1: Forty years and counting

It all started in the mid 70's when Chris and Duncan met on a photographic course in north east London. In the third year they shared a house and their friendship has carried on from that time. In 1979 they needed a holiday and rather than head to the sun they planned to walk the Pennine Way. Forty years later they returned to the Way and this story is recorded in the book ‘Forty years, Sixteen Days’ available here.

This blog is a continuation of the story...

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To the Ben

I had made a mistake. For some bizarre reason, I had thought that there was one more day of walking on the West Highland Way until we returned home. If we hadn't noticed the error we might have arrived in Fort William and found ourselves without a roof over our heads for the next evening. Fortunately, some weeks earlier Jerome spotted the gaping hole between the date of completing the walk and our flight home, and we decided to spend one last full day in Fort William. What to do on this day was a matter of debate. Jerome and Chris both favoured walking up Ben Nevis. I was less keen, mainly because I had climbed it back in 1974 on a dry but dull day. Back then I was enthused because the top of Ben Nevis was in the clouds and I thought it would be exciting to walk through them. What I failed to realise was that I had walked through clouds many times before - when it's foggy. And I can reveal that Ben Nevis in the fog is just a slog. I was prepared to walk it again if that ...

4: Arrival

The little shopping centre in Milngavie was moist and melancholy as we walked to the obelisk that signifies the start of the West Highland Way. Under a canopy nearby, a busker playing the violin sheltered from the drizzle while the damp grey precinct echoed to his plaintive tune that probably originated in a far off east European country. Jerome (l) is not entirely sure he wants to be seen with us (Chris & Duncan (r)). We gathered around the grey granite stone attempting to take pictures to record the moment as a lady with an outsize backpack lumbered towards us. Her accent revealed her to be American and she asked us whether she could help take a picture. The favour returned, we collected up our daypacks as we watched our photographer take slow unsteady steps on the start of her journey along the way. Yesterday we were on the train to Milngavie. Milngavie looks a plain enough place name that shouldn’t hold too many pronunciation potholes, however it isn’t rende...

6: A famous hostelry in Drymen (Glengoyne to Drymen)

Drymen, where we are headed this evening isn’t pronounced how you might expect. This is one of those quirks that quickly becomes normal in Scotland. When the locals say Drymen it rhymes with women or swimmin’, keeping the emphasis on the beginning of the word and it is said with pace, there’s no lingering over the syllables. So our attempt, which was basically looking at the word and saying what saw ie ‘Dry - men’ was wrong on just about every level. Leaving the Glengoyne distillery we were walking on an easy path across a flat plain. However we were by this stage becoming aware of the vast numbers of fellow walkers and began to worry about the meal options for the evening. Chris looked online at the various hostelries and decided that he liked the look of one in particular so he booked a table. The hills continued to offer an enticing prospect to our right but the path ignored their siren call. Very quickly we arrived at a road and beside it, handily placed fo...

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