12: It's rude to remove your boots (Crianlarich to Tyndrum)

At a sign for a massage service above Crianlarich, the paths forked as the Way turned north westward through Plantation forest. The path sloped gently uphill through stands of Sitka spruce and Lodgepole Pine. In the undergrowth was a surprising amount of fungi and in a pleasant glade we sat down and enjoyed our lunch of biscuits and fruit while occasionally heading off to document yet another fungi find.

Amanita

Puffball

Dyer's polypore

Don't know

The weather, which for most of the morning had been overcast and threatening began to cheer up. Plantation forest is often quite bleak but this particular spot, being so full of fungi, did not feel as oppresive as the forests along the Pennine Way. However as we reached the top the view ahead was of a huge area that was once trees that had recently been cleared and replanted.

In the valley we crossed the river Fillan and the main road. On the other side in the ever increasing sunshine we headed towards a curiously weathered sign.

Curiously weathered weather sign

This has been the site of a weather station since 1895, recording vast deluge of water that falls in the Strathfillan valley.  Today the clouds have meled away and the sun was shining brightly.  

Around the weather station are the (very little of what) remains of St Fillan's priory. It was founded in the 13th century and dedicated to St Fillan, an 8th century Irish monk whose exploits lead him to become a patron saint of Scotland. (There are more patron saints of Scotland than you might first imagine. Top saint is St Andrew and he get's around in that he's also got top billing in Russia, Greece and Romania. Of the also rans there are: St Columba, St Margaret and St Ninian, and the second division saints are St Kentigern, St Mungo, St Drostan, St Bride, St Giles and our host for today, St Fillan.)  

St Fillan was said to have had healing powers (if you don't have a super-power you don't generally get to be saint). According to one legend, he would dip his wooden staff in the water of a nearby stream and use it to heal the sick. This stream later became known as St Fillan's holy well. Today, the staff of St Fillan is kept in the National Museum of Scotland in Edinburgh but it is unlikely to be the original as it is believed to date from the 12th century.

One of the noted beneficiaries of St Fillan's holy well was Robert the Bruce, who according to legend was cured of serious illness after drinking the water. He went on to become a patron of the abbey and help in its reconstruction after winning the war of independence from the English. The 'priests well'  can be found just beyond Kirkton farm (the usual caveats of drinking water from the wild should be followed as I don't want to be responsible for any harm). 

There were signs for Strathfillan wigwams, a self confessed glamping site where there was a shop with a coffee machine, some outside tables and toilet facilities. We enjoyed a coffee in the warming sunshine and considered our good fortune as we basked in a place with a reputed average of 280 rainy days a year.

A mile beyond Strathfillan wigwams and a few hundred yards from the main path is a lonely lochan (a small lake) that would be unremarkable except that it is reputed to be where Robert the Bruce suffered his greatest set-back. In 1306, having lost a major battle at Methven against the English, he was on the run and being closely harried by the victorious English army but mustered ahead of him in Strath Fillan were a thousand men from the McDougall clan who had gathered in support of the English cause. He was trapped and had to fight. It was a desperate massacre and very few of Robert the Bruce's men escaped with their lives, those that did threw their heavy weapons into the lochan so they could escape unhindered and local legend has it that Robert the Bruce's claymore is still there. Although a recent thorough survey by an archaeological society failed to find any trace of any weapons (but that is just letting facts ruin a good story).

The last mile or so to Tyndrum followed a stream through young plantation forest until we entered an area which hinted at much older industrial activity. Tyndrum has a long history of mining going all the way back to the bronze age. In the 18th and 19th century lead and silver were extensively mined here, indeed at one point these were the largest lead mines in Scotland. Then in the 1880's gold was found and there was a short-lived  'gold rush' as prospectors arrived to exploit the rivers and streams.  Today there is a gold and silver mine that has recently opened a few miles to the west at Cononish but in Tyndrum there are only the silent remains of the old mines and smelteries. 

Tyndrum (Gateway to the Highlands®) is a small village with a population that hovers around the two hundred mark. It was therefore something of a surprise to be come face-to-facade with this evening's accommodation, the Muthu Ben Doran Hotel. 

A huge and imposing portico led into a plushly carpeted reception area. Sensing that hikers may not be the most welcome of guests we began to remove our muddy boots. Before we had even got our first boot off the receptionist cried out that 'we shouldn't remove our boots as it is considered rude to do so'. We all looked quizzically over our boots before replying that 'really, it would be very rude of us to presume to walk in here wearing them' but she was insistent. Not wishing to offend the owners we tentatively walked across the deep pile patterned red carpet aware that we were leaving a trail of muddy crumbs.

Bathed and refreshed we headed off into the heart of Tyndrum to see what else the village had on offer. Opposite our huge hotel was another from the Muthu group, the Ben Royal and we were wondering where all the guests were hiding, as our hotel had seemed fairly empty. We turned left up the main road to where the bright lights of Tyndrum were shining. Having Jerome with us meant that we could rely on his knowledge, gleaned from years in the food services industry, to truffle out the best option for dinner. We passed on the Real Food Cafe. To his eye, the 'real food' looked as though it was arriving as part of cool-chain operation from one of the big national suppliers. Beside it was TJ's Diner - which was easy to dismiss as it happened to be closed on this particular day. Further up the road was the Tyndrum Inn which was deemed promising by our guide but by this stage his eye had been taken by the Green Welly Stop.

The Green Welly Stop apparently held near mythological status in the biscuit company that Jerome represented. Getting the latest version of their shortbread wares onto the shelves of this emporium was a task of supreme importance and here we were on the threshold. 

Well, we had to go in.

The place itself was much larger than the frontage suggested with a general store, a gift shop (cuddly heelin' coos a speciality), an extensive outdoor clothing shop and a cafe and restaurant which had closed by this time in the evening. (I've just been reading about their food, which is all prepared from local ingredients on the premises and the Cullen Skink soup using the finest Mallaig peat smoked haddock sounds especially delicious.) Jerome bought a rain cover for his day pack, as you can't be too careful in the Highlands and we returned to the Tyndrum Inn for dinner. 

Inside we were joined by two couples who we'd often seen walking the Way, Jim & Marge from Denver and Jeff and Chris from Canada. We had a pleasant evening exchanging stories and it turned out that Jim and Marge were sat next to us in the pub in Drymen and had wondered what we were up to when we got the kitty out to pay for our beers. We revealed that we've written a book about our two journeys along Pennine Way, which both couples seemed keen to read.

Darkness was descending so we made our way back to the hotel. The car park which had been empty earlier, save for a couple of motorbikes, was now filling up with coaches and a large group of befuddled middle aged French and German tourists were bumbling around the reception area. We headed up to the top floor where the was a bar and to our surprise, table tennis and a small snooker table. 

Grudge match

It was not long before the inevitable grudge match restarted between the two people with the most mis-spent youth. It began seven years ago on a trip to Andalucia where our villa had a swimming pool, a climbing wall and table tennis and has continued at irregular events since. The next venue will undoubtedly be Slovenia as there is a games room in our chalet from where we intend to explore the Julian Alps. Jerome, (the king of racquet sports) has always triumphed over Chris (general sporting prowess) - and this evening there was no upset. 

We gave up the table to the foreign guests and played snooker using cues that last had a tip around the turn of the millennium.