a pilgrimage of sorts

West Highland Way...and home

At lunchtime today I had spent 17 of the previous 24 hours sitting on trains. It is good to be home.

I completed the West Highland Way around 4pm two days ago in Fort William. I marked the occasion with a cup of a tea and a cinnamon bun. I walked (slowly) back along the pedestrian precinct to find my room for the night and had a lovely (if rather compact) bath. I couldn't face the sort of "fast food" options available, so made a lovely couscous dehydrated meal I had brought along in case. It was a strange mix of feelings; I had set myself the goal of walking these 94 miles, and I had done that without any real problem, but I was tired - not the physical tiredness that needs to rest, but that inner weariness of pushing myself one last long day. I am pleased to be able to say that I have done the walk, though.

I had mentioned previously about getting walking fit, and so it didn't cross my mind to not then go for a stroll along the sea (or loch, or whatever it is there) front and enjoy the fading light and a bit of cooler weather. Likewise the next morning I stretched my legs before breakfast, as I knew I was going to be sitting down for a while. It was then a four hour ride back, more or less the way I had walked. It was wonderful to see some of the stretches of trail from a different angle - indeed, it almost felt as if it had been a different person out on the paths trying to keep going and not get too concerned about the next bit of the walk and the train was acting as a time machine.

I had walked across the Bridge of Orchy late on Sunday morning. The station, hotel and scattered houses are on the middle left of this photo. I had thought I would eat my packed lunch there, but continued on across the river and then through the trees and up the side of the slopes on the right toward Inveroran. As the train left the station, walkers approaching the bridge were visible to my left.

The track wound along the valley before reaching Tyndrum, for where I had set out on the Sunday morning. I could see the guest house and the Green Welly shop. On and on, going further back in my week of walking. The hotel at Inversnaid was visible across Loch Lomond, marking the start of the toughest two hours I had walked that I could remember back on Friday afternoon. We arrived at Glasgow Queen Street by late afternoon.

I walked around the centre of Glasgow for a time to keep the legs going. The Rennie Mackintosh School of Art still, sadly, shrouded in scaffolding and hoardings. I did take my time over a good meal as the sleeper train didn't leave until 10pm.

Sleeping is not easy, even on the sleeper. I couldn't quite get comfortable, and the lady behind me had a phone conversation at 2am. A steward handed out blankets, which I could roll up into a makeshift pillow and that allowed me a solid few hours.

I got a photo of the sun rising over Luton, and we arrived at Euston over an hour early, allowing me to be the first person in to breakfast at our favourite spot near Embankment. I took my time, and then read the papers before lugging my suitcase up and over one of the Golden Jubilee Bridges and across the South Bank into Waterloo.

I have some photos to work on. Although the scenery was beautiful, the light was mostly flat and the views from the trail were not necessarily the best angles. I'm looking forward to seeing what I can get out of them. I also have quite a bit of writing to do now. My previous blog posts were written on the day, and so the opportunity to reflect was a little limited, but now I can put my notes into a more complete form as a part of this current module on my MA, and I have a deadline for that.

 

 

West Highland Way…14 miles to Fort William

My final day walking. The last 14 miles into Fort William. I read the notes on the route and it suggested a significant uphill section and a rough stage through some woodland. I have mixed feelings. I want to get home, but I also feel I could go further if I had the opportunity. I have no blisters - amazingly!

I have breakfast as soon as the Inn allows, and hit the road by 8:30. The climb out of Kinlochleven starts almost as soon as you leave the road and is hard on tired legs. I normally let the first hour’s walking loosen me up, but no such luxury today. My left knee began to grumble a little, so I made the maximum use of my trekking poles to share the weight. This niggle mirrored how I was feeling about myself today on the trail. I had set out to explore stillness, attention and withdrawal. However, even though I had relished the space and quiet to be still amidst the rhythm of walking, the joy of this elevated stillness was offset as it shone a penetrating sidelight onto those parts of me that remained un-stilled. My swift irritation at a couple of very minor things over recent days, and some part resentments dug up again.

I felt I had done better with the other two. I had loved being able to be contained within myself, whilst greeting fellow-walkers and conversing with some of them for a little longer. I especially missed my American friends from the first stages, who took a shorter walk on Sunday and so were now a day behind me, but otherwise having the space to think, reflect, and take some photographs was a gift. I had also learnt about attention; being aware of myself physically and emotionally as well as my close environment. Pacing oneself demands this sort of attention, and then learning to trust that I would eventually get there becomes easier.

This is a hard landscape. The ruins of abandoned farmsteads on Larig Moor bear testimony to the hardships folks endured in order to be able to live, but who must have eventually conceded defeat. I was also reflecting on Saint Fillan, whose ruined 8th century Priory I had passed a few days earlier. No grand vaulted ceilings fit for pomp and grandeur out here, just sturdy walls and enough space to shelter from the elements.

There was an odd experience today as I tried to keep weary legs going. It seemed almost as if I was perfectly stationary, and it was the effort of my legs which slowly rotated the earth beneath in whichever direction I strode.

Ben Nevis eventually appeared around a shoulder of rock to my right. Vastly overshadowing the hills around but unfortunately not bathed in the sort of light to allow for the best photographs. The drag down and into Fort William seemed to last forever. I chatted briefly with an exhausted Polish couple who were thinking there was another two hours to go! On the outskirts of the town is the old marker for the end of trail, but the new official end is in the town centre. After 95 miles of moor and hill, the sight of a string of tired walkers making their way down the pedestrian precinct, weaving in and out of the passing shoppers, was surreal.

For any stats-geeks reading this, over the last seven days I have;

walked 95 miles (approx 155 km)
taken 213,000 steps
climbed 3701 flights of stairs*

I decide to split my celebration in two. Firstly, I stop in a tea shop for a pot of tea and then, after checking in and enjoying a hot bath, I have one of the emergency dehydrated camping meals I have kept in reserve, washed down with a small bottle of Merlot I bought from the Tesco Express, topped off with a yoghurt and a Crunchie.

It is going to take me a day and half to get home, and so I will do some final thoughts then. This has been an amazing experience, one I would heartily recommend to anyone with some good shoes and a reasonable level of fitness. Using the baggage transfer option meant only having to take a day bag. Some of the wild campers looked like Sherpas laden down with tents, and pots and pans. I can’t imagine how they managed the sections along Loch Lomond!

The Polish couple took a photo on my phone.

*I have no idea how this is worked out or what it actually means.

West Highland Way…9 miles to Kinlochleven

I woke thinking over what I had been reflecting on yesterday and how the sense of being out of control is a significant stressor. Yesterday, I had not been in control of the weather, but I had planned and prepared in order to mitigate against it as much as possible by ensuring I had a good rain-jacket and overtrousers. I also opted to wear contact lenses in order to avoid the depressing feeling of rain-covered glasses slipping down one’s nose. Neither was I in control of the route - one simply had to accept that it was what it was. I had read about the stretch of moor and watched some videos to get a feel for the landmarks and terrain.

My mind did play back some of the times in ministry when I had felt not in control; the most painful of which had been with people who initially had acted as if they were wanting to be close supporters but who, over time, revealed that they had been operating their own agenda leading to conflict over issues of approach or direction.

Being in control suggests having the power and resources to overcome the chaos, but that is the role God plays.

From the waters of chaos you drew forth the world,
and in your great love, fashioned us in your image.

as I read each day in Morning Prayer. However, we can plan and prepare so as to mitigate the chaos, and thereby reduce the impact of our not being in control. I wondered whether it is fair to say that we tend to assume leadership is about the Godly exercise of power, rather than in the Christ-like embracing our weakness and accepting the reality of the chaos around?

It was later start today, that suited me with only 9 miles today. It started raining as I left Kingshouse toward Glencoe. I don’t normally do rainbow photos, but I couldn’t resist it looking towards Buachaille Etive Mor. The scenery was stunning, but for the first hour the path ran very close to the main A road north and there was lots of groups of walkers. I tried to focus on the mountains and clouds and not get distracted. Eventually the path veers right and starts to head up towards the skyline on the hills looking above. This is where the Old Military Road makes for a pass over the side of Glencoe over to Kinlochleven and is commonly known as The Devil’s Staircase. The path rises for some time before a series of switchbacks begin to overcome the steepest gradient. One could see the path stretching up and ahead by the bobbing and swaying luminous rain-covers on rucksacks.

I looked up and took a photo of the final stretch of the climb. I realised that my mind calmly tried to estimate the remaining distance to climb and could say to myself “another 20 minutes”, rather than wish I was the tall, athletic young man with the blue cover who had just strode effortlessly past me. Trusting my own ability to get there eventually is something I have learnt on this trip.

The climb was actually easier than the long descent into the town. For much of the way we were on a road connecting the hydro-electric station to the town - just steep enough to make you feel you need to brace yourself from going too quickly.

As I entered the town I chatted briefly with a lady tidying the front of the Salvation Army building. A cafe allowed a well-earned cup of tea. I sat and watched the river for some time before heading off to find my digs for the night.

West Highland Way…19 miles to Kingshouse

Sunday arrives, and my longest section of the trail by far, 19 miles distance and across some terrain that was wilder and more remote. Morning Prayer seemed to be emphasising the goodness of God, which made me aware of all the beauty and grandeur of this landscape also being tainted; the occasional pieces of rubbish lying around as well as the historic injustices that have taken place - the Highland clearances, for example.  Much of today will be on the Old Military Road, built in the 1750s to allow troops from the south to quell rebellious Scottish clans.

I had been awake in the night, a little anxious about the day. My biggest concern was that when I reached the latter third of the walk I would be so tired and, possibly, feeling alone and miserable that I would slow down further and not enjoy the experience.

I had breakfast as soon as the restaurant opened and was on the trail for 8. I had spent some of my time awake working out the times and distances to the, albeit few, obvious break points. The trail was quiet and relatively easy and so I was surprised to pass my first possible lunch stop by 11am, and so I keep on going from the Bridge of Orchy towards Inveroran. I knew this next section was tougher, gaining altitude into the mist, but I found myself at the Inveroran Lodge by 12. A cup of tea and a piece of cake were in order, along with a brief chat with walkers I’d met on previous days.

However, as I set out just after 12 the rain started and fell heavily for an hour. I felt ok in my rain gear, and tried to keep going and enjoy a sense of experiencing the elements and being able to keep moving. The track rose steadily through pine woodlands before emerging onto Rannoch Moor. The hills in the distance looked unfinished as the tops were lost in the cloud and I was alone to my thoughts. I walked alone with a few walkers ahead and behind. The trail was clear and obvious, so this was purely about perseverance and having faith that I was making progress.

I knew I was making good time, even though it was impossible to see any real features to use for a bearing. Finally, around 3:30, I rounded a headland and the approach to Glencoe opened in front of me. After walking without a frame of reference for so long, the ability to see the end point made me feel I was making no progress whatsoever, so slowly did the distant objects move closer.

By the time I had reached my room for the night, showered and eaten it was late and there was no Wi-Fi in the rooms. I allowed my tired body to grab an early night. I was glad of today. I couldn’t have learnt about keeping going and remaining contained within myself without actually walking that distance in the mist and rain. 

West Highland Way…14 miles to Tyndrum

I realise I write nothing in my paper journal yesterday. It really was just a matter of keeping going, and there were no places which invited me to pause and scribble. With our arrival in the glens today a more leisurely day was promised, even if the distance was the same.

Last summer, walking in the Dolomites, our tour guide wouldn’t show us a map as he felt it might discourage some of the less confident walkers. Yesterday, I found myself checking my map on my phone to make sure I was on the right path, but I deliberately avoided doing so when I felt I was in one of those “are we nearly there yet?” moments.

It was a relief to be able to go at the pace my legs felt capable of sustaining. This got me thinking about how one’s sense of time changes. There are fixed points in the day; breakfast and the deadline for getting bags into the place for them to be collected, but most of the day becomes divided much more loosely - around lunchtime (I should be about half-way) or mid-afternoon (I ought to be getting close to my hotel for the night). This feels very different from the more common sense in which time is a commodity in short supply, or is the cause of so much pressure (the tyranny of the urgent). When walking, time becomes the rhythm of the day. 

In the Incarnation, God allows himself to be subject to time, but he is unbounded by it, whereas we can never achieve this. In the Garden God chose his time, he walked in the cool of the day. I pondered how we might take this idea of time as a rhythm rather than a dictator into the busy and time-dependent life of ministry. When walking it is as if our heart and lungs and our legs are working in harmony, not like running where you eventually have to stop because they are inherently out of kilter.

Just before stopping for lunch I reached the Crianlarich crossroads, the half-way point on the West Highland Way. Time and miles pass, even in this “out of time” few days. And then, somewhat bizarrely, our on the trail I bumped into someone I had last seen in 2005. Such is the serendipitous nature of life constrained by time.

West Highland Way…14 miles to Inverarnan

Yesterdays’s push to be more grateful hit the buffers, rather, with the depressing discovery that there was only instant coffee available at breakfast. 

I left the hotel early, around 7:30, and realised I had already formed a pattern for each day; breakfast as early as possible, then out onto the trail and going for most of the morning so that I could stop for lunch at least half-way, then take a bit more time in the afternoon so as to be able to check in and enjoy a shower and rest before trying to write up the day and have some food.

As I set out, I found myself pondering the text I am preaching on in a couple of weeks - Romans 8:26-30, and particularly what it means to acknowledge and sit comfortably with a sense of weakness. This morning’s section of the trail splits early on. The “low” route by the side of the Loch is supposed to be scenic but quite arduous. The “high” route is easier on forestry roads but without the views. As the clouds and mist were enveloping the hills on the other side, the decision was an easy one, especially as the afternoon section is notoriously demanding.

I was pleased that my feet and legs seemed to be recovered from yesterday, but I was aware of a bit of a twinge in my right knee when climbing. I’ll need to be mindful of that during the day.

Accepting one’s weakness means recognising limits and also what things push one’s buttons, but this does not mean becoming fearful. As a group of fit, younger men passed me discussing their various walking achievements I wondered if I would have have been able to do this walk when I was their age? I may have had more stamina, but would I have had the resolve to keep going?

I walked alone for over three hours until I reached the waterfall at Inversnaid, about which Gerard Manley Hopkins had written a poem. For the next two hours I tackled the slippery rocks, exposed tree roots, uneven steps and twists and turns of the trail. I saw one or two other walkers - all equally exhausted. Finally, at the top end of the Loch, I bumped once more into the Canadian hiker I’d met on the first day. He looked bushed as he had been carrying a full pack on that last section.

Leaving the Loch behind, the landscape changed. Ahead, the hills and mountains that form the glens began to appear - some even had patches of snow still visible. The trails ahead promise to be less gruelling, following some of the old military roads even as the landscape becomes more remote.

 

 

West Highland Way…14 miles to Rowardennan

I slept deeply but woke early. I watched a YouTube video of someone walking today’s route. Everyone agrees this stretch is tough. The first half of the walk goes up to the ridge of Conic Hill before descending to the Loch-side village of Balmaha. The trail then heads north along the shoreline. 

It is lambing season, so there are some restrictions on the route over the hill. I consider the low level option but that is along a road. The weather is overcast with rain expected, and the wind is stronger and colder than yesterday. My mood is challenged somewhat when I read Morning Prayer where, in The Preparation, it says;

May we, the firstfruits of your new creation,
rejoice in this new day you have made.

and so I set myself the task of being grateful and I reminded myself of Eugene Peterson’s encouragement to have a graceful heart as the antidote to the rampant malaise and dissatisfaction which can so easily creep from our culture into our Christian faith.

it is important for me to take photographs as a part of my sense of gratitude, and so I resolve to go up the hill, even if the views from the top are restricted by cloud. The first section of the trail follows an old military road, but soon changed to forest track and then a variety of wet rock, slippy grass and uneven steps for the rest of the ascent and down the other side into Balmaha. One has to concentrate on the steps ahead, unlike yesterday’s much easier trail where the mind could wander. Sometimes focussing on the next foot step, and other times looking two or three strides ahead to judge the best route around a boulder.

It was still raining as I entered the town. My research had uncovered a coffee shop and I looked forward to a hot drink and perhaps a cake. However, the shop was rammed with wet walkers and I knew that if I stayed it would not be the peaceful opportunity I had imagined to reflect and journal. I also knew that I would have to go back out into the rain and so I decided to stand in the drizzle and eat a banana and a bit of chocolate.

The second half of the day was deceptively tough. Tired legs and feet still having to negotiate the twists and turns (and uneven steps) of the path along the side of Loch Lomond. The rain carried on until last 1pm, so I kept going - stopping to drink my water and take the occasional photo of the mountains across the water.

Gratitude got harder as the day wore on. I was trying to listen to my legs and feet to discern at what point they got tired. Even as I crested Conic Hill I felt I could keep going forever, but by early afternoon I was not so sure! As I had left Drymen earlier than most I spent the majority of the day alone. I chatted with two young women on top of the hill as we offered to take photos for each other, and then later I overtook one of the party of Americans who had skirted the hill, leaving their companions way behind.

I thought more about gratitude and about what it means to isolate oneself - a phrase which usually has a negative connotation, but here I was alone unless I happened upon someone, or the happened upon me. Is it easier to do a tough walk alone like this, or would the camaraderie and banter of being in a group distract from the effort?

At dinner I was booked in to eat on my own, but the Americans were at the next table with a spare seat, so I was invited to join them. They find themselves in London over the Coronation weekend and wanted to pick my brains for places to visit (or to avoid).

West Highland Way…12 miles to Drymen

An easier first day than feared.

I had my alarm set for my normal wake up time so I can check in with home. There is time to do some last minute sorting as the weather forecast is much improved, so I can put some of my wet gear into my big bag which will be taken on to my next stop in a van. I find this hard as I am aware of a sense of stepping slightly away from reliable and accessible transport infrastructure if something goes wrong which can make one over-compensate and take too much stuff which would only weigh down as the day went on. I then do Morning Prayer and read Psalm 139;

Where can I go then from your Spirit?
Where can I flee from your presence?

Over breakfast there was a business man in a suit and shirt, a couple of men in workmen clothes, but most were in hiking gear. I got chatting to an American in the queue for the coffee machine. He is one of a group of five who are walking together.

We had to meet the van with our main bags at 8am in the car park, so we gathered and then once loaded walked into the town to the start of the trail. I had planned to stop for lunch at a cafe part-way, but at the last minute dived into the M&S Food Hall for a sandwich. The group separated fairly quickly on the trail; at times people were visible ahead and behind as we left the town, but then a series of twists and turns and one was suddenly alone again.

I caught up with the Americans outside the town and we were joined by a Canadian solo backpacker. We walked for a while talking family, careers, politics and previous walking trips. I stopped to take some photos and I was met by a teacher shadowing his D of E pupils who were in a small group ahead.

The dramatic mound of Dumgoyne became prominent to our right, covered in a dappled sunlight, and would remain visible for much of the rest of the day before disappearing behind as we crossed a ridge to find views of tomorrow’s walk ahead - Conic Hill and Loch Lomond.

We had been discussing how quickly one becomes “walking fit” and I was aware that, sadly, this has to involve putting some miles into tired legs.

The cafe I had planned to use was closed, so I stopped to eat my sandwich. However, shortly afterwards there was a small Deli just off the track where I could get a coffee and a slice of cake. Much of the trail followed a disused railway line, and so it was relatively level and straight. However, the final few miles returned to a tarmac country lane; twisting and turning - not great for tired feet. I arrived into Drymen ahead of my check-in time and so I was thrilled to find a tea shop where I could have a pot of tea and a table where I could sit and write my notes.

I was aware of keeping an eye on my progress. When walking I was averaging a fraction under 5km/hr and adding in stops of food and rest this dropped to just under 4 km/hr overall. I kept trying to do the mental maths for the long day across Rannock Moor and how early I would be able to start. However, I was also relishing the freedom to go at my own pace. Ted, the Canadian soon disappeared ahead of me and the Americans slowed down and I lost sight of them behind me. I tried to be attentive to my legs and feet in particular; any aches and pains or hot-spots so that I might deal with them before anything serious arose. I stopped to take my boots off and then put them back on again as carefully as I could with no snags or creases in my socks.

I had been reading In Praise of Walking by Shane O’Mara in which he says about walking

when we stand up, things suddenly change in brain and body: we become ‘cognitively mobile’, our minds are in movement, our heads swivel, our eyes dart about. Our brain activity changes when we move about, with electrical brain rhythms that were previously quiescent now engaged and active.

it struck me that if we are truly meant to be “minds in motion”, should this not also apply to our souls? We’re we not made with an instruction to be active - to tend creation and make it fruitful? Was God not moving in the Garden? 

After checking in, even the rather compact hotel bath tub seemed luxurious and I soaked for a while before heading out to explore the town and check out the local shop for what I might be able to buy for tomorrow’s lunch. The Americans were sitting outside a cafe and so we got chatting about our exploits. One of them had rescued a new-born lamb from a ditch and felt very proud of himself! I also made sure I took the time to stretch my legs and rub tired muscles.

It was good to get miles in and to start the walk - finally. Tomorrow is meant to be tough going on the second section alongside the Loch and it looks like there may be rain in the afternoon as well.

West Highland Way…to Milngavie

I collected my tickets yesterday afternoon from a strangely quiet local railway station. Upon checking, I discovered that Southern Rail had problems with biofuel, and as a result the local trains to London were cancelled. This did make me panic somewhat as I had an important connection to make in order to get north in time to check in and get sorted. As a result, I changed my plans and went up to London on another route which (as much as is possible with the trains these days) guaranteed me to arrive in the city in time for the long journey north.

This worked fine and I had plenty of time to cross the City and wait for the Glasgow train from Euston. This train, however, felt disappointingly cramped. There was a party of golfers, so they had extra luggage in the racks, and I was sharing a table seat with a couple and a toddler. I had to force myself to sit back and be contained.

I caught up on podcasts and read a little. I checked the distances I would be walking each day. Most days are certainly manageable, although the one 19 mile day will be a challenge. I resolve to try to make early starts so I can walk and rest frequently.

Milngavie lies at the southern end of the West Highland Way and gives the impression that this passing trade is its major industry. Several probable fellow walkers were visible in and around the Premier Inn and one chap got off the train in the late afternoon and seemed to make his way to start the trail there and then.

I walked to the start of the Way. There is an obelisk and the start leads straight off from the pedestrian shopping street. I’d seen these on lots of videos and selfies from those who had gone before. However, it did not feel right to walk down it…just yet.

I need to reorganise my bags for a prompt start tomorrow.  

West Highland Way planning (Part 4)

Travel Day -1 arrives and I need to pack.

There is plenty of advice about the 10 C's necessary for survival, but I hope to do more than simply survive! Having said that my packing also has to be within the limits of what I can carry and be transported. Additionally, I want to explore something of what the Desert Monastics meant by withdrawal. Anthony, the first real exponent of the solitary life in the desert, did not see this as a complete cutting off from the world; he took part in the most important theological debates of his day and ministered to those who came to seek his wisdom. We have a joke in the house that whenever I go away something happens; the power goes off, or there is an important admin matter to be dealt with, and so it is important for me to be able to keep in touch with home. Our phones are now also important means of accessing maps etc, and so that means a healthy boundary needs to found to fence off the usual external interruptions as well as internally falling into the distractions of YouTube and Wikipedia. That will be a valuable lesson to learn and bring home with me.

John Climacus places haplotes, by which he means simplicity and meekness, at the 24th step (out of 30) on his Ladder of Divine Ascent, which places this at quite an advanced stage in development, suggesting these are amongst the harder things to get right. This sense of holding lightly to "stuff" allows the things which are of ultimate value to become more conspicuous and prevalent. It may even become tempting to tick off the rungs on Climacus' ladder so as to bask in the sense of achievement but, as Lane reminds us,

The spiritual practice isn't the success one achieves in the end, but the process itself.

We might romanticise that for those who went out into the desert wilderness to find the solitude they needed to allow them to fully commune with God, that they could easily leave all responsibilities behind, but that seems not to be quite as cut and dried as we might like to think. Certainly for us, our complex society brings the expectation of our being permanently "plugged in". The challenge, therefore (for most of us), is not how to step away from these things, but how might we hold them at such a distance that we are not being so constantly interrupted from ourselves and the time we need to take with our environments and with God for, as John Chryssavgis puts it,

Detachment is not the inability to focus on things, material or other; it is the spiritual capacity to focus on all things, material and other, without attachment.

I ponder my fortune that, despite thinking about travelling light, I have enough clothes to ensure I can put a clean, dry ones on each morning and enough cash to be able to ensure I find a decent meal each evening.