When the hurly-burly’s done

They say that in the Highlands, you can experience four seasons in one day. I’ve only seen two–early summer and late fall–but they switch just about every thirty minutes. It’ll be pouring down rain, complete with cold, COLD, wind, then suddenly get sunny and warm on the other side of the hill. ‘Hill,’ by the way, is a Highland joke, from what I gather–hills here really are small (but very steep) mountains, complete with slippery bits getting back down the other side. The views are universally good, unless it’s completely clouded in, and then everything looks absolutely amazing and as Scottish as you could hope for.

Another Highland joke that I’ve learned is that everything is only two miles away. Ask a Highlander how far it is, say, from Brooklyn to Newark and he’ll tell you two miles.

I’ve learned not to care, though. Yesterday I set out from Rowardennan really early, in the middle of a pretty ferocious rainstorm, with the intent of getting to the Inversnaid Hotel to have a leisurely lunch. I walk pretty slowly compared to a lot of the crazies on this trail, so I need to make up for it with early starts. Anyway, the Inversnaid Hotel was kind of amazing–totally decked out in Scottish kitsch, a boombox playing bagpipe favorites at the bar, great views of Loch Lomond, good cheap lunches. While there I met two women from Edinburgh who graciously agreed to let me a) walk with them to the Beinglas Campsite, where we all were staying, and b) ask them lots of ridiculous questions about Scotland. It was a lot of fun, and it definitely was nice to have company on the really difficult stretch after the hotel, where the path runs along an exposed cliffside and is blocked every few yards by tree stumps, boulders, streams, waterfalls, etc. Mom and Dad, you didn’t read that. Everyone else, let’s carry on.

Anyway, so we got to the campsite, found our wigwams (weird little wooden buildings that are the average of a tent and a youth hostel), and wound up at this crazy pub for dinner. The Drovers Inn is over 300 years old, and the decorating scheme can only be described as ‘taxidermy hell.’ Lots of scary dead animals everywhere, but most were in such advanced stages of decay that they were missing eyes, claws, etc. I heard from a couple I met this morning, who actually stayed at the Drovers (it’s a hotel and pub), that the rooms were even more bizarre than the pub.

Anyway, my time on this computer’s going to run out. I had a nice quick-ish walk this morning/early afternoon through some absolutely amazing scenery to Tyndrum,

though the last thirty minutes were awful. I got to the edge of town just as the sky really opened up, more so than it had so far this trip, and I had to take shelter at the little train station so I could open up my pack without soaking all of my possessions, figure out where I was, and find my hotel. Turns out the hotel is directly on the West Highland Way, but about 1/3 mile past the train station. I was going crazy thinking I’d passed it or something. I don’t think I’ve ever been as happy to be anywhere as I was when I got up into my room at the Tyndrum Lodge Hotel.

Tomorrow’s a 19-mile day, so I’ll get up early, hit breakfast at the hotel, and go. I had a late start this morning (a night at the pub with Scots will do that) and I don’t necessarily want to repeat that, though it was fun. Tomorrow’s got the piece of this walk I’ve most been looking forward to, Rannock Moor, which is apparently beautiful in good weather and terrifying in rain. Weather forecast’s looking pretty good, so this should be great…