WHW Day 3: Rowardennan to Invreraman

Boots on, we hit the trail early.  Today the trail was reputed as tough: a rough, hilly path through the wilderness along Loch Lommond.  The end of the day should see us 14.5 miles further up the trail at the top of the Loch.  

First thing on, we spied some feral goats.  These are descendants of livestock that people were forced to abandon during the Highland Clearances, brutal aristocratic land grabs that forced thousands off their home and farms.

The forest were peaceful and quiet, and the terrain started to get more rugged.  We couldn't see Ben Lommond, the giant mountain that sits moodily over the lake, and I'm glad we decided not to spend the extra day for a climb as we would have a view of a cloud for most of the day.

 We went through a gate and entered Craigrostan Woods.

This was a magic place.  Due to the range of mountains that dropped down into this part of Loch Lommond, this rugged part of Scotland had some of the last old-growth forest in the UK.  Wise old oak trees clung to the steep slopes, moss and steeply undulating dirt path made for some serene walking.  I slowed down to take it all in- this is the kind of place that deserves a slow, quiet walk to take it all in.

There were lots of waterfalls and stream crossings on this bit of trail.

Also, Elvis.

He was doing various stunts for Cancer Research: skinny dipping in the Loch, donning blue suede hiking boots.  It was amusing as hell to hear Elvis speak with a thick Scots accent.

We came to Inversnaid, a hotel that marked the only sign of life on this trail.  The hotel had a view of a waterfall that had a nice deep swimming hole.  Someone decided to go for a swim.  That someone wasn't me.  Bry mustered up the courage to go for a quick dip.  Seriously- it took him longer to take off all his clothes then to get in and out of the pool with a great deal of bellowing.  The water here is on a different level of coldness, and even though the air was warm and muggy. an ice bath wasn't calling my name.

It was a nice place to stop for lunch though, and I watched dippers and grey wagtails hopping about the shoreline.

Back on the trail, we decided to take a detour up a RSBP side trail.  It ended up being a really strenuous climb.

Once we got to the top of the hill, we were rewarded with  a moody and dark view of the entire Loch, with no other people willing to spend the extra energy on the climb, we had the mountainside blissfully to ourselves.

That is Ben Lommond, obscured by a cloud in the top of the picture:

We rejoined the main trail and had several hours of good walking, seeing lots of critters along the way.

We stumbled upon a herd of red deer, on of the great symbols of the wild highlands.

After about five minutes of quietly sneaking up on them, I realized they weren't afraid of me at all.  In the end, I had to wave my arms and shout to get them to move off the trail, which they did reluctantly.

We also came across our first Bothy.  These are small, basic stone huts that are unlocked and free to use.  They have a fireplace and a couple of platforms to put your bedding on, and that's about it.  There's a whole network of them, and you can walk across Scotland taking advantage of free shelter if you wanted to.

We hit the end of Loch Lommond and began our climb into Inveraman.  We had been walking at such a leisurely pace that hikers who had started in Balmaha- seven miles further than we had walked- has caught up to us.  Spiritual old forest, a waterfall swim, lunch and bird watching and a climb for the view meant that it was getting dark by the time we neared our destination.  Everyone we met on the trail, and at the pub that night, complained about how hard the trail had been.  It was rocky and steep, but to me that is a trail.  I guess the fact that you could drive a truck down the rest of the West Highland Way meant the worst/best was behind us.

I kept nearly stepping on these tiny toads; there were dozens of them and they were so well camouflaged that you had to be really careful where you put your foot down.  

Really now.  You take a toad and make it tiny, and suddenly it becomes adorable.

We made our way into town, which consisted of a campground and a pub and a busy road.  After such a peaceful day of quiet walking, it felt kind of stressful.

Pied wagtail

In the end, we would have been better off at the campsite bunks.  The hotel, ancient and historic and filled with an impressive collection of creepy taxidermy creatures, seemed like it hadn't been renovated since the war.  It was reputed to be haunted, perhaps by an angry ghoul who will only rest when they decide to redecorate and toss all the moth-eaten bits of kilt into a rubbish heap.   While the low-ceiling dark pub was a unique and cozy place for a post-walk refuel, it just seemed like a sad and overpriced relic being held together with spit and paper.  

Oh, and tell me: since when is Rob Roy the judge of all things quality?  The man hid out in a cave for christsakes.  

I have found though- I can sleep through hauntings and drafts and creaks and groans after a long walk and a dram.

Unsettled

Wow.

So, I got myself haphazardly moved in to my new flat.  It's been kind of a mixed bag.

We choose this place because it's was a lot nicer than the other flats in our budget.  It was owner-occupied and in a snazzy, modern building, with touches like a giant deck with skyline views and a grill, and nicer-than cheapo kitchen appliances and furnishings.  It was just a comfortable, unique place, that we wouldn't be embarrassed to entertain friends, and most of the other places we had seen were small, cheaply made and characterless with features like no closets and odd build-outs.  It's a grown-up apartment, not a glorified college dorm room.  Bonus being our new flat was just a block from a major tube station, which is somewhat hard to find in London as the train stations here are spaced far apart, and many people live within a 20 minute walk to the closest one and are totally fine with that.  Perspective!  

The trade-off being that we knew coming into this that the neighborhood was nothing special.  I won't be finding truffle oil and organic berries and bottles of Châteauneuf-du-Pape without a big schlep, and even just more everyday staples like fresh bread (oh, never mind) and fruit juices that aren't 90% sugar water is kind of a stretch.  There's nothing here to attract tourist; it's a real neighborhood.  There's pubs and Indian take-aways and bodegas and hardware stores and good practical things.  I looked for the same when looking in Paris and found it (except in food-obsessed Paris, I had three good bakeries and an endless river of good wines and cheese in a few blocks around me.)

I showed up with my backpack on Friday afternoon and the owners walked me through.  We had kind of rushed them out- the flat wasn't technically available for another week as they had just moved out, but they were nice folks and when we explained that we needed to move right away, they agreed.  Except, the bed wouldn't be arriving until next week (whatever!  We camp a lot, no big deal!), and a few minor repairs would have to be scheduled.  Our stuff from Paris would be delivered soon, so our sheets and pillows and clothes and cooking stuff will get to us in a few days, so we'll just be a little uncomfortable and deal with it.  

About 20 minutes after the key exchange happened and I was quietly unpacking, I heard commotion outside and then all hell broke loose.    A fight, a stabbing, a car crashing into a bus, and a young man is dead.  The street was closed down and there were police canvassing the neighborhood in hordes.   I spent a sleepless, uncomfortable night with the room illuminated by police lights, wondering if this was all just a mistake.  

The next day, more of the same as the forensics teams were combing the muddy lots all up and down the avenue.  I had tons of errands to run, my back was in much discomfort from a chilly night on the floor, and as I weaved around police lines and a morbid scene and rumors of gang wars in the neighborhood, I tried to find a bit of good.

 
Pigeons shouldn't drink and fly.

A visit to the nearest Sainsbury revealed much product that amused me.

EEEEEWWwwwww!  Also, they like peanut butter here.  Win.

The local entertainment seems right up my ally.

There's also a Chinese Elvis that plays in Islington.  So much Elvis.  Y'all know where I'll be found on the 21st of February anyway.

I've been haunting the charity shops (they are quite awesome here) for housewares, and I now have coffee (sorry, tea!) mugs that commemorate the marriage of Prince Charles and Diana Spencer.  I found a set of  side tables out on the street destined for rubbish that I dragged back to the place- if I get a sunny day I will paint them and polish them up a bit.  Nothing beats free.

All the things you need to make a place livable- bath mats and cutlery and blankets and trash cans- were acquired so far. I'm trying hard to not accumulate too much as I am happy to live in a minimalist fashion, but I'm needing to make a quick and dirty Ikea trip to pick up some shelves and hooks and plates and other things I can't live without.  Our shipment arrived yesterday, and with it, my kitchen knives and pots and the wok and clothes and my yarn stash, our beautiful carpets dickered for in far-off lands, and way too many pairs of shoes.  The bed will get here on Wednesday.  My back will be thankful.  Every time I move, a million tiny cracking noises happen.  I do down dog and my shoulders pop alarmingly, and I have been doing yoga in a geriatric fashion.  



So much for keeping junk to a minimum, but the Buddha found its way back with us as we needed something to pretty up our deck.  He seems happy to be  enjoying his tea with his authentic NYC coffee cup.

Probably the most trying element right now is the fact that it will take 3 weeks to get the internet set up.  I will be scarce until then- I can dart across the street and cafe-sit and mooch some wireless now and then, but I lack the concentration to write while in public.  I have my ritual.  It's hard to break the habit.

So, aside from the fact this might not be the most posh neighborhood in London, it's home for now.  It's 10 minutes on the Tube to get to Victoria Station, 15 to get to Buckingham Palace.  There's a really friendly pub down the street that I've already adopted as my second home. Clapham, with its big beautiful park and coffee shops and wine stores is about a 15 minutes walk.  Brixton is a quick stroll as well and we found good Jamaican food there already.  We found a friendly pizza place that gives off a Bay Ridge vibe where Bryan got punched by a Danish grandmother who was excited to find out he was a boxing fan.  I got my French Press in working order, but there's an Ethiopian cafe across the street that makes an excellent cup as well.



And after a bout of pouring rain, the sky lit up with late afternoon sun and a lovely rainbow appeared over the City.  I'm totally inspired and ready for this new adventure.