The Road | Short Story

Beginnings everywhere, like tributaries. The barely-there footpaths over the needled forest floor, the slightest heelprint in the wet sand moments before the tide arrives. Beginnings everywhere, and nowhere.

The path begins to become more cultured, more knowable. Towpaths trail obediently canalside. Lines of scree wind up Bens Lomond, Vane, Ime, slowing only to slip underneath footworn styles or to dip beneath the scurried, hurried surfaces of highland burns.

Soon, the little country lanes with thick, sunblock hedgerows, honeysuckle woven over the threads of sunlight that have made their way through. The pitch-dark laybys overhung with blackberries and sloes, indigo fruits on an indigo road under an indigo sky.

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Milngavie to Drymen – West Highland Way

Following years of idle discussion about walking the West Highland Way, my brother, father and I eventually got organised this year and decided to walk the 96-mile route from lowlands to highlands in Scotland.

Winding its way from suburban Milngavie, via the winding banks of Loch Lomond, over desolate Rannoch Moor, up the Devil’s Staircase, and finally to Fort William in the shadow of Ben Nevis, the WHW is a rite of passage for many Scots. We decided to spare ourselves the ordeal of carrying camping equipment with us, and rather make use of Scotland famous B & B accommodation over the seven-day journey.

Beginning under the underwhelming ‘West Highland Way’ metallic sign in Milngavie, we wound our way through Mugdock Country Park, gradually leaving behind the dog walkers and Monday morning joggers.  We have been exceptionally lucky with weather so far – mid March is right on the boundary of recommended WHW traversing – and the weak spring sun shone down on all all day. Buzzards swung overhead as we walked. The trail really is excellently preserved, with little or no need to use maps to keep on route.

Past Farmhouse and quarry, wishing well and well-kept woodland we walked, until after a quick twelve miles we came to our repose for the night – the Clachan Inn, reputedly the oldest licensed public house in Scotland. Food at the aforementioned was excellent, and the low-slung building very atmospheric, although not as (reputedly) haunted as some of out forthcoming accommodation will be. Tomorrow will be a slightly more sedate wander into Balmaha, before the gruelling twenty-miler up the east Bank of Loch Lomond…

The Salt Path | Book Review

The Salt Path

Raynor Winn

Penguin Books

ISBN: 9780143134114

£7.99

‘Something in me was changing season too. I was no longer striving, fighting to change the unchangeable, not clenching in anxiety at the life we’d been unable to hold on to, or angry at an authoritarian system too bureaucratic to see the truth. A new season had crept into me, a softer season of acceptance. Burnt in by the sun, driven in by the storms. I could feel the sky, the earth, the water and revel in being part of the elements without a chasm of pain opening at the thought of the loss of our place within it all. I was a part of the whole. I didn’t need to own a patch of land to make that so. I could stand in the wind and I was the wind, the rain, the sea; it was all me, and I was nothing within it. The core of me wasn’t lost. Translucent, elusive, but there and growing stronger with every headland.

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