August 14, 2013: Drymen to Aberfoyle
The Drymen Road Car Park
On Tuesday, August 13, 2013, I left the house at 10:30 – climbing aboard a mini cab that whipped me to Euston Station in only fifteen minutes. (But it took another ten minutes for the traffic-clogged side street to clear sufficiently for an entry into the underground drop-off zone.) I had my daypack on my back and, unusually, I was carrying not my big backpack but a canvas case that I usually deploy for air travel. I reasoned that I would not be carrying this large item for any great distance (bags to be transported for us on this trip) and that this case is so much easier to use than a backpack. Anyway I lugged it up some stairs (escalator broken) and entered a W. H. Smith so that I could purchase a Diet Coke and a newspaper – more for wet boots than reading matter… for here I was about to launch another major walking expedition, eight days on Scotland’s Rob Roy Way.
I was early and even managed to find a place to sit down in the extremely crowded concourse. I had purchased my train tickets weeks earlier, taking advantage of my senior savings to treat myself to seats in a first class carriage. At 11:30 we were off and soon thereafter the first of an endless number of refreshment carts rolled down the aisle – first class passengers get free food and drink these days. In fact I ate only a spicy pork wrap and drank only a Diet Pepsi while I did my puzzles and read my articles. Things were pretty quiet in my part of the train; an amazingly bright four year-old, Holly, was told she could play with her iPad but only with the sound off. Dad made her climb under the table to get to her seat and she cried because she didn’t want to get her tights dirty. We also had an enchanting seven month-old baby, a solemn child named Emmy – who soon charmed the rest of the passengers.
Shortly before 4:00 we arrived at a busy Glasgow Central Station and I learned that I had to drag my case to an underground level in order to be in the right position for my connection, a commuter train to the spot we had reached at the end of our first day on the West Highland Way 22 years ago – Milngavie. After only a fifteen-minute wait this train arrived and I rode it to the end of the line – most of the passengers having gotten off before me at the many stops on this route.
Out in front of the station I could see a phalanx of waiting taxis and my first question was, “Who gets me?” The other drivers pointed to Nigel, whose turn it was, and we were soon off on an expensive journey to Drymen. This was the town we had reached at the end of our second day on the WHW – but I recognized none of the intervening territory (except perhaps for a brief glimpse of distant Loch Lomond) as Nigel kept up a detailed monologue on the passing scene. There are ways to reach Drymen by bus but I had a special reason for doing it this way. I wanted to complete the journey by taxi because this is how my walking partner, Gavan, would have to do it tomorrow – and I needed to make arrangements for him in advance.
Gavan and I had experienced complex rendezvous connections in the past: he had once flown into Heathrow from Boston, taken the Heathrow Express to Paddington, the Bakerloo line to Maida Vale, walked to my flat, taken a shower, and we had then jumped into a cab that took us to Stansted for our flight to Ireland at the start of the Dingle Way. He had once flown to Edinburgh from Poland and checked into a hotel room where I was already asleep – on the eve of our departure by train for Aviemore and the start of our walk on the Speyside Way. Now he would repeat the flight from Poland to Edinburgh, spend a night in a youth hostel there, and at 7:23 tomorrow, take a train from Waverley Station to Milngavie. He really needed to use a taxi to speed him on to Drymen because we wanted the folks hired by our tour organizers, Mickledore, to have his bag as well as my own when they arrived to ferry these objects on to Aberfoyle. As Nigel parked out in front of Ashbank House, just a block away from the Drymen town square (which I did remember) I made arrangements for him to be at Milgavie station at 9:00 the next morning – when Gavan would arrive.
I was welcomed by my hostess and shown to a nice room on the ground floor. I did a little unpacking and made preparations for tomorrow’s first stage and then I went out in search of an evening meal. The solitary meal was always the worst moment of the day for me – back when I often walked alone – so I was dreading this one. But I found a comfortable corner in the Ptarmigan bar of the Winnock Hotel. I had prawns in Marie Rose sauce and a very nice Finnan Haddock in cream sauce with mashed potatoes and broccoli. I read more of my articles and drank two gin and tonics while a Dutch family (here for the hills, no doubt) chowed down at the next table. It was still light as I made my way back to Ashbank House, though clouds were piling up after a sunny afternoon. I suppose there might be a spot commemorating the start of the Rob Roy Way in Drymen but I never found it. Still, it was lovely to be back in Scotland – where everything was green and flowers blossomed everywhere.
I had done all I could do to get ready for this expedition and now it would be up to the mountain gods to see if it all worked out. Still, it would be fair to say that I was suffering from more than the usual anxieties as I turned the lights out – would Gavan arrive on time, would my seventy-five year-old legs get me though eight days of strenuous walking?
It was still gray when I had a peek out of the window early on the morning of August 14. I was greatly relieved, at about 7:20, when my mobile phone burst into a brief bout of Tchaikovsky and it was Gavan – calling to tell me that he was aboard his train and would soon be heading for Milngavie. A couple from the Czech Republic were at the next table as I ate my scrambled eggs at about 8:30, retreating to my room to keep an eye out for Nigel’s taxi. Indeed, shortly after 9:30 he pulled around the corner and Gavan emerged at last. It was the first time I had seen him since our London Olympics and Norfolk Coast Path extravaganza last summer.
He had brought with him a huge backpack (containing a bottle of oak vodka on a wooden pouring stand and a weighty chunk of Polish cheese) as well as his own daypack. I attached a Mickledore label to the backpack and handed him a new map case containing the relevant ordnance survey map for today’s march and a 2012 edition of the Rucksack Reader for our route (by Jaquetta Magarry and Rennie McOwan). I would carry an earlier edition of the same book (which had gone from “waterproof” to “water resistant”) and xeroxes of the OS maps in my old case – whose line of improvised adhesive tape along the bottom clearly demonstrated why a new case was needed. On the xerox maps I had added figures showing the miles for each day’s walk – I never had any great confidence in the book’s figures or those represented by the occasional sign; these always understated the total.
Gavan had arrived with a problem – the charger cord for his telephone was acting up and our hostess kindly let him try her cord so that he could confirm that his version was knackered. She had also made two packed lunches and, with these stowed in our daypacks, we were ready to make a move. We did so by heading in the wrong direction – down hill so that Gavan could see if the local Spar store carried anything resembling a charger cord. It did not so, at about 9:50, we left Drymen’s village square and headed north-by-north east along a village road that soon began its climb. I was just getting used to the rhythm of my walking stick tapping its way at my side when a lady emerged from a cottage with a rescued Cairn to ask us about our venture and to tell us of her trip to Los Angeles.
Behind us we could see a large group of teenagers of both sexes and we paused to discover their mission. One chap, wearing only sandals (a mistake) told us that they were religious Belgians about to walk the West Highland Way. This famous route was very much on our minds for, after a turn to northeast proper, we were approaching our own footsteps of 1991. Just as we passed the WHW’s entry into the Garadhban Forest we met another group of walkers searching for the way forward. After learning they too wanted the West Highland Way we were able to point them in the right direction. I reminded Gavan that the last time we were in these parts I had been hoping to see that large member of the grouse family, the capercaillie, but that a creature with a considerably smaller wingspan dominated proceedings – hundred of flies soon plastering themselves to my baseball cap. On this trip, incidentally, I was wearing a black cap with an orange eagle, a gift sent by Gavan from his recent wanderings in New Zealand and very much resembling in its logo and color the livery of the American School in London – where we had met as teacher and pupil in 1987.
Mickledore had sent us four large OS maps in the orange Explorer series but not one covering our first four miles. This was not a problem, since we never left our road during this stretch, but I had remembered that there was an OS map in our old WHW guidebook and I had xeroxed copies of this section for both of us. There was a lot of ascent in our first two hours – which did not go swiftly. Cyclists and some drivers were evident here but we were certainly the only walkers. It was great to be out in the open in dry weather and, indeed, after forty minutes or so, the sun broke through. I paused to put on some sunblock and to fish my dark glasses out of the back of my pack. (It was the only time in eight days that either gesture was required.)
Both of us were taking lots of photos (Gavan using his phone as well as his Nikon) and at one point I took, for later identification, a picture of a small snake that had perished at the roadside. The Muir Park Reservoir appeared below us on the left and on the right we were drawn forward by the beacon at Bat a Charchel. At last we reached the crest of our road, with views of the village of Gartmore ahead of us, and dropped down a short distance to the Drymen Road Car Park.
At a corner we pulled out our lunches (Gavan objecting to the ham and cheese filling I had chosen) and had a nice rest while a farmer walked by with four eager sheepdogs. We were now able to use sheet 365 (The Trossachs) as we headed northwest along a potholed road, with high woods on our left and open vistas on our right. At one point on this stretch we came across a chap whose Labrador had just gone for an impromptu paddle in a little stream – and now he didn’t know how to get his pet into the car without a muddy disaster.
A domed shaft
I was able to follow our progress pretty well on my little xeroxes but Gavan was usually well ahead of me; he proved, once again, a worthy pathfinder and I never knew him to put a foot wrong. We were walking in the vicinity of the Loch Katrine water scheme and one aid to route-finding was the presence of domed ventilation shafts. We passed by several of these in the woods and emerged with a view of the famous Corrie Aqueduct – our signal to head due north. Gavan found us some spots to sit down on the embankment of this structure and we had a go at finishing our lunches.
Our track accompanied the aqueduct for some distance before re-entering the forest, now accompanied by crisscrossing power lines. At about the eight-mile mark we reached lonely Clashmore cottage and soon thereafter we reached the summit of our day’s trek and, accompanied by the Bofrishlie Burn, we could at last head downhill, moving again in a northeasterly direction. Fooled by an aerial view of Aberfoyle in the guidebook I was surprised to realize that there would be no dramatic descent to the River Forth valley for us – we had a most gradual approach as we at last reached paved roadway at Balleich. I was also surprised to discover that we were walking in a light rain. We passed Kirkton Church and Cemetery and slogged over the bridge to reach the A821 in Aberfoyle. It was 4:15.
The Forth Inn, Aberfoyle
Near the village crossroads Gavan entered a shop in another vain attempt to find a charger cord – while I headed east in search of refreshment at the Forth Inn. We took off our rain jackets and had a relaxing pint here and the bartender even used his own equipment to charge Gavan’s phone. We made a dinner reservation for 7:00 and headed back into the wet to follow pavement along the Lochard Road to our b&b, Stoneypark. Unfortunately this was some half a mile away (which explains why I entered today’s total at 11.5 miles) but school and church served as splendid introductions to a large house in its own landscaped grounds. We arrived at 5:15.
Our host showed us to our room on the first floor (Gavan carrying all of our luggage upstairs himself) and we unpacked. I took my shower in the nearby bathroom (the only time we didn’t have en suite) and Gavan headed next door to look at the athletic championships in Moscow on the telly. It was only misting a bit when we marched back to the Forth Inn and here we were shown to seats in the huge baronial dining room of the hotel. I had the haddock and chips and they gave Gavan’s phone yet more juice.
At home we tried to watch the England-Scotland football friendly on the telly (Gavan had seen a large contingent of kilted supporters boarding the London train when he was in Edinburgh this morning) but we were very tired and after about half and hour (with the score tied 1-1) we went to our room and, after a very successful opening stage, went quickly to our beds. (England won 3-2.)
To continue with the next stage of our walk you need: