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.
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| River Ness at night. |
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| Singing in a bar in Inverness. |
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