To quote Stephenson and Gould in British regional geology: the Grampian Highlands, fourth edition, 2007 when discussing the features you might expect to see in this part of Scotland,  'Metagreywackes, siliceous psammites and fine-grained quartzites are interbedded with the predominant well-foliated green schists containing abundant chlorite, epidote, biotite and albite porphyroblasts.' Well, quite, I couldn't have put it better myself.  When I was young we lived in London and I would often head in the school holidays to the museums in South Kensington. The big draw these days is the Natural History museum but back then dinosaurs weren't quite as popular as they are today and much of the ground floor was a series of somewhat lacklustre dioramas that were populated with a cast of vaguely unsettling stuffed animals.   Around the corner in Exhibition Road was the Science museum which became a big favourite with me mainly due to the number of interactive displays. The joy

It’s difficult to know exactly what to make of Rob Roy. Sir Walter Scott’s famous fiction painted a rosy outlook of his exploits, making him seem like some clannish Robin Hood. Chroniclers of history ignore the myth and either regard Rob Roy as a brigand and blackmailer, faithful to the Jacobite cause, while others argue that Rob Roy had been wronged and had no option but to live a bandits' life.  As with so many stories the truth may mostly depend on your viewpoint and if, like me, you have no allegiance to either side, then it becomes possible that both accounts can co-exist.  Whatever the real story may be, it cannot be denied that for a short period Robert 'Roy' McGregor (Robert the Red or Rob Roy) was the laird of Inversnaid and the West Highland Way crosses through it. No doubt, if descendants of the Wild McGregors, as they were known -  and I'm sure it didn't mean they had legendary parties  - were still in possession of the land today there would be a paymen

Balmaha was bursting with holidaymakers. Cars were double and triple parked in the car park next to the visitor centre and more were nosing around looking forlornly for a space. Every table at the front of the Oak Tree Inn was occupied and it was only by heading through the pub then around the back to beyond a marquee that we found a quiet spot to sit and quench our thirst.   The pub was still working to covid rules, which meant ordering and paying via an app and hoping that the drinks would arrive at our far distant table some time in the near future.  As we meandered through the pub looking for a table we spotted that those who were dining were staring glumly at some pretty workmanlike food offerings and we were glad that we had stocked up on lunch items earlier in the Spar shop in Drymen.   One of the good things about finding a pub was that it enabled us to use the facilities. The West Highland Way this morning had offered panoramic views and anyone wanting to do ‘a wildy’ - as a n

The Way doesn’t actually enter Drymen, it skirts around the eastern edge before turning and heading off to the north.  As we left the village ahead of us i n the dazzling sunshine we could make out the outline of a lone hiker tottering under the weight of her backpack, occasionally stopping to rearrange her load. We quickly caught up with our photographer from yesterday morning, who although cheerful, seemed to us to be finding her load a heavy one. To my eye she had a sixty-five litre pack that was ready to burst. She told us she hadn’t just come to walk the Way but spend about a month exploring the UK and our impression was that she had brought all of her supplies with her. We quickly outpaced her, indeed we were outpacing most of the other hikers that we met on these early stages.   During our preparation for the walk, as we don’t have anything that could realistically be called a hill in Essex, Chris had slowly but surely upped the speed that we walk at. We did the same before walk

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 for a lunchtime stop

In our opinion the first day of any long distance walk should not be too challenging. Others will race off with a heroic distance to be covered and good luck to them. Experience has told us that we do better if we ease ourselves into the rhythm of a walk with a relatively straightforward day.    The self luggage transfer service (£1 - cash only) never really got off the ground. The West Highland Way is very accommodating by having a variety of conveniently placed staging posts. Drymen, where we are headed at just under fourteen miles is the resting place for those similarly minded to enjoy a comfortable first day. Others, whose ambitions are for a faster and more challenging trek will head to Balmaha, nearly nine miles further on and with an additional thousand feet of ascent.   A hardy few will carry on up the side of Loch Lomond, perhaps to Rowardennan, adding another six or so miles to their day. The way out of Milngavie snaked past the back of industrial estates and houses before w

  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 rendered that way a