June 27, 1991: Crianlarich to Bridge of Orchy
From the bridge over the River Fillan
Gavan wanted only scrambled eggs as we descended for breakfast on Thursday morning, June 27th. (I seem to have been the only walker who remained loyal to the full breakfast for the entire trip; nevertheless it was Gavan who complained later that he had gained five pounds on this trip.) Outside it was cloudy bright. Our landlady’s twin sheep dogs were already on patrol in their backyard, running back and forth to accompany passing cars speeding by their property. I used a check to pay up while Gavan groggily headed back to the Spar for more snacks. It was 8:50.
We used a shortcut under the tracks to emerge from the Crianlarich station opposite our path. Then we headed uphill, moving slowly but steadily, passed every now and then by some more energetic walker eager to complete the thirteen miles to Bridge of Orchy before us. I found this forested stretch to be a very lovely one indeed. The views of the mountains and the valley below were thrilling and the route itself, though steadily rising for the first hour, was accompanied by wildflowers and bisected by charming little streams. There were some flies about, but not as bad as in the Garadhban Forest; the midges were biting too. I had, therefore, to keep my UCLA sweatshirt on – my arms were already covered in red blotches from yesterday’s midges.
Gavan was silently walking some distance ahead of me and in the twists and turns of the descent into Strath Fillan I often lost sight of him. I was therefore quite surprised to turn a corner and discover him lying on his back next to the path; perhaps overcome by the effects of too much drink and too much family anxiety, he had fainted! He was already coming to when I reached his side. He drank some water and ate one of his candy bars and gradually got to his feet.
We then continued downhill, nearing the A82, which we paralleled on overgrown paths next to the roadside. A lovely bridge then took us across the wide smoothly flowing waters of the River Fillan. There was a little breeze here so we decided that this was a good spot for a rest. While we were lounging about other walkers emerged from the woods and passed in front of us. Two girl walkers in shorts wondered why we were in our sweatshirts and I told them about the midges. A huge party of German walkers crowded around the ruins of St. Fillan’s priory on the grounds of Kirkton farm at the far end of the bridge. We had to fight our way through them as we resumed our walk. The farms on this side of the river belonged to the Scottish Agricultural College and we could see an office set up in a caravan; hard to think that while we were escaping campus life some clerk was sitting in there typing out midterm grades.
At Auchtertyre farm we turned west to follow the river. After crossing the A82 again we passed through a building site and approached White Bridge. The Germans caught up with us as we crossed the river and headed north. There was some ambiguity about the exact route through the heather here but we followed some other walkers as the path turned north again. Pine woods began just south of Tyndrum, which we entered by the second of two bridges in bright sun. It was just going on 1:00 and here we intended to have lunch. Gavan asked for a recommendation from a BT worker in a yellow van but the chap didn’t have much to say. When we reached the highway we turned north and chose the nearby Little Chef.
They let us leave our packs on the entrance benches and we were shown to a table by the window in the no smoking section. The transition from the peace of the Scottish countryside to the bustle of this ersatz American burger palace was startling. After we had ordered I went outside and took off rain pants and sweatshirt. Gavan was having trouble concentrating and ordered the wrong salad. Our burgers were giant slabs of beef in a bun too large for any mouth; the raspberry milkshake had no ice cream in it, just sweet pink powder in a glass of milk. I asked for a Sprite.
After this unsatisfactory meal we headed up the highway, where I could see some shops, and I tried to find the right battery for my light meter. Walkers waved to us from the balcony of hotel pubs as we marched north. After several disappointments I was successful in a tiny tourist store and I put in the new battery while Gavan lay collapsed by the West Highland Way – which had rejoined us just at this spot.
At the top of our first hill the rain began. We had to put on all our gear and it was needed most of the rest of the afternoon. A railway line, which I knew we would be using for our return journey, accompanied us on the right for many miles as we climbed very gradually toward the crest of the hill, one that separated us from our final destination. Gavan and I played the alphabet game from Whose Line Is It Anyway?
In the distance: Auch Viaduct
Just when the road reached the crest the West Highland Way disdained the descent we had been hoping for and began a steep climb. I was so surprised that I took the wrong turnoff and we had to scramble up the grassy hill when we ended up in a cul-de-sac. Wonderful shaggy highland cattle were browsing near Auch farm as we rounded the flanks of Beinn Odhar and saw the railway viaduct crossing Auch Glen. We used a farm bridge to cross the stream at Auch and then, amid very steady rain, we crossed over to the north side of the railway line.
Fortunately, for some time we had been able to see the forested Glen Orchy joining our valley from the opposite side – and eventually the little outpost of civilization known as Bridge of Orchy appeared before us as well. Shortly before the day’s walk came to end my watch fell from my wrist, the tongue of the strap having gotten bent out of shape. It was my good fortune that Gavan was facing me just when this happened and saw it fall. I would have walked on without it. The rain was just clearing as we crossed under the tracks at the little railway station and walked down to the highway opposite the white hotel. One of the hotel staff was walking her Miniature Schnauzer and I paused to give it a pat. Still dripping, we entered the welcoming foyer of the hotel at 5:00.
Bridge of Orchy Hotel
Our room was at the end of a corridor on the second floor. Gavan made some coffee and we gathered all of our dirty clothes together because this hotel, which also had a bunkhouse in its back yard, had advertised the availability of a launderette. It had been useful to me in the planning of the trip to know this because it meant that we didn’t have to pack nine days worth of underclothes and socks. Now we got all our fifty pence pieces together, our socks and underwear, and some detergent Dorothy had packed for me and, dodging a few raindrops, dashed around to a caravan behind the hotel. The “launderette” consisted of one washing machine and one dryer, both in use.
We took out the wet clothes from the washing machine and got our stuff inside; the sweatshirts never made it because of overcrowding. It took forever for the machine to fill with water and Gavan kept impatiently fiddling with the buttons. A chap came in and fed another 50 pence piece into the dryer. We sat around on benches without much to do but listen to the sound of a ten pence piece revolving in the dryer – we were afraid to leave because we thought someone else might pinch the dryer when it was free. (Though, when we pushed open an unlocked door in the caravan we discovered the hotel’s own industrial strength dryer waiting invitingly). In the event, the regular dryer was free when the time came and we hurriedly whipped our wet wash in. We sat through one cycle, liberally applying the Midgex I had bought at the YH store in Covent Garden. Then we went into the hotel for a well-deserved pint.
Gavan returned to the laundromat twice while we had our drinks and ate a pub meal. There were lots of other walkers about, as usual, and everybody seemed to be in a good mood. The dried clothes (including two alien socks) secure at last in our room, we went into the lounge and played a game of pool. Neither of us was any good at this sport and Gavan helped my cause by accidentally potting my first two balls; eventually I won. The trembling Schnauzer, tied to a table in the foyer, resisted all my attempts at making friends. Everyone had left the lounge by the time we trundled up to bed shortly past 11:00.
To continue with the next stage of our walk you need: