the Bridge of Orchy hotel where we checked in awaited for the others. The rooms were “compact” and again I found myself sharing with “Two-tones Smith”, the UK snoring champion. Dinner in the main hotel was a quiet affair, we were all tired following the 18 mile stint, and following a long interlude whilst Barry asked the Australian waitress to find him toothpick, there was hardly any bleating as Graham explained how best to split the bill. Knowing that the following day was the “big push” of 22 miles we were all a bit concerned and repaired early to bed. Day Five At breakfast I was informed that Barry’s snoring had kept Graham and Martyn awake through the breeze block wall. On the other hand I had not heard a thing. The team were anxious to get underway as quickly as possible whilst I felt the need for a full breakfast (nearer two full breakfasts to be strictly accurate). Once we started to walk it soon became clear that the day was going to be tough on the feet, as General Wade’s road over the corner of Rannoch Moor was in pretty poor condition and rocky underfoot. After climbing a gentle slope for what seemed like an age the snow clad might of Ben Nevis abruptly sprang into view giving us a sight of the full distance we had to cover over the next one and a half days. Lunch was a fairly quick pit stop at the Kings House at the head of Glencoe, before we attempted the “Devil’s staircase” by which the old military road passes out of Glencoe and into the Mamores mountain range. The staircase itself was easier than expected but the walk out to the village of Kinlockleven itself seemed to take an age with a long downhill into the town itself being especially painful. We were all grateful to see the excellent B&B. We were all tired and dinner in a local pub, served by a Scottish lass,  was initially a quiet affair until Graham and Barry decided to resolve the question of the way forward in Iraq. To summarise, they have polar views and even with another thousand years it is unlikely that:     They will resolve their differences     They will reduce the volume by which they share them This continued even to the extent that Graham could barely define how to split the food bill. Like true no-fuss Brits, Martyn and I left the pair of them and went to look at the Kinlochleven fire engine instead.  To summarise:     It’s red     It expressed no views on Iraq. On retiring to the B&B the United Nations continued to consume whisky and debate the way forward in the Middle East whilst Martyn and I repaired to bed leaving nothing but a faint odour in their room. Revenge was sweet. Day Six Another fine day and since the third day we hadn’t seen a single drop of rain nor a single midge. Despite being billed as fourteen miles in all honesty it seemed further. The views were splendid, the full might of Am Bodach and other southern guardians of the Mamores to our right as we climbed the valley and eventually Ben Nevis directly in front of us as we passed over into Glen Nevis. The walking was easy enough underfoot, but the last few miles in particular seemed to go on for ever, not helped by my urgent need to photograph everything in sight including every flower and caterpillar. Due to various aches and pains our walking styles could best be described as interesting, Martyn in particular affecting a gait like a homophobic crab. Eventually we arrived in Fort William and having taken the obligatory pictures found our B&B. Barry and I were sharing and unlike Graham and Martyn, who set a land speed record up the stairs, sadly didn’t have an en-suite. Barry opted to have the first shower and returned saying that there was water in the bath that he had had to let out, and that the supplied soap and shampoo were excellent. I followed him narrowly beating an Australian who was left wondering at the sudden queue for the ablutions and why the level in his bath water and shampoo had suddenly dropped. Cleaned and scrubbed we hit the town. Having the whole fresh produce of the Highlands to aim at, my colleagues felt the need for a Chinese and found a dubious establishment at the very far end of town. The paucity of decoration, hygiene and the balding waiter did nothing to prevent Graham deciding how to split the bill. We returned to the B&B with the others promising to be up early in the morning to see me off as I had to catch the 07:30 train to Abergavenny whilst they had a more leisurely bus ride back to Glasgow. The Final Day As I left the B&B at 07:00 the sonorous sound of snoring in my ears reminding me of the hearty promises of the night before……. Footnote On arriving at Glasgow Queen Street station I took a taxi to central station – well it is a good 800 yards.