Day 46 – Those Banks were not so Bonnie after all…

 

After the exertions of yesterday, I had been looking forward to a quietish 20- miler along the eastern shore of Loch Lomond. What could go wrong?

Well, the weather certainly wasn’t of much assistance, with drizzle from the outset only interrupted by torrential rain and very intermittent sunshine, which ended as soon as I removed my waterproofs. The volume of people walking the West Highland Way didn’t help, either: whilst pleased to see large numbers out walking, I can’t help but wish they were doing it when I wasn’t there. I’ve become used to walking in solitude and then having a quick chat with anyone I meet. On the WHW, there are so many walkers, I simply say hello and continue on my way.

The biggest issue, however, was the path itself. Whilst following the water’s edge seems straightforward, the eastern bank of Loch Lomond is really a steep forest escarpment and the whole day was spent turning sharply right (uphill) and then sharply left (downhill). Additionally, the path was very much single file and full of rocky outcrops to haul yourself up and tree roots looking to bring you down.

 I like to think of myself as the walking equivalent of the long-striding 1970’s Cuban athlete, Alberto Juantorena, best remembered for Ron Pickering’s immortal commentary : ‘he opens his legs and…’  - well, you can look up the rest if you don’t know it. (I thought it was David Coleman, as well). This section of path didn’t allow me to do that and was very similar to the South West Coast Path, where I could never find my stride or a walking rhythm. There was nothing to look at to my right and, to my left, there were only intermittent views of the loch between the trees. Even then, the path was so hazardous, you had to concentrate on every footstep.

In summary, I walked 20 miles that took me nearly 9 hours and I saw a few waterfalls, three goats, a robin and a chaffinch. I was nursing my injured left knee, which seems only to have damaged my right one and I generally felt quite miserable. At such times I think of my Uncle Sid, who walked through to Berlin after his D-Day landing at Sword beach, and acknowledge that I am wearing appropriate footwear and am not being shot at. I also have decent food to eat, rather than being sustained by 40 Woodbines a day, a diet that largely sustained him for the next 60 years.

I did pass two Spanish tourists who were taking photographs of walkers they met and they asked me to look across the loch in a meaningful manner whilst I leant on Sticky. I thought I carried this off with some aplomb and hope to stumble across my portrait in a Majorcan coffee table book at some point.

The guide book for tomorrow’s section from Beinglas to Bridge of Orchy uses words like easy, stunning and gradual climb, so I am optimistic of a good day - in spite of the weather forecast. Loch Lomond is behind me and, whilst her banks may well be Bonnie, she knows where she can shove ‘em.

Some feral goats

 Could this be the often ignored Loch Lomond Monster?...