In April, I embarked on a grand and celebratory adventure with my husband and his family. It was a daunting trip to undertake; more physically challenging than anything I had attempted since I was laid low by injury nearly ten years ago: we were hiking Scotland’s West Highland Way. Ninety-six miles, from Glasgow to Fort William, in seven days. Seven days of sun, wind, water, gorse, broom, stone, and slow-greening heather. Seven days of setting one foot in front of the other in the company of loved ones. Seven days of small jokes and free-ranging discussions. Seven days of slow spring. Seven days of of physical exertion. Seven nights of well-earned rest.

I was happy as I had not been happy in years.

I can point to a thousand personal reasons for this happiness. Joy and relief at finding my body could tolerate challenging hikes, the experience of which are some of my oldest and most beloved physical memories. The people I was with. A week away from the news, reliable cell service, and the myriad of small addictions that cling to modern life like barnacles (a simile I’m sure does an intense disservice to barnacles.) My first visit to the British Isles—a place whose history, folklore, and literature I have studied but I’d never actually been there. The sheer beauty of the landscape. The friendliness of the people we met. But I have to say, I think that spending days walking long distances under the sky with your people is satisfying on some primal level.

But I will spare you my more ephemeral musings this month and simply give you a selection of delights. With pictures of course! I am not an especially good photographer (unlike my twin sister who is exceptional) but I did my best. Enjoy!

The Gorse!

All the gorse was blooming, and it was beautiful! So yellow and bright against the blue skies (we had not a day of rain) and scenting the wind with its sweet yet rugged fragrance. Not to mention all the other spring flowers: primroses, violets, bluebells, daffodils, and more! It was downright magical. I might need to find a gorse perfume….

Not technically on the Way, but on Cow Hill above Fort William. We were walking through living hallways of blooming gorse!

Ruins, Ruins, Everywhere Ruins!

If you grew up around very old ruins, I suppose this is nothing special. Indeed, some of the Scottish people who passed us on the trail said precisely this as we were taking a slight detour to investigate what seemed to be a ruined chapel. They said “Ha! We’ve seen them all; not worth the extra steps!” But to Americans, well, on the whole we’re suckers for old stone ruins. And Scotland has a lot of them.

Ruins near Inveroran. We think it was a chapel?

All the moss! On the eastern shore of Loch Lomond.

Ruins on Lairigmor. I love the tree growing out of the roof.

Sheepies!

How can the world contain this number of adorable sheep? And it was LAMBING SEASON. Oh, be still my heart. And while I’ve seen goats climb up seemingly sheer mountain sides with ease, I did not know sheep did the same. Well, I have been freed from my ignorance! We’d have our binoculars out, looking up at the hills and mountains, and there were invariably sheep perched all together way too high up on teeny tiny pockets of grass. I have no idea how they managed it. Such daredevils!

Water!

I love water. All kinds of water. Ocean, lake, loch, river, stream, and Scotland did not leave me high and dry on this count. I could not believe the number of impossibly beautiful little streams and rivulets we passed, all clad in moss and spring flowers, emerging from the primordial pines or wending down across the moor. Each an ornate and intricate little creature, impossibly itself. I absolutely wanted to go full neriad and just move right in. That or become a troll maiden and take up residence under one of the bridges. And then there was Loch Lomond itself, which we hiked up the eastern shore of. It was cold and deep and peaceful, and the water a color I’ve never seen before, sheer blue over black, except when it was reflecting the spring trees those rose around it, when it was all washed in blush and lavender.

Nearing Tyndrum. The white rocks and the sea glass color they gave the water literally took my breath away.

History!

So much history. I could probably do a post just on this, but here are my favorite historical features we saw along the way: St. Fillan’s Priory (and associated sites) and Dun Deardail, an Iron Age hill fort!

The ruins of St Fillan’s Priory, carpeted with blooming lesser celandine and ringed round with rosy sycamores. You may read more about the priory in the picture below! There was also a nearby medieval graveyard that had several very old burial stones. Did I get pictures? Sadly, no. I was too taken with the fact of them. I also did not get pictures of St. Fillan's Holy Pool. I was too busy hanging head first over the bank trying to get my hands into it so I could run the water through my hair and over my head, but I apparently did take a picture of the informational sign which you can also read below! (Zoom in and read the smaller print about the healing ritual if you can; I think the resolution should be high enough!)

Peak early medieval popular belief stuff here! Seriously, this is the kind of thing I live for.

Sitting in a little bowl atop a giant hill: Dun Deardail, the site of an iron age hill fort. Probably built by the Celts before being taken over by the Picts, definitely burned on purpose, but we’ll never know why. I cannot adequately describe the feeling of being up there. It’s surrounded by some of the tallest peaks in Scotland separated by valleys that plunge to sea level. It’s one of the most viscerally affecting places I’ve ever been.

Folklore, Myths, and Legends!

To our great luck, we had to take a short shuttle ride to our accommodations in Glencoe. This was incredible luck first because without this slight detour we would never have seen the incredible scenery of the area, second because our driver told us the stories of the landscape as we went. Most spectacularly, she pointed out the Three Sisters and Ossian’s Cave (which, sadly, I was not able to get a picture of) and told us the story of who Ossian was and how said cave came to be his. You may read more about this tale here on a lovely blog called The Hazel Tree, written by Jo Woolf. I’ve also included a picture of the informational sign for the Lochan of the Lost Sword. Now, did I get a picture of the Lochan? No! I have no excuse, other than that I was not thinking strategically about blog posts I might make while I was on my trek. Sorry guys! I’ll try to be a better blog person in the future.

Not Ossian’s cave, but the view from a scenic point nearby.

An excellent example of how history and folklore mix and mingle!

Beer!

Nothing like a good beer at the end of an long hike! And the beer was good across the board. I drank many a Caledonia Best and Belhaven Best. There was an especially wonderful selection of local brews at the Clachaig Inn, where we stayed in Glencoe. Their food was also exceptional (traditional highland casserole of wild game cooked with blackberries, juniper berries, tarragon, and gin? Why yes, we’ll all be having that, thank you) and the views were beyond compare. We all agreed, this was the place we’d come back to if we planned a vacation to a single location.

Hawthorn!

Ok, this one’s a little idiosyncratic but it’s still going on the list! I love Hawthorn as an herb, I often make overnight infusions with its berries, leaves, and flowers, and I am nearly out of the last batch of Hawthorn cordial I made (the recipe I use can be found in Rosalee de la Foret’s Alchemy of Herbs.) I came to hawthorn during a time of intense grief and heartbreak, and it has since become one of my most beloved herbs to work with because of this affinity for the heart. But I had never actually met a hawthorn tree! We don’t have them in Hawaii, and while I suppose they grow in Maryland, I’ve not seen one. So imagine my delight when on day three of our trek, we started to walk through grove after grove of hawthorn trees covered in tender new leaves. I was beside myself as I finally got to meet this tree who had been such a help to me and say thank you.

The Quiet

Sure, parts of the West Highland Way parallel roads or train tracks and are not especially quiet. But other parts are remote enough that all sounds melt away except for those of wind, water, trees, and grass. These parts of the trail—most memorably the parts crossing Rannoch Moor—were like water for my soul. One of the things I miss most about both the Big Island and Maui is that you can pretty easily get far enough away from everything to experience a complete absence of the sounds of human civilization. Indeed, the quiet you can experience deep in the crater on Haleakala is like none other. This kind of quiet is hard to come by in suburban Maryland. I’m sure it’s out there, but it seems rarer, and more troublesome to get to. I was hoping there would be pockets of this kind of quiet along the Way in which I could refill that well of quiet I have within me, and the Way was most generous in that regard.

Rannoch Moor. One of the side effects of all the sun we were getting was that the moor was rather brown, and the heather had barely begun to green up. It was still striking and beautiful, but I hope to return someday to see the moor in its other guise, misty and green, or if I am very lucky awash in blooming heather.

Another incredibly quiet place. I’m sure this peak has a name, but I don’t know what it is.

The Scale

I love a landscape that makes me feel small. I just do. The earlier parts of the West Highland Way weave through beautiful and idyllic countryside, but once you cross properly into the highlands, the world opens up into vistas and heights that—despite my very best efforts—none of my pictures could capture. These landscapes are wild, rugged, and exposed. Not at all unfriendly or unwelcoming, just very staunchly themselves, so you are the one who must do the accommodating.

There you have it!

I’ll also share some of the more practical details of our trip in case anyone has thoughts of going. We booked through Macs Adventures and completed their 8 day itinerary, which has 7 days of actual hiking. We were hiking from inn to inn, meaning we always had a shower, a meal, a beer, and a soft bed to look forward to at the end of our day. Plenty of people on the trail with us were wild camping or moving from campsite to campsite (several of these had showers, laundry, convenience stores, and at least one had a pub!) so that is absolutely an option too. But for us, we were happy to have the inns. Oh! And this is the guidebook you want. The maps are incredible! Hand drawn and full of neat little tidbits of information, (how do you think I knew I was surrounded by hawthorns having never before met a hawthorn?) it’s like you’re trekking through Middle Earth under the care of a nerdy hobbit. I cannot recommend it highly enough!

Macs also contracts with a company that transports your overnight bags so you are only carrying your day pack on the trail. I am not physically able to carry heavy packs, so this was the feature that allowed me to go on the trip at all. On the recommendation of my PT, I wasn’t even carrying a day pack. (My goal for the next trek is to be able to carry my own light day pack!) If had had to carry everything, I simply wouldn’t have been able to do it, and I would have missed out on this incredible adventure. So cheers for bag transport!

If you have the chance to walk the West Highland Way, do it. You won’t be disappointed!

All photos in the post were taken by me.

Hiking the West Highland Way