I’m an adventurer in my 60s
Having completed solo expeditions in Africa and the Middle East, Alice Morrison looked to her roots for a long-distance challenge
This will be easy, I thought, as I downloaded the West Highland Way map – only 96 miles. The ups didn’t look too bad and there were plenty of water sources. I then doubled down on the jinx with a bit of pride-before-a-fall.
I’ve walked across entire countries. I’ve walked across the Sahara, and around landmines. I think of myself as a bit of an Indiana Jones for girls. But five days later when I took off my boots after 13 hours of solid rain, I felt more like Bridget Jones.
I am a 61-year-old adventurer based in Morocco who likes to hike with a caravan of camels to carry my equipment, food and water. I am also a Scot who had never tackled one of the country’s most iconic trails.
The West Highland Way stretches from Milngavie – north of Glasgow – for 96 miles up to Fort William in the western Scottish Highlands. I wanted to do it solo, wild camping and self-supported.
The fact that it is well waymarked and popular were big attractions – if anything didn’t go according to plan, I knew there would be others on the path.
The sun was shining and the sky was blue on an August day as I skipped off the train and through the urban parks of Milngavie, heading north. I’d packed minimally for the nine-day hike, but still had to get used to the extra 15kg on my back.
Friendly cows licked the sweat off my hands along the way and I gloried in the blooming hedgerows. Life was sweet all the way to the bonnie banks of Loch Lomond, 17 miles later.
This part of the trail is considered to be among highlights of the route. It winds by the glorious loch and through rich woodland. I passed families on pebbly beaches enjoying the sunshine, and revelled in the green dampness of the forest. After Inversnaid, I camped on a small beach hoping the tide wouldn’t reach my tent.
Sunlight woke me at 5am and I went for a skinny dip and a wash. As I emerged from the water, a squadron of midges converged on their irresistible target: my large, white bottom.
Then came the rain, which was to continue for six solid days. Loch Lomond became a nightmare of water-slicked boulders until it spat me out into some longed-for open country. Ahead was a haven of hot tea and venison curry at Beinglas Farm Campsite.
I shuffled to the bar like a zombie. “Give me your waterproofs and boots and I will put them in the dry room,” said Thomas, the kind barman.
Robert the Bruce fought and fled through the heather on this historic route. I followed in his footsteps from the site of the Battle of Dalrigh on to the Lochan of the Lost Sword. Here, it is said that he and his followers flung their weapons into the water so they would not be captured. Legend has it that they lie there still.
I waded across Rannoch Moor over Thomas Telford’s “Parliamentary Roads”. The rain had turned the flagstones into a canal and water came over the tops of my boots. When I took them off that night, my feet were sponge-like – trench foot. Walking hurt – unfortunate on a hiking holiday.
Every hike has its nadir and mine was the Devil’s Staircase. Emerging from the dramatic valley of Glen Coe, I was making steady progress, when I heard the sound of American mid-Westerners. Impeccably dressed and the youngest of them in their mid-seventies, they sped past me. “It’s not long now, keep going!” one of them chimed.
When I did get to the top, I met an equally dishevelled hiker trying to make out the view through the fog. I shared my sandwich with him as we sat in the drizzle.
The last section of the hike across Lairigmor to Fort William was spectacular. The hills were bursting with yellows and purples and the clouds kept parting to show off the mountains.
However, that night, I felt spooked for the first time. Snuggled up in my sleeping bag I heard footsteps circling, wondering if I should reach for my pen knife. Instead, I pulled my hood over my head and tried to sleep. The next morning, I found the outside zip of the tent had been pulled open.
I packed quickly and left with relief. Fifty metres on, flanked by the scarlet berries of the rowan tree stood a sign. This was the last stand of a group of Campbells, “undone from the blows of McDonald swords. Our commander lies slain on the field of battle. The Lochy river now runs red with the blood of Argyll’s finest.”
Typically, the sun blazed down for my last few miles as I reached the statue of the man with sore feet on a bronze bench in Fort William, my journey’s end.
My cousin Charlie was there to welcome me with warm, dry clothes. I threw my boots and waterproofs in the bin. “Did you enjoy it?” asked Charlie.
“It wasn’t fun but it was a proper adventure. Scotland is magnificent,” was my honest answer.
A few days on, with my feet back to normal, it felt like a joyous achievement.
How to get there
Milngavie is 25 minutes by train from Glasgow Queen Street station. Fort William is around three and-a-half hours by train or bus from Glasgow.Where to stay
There are several companies that offer West Highland Way packages (including bag transport and accommodation), such as Wilderness Scotland, HF Holidays and Macs Adventure.Accommodation along the route includes B&Bs, hotels, campsites and camping pods but you have to book in advance. Wild camping is possible along the whole route except for one stretch of Loch Lomond in summer.
More information
The West Highland Way is best tackled in late spring or early autumn. Take good boots and waterproofs.The writer used Going the Whole Hogg’s West Highland Way guide and map
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