Tain to Embo: LEJoG Day 77

A day when my trek up the John o'Groats Trail changed from forests, fields and Firths to a coastal walk by sandy beaches.

I began with a brief "nosy" around the centre of Tain, its stone buildings with their spiky turrets and gables. On the road out there were tempting signs for the Glenmorangie distillery. Last night I enjoyed a glass of this smooth, easy to enjoy, malt whisky.

Bridge over the Dornoch Firth.

The trail sadly turned off before I reached the source of this drink, onto a side road and eventually into forestry. It led me to the final large bridge of my trip, across the Dornoch Firth. It was a low bridge held up by many concrete piers, only completed in 1991. After walking across with mountains to my left and the grey sea, grey clouds and distant views of Dornoch to my right, I descended down an embankment to a track that followed an old, abandoned railway line. Beside me the beach of rounded pebbles had a line of blackened seaweed at the high tide mark and yellowish seaweed beside the water.

A road took me into a forest. Panels claimed that ancient people had a prosperous community here as evidence by hut circles. I climbed up a hill on which signs claimed there was one such hut circle. While there was a depression at the top, anything else was hidden by tall ferns which were trying to transfer their wetness onto me as I walked by.

Dornoch has an attractive town centre in red sandstone with a castle (now a hotel), old church and a green with some horse chestnut trees just starting to turn autumnal yellow. A finger post informed me that I still had 163 kilometres to walk on the John o'Groats Trail. After looking at different options, peering through windows were possible to judge the number of empty tables, I settled on a café for a lunch of a roast beef bagel with leaves, gherkins and a peppercorn sauce.

Beach north of Dornoch.

The Royal Dornoch Golf Course is the number one golf course in Scotland, or so a sign claimed. I walked by it as I headed up the coast, beside the sea, to the village of Embo and my campsite for the night. "Grannie's Heilan Hame" is a holiday resort with entertainment. Later in the evening, after pitching my tent by the dunes and making a meal of couscous, sultanas and tuna, I looked in at the "Showbar" to see what was happening. Too late to buy a bingo card, instead I listened to the numbers being called out over a creamy pint of keg beer. In the old days they would say things like "two fat ladies 88", or "legs 11" but this evening the numbers were announced by computer as "eight and eight, 88" or "one and one, 11". To my mind it took out the showmanship and much of the fun, maybe it is now more politically correct or maybe nobody was born when "77 Sunset Strip" was around. Bingo was followed by one of the "Troupers" singing. He was trying hard but after a few songs I wisely decided against another pint and headed to my tent. Before slipping into my sleeping bag I climbed the dune behind my tent, away from the campsite lights and looked at the stars over the sea, the faint line of the milky way visible, and distant lights on some far shore.

Alness to Tain: LEJoG Day 76

A sunny day of fields and forests as I walked on quiet roads and forestry trails.

Leaving Alness high street behind with its Victorian stone buildings, I took a road inland. This went by fields, some with golden stubble and bales of hay, others with cows and sheep. The single track road was quiet. I moved onto the grass between tarmac and walls as the occasional car past, receiving a raised hand or finger from the driver in acknowledgment. A few local cyclists went by, it is on National Cycle Route number one, so I might have expected more. 

Fields after harvest.

Turning off onto another lane I missed a turning into woods, waymarking seems less frequent today. Seeing me looking around a kind man let me walk through his garden to regain the John o'Groats Trail. There was a long stretch of track through forestry, in places the trail was flooded, a few stones had been placed to help the ramblers avoid getting wet boots. Beneath the coniferous trees there was plenty of vegetation today: moss, lichen, heather and blueberry bushes (not in fruit), sometimes ferns now starting to die back as we enter autumn. No birdsong today. 

Forest track.

Close up of lichen on the forest floor.

I joined another single track road. The cottages were of a type called "but and ben", single storey (although often with rooms in the roof), stone walls, slate roofs (or something designed to look like slate) and chimneys at each end of the roof ridge. Nostalgic thoughts filled my mind as I recalled a cottage of this type that we once owned.

Semisubmersible rig on the Cromarty Firth.

Climbing up a hill on a path into another area of forestry, I was followed by a Jack Russell dog. Thankfully he lost interest in walking with me to John o'Groats after I said "shoo" a few times and waved my arms in I hope a threatening manner. In Europe I found throwing things at dogs discouraged them from following me, but he seemed to think this was a game and searched for the pine cones I had thrown, maybe he thought they were treats.

There were a variety of trees in the forest, pines, larch, fir and spruce, and sometimes a few birch trees in a gap. After midday I noticed I was heading slightly downhill, then dog walkers started to appear, a sure sign I was approaching civilisation. There was a final stretch of road before I reached houses at the edge of the town of Tain. One of the buildings was once a workhouse where poor people were sent, others were more modern. Soon I was in my hotel planning where I would stay over the next few days.

Culbokie to Alness: LEJoG Day 75

A walk along roads lined with trees of beech, oak, ash and sycamore. Bobbins of hay in nearby fields were periodically illuminated by the passage of sunlight as the clouds drifted by.

One of my fellow guests at the Bed & Breakfast was much disturbed this morning. Confused by a sign about the new E10 petrol, and not being from an English speaking country, she accidentally filled up her hire car with the wrong pump, and now no longer had use of it. The hire company was not sympathetic, telling her it was negligence and not covered by all the insurance she had signed up to. It confirmed my low opinion of hire car companies and the value of insurance. As the hire company refused to replace the car she was rather stuck with no easy means of reaching her next holiday destination. As I had no car I was of little help and left her thinking of her options.

Bridge over the Cromarty Firth.

The first stage of my walk was over the Cromarty Firth on a long, low bridge carrying the busy A9 traffic. It is a road going the same way as myself, a sign stated that John o'Groats was 109 miles away. Reaching the far side, a track took me over the main railway line to the north, onto a more minor road. This I followed for several kilometres to Evanton, the road lined with trees beyond which there were either arable fields or woods. Crops had been harvested leaving stubble, with rolls of hay waiting to be taken away, or newly ploughed earth. Beyond there was higher ground but today I was staying nearer the waters of the Firth. The woods were of mature trees, in places luminous, green moss carpeting the ground contrasted with the dull, dark tree trunks. Whereas yesterday rowan berries that caught my attention, today it was the bright red rose hips on the roadside. A few months earlier on my walk from Land's End the roses in the Scottish Borders had been in flower, and I sadly thought that of the decline in my knee in the short time since then. Rare daisies reminded me that the best part of the year was not quite over.

Red rose hips on the roadside.

Tree lined roads.

At Evanton I stopped at the community café for a latte and slice of apple pie. Run by older volunteers who were willing in spirit, but not so good with the till or delivering the right food to the customer who ordered it. Such issues did not prevent the friendly chit chat, many of the people knowing each other, whether serving or being served.

I left the village on a cycle track that swooped from one side of the road to the other. As I neared Alness, in the distance I could see offshore drilling rigs "stacked" on the waters of the Cromarty Firth, lacking work. At least three semi-submersibles and two jack-ups. An effect of the decline in the oil industry which has put many out of work, yet there is little sympathy from government with all the talk of climate change and the need to move away from fossil fuels, even as we rely on them to power our cars and heat our homes. Many years ago I visited a semi-submersible rig stacked here. The boat that took me to it also offered trips to see the local dolphins. Intrigued, some time later I took my parents, who were visiting, on such a boat trip. The dolphins swam close by the boat, leaping out of the water close to the bow. Our guide said they were not so nice as they appeared, having been seen attacking the local harbour porpoises.

With such reminisces in my mind, I walked along the last more open stretch of road into Alness, entering by a cemetery with what looked like a ruined church. Arriving at my hotel at midday I wondered whether to go for a walk down to the water's edge,  however it would be a five kilometre round trip and I need to rest my knee if I am to have the best chance of reaching John o'Groats. It is looking depressingly large with accumulated fluid..

Inverness to Culbokie: LEJoG Day 74

A varied day crossing the "Black Isle", much of it in rain.

Rain was forecast for much of the day and so it proved. In full waterproofs I followed the John o'Groats Trail through an urban landscape along the side of the River Ness to the Beauly Firth. Cranes were unloading what looked like gravel at Inverness' port near the mouth of the river. I walked by various industrial premises to the Kessock Bridge. This was a substantial cable stayed bridge dating from 1982 which I crossed on the narrow pedestrian and cycle path as cars and heavy vehicles thundered north on the A9 (a road I will meet repeatedly on my walk north).

After following the dual carriageway a short distance the John o'Groats trail crosses the road. Although an official cycle crossing, I had to patiently wait for a gap in the traffic and then hurry across each carriageway. I was surprised a pedestrian route under the bridge had not been created to avoid such a busy crossing. Reaching the other side, the overgrown trail headed up a steep bank beside the road before turning into trees to join a forestry track. There were a few junctions, and although an octagonal John o'Groats Trail waymark pointed out changes of direction they were easy to miss especially where vegetation, which had no doubt grown since the waymarks were installed, hid the arrows. I had foolishly not encased the relevant pages of the guidebook in clear plastic, so the paper of the book soon became soggy when I tried to spot where I missed a turning. As it threatened to disintegrate I decided to rely on the trail loaded on my GPS when I was unsure if I was on the right track.

On a long initial stretch through coniferous forest there were a few views down to the Beauly Firth and the Moray Firth beyond (these first few days cross or pass a number of "Firths", which are wide estuaries). I exchanged greetings with equally rain drenched dog walkers and their wet dogs. Then it was across farmland and a lengthy walk, often between two wire fences with trees on my left and fields of cows and sheep on my right. The cows seemed particularly offended by my presence, bellowing a great deal. A road led me down to Munlochy Bay, a tidal inlet with orange seaweed and reddish rushes that would make a good painting. Various birds patrolled the waterline, shortly after there was a car park for wildfowlers (i.e. people who shoot birds). To reach it there was a rather difficult path, rough and uneven, on a slope, designed it seemed to avoid a water filled track.

In the village of Munlochy, the Inn, a possible lunch stop, was closed, so I continued through attractive woodland, with ferns, mosses and plenty of paths. I was led to the main tourist site of the day the "Clootie Well". Apparently if you dip a piece of cloth in the spring and tie it to a tree whatever ailment you have well be cured. As a result the surrounding trees are covered with an unattractive selection of rotting rags. While I wished to cure my knee I decided against adding more detritus.

Rotting pieces of cloth around the Clootie Well (actually a small spring).

The good news was that the rain had eased off apart from occasional light showers so I sat on a log and had a cup of coffee and a few things to eat. Afterwards it was on a series of straight tracks, roads and paths, over farmland and through forestry. Throughout today I admired the many red berries on the rowan trees. Many had fallen to the ground and randomly spread, brilliant red against muted greens and browns, as if a necklace had broken and the bright beads had been scattered. 

A section of the Great Glen Way on a quiet road in the Black Isle.

Other parts were on forestry tracks.

A rowan tree loaded with brilliant red berries.

The village of Culbokie was more spread out than I expected. My Bed & Breakfast was a little further beyond and my room has a view over the Cromarty Forth which I will cross tomorrow leaving the Black Isle. There is even a little sunshine.

Note for pendants, the Black Isle is not an island but a peninsula. 

Comments on the Great Glen Way

The Great Glen Way is a well maintained and waymarked long distance path running from Fort William to Inverness over 119 kilometres (74 miles). That is the most popular and recommended direction to complete the route as the prevailing westerly winds are behind you. The first three days beside the Caledonian Canal, on an old railway line and along forestry tracks are satisfactory but the last three days, taking the high route options, are what really makes the trail worth the effort. On these last three days you rise above the forestry and views open out across Loch Ness and the mountains beyond and give a bit of a taste of what much of the Highlands are like. You might also see a red squirrel or deer. 

There are a handy number of villages for accommodation, coffees and resupply so it is not an onerous trip. Bridges cross all the streams. I walked it in six days but it could be walked in four if you are fit and without my knee problems. There is no real need to camp if you have the money for B&Bs,  hotels or hostels, but wild camping, official campsites and camping at locations on the Caledonian Canal are options which will broaden your experience. For use of Caledonian Canal facilities £10 is paid for a key.

With the number of waymarks, navigation is not a bit issue, but downloading a gpx track for your GPS is helpful in case you miss a turn, I used the gpx files that can be downloaded from the stage descriptions of the "Walk Highlands" website, which also has much informative information. In addition I bought the Cicerone guidebook, although rarely used on the trip, it gave me the background used to plan my trip.

I was glad I walked the route in late September as by this time the midges were not a problem. Midges are tiny insects that can plague you in the highlands if you ever stand still, requiring a fine mesh head net and midge repellent for any comfort.

End of Great Glen Way in Inverness.

Abriachan Eco-campsite to Inverness: LEJoG Day 73

After being photographed with a 1905 camera I walked mainly along a tree lined path to Inverness.

Breakfast at the campsite was so large it also supplied me with my lunch. The entertaining couple running the place are also involved in the RNLI (Royal National Lifeboat Institution), having crewed the Loch Ness lifeboat. Staying with them was a fellow attempting to photograph every life boat station and their crews in Britain and Ireland, as well as something of what the volunteers did with the rest of their time. If that was not enough, he photographs them with a 1905 camera using a process dating from 1851! I was proud to be included in the photoshoot at the campsite. The result was a glass plate with a black and white mirror image of the scene, the people somewhat blurry due to the long exposure, but stationary objects sharply defined. See his work at lifeboatstationproject.com.

1905 Camera

Visitors to the campsite for the Lemon Cake baked by the lady at the back, they were completing a sponsored walk for Connect2 which helps people with an addiction.

Leaving the curious café and campsite I started down the Great Glen Way, periodically passing or being passed by other walkers I had met at the campsite. After a little distance on a quiet single track road, I diverted onto a path which a later sign claimed as a drovers' route. Drovers herded cattle from the Highlands to markets as far south as London in 18th and 19th centuries, a long and arduous trip on foot. After a moorland section the trail took me through trees, birches with pale grey green lichen hanging from their every branch, as if it was a scene from some medieval fantasy film. 

A pleasant part of the walk through birch trees.

Through the trees, fleeting glimpses of the Beauly Firth, the area of water I would cross tomorrow, showed I was getting close to Inverness. Reaching a hillside bare of trees the city was spread out beneath me, I enjoyed the view while brewing a coffee and eating lunch on a handy bench. An unseen chiffchaff repeated its tweet at regular intervals.

Walking down the hill and through housing I rejoined the Caledonian Canal for a short stretch in what appeared the wrong direction. However it was taking me to the River Ness, beside which and on islands within, I walked downstream into the city centre with families and children out for a Sunday stroll. The Great Glen Way ends at the castle where I found two of the men who were at the eco café, now with gold medals around their necks, possibly supplied by a wife. Nearby was a sign for the start of the John o'Groats trail, the next part of my trip. I spent sometime brooding, hoping my rather swollen knee will hold up for the next two weeks. However a meal and a few beers at a bar with an aged band singing songs by the "Police" and "Dire Straits" made me forget my knee, and indeed most other things as a guy I camped beside at Gairlochy Lock came up to the bar. He had to remind me I had met him before. Finishing in five days instead of my six I reminded myself it was not a race....

Wild camp to Abriachan Eco-campsite: LEJoG Day 72

A walk down to Drumnadrochit then up again to an eco-campsite, on roads, paths and forestry tracks.

I was glad I was able to brew up a cup of coffee with my breakfast before I decamped as the nearby tearoom at Loch Ness pottery was still closed when I detoured to check. As the door was open I glanced around at the blue pots on show. From there it was a single track road most of the way to Drumnadrochit, by several cottages, fields and rough ground. Several cars and delivery vans drove down the road forcing me onto the thin strip of rough ground beside it, so it was fortunate that where possible those behind the Great Glen Way had made paths beside the road out of the way of traffic. My final descent into the valley where the village of Drumnadrochit nestles was on a track through trees. Urquhart Castle, a romantic ruin by Loch Ness was two kilometres out of town, I considered making a detour to visit it, but to preserve my knee I headed to a café instead for a beetroot and hummus toastie. On the green a Saturday market was selling handicrafts and honey to a crowd of visitors and their dogs. 

Saturday market at Drumnadrochit.

Urquhart Castle from a distance, on a promontory into Loch Ness.

Walking on the pavement beside the busy A82 after the village, cars and coaches rushing by, was not the best part of the Great Glen Way but contrasted with the enchanting path up through tall pines to higher ground that followed. The Abriachan forest is a community owned area of trees and moorland. I was headed for the Eco café where I had booked to camp. On the tree lined path leading to it, the birch trees were rapidly losing their leaves, which lay yellow and brown like old confetti on the ground. A series of hand painted signs tempted me (and others I learnt) with suggestions of Grannies Lemon cake among other delights. After signing in at the "track and trace" book and sanitizing my hands I ordered the promised cake and coffee. Both were supplied in generous amounts, the sponge deliciously light. I was directed to a delightful, secluded spot under a pine tree to camp, flat with short grass among the surrounding heather, and advised on the location of the composting toilet. Well off grid with no piped water or mobile signal I am sadly unable to phone my wife. I am hoping she does not worry. The couple running the place are off to a mobile cinema in Fort Augustus tonight leaving me in charge! The lady appears in a film (called "Launch!") being shown on the history of lifeboats saving lives at sea for 200 years. 

Another resident of the eco-campsite.

Fort Augustus to Wild Camp: LEJoG Day 71

The first day on the Great Glen Way with significant climbs, for which the rewards were spectacular views over Loch Ness, a day more typical of Highland scenery. 

After three days of walking at the bottom of Great Glen I felt a surge of pleasure at being able to climb up the mountainous sides of the Glen, rising above the trees and looking down the length of Loch Ness. Patches of sun broke through the cloud in places turning areas of the water silver and the surrounding mountains a warmer shade of green.

Loch Ness, with the Great Glen Way in the foreground.

Loch Ness.

From Fort Augustus there is a choice of a low route nearer the loch and a high route which climbs up the side of the glen. I followed the Great Glen Way High Route to Invermoriston for the views and as a change from forest tracks. Much of the route was on well made paths which rose above the forestry that covers the sides of Great Glen to reach open moorland strewn with rounded rock outcrops. Concerned about my knee I was pleased to easily manage the steep ascent out of Fort Augustus, however descending is the real problem. Coming down steeply into Invermoriston I took care to lean heavily on my poles to take some weight off my knees, and also to walk quickly down slightly less steep sections to minimise the time my knee was under pressure. 

At Invermoriston the small collection of buildings included a place where I purchased a "monster" ham salad roll, apple, coffee and "Caramac" bar. The latter was a sentimental reminder of my childhood. After reading the ingredients (basically fat, milk and sugar) I doubt I will buy it again. I asked the lady serving to fill my water bottle, she refused to touch it, presumably a Coronavirus precaution, but gave me a paper cup of water which I poured into my bottle. Invermoriston also had one of Telford's bridges which crossed the raging river in two stone arches. Nearby, St Columba's well was less impressive. 

Again I chose the High Route for the next section to Drumnadrochit, owing to the better scenery - distant mountains flattered by occasional sunlight as well as Loch Ness. After a steep climb it went through areas of forestry and tree stumps on the upper slopes of Great Glen. Two sites on the trail captured my attention, a circular sculpture of branches of wood called the "Viewcatcher" and the "Troll's" Bridge. The Great Glen Way is well constructed with functional wooden bridges over streams. For the Troll's bridge, its sides are made of contorted wooden branches; a few faded poems on the subject were posted nearby.

My plan between Fort Augustus and Inverness was to try and avoid walking too many kilometres on any single day to minimise stress on my knee. Having achieved my desired mileage today, I camped on a flat, but stony, area of ground beside the trail near a bench from which I could look down between fir trees onto Loch Ness. I had hoped to camp by a water source but the nearby stream was dry. My boat trip guide yesterday had said that due to lack of rain many streams have dried up and the water level in Loch Ness is lower than anyone can remember. 

Laggan to Fort Augustus: LEJoG Day 70

An easy day along the bed of an old railway and, as the sun appeared, on the gravel track beside the Caledonian Canal.

Rain was falling as I rose from my bed, but the forecast promised dry weather later. Nevertheless I was glad of the drying room at the Great Glen hostel as all the wet clothes I left there after yesterday's downpour were now crispy dry. Thanks to the hostel's kitchen and "shop" I fortified myself with porridge and coffee before setting off.

Invergarry railway station.

Soon I was at the Invergarry railway station. Last in use in 1947 a charity is trying to restore it and a length of adjoining track. For several kilometres I followed the old track bed, through trees with occasional views of the adjacent Loch Oich. A basic campsite with a few tents and people around a fire looked attractive and an old tunnel added dark variety. Several bikes passed by, one with a dog running beside it and another pulling a trailer containing their less active dog peering out apprehensively as he bounced along.

Reaching the end of the loch I stopped before the swing bridge at the entrance to the next section of canal for a "brew", made attractive as the drizzle had now ceased and there was a convenient picnic table. While drinking coffee and eating biscuits I watched the bridge open for a passing cruiser as the traffic patiently waited. On the other side of the canal there was the "Bridge of Oich", an old suspension bridge over the river, now going nowhere. The white painted suspension rods made a mathematically attractive pattern as I approached it. 

Bridge of Oich.

The remainder of my walk was beside the canal, admiring the many red berries on the rowan trees and exchanging salutations with passing people. Undoubtedly the arrival of the sun and blue skies improved my enjoyment of the walk and the mountainous scenery on each side of me. A lady with a Bernese Mountain dog pointed out what might have been a golden eagle, and said to look out for deer and red squirrels. She had also seen the droppings of otters and pine martens nearby. Much of the route was on a wooded strip of land between the canal and the river, in places reinforced with steel piles.

Canalside track.

A flight of locks, to lower boats down into Loch Ness, marked my arrival at Fort Augustus, busy with visitors at the lock side hostelries. Loch Ness is the largest freshwater loch or lake by volume in Britain and there was time for me to take a quick cruise with an entertaining commentary. Loch Ness is of course famous for its monster.

My sighting of the Loch Ness monster.

Gairlochy to Laggan: LEJoG Day 69

A wet and windy day as rain accompanied me through forestry.

I woke to the sound of rainfall on my tent, the wind flapping its canvas, giving me a warm glow snuggled in my sleeping bag. Sadly I had to leave my warm cocoon and visit the toilet, finding the rain a less pleasant experience as it rapidly wet my trousers. After visiting the "Ladies", as the "Gents" loo was blocked, and donning my waterproof trousers, I fired up my new "Jetboil" stove by a puddle forming outside my tent. Soon I was enjoying a cup of real coffee back inside. In the name of experiment I was trying some of the dehydrated meals you see in camping shops. Last night's pasta and salmon was passable and this morning's granola was made enjoyable with the addition of some sultanas I had brought, although due to their prices, I doubt I will be buying many more.

So began a long trudge in the rain. Among sections of road walking there was a pleasant path beside the beach of the loch. Signs described how the Commandos trained here in the second world war, practising disembarking from landing crafts under live fire. Leaving the few houses behind a lengthy hike on a forestry track followed to Laggan Locks. Occasional views of Loch Lochy revealed wind driven waves topped by white foam and the grey outlines of mountains, often hidden by the rain, on the far side of the water. Nearby trees swayed and swished in the wind. The view might be considered romantic if it was not so wet. I was glad the wind was behind me.

A lady sheltering in her car asked me to wait while she checked if it was safe to proceed past some forestry operations.  Permission granted (apparently I was the fifth hiker of the day) I walked on looking up at the yellow forestry vehicles. Their job cutting down the mature spruce was difficult as the slope was so steep. Making a rough count of the tree rings of some trunks already cut and stacked, it seemed they had been planted at about the same time as I was born and were finishing their life at the same age as I now was.

Another lady was stationed at the other end of the forestry work to catch walkers coming the other way. She was trying to keep a barrier up despite the wind pushing it over. I asked her about a risk assessment I had seen attached to a cabin belonging to the forestry management company. Hazards included the general public, excessive water and squirrels. I could understand water could be an issue as the foaming, noisy streams and small rivers pouring off the mountain were swollen by today's rain. As squirrels are not normally considered dangerous I asked the lady about them. She said there were red squirrels in the area, a protected species, and they could not fell trees while they were nesting. That time was now passed so trees could harvested.

Several cyclists and a few wet walkers passed me. At length Laggan Locks were in sight, which I was greatly pleased to see as my left leg was suffering, stiff and with a dull pain and intermittent spikes of greater intensity. Although nothing I could not cope with I was worried it threatened my hiking career and my reaching John o'Groats. I was also saddened as I was tired despite the distance I had walked with minimal height gain on good tracks being modest compared with days I had tackled with ease just a few months ago.

The rain finally reduced to a drizzle as I crossed the lock and walked along a tree lined path beside the canal to reach the Great Glen hostel, where fortunately a dry room, shower and Mars bar were waiting for me. I planned to do a few knee exercises but after a coffee and a late lunch I fell asleep. Maybe it did me more good, as waking after 6:00 pm I sauntered down to the Eagle Barge where I had booked a lamb shank for dinner. The barge was a cosy place for dinner, and surprisingly well patronised given it was in an isolated location, or maybe not as the food was good (especially the sponge pudding with custard)!

Path beside canal, close to Great Glen Hostel.

Evening view of Laggan Lock looking down Loch Lochy.

Fort William to Gairlochy: LEJoG Day 68

After a bus ride from Inverness to Fort William I hiked along the Caledonian Canal, repeating a section I had previously walked on Day 61 of my attempt to reach John o'Groats.

To improve my poorly knee I had been performing wall squats among other exercises. With your back against the wall and your feet 18 inches away from it, you slide down the wall, bending your knees. Unfortunately the friction between my back and the wall had made a hole in the only tee shirt I had with me. Consequently, before catching my bus I made a quick tour of the outdoor shops to buy another. Not so easy as they were changing over to their winter stocks.

The bus to Fort William was delayed slightly due to some fault. An engineer in a greasy boiler suit arrived and from what I could observe, fixed it by filling in lengthy paperwork! Over the subsequent two hours the bus covered the length of Great Glen, a distance that will take me the next six days to walk back along (if my knee holds up). On a road clinging to the side of the wooded mountains above large expanses of water (of which Loch Ness was the longest), the route was a scenic one. After Fort Augustus I was the only passenger left on board, a sign the summer tourist season was ending. Windy, grey, cooler weather was also an indication that I was entering autumn. 

Not wishing to lunch in the touristy restaurants of Fort William I began the Great Glen Way from the site of the old fort. I made some detours from the route I followed when I last left Fort William. Passing close to Inverlochy Castle, I viewed its ruined walls, then I followed the Great Glen Way along the lochside into Caol, where I stopped for a very reasonably priced sausage bap and cup of tea at a café run by a disabled charity.

"Neptune's Staircase", a flight of eight locks on the Caledonian canal.

Reaching the Caledonian Canal I began the long walk on the gravel track that runs beside it, passing a long flight of locks taking boats up from sea level. Prompted by the Great Glen Way guidebook I noticed that the canal crossed two aqueducts I missed on my last trip. They were not obvious due to the width of the canal, much wider than most British canals, and its adjacent wooded banks.

I had arranged for a key to the canal toilets to be posted to me before I left so that I could camp at Gairlochy lock where basic facilities exist. The area designated for camping was not apparent to me but after a few directions from the lock keeper I found it, beside the water above the top lock, sheltered by a group of conifers. Two other backpackers were already camped there. As is the way with the tribe they were later comparing different makes of tents. There were also several boats moored. Although all looked quiet on them, as darkness fell lights appeared, illuminating movements inside.

Lighthouse to guide boats on Loch Lochy into canal.

Gairlochy lock moorings at night.

Return to Scotland: LEJoG Day 67

I had previously paused my trip to John o'Groats at Kinlochewe, however it was now the grouse shooting season and so continuing on that route risked being interrupted by gentlemen shooting these slow moving birds. Instead I am returning to Fort William and will walk from there up the Great Glen Way to Inverness and then follow the John o'Groats Trail north. At least the Great Glen Way will be easier walking than some of the pathless sections of moor on the Kinlochewe to John o'Groats route and will be easier on my painful knee. On the downside it will add extra miles.

So today I have flown to Inverness and there shopped for a gas canister for my new "Jetboil" stove plus some food. Normally I do not carry any cooking equipment, saving weight by eating only cold food or visiting restaurants. On this trip, to ease the load on my knee I have planned short days, around 20 kilometres, this leaves the problem of what to do when I am not walking. Noticing that other backpackers spend time "brewing up" and cooking, I thought I would do the same, as well as staving off boredom I should also get a decent cup of coffee, having bought a Jetboil coffee press. There are two downsides. Firstly you cannot take gas canisters on a plane, hence my shopping expedition in Inverness. Secondly, the stove, fuel and coffee adds weight, in addition to the normal desire to avoid carrying extra pounds on long distance walks, added weight is particularly unwise with arthritis. To compensate I have tried to cut down on other stuff, like avoiding carrying excessive food as I am walking mainly through areas where I can eat at cafes or visit shops. The dry bag I have brought to carry food is therefore quite small, needless to say I now cannot fit all the food I have bought in it!

After a pizza at the place where I am staying (substantially better than the take away kind) with a locally brewed beer I wandered around Inverness in the evening, admiring the lights reflected off the river in the darkness. Hearing the sound of Scottish folk music I stepped into a bar, and drinking a pint of McEwan's Export for old times sake, listened to the musicians. While the guitar player stared ahead singing the fiddle player either pulled out long mournful notes of unrequited love or the repeated rapid couplets of Scottish folk tunes, her fingers racing up and down as the bow pulled out the melody. She looked too young to be so accomplished, but then everyone looks young these days. As the bar filled up and a few brave souls danced the Gay Gordons in the confined space remaining, I slipped away before I was tempted to drink too much while enjoying the music, amounts I would regret in the morning. 

River Ness at night.

Singing in a bar in Inverness.

Arthritis and walking long distance paths, is age going to stop me?

Having limped back from Scotland with a poorly left knee I initially thought I had strained a ligament by overuse or whatever and that it would just need a few weeks to recover before I could continue my walk to John o'Groats. To speed up recovery I booked an appointment with a physiotherapist. He wiggled my leg back and fore, up and down, bent and pulled it, pushed against it and declared that my ligaments were fine but I had some weak thigh muscles and probably "age related" degradation in my knee joint. After walking 820 miles I was surprised to be told I had weak leg muscles. As I had planned many more walks in my lifetime I took "age related" problems as a bad sign. The physiotherapist suggested taking up cycling and described how I should kneel when weeding the garden. Cycling among the fast moving, modern traffic, was not something I enjoyed, feeling my life was at risk due to some driver not noticing me. Gardening is my wife's preserve, she receives many compliments on the colourful display from passers-by, I was happy to leave her in charge. I suspect the physio had an image of me as an old man pottering in an allotment, an image I took exception to.

I carried out the exercises he described, such as squatting while leaning against a wall (which ruined my tee shirts) and squeezing a ball between my knees and gradually increased the amount I walked each day to 10,000 steps according to my activity watch, and then to over 20,000. There was improvement in the range of movement I could achieve, e.g. by squatting down, and I began to feel I could run a few steps if I tried (which I didn't just in case it was premature), although mild pain persisted at changing locations around my knee. Unfortunately when I tried some 20 mile walks (40,000 steps or 32 kilometres) there was significant pain. The crackling sound on bending my knee (adding to the clicking that had existed for a number of years) was also not encouraging. Resuming my walk to John o'Groats did not yet seem an option to me.

When previously I had consulted one of the GPs in my local doctor's practice on this type of issue (what my sister referred to as a self-inflicted injury), the advice was to stop what you are doing that causes the pain (in this case long distance walking) and look up some exercises on the internet. In addition they might also have trotted out the "RICE" formula: Rest, Ice, Compression and Elevation; good advice when your knee is inflamed as an initial response, but I could see no signs of swelling. No apparent signs of swelling anyway, but my left knee did look bigger, less defined and more knobbly than my right, but felt all hard rather than puffy when I tensed it. Seeing a GP is also extremely difficult in the (hopefully) latter stages of the Covid 19 pandemic, a telephone conversation would be the best that I could hope for at a time suited to the doctor, that was if I could get passed the outer defences of the receptionists.

Feeling my life would be dull if I could never tackle the paths and byways again, I paid to see a specialist sports doctor. His ultrasound revealed regions of fluid build up around my knee, black cavities on the screen compared with the white patterns of muscle and bone. One of these fluid filled cavities at the back of the knee he called a "Baker's Cyst" and I could see why it would restrict bending of my knee. He also pointed out additional bone growth, the beginnings of arthritis. This was confirmed by an X-ray, in addition to "spurs" of bony arthritic growth it showed a reduced gap between the bones on the inside of my knee (called the "medial" side), the result of an arthroscopy (a knee operation) performed on me some nine years earlier. I had the arthroscopy as a bit of the "meniscus" (soft cartilage in the middle of the knee joint) was catching somewhere, which resulted in a sudden, excruciating pain forcing me to sit down, which faded away over the following hour. Although the arthroscopy completely cured that problem, such operations are apparently no longer recommended after the age of 45 or so, as they result in later knee problems. The consultant also pointed out bony features that were the result of a growth spurt in my teens.

After walking the 820 miles from Chepstow, irritation from the arthritis and the effects of the arthroscopy probably resulted in the pain and fluid accumulation around my knee and restricted my ability to bend my knee. The doctor drained what seemed a lot of fluid (well 12 millilitres of surprisingly clear fluid) from the back and side of my knee and gave me a steroid injection. He then advised me to spend the next week resting in front of the television watching the test match (he was obviously a greater cricket fan than I will ever be) and gradually build up exercise over the following weeks.

Whether it was the steroid injection or the draining of fluid, my knee had a greater range of movements. However, the pain, sometimes a sharp and short, sometimes a dull ache, continued, despite walking what were for me, relatively short distances. While the pain was not great and easily manageable, I worried it would become significant on my long distance walks and I would loose the mobility needed to clamber over rocks. I could already see fluid slowly starting to build up (although a period with a compression sleeve over my knee helped to reduce it). Normally a positive person, my knee afflictions were getting me down. Would I ever tackle any of the long distance walks on my lengthy "to do" list? I was reading a book written by someone who hiked the Pacific Crest Trail. He commented that he planned to walk such trails until his knees gave out. Had I, in my early sixties, already reached that point, terminating the activity I enjoyed? Earlier in the year I had been running twice a week. I completed the 268 mile Pennine Way in just over 14 days with ease, how could my walking career be at an end just three weeks later? Was this a sign of my irreversible decline into old age and death, ending with me sitting all day in front of a television in cosy slippers and a woolly cardigan? Not prepared to give up, some ten weeks after I returned home from Kinlochewe I booked tickets to fly to Scotland and restart my walk to John o'Groats.

Contrary to what one might expect, exercise is encouraged if you have arthritis, there is evidence that it reduces the pain and no evidence that it speeds up the joint's deterioration as far as I understand, however, the right amount of exercise is somewhat vague. My sports doctor suggested I listen to my body, take breaks between hikes, pace myself. So for the next section my itinerary is based on walking on average 16 kilometres a day rather than my more typical 23 kilometres. I have just covered such distances near my home for three days in succession, so I have deemed myself ready....

Knees on a good day.

Knees before restarting my walk, compare the definition of the ligament on the outside of the right knee with the one on the left, or as in the previous picture.