June 23, 1991: Milngavie to Drymen
At Craigallian Loch
It was grey outside when I got up on Sunday morning. I watched the birds in the McGregor backyard while I shaved at my little sink – but the toilets and showers were downstairs and only Gavan managed to get into the latter. We had breakfast at 8:30, the first in a long series of bacon, sausage, fried egg, and tomato specials. Mr. McGregor gave us each a gold pen stamped with the address of the Barloch Guest House. We were out the front door by 9:15.
As we returned to the pedestrian precincts of Milngavie a light drizzle began, and we had to stop at some benches to don raingear. It was the first of innumerable instances in which Gavan had to help me with my dreaded rain poncho. In spite of the inclement weather I posed him against the sign board announcing the start of the Way on Douglas Street. We then walked down a ramp and along paved walkways as we neared the Allender Water, a bubbling stream that now served as our companion in the early stages of the walk. Locals were out walking their dogs or scurrying home with baked goods.
A steep path took us to the upper reaches of Allender Park and onto a path through the fringes of Mugdock Wood. Eventually the Allender Water re-emerged on our left. I kept on my raingear for quite a while but, in truth, the skies began to brighten after the one-mile mark. There were a lot of other walkers about, but it was hard to tell which ones were doing the Way itself. A couple was hanging superfluous clothing on a critical signpost in the wood and we had to ask them to reclaim some items of apparel so we could be sure of our route. This was near a motor road, where we took a brief detour to the left before continuing in more open country, covered in gorse.
Two young ladies, whom we often saw over the next two days, passed us as I was taking a photo of Craigallian Loch. This was a very nice section of the route, with forests dropping down the wooded bank on the far shore and Craigallian House standing somberly at the southern end of the little lake. Carbeth Loch, which we approached next, was even smaller. We walked among the weekend cottages of the Glaswegians, on the lookout for a quiet place to pee, and used another motor road detour, the B821, to head west. This was the four-mile mark.
Cows pursued us as we turned north into the Tinker’s Loan, a path between stone dykes that ended in a hilltop grove. Here too cows were pushing forward to have a closer look at the strangers. I was looking for a place to pee here, for instance, but other walkers were sheltering against a brief return of the rain and I had to climb a stile and sneak downhill and around the corner before finding a sufficiently private moment. The view ahead, dominated by the wooded knob of Dumgoyach, and full of the promise of open fellside, was very lovely. Again the weather was improving as we marched over the boggy fields near Arlehaven farm. “But is there enough blue to make a Scotsman’s trousers?” I asked, looking at the busy skies. An old man, recognizing us as WHW walkers, stood at the bottom of a hill, leaning on his cane, and teasing us with the comment, “It was snowing when I left Fort William this morning.”
The Dumgoyach Standing Stones could be seen on the right as we passed around the western side of the former volcano. A muddy circuit of Dumgoyach farm brought us to the farm access road and placed us at the start of a long northerly stretch on the old trackway of the abandoned Blane Valley railway. Some walkers were examining their OS map at this junction and I was using mine as well to monitor our progress toward the A81 crossing – where intelligence reports had identified a pub. We passed several plantations to right and left and a large whiskey distillery on the main road. Bicyclists were using this stretch too and it was annoying to be overtaken by these chaps – who were often upon us with very little warning. There was a large mob of walkers a few hundred yards behind us as well and Gavan was concerned about letting them get ahead of us in our advance on the bar of the Beech Tree Inn – but they turned off somewhere.
It was shortly past 1:00 when we pulled up at the pub. Perhaps its former role as the Killearn railway station explains the unusual architecture of this establishment, which seemed to have only side entrances. Gavan soon discovered that packs were not welcome in the interior so we sat down outside, amid Glaswegian families out for a Sunday drive, and the inevitable gaggle of WHW walkers, and had our pints. Unfortunately it started to rain so we had to store our gear beneath a well-protected table – but the next puff of air moved the offending cloud and we were able to stay outside. “There’s only enough blue to make a Scotchman’s hankie,” I said.
Gavan had a second pint and then I joined him in a further half. Gradually we outsat all of the other walkers except for a chap in red socks who seemed dressed more for the north face of the Eiger than a suburban stroll through the Blane Valley. With seven miles down and six to go, we pulled our packs back on at about 2:30. Gavan, not unexpectedly, was complaining of dizziness.
The way forward, still along the railway line, was very easy and very straightforward. There were a lot of farm access roads crossing the path, each provided with a pair of metal pull bars that walkers could separate and cattle could not. We counted over 30 such “stiles” on the route this day. Sometimes the highway would be quite close on our left and we could look into Burmah stations or back yards. There was also an abundance of wildflowers and these were very nice. We switched positions with a number of now familiar walkers, who would often pause to rest on what was turning out to be a warm afternoon. I was able to take off my raingear and do the rest of my walking in a t-shirt. One elderly chap passed us twice heading south. When this happened a third time we realized he was using a car to keep tabs on the rest of his party.
Gavan at Gartness
At the nine-mile mark we climbed out of the channel of the old railway and took a road to the west. Unfortunately the last four miles were along tarmac today and this had an unfortunate effect on feet. We passed through the hamlet of Gartness, pausing to study the River Endrick from the bridge. Then we climbed uphill to a road junction opposite Upper Gartness Farm. Here we decided to stop on the grassy verge to eat out lunch. A driver was just pulling out of this spot and he reminded us somewhat officiously that the roadhead we were preparing to use was not the West Highland Way. We explained we were only going to sit down for a snack and he drove off in a huff. It was quite pleasant up here, though breezy, with very nice views of the route ahead.
The road dipped up and down along the Drumquhassle ridge as we trekked north after our repast. At last there were views of the southern end of Loch Lomond on our left. At the hamlet of Gateside the road turned left to join the A811 Drymen bypass and we abandoned the West Highland Way here, having a mile or so to go to reach our Drymen b&b at the Endrick Bridge, south of the town. For a while we walked on the grassy verge but I could see that this would soon sweep moisture into our boots and I preferred to walk along the edge of the highway, facing the whizzing cars, as we slowly made our way downhill – guessing which of the buildings below was likely to be the establishment of Mrs. Duncan, Bridge House. It was 5:00 before the foot-weary duo crossed the bridge in question and were admitted by our landlady.
Mrs. Duncan sat us down in her dark sitting room and brought us some tea and sponge cake. Gavan made the mistake of asking her about a photo of a long dead cat and we had to hear the history of every other feline who had ever inhabited these premises. He escaped to take a shower and I continued to talk to our landlady about Take The High Road, our favorite soap opera, which was filmed not far from here in Luss, on the west bank of the Loch. There were two beds, one large and one small and Gavan insisted we toss a coin to see who would get the large one. I lost but got the right to choose the next time; there never was a next time – it was twin beds all the way.
Mrs. Duncan, still in a state of shock after cleaning up after twenty tenting parties in her back yard (the result of a large folk concert in nearby Balloch the night before), advised us on places to eat up in the village, and we re-crossed the bridge. A German tourist lady stopped her car and asked me for directions to Carbeth. I used my pen to draw a circle around this area on her map. Wearily we trudged up past the nice churchyard and into Drymen. Gavan objected to the fluttering pennants hung across the streets but I felt they couldn’t do much to diminish or enhance a place of no great charm.
Drymen Church
We decided to eat in the Clachan, which advertised itself as Scotland’s oldest pub. After getting our first two pints we seated ourselves at a corner table and began to study the menu. I ordered Texas Chicken and Gavan asked for a steak. While we were sitting there a pretty young woman, whom I instantly recognized, sat down next to me, with a gent, at the next table. I gave her a big smile of recognition – which she returned (from this exchange Gavan was certain I was about to make a move). Three seconds later I realized that I was sitting next to Sheila Ramsey, one of the main characters of Take The High Road! I overcame my obvious interest in interrupting her meal for chatter about the show – noticing only that in real life actress Lesley Fitz-Simons had an even stronger Scottish accent than on the show itself. Pretty soon some little old ladies at a distant table spotted her as well and it was most amusing to see them whisper and nudge one another until everyone had had a chance to get in a good look.
We left after the trifle and wandered around a bit, climbing up above the village and sitting down in a playground. I was trying to finish a roll of film. Then we descended to the village green and went into a local pub, the Well Bar, for another drink. Gavan was dying to try a cigar so I bought two Hamlets and we smoked them on a park bench outside. Unfortunately Gavan kept swallowing his smoke. I phoned Dorothy from a call box, telling her about Sheila Ramsey, and then in the twilight we walked back down the hill to the bypass and around the corner to the bridge. Here we passed a laden backpacker who was planning to set up camp in Mrs. Duncan’s back yard.
I told our landlady about my encounter and she said she often sees Dougal, another TTHR character, in the local shop. I had to pull the curtains after we had gone to bed, for there was still light in the sky and the headlights of passing cars were raking our ceiling. As usual on these trips there was a lot of lights out chatter from Gavan – but eventually we got to sleep around midnight.
To continue with the next stage of our walk you need: