Beginning the West Highland Way : Milngavie to Drymen

“The Dawning of each new day offers Promise and Inspiration.”

Pat & Rosemarie Keough

To The West Highland Way

Our morning began with a 20 min ride on the Scotrail commuter train from Glasgow to Milngavie. Unlike the first day of our walk on Wainwright's Coast to Coast Trail in England, this Saturday morning was warm and sunny, presenting the perfect weather to begin our new adventure in Scotland. Since we had only fully decided to walk the West Highland Way trail two days ago, we have very little idea of what lies in store for us, and are excited to watch the trail unfold.

We disembarked from the train amid a dauntingly large group of other hikers, and immediately noticed signs for the West Highland Way outside the station. We soon found ourselves on the main street of Milngavie, which was lined with bakeries, outdoor shops, and small boutique stores. Even at 9:30 AM, it was bustling with locals, tourists, and hikers, and it looked like a Saturday market or a festival was being set up.

West Highland Way Trailhead

Amid the activity, we spotted a beautifully arched metal sign dedicated to the West Highland Way, as well as the stone cairn that marked the official beginning of the path, standing in the middle of the plaza. Already, we could sense the popularity of this trail and its importance to the local economy. The energy, excitement, and crowds reminded us a little of being in Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port at the beginning of the Camino Francés.

It also became clear very quickly that this was going to be a different kind of walk. From the very beginning, there were long lines of people setting out on the trail, and we realized that we would be sharing the path with a large number of hikers – at least for today. After the solitude, rain, and more remote terrain of the previous weeks, the busy atmosphere at the start of the West Highland Way came as a surprise.

Starting the West Highland Way

A small walkway lined with metal panels outlining the milestones and stages of the West Highland Way led us down off the main square. After crossing a local street, we found ourselves following an urban pathway through a treed corridor beside a flowing stream. The first stretch felt like an arboretum, with so many different species of lush green plants, shrubs, and trees planted along the pathway. The abundance of life was set off by enormous rhododendron bushes blanketed in deep pink blossoms.

The trail wove through neighbourhoods, wrapped in a thick layer of greenery that screened the urban setting from view. It was incredibly busy, not only with hikers beginning their journeys on the West Highland Way, but also with locals walking their dogs, people out for leisurely Saturday morning strolls, and cyclists moving along the same corridor.

While beautiful, there was also something almost unsettling about how ordinary the West Highland Way felt here. After weeks of walking in rain and across increasingly remote moors and rolling countryside, beginning this trail did not feel so much like stepping onto a long-distance route as stepping into a well-maintained path through a public park. Although we were in a forested area, the sounds of roadways and lorries could still be heard, reinforcing the sense that we were walking through green space at the edge of a city rather than into something remote.

That, of course, was simply our perspective. Around us, other walkers were loudly exclaiming over how wild and beautiful the surroundings felt. It was a useful reminder that ideas of wilderness are shaped by where we come from and what we are used to seeing. In Canada, even landscapes shaped by forestry, roads, and settlement can still lead into vast areas that feel fundamentally wild. Here, where landscapes have been managed, farmed, walked, and inhabited for centuries, any treed corridor could seem like a significant return to nature.

Still, the birds were singing in the trees – so I had little to complain about.

As we left the town behind, we began to see interesting artwork along the trail. Small information posts accompanied displays of “scholar rocks,” highly glazed, hand-built ceramic stones intended to help develop a connection between the geology of the region and the industries that grew up around it. We also passed several quotes inscribed into stones laid underfoot in the trail bed.

As we made our way along the sun-dappled pathway beneath the canopy of glowing green foliage, the trees around us were filled with birdsong. The happy, bubbling song of European Robins rang out, together with the now familiar calls of tits moving through the branches. We also spotted a Eurasian Jay making its way through the canopy, as well as several colourful pink Chaffinches.

Craigalian Loch and Carbeth

To our delight, a lovely wooden boardwalk carried us over a wet and muddy stretch of trail bordered by brilliant yellow irises. Jewel-like dragonflies flitted among the blossoms, seeming to shimmer as they skimmed through the air. Soon, we came to a small pond called Craigalian Loch, its surface paved with dusky red and green lily pads.

From there, the path threaded past open fields and landscapes still used daily for agriculture and grazing. We soon discovered that this section of the West Highland Way also followed part of the John Muir Way, which resonated with me. Muir viewed walking as essential to clear thinking, and often framed his rambles in America’s national parks as a means of connection rather than conquest. After so many long days on foot, that idea felt wonderful to remember. Walking was not simply a way to cross a landscape - it was a way of letting the landscape gradually alter the pace of your thoughts.

Not long after this, we reached the community of Carbeth, where we passed a row of cottages by the side of the trail. They ranged from well-kept and interesting cabins, to elaborately landscaped shire-like homes, to slightly more eclectic and downright dodgy establishments - one of which appeared to have a head displayed in an upstairs window. The wooden huts and chalets gave this stretch a slightly unexpected character, including one with a cheerful wooden sign reminding us that we still had 94 miles to Fort William.

Eventually, the woodland gave way, and we found ourselves following a meandering, hard-packed gravel track through rolling fields and pastures. As the view opened up, we could see the lumpy outline of Dumgoyach hill rising ahead of us, set against a backdrop of steeply rolling hills that stretched across the horizon. The beginning of the West Highland Way still felt busy and carefully managed, but here the landscape was beginning to open, and with it came the first real sense of moving outward from Glasgow and into the countryside beyond.

Green Pastures and Distilleries

Walking on, we made our way along rolling pastures filled with hawthorn, apple, and other fruit trees covered in white blossoms. Wire fences bordered the track, and birds perched along the fence posts as we walked. Here, the trail wove between hedgerows and fences, and the fields seemed to grow larger as we walked on.

As we got closer to the steep, grassy slopes of Dumgoyach hill, we could see quite a few intrepid people climbing toward its lofty peak. Off to the side, a large flock of gulls was milling about, and from a distance we could see what looked like two Bald Eagles circling in the clear blue sky.

Back down on ground level, we passed Glengoyne Distillery, which would have been easily accessible by following a grassy track across a sheep field, should we have fancied a dram. Since we did not, we continued down the track.

This was one of the easier stretches of the day, and we covered ground quickly, not because we were pushing, but because we were already conditioned from our previous treks. After Wainwright’s Coast to Coast and the Pennine Way, our bodies had settled into the work and routines of walking. On this section, there was little to slow us down. The terrain was mostly flat, the track was clear, and for a while the West Highland Way felt less like a test than a gentle ramble through fields, fences, blossoms, and open countryside.

Break at the Beech Tree Cafe

We soon arrived at the well-signalled and bustling Beech Tree Café. A steady stream of cars was coming and going from the parking lot, and all of the picnic tables were full of hikers. There was also a beer garden and café, both of which appeared to be hosting a considerable number of people. As with any large group of people – or large horde of hikers with excess gear – chaos ensued.

This was also where we first encountered a large group of men who seemed to be walking together, possibly former military out raising awareness, and who had sprawled across much of the available seating. Later on the trail, we would come across them again, lying with their legs stretched across the path and acting surprised when other walkers had to step around or over them. It was the kind of small trail etiquette issue that, in isolation, might not have mattered much, but on a busy route like the West Highland Way, these moments quickly begin to shape the day.

As we were taking in the scene, a guided trail-group bus arrived and disgorged even more hikers onto the pathway, all carrying identical day packs. The West Highland Way was clearly not only a walking route, but a well-organized tourist corridor, and we were still adjusting to what that meant.

We stopped under a shade umbrella beside a small woolly sheep and enjoyed a bowl of ice cream while taking a break. We were already halfway through the day’s stage, and despite having started around 10 AM, it was only noon – a reflection of the easy-going nature of the day’s stage.

Being in no hurry, we stayed a little long to admire the Shetland ponies in the paddock opposite the café and then explored the wildlife walk beyond it. This tiny trail wound through a small stand of trees and featured rabbit hutches, an insect wall, a hedgehog hotel, bat boxes, a frog pond, and a large, very busy bird feeder. There were also hand-painted signs throughout, sharing interesting nature facts, including the memorable note that slugs have four noses.

We tried to let as many people get ahead of us as possible, but the crowds never seemed to dissipate. As one large group walked on, another equally large gathering appeared. Eventually, we joined the line of other hikers heading out. As we picked up our backpacks, it seemed as though two dozen other trekkers had the same idea, and everyone rushed to get onto the trail first before immediately beginning the process of looking for sweaters, adjusting jackets, slowing down, or stopping altogether.

It was frustrating, mostly because it made it difficult to settle into our own hiking mindset or find a natural pace. We had come to the trails of the UK to be in nature and step away from the hustle and bustle of modern life, only to find that much of that energy had followed us out here.

While we enjoy the social aspects of hiking in Europe, where you can relax with other hikers at the end of the day and enjoy a good conversation, we generally prefer to walk in solitude. Perhaps one of the lessons of this trail would be learning to navigate these new challenges – and learn to relax into the rhythm of hiking with others, adapting to their pace, and learning to slow right down.

Turnip the Beet

Walking on, we crossed a busy highway and set off along a wonderfully tree-shaded pathway, which almost immediately brought us to Turnip the Beet, a lovely vegetarian café offering a delicious-looking selection of sandwiches, snacks, hot meals, baked goods, local crafts, and works of art. Even though we had just stopped, we decided to let the next horde of hikers continue on ahead of us, and so we ducked inside for a strawberry lemonade and two plum squares, which we sat outside in the shade to eat.

From there, the West Highland Way continued through a landscape of fields, cows, hedgerows, and narrow verges bright with wildflowers and bees. We passed a Millennium cycling post, walked through Garness and Upper Gartness, and began to notice honesty boxes along the route, a useful reminder that carrying cash is still wise on long-distance trails.

There were small, whimsical details too - Hobbit Holes, signs noting a Troll under the Bridge, and the kind of trail-side oddities that give a well-walked path its own memorable character.

Eventually, we arrived at the edge of Drymen and found the camping ground along the trail route. Our first day on the West Highland Way had been easy in terms of distance and terrain, but it had already made clear that this trail would ask something different of us than the routes we had just walked. The challenge, at least for now, was not remoteness or difficulty, but learning how to move through a landscape shared by so many others.

Drymen, Scotland

When we arrived at the camping ground on the edge of Drymen, we walked up to a small hut at the entrance where the owner was sitting. We asked if we could camp and were surprised when he asked whether we had reservations, explaining that he was almost full. We might only be able to stay if we had a small tent.

This stunned us. Although there had been a lot of hikers on the trail, very few seemed to be carrying full packs or tents, and so we had assumed many were day hiking, staying in hotels, or using local accommodations along the way. The owner was very kind and helpful, but he also told us that the trail was always this busy at this time of year, with tens of thousands of thru-hikers and many more section walkers and day hikers using the route each year. Hearing those numbers helped explain what we had been seeing all day, but it was still astonishing.

The campsite itself was basic but well organized, with a large covered area to sit in, as well as very clean washrooms and showers. We were assigned a space and set up our 2 person tent, only to watch as more and more people arrived, collected, transported camping gear, and began unpacking what looked like brand-new equipment. Some seemed to be opening their tents for the first time. In short order, boxes were tossed aside, and instructions were laid out on the grass as people began to prepare for the night.

It was fascinating to watch, and at times a little bewildering. Despite having his own designated site, one man set up his tent so close to ours that his pegs were installed under our fly. Around us, people used huge mallets to hammer their tent pegs into the soft ground, which – as we had come to see - seemed to be a very common piece of UK camping gear. By contrast, we simply pushed our pegs in with our shoes, which appeared to surprise a few people as much as their mallets surprised us.

Once we were settled, we made dinner of dal rice with spinach in the covered barn, had showers, and then walked the 2.5 kilometres into the village of Drymen. The walk into town offered incredible views over the lake or river (we couldn’t tell which) near the quarry, and the evening light had begun to add character to the undulating landscape around us.

Drymen itself was also full of hikers. We stopped in a pub for a pint, where they were getting ready to play live music, but we did not stay for the evening. Instead, we walked back toward the campground under a stunning sunset, the hills rolling away around us as the long northern light lingered.

Back at the campsite, the sense of being on a busy and very modern trail returned. People listened to music and watched movies on their phones late into the night, and there was not much escaping modernity on this route, even inside a tent. At 10:30 PM it was still very light outside, the kind of lingering brightness that comes with being so far north and so close to midsummer. The day seemed reluctant to end, even after we had crawled into our sleeping bags.

Reflecting on our First Day on the West Highland Way

For two people used to trekking long distances on our own, often through quieter, wilder, and less supported landscapes, our first day on the West Highland Way came as a bit of a surprise. The walking itself had been easy enough. The weather was kind, the route was well signed, and much of the terrain was easy going. What we had not expected was the sheer number of people, the pressure on campsites, and the degree to which advance reservations seemed to shape the experience.

Of course, this was also a matter of perspective. The UK has far more people than Canada in a much smaller space, and a popular trail like the West Highland Way inevitably reflects that reality. A fact which should have been obvious to us before setting out. Yet we all live and learn.

Still, after weeks of rain, quieter paths, and long-distance walking where weather and terrain had shaped our days more than crowds, this first stage asked us to adjust our expectations and approach. While the West Highland Way was not a difficult trail, yet, in the usual sense, it nonetheless made it clear that this would be a different kind of walk.

Our easy first day on the West Highland Way was done, but already the trail was beginning to teach us that accessibility, popularity, and natural beauty come with their own challenges.

See you on the Trail!