Ireland/UK Day 14

July 4, 2023

13 miles hiked

The best bit about staying in a bed and breakfast is the breakfast. Ours is large, filling, and very Scottish; I think I consume an entire day’s worth of sodium in the bacon alone. There’s also homemade marmalade and preserves, which the owners make themselves. As we eat, there’s a red squirrel raiding the bird feeder next to the window. It dives in until all you can see is the little end of its fluffy tail, then pops back out again. It’s very cute.

We pack up and chat with the owner for a bit, then finally depart after 10:30. Man, these late starts. They’re so nice. I’m only going another 13 miles today to Bridge of Orchy, not counting the trail back up to the actual West Highland Way, so I have plenty of time.

I check in with Mash. Will has decided to call it quits due to some knee and achilles pain and the general state of just not enjoying the experience. Mash is disappointed, since he was hoping this would persuade Will to get into backpacking. I tell him I’d love to hike with him if he wants, and he agrees, saying that he’s holed up at the Green Welly Stop in Tyndrum. I tell him I’ll meet him there. Yay PCT friends! Hiking alone can be enjoyable, but the hikes you do with others are the ones you really remember. I’m excited to catch up to him.

Mom walks with me to the trail, then takes the now-traditional photo of me at the start of the day and then a video of me walking away. And then I’m off! The climb isn’t as bad as I was expecting, and as I start going up, the clouds that were absolutely chucking down rain earlier clear up, and the sun comes out. It basically stays out for the rest of the day. It’s miraculous.

The first part of the day is forested, with pines interspersed with mossy ground. It’s a logging area, so there are all kinds of signs about not leaving the trail and not climbing on the log stacks. I almost completely wipe out on a clear-cut section where there are tons of roots, but I catch myself just in time. I miss my poles.

The forest empties out into a field, and over a bridge spanning the River Fillan followed by another field with wide views of the mountains (sunny views!) all around. I’m listening to Big Thief and eating some sugar snap peas and just feeling so nice walking down this road. I pass by the ruins of St. Fillan’s priory from the 13th century, now just a jumble of old-looking rocks covered in moss. But it’s still so cool that it’s here, and marked, and preserved.

There’s another road walk with big views after that. There are also lots of sheep. At one point I have to disturb a group that’s just chilling right in front of a gate I need to walk through. Sorry, friends! They scatter up onto the hill as I walk through.

There’s some woodland again, but it’s a nice, flat, wide path and I’m absolutely cruising. I’m loving the sun. I’m not thinking about any other trails, just enjoying the one I’m on. I pass some holiday campers when I get close to Tyndrum, then cross a surprisingly wide creek on a series of rocks, and then I’m at the road. I’ve arrived at the Green Welly, an iconic stop on the trail. There’s a convenience store, a couple of cafes, and multiple gift stores.

True to his word, Mash is chilling at a picnic table out front. I plop my bag down and go sprinting into the bathroom, then make a spin around one of the shops. After picking up a few items to fill out my meager food bag, I settle in for lunch while happily chatting with Mash. He pulls out a couple of beers. “I don’t know if you celebrate the Fourth of July, but here’s an American beer if you want one.” I laugh and thank him. Budweiser’s not usually my go-to and I truly hate the Fourth of July, but I deeply appreciate that he thought of me, and pack it in my bag for a to-go drink to enjoy later.

I subject poor Mash to the typical Passport pre-departure thrashing around. First I have to reorganize my pack, then, when Mash shows me the adorable umbrella he’s bought in the shop with highland cows all over it, I go in and get one for my mom and a lunch bag with the same pattern, then I have to make one more bathroom run. I think back to Andy in those early PCT days, constantly annoyed with me for how long it took to get ready. Mash is very patient, though maybe that’s because he’s not used to hiking with me.

It’s lovely, mellow, and so enjoyable for the rest of the day. Mash lets me borrow one of his poles since I mentioned missing mine. He also gives me one of the two film cameras he brought to hold onto and take photos with. “I think it really tells you a lot about a person when you see what they take photos of.” I’m not sure what the copious images of sheep and mountains will say about me by the end of this, but I hope it’s good.

Mash noted at lunch that the landscape really changes from here going north, and it sure does. There’s no forest now, just a narrow road and huge mountains. They’re unlike anything I’ve seen, except maybe the Lake District. This is like the Lake District on steroids. Mash, who studied geology, notes that the mountains here are interesting because they are so old, formed so long ago, and yet they were also shaped by glaciers during the last ice age. You can really tell that too, looking at the smooth, perfect U-shaped valleys. It’s like the scope of Yosemite, but no trees: just swoopy, mossy green punctuated by granite peeking out form below its verdant covers.

We drink our beers as we walk; the trail is that chill. We talk nonstop in the way you do with other hikers that you like but haven’t hiked much with, like you want to find out everything all at once. We talk about Harry Potter (standard) and the one podcast he listens to during tattoo sessions (specific) and memories from the PCT (obviously). We ponder the question of whether there is just something inherent in a person who thru hikes, or whether any “normal” person could do it if they want to. I settle on the conclusion that people who hike like we do just have something specific about them. It’s just in our blood.

Meanwhile, the sun shines. Meanwhile, the green mountainous world is shifting around us between a vibrant, consistently blue sky streaked with white wisps of clouds. I love walking. I love being with a trail person. I realize down to my bones as the miles fly that I am happy, free, and entirely alive.

As we continue along the road, I spot a figure in the distance. We get closer and I realize it’s my mom! I’m proud of her for doing a bit of the trail. She almost seems a bit disappointed to have run into us so soon, as though she wanted to go farther.

The three of us finish up the last mile into Bridge of Orchy. Mash is camping, so he goes off to find a spot, while Mom takes me to the bunkhouse at the station where we’re staying. Mom’s never stayed in a bunkhouse-style hostel before, so she was a little unsure about it, but it’s very cute. It’s called the West Highland Way Sleeper, and it’s literally in the train station so it’s very small, just a handful of bunk beds. When we check in there are just a few women there, and it seems like it’s going to be a quiet night.

I go outside to sit with Mom on the patio. We talk with the owner, Helen, for a while. She’s been here running this hostel for seventeen years, and she’s originally from Liverpool. When I ask what brought her here, she says it was just an idea that her husband had. Apparently, he came home one day with an advertisement indicating that this place was for sale, and on a lark, they decided to buy it. He died a few years ago, but Helen is still keeping the hostel—despite the fact that she had a stroke last year. You’d never even know.

I take an admittedly underwhelming shower, after which I lie down intending to have a short rest. I wake up an hour later totally disoriented, with my contacts still in and sucking the juice from my eyeballs, and very cold. I put on as many layers as I can gather and walk with mom to the hotel, the only restaurant in this not-quite-town, for dinner. It’s fish and chips for me and a salad for her, but when I taste the salad I immediately eat more of it than my own food. We stay there enjoying the warmth for a bit and then walk to the bunkhouse. As I’m climbing to the precarious top bunk, the orange sodium lights come on outside on the platform, and the curtains are no defense against the brightness. I accept my fate. There will be little sleep tonight.