Challenges Real and Imagined : Rowardennan to Inverarnan

“Travel isn’t always pretty. It isn’t always comfortable. Sometimes it hurts, it even breaks your heart. But that’s okay. The journey changes you; it should change you. It leaves marks on your memory, on your consciousness, on your heart, and on your body. You take something with you. Hopefully, you leave something good behind.”

 

Anthony Bourdain

 

Morning on Loch Lomond

 

We were awake early with sunlight streaming through the tree canopy and into our tent. Outside, it was a beautiful morning, with vibrant colours spreading across the waters of Loch Lomond nearby.

 

This was especially welcome because, despite being tucked amid trees on the shore of the loch, the wind had made itself known throughout the night as it pushed down the water. Added to this was the fact that our chosen pitch had left our heads slightly lower than our feet, which meant we spent half the evening “climbing” back into a comfortable sleeping position. 

With that said, we were both happy, and our tent was completely dry - a first for our time hiking in the UK thus far. After so many damp mornings, waking without having to pack away a soaked tent felt like a small luxury and a pleasant way to begin the day.

 

We headed inside the youth hostel to make breakfast, using the self-catering kitchen to prepare our oatmeal and coffee. While we sat in the dining area, a double rainbow appeared above Loch Lomond. As we ate, it faded in and out of visibility above the water, appearing, disappearing, before then returning again with the shifting light.

 

It was a beautiful start to the morning, and for a little while at least, the day felt full of promise.

 

Perceptions of Experiences Yet Had

 

It is always interesting to see the impact that a few lines in a guidebook can have on a hike, or on the choices people make before the day has even begun. We had seen this before while on the Camino Portuguese Coastal Route in Arcade, wherein a small comment about food availability on the stage led to group panic and resulted in many taking a taxi for the day’s stage.

 

That morning, around the breakfast table in the youth hostel, the tour group and another group of men who seemed to be walking in the same cohort as us began discussing the day ahead. Two things in the West Highland Way guidebook had caught their attention.

 

The first was that the listed stage for the day was only 10.5 kilometres and was estimated that it would take about two hours, with a few obvious challenges. Naturally, this led even beginner hikers to conclude that they needed to walk beyond it. Thankfully, the next listed stage was also only 10 or 12 kilometres, with an estimated time of roughly two and a half hours. Combined, the two stages created a reasonable day of about 20 to 22 kilometres over an estimated five or six hours of walking.

 

The second detail was more interesting. The guidebook included a small notation that the next section contained some of the best and most challenging walking on the West Highland Way. That one sentence elicited both excitement and frustration around the room. For some, it seemed to add drama to the day ahead. For others, it created uncertainty before they had even stepped back onto the trail.

 

It was a useful reminder that we rarely meet a landscape entirely on its own terms. We often arrive having already been shaped by descriptions, warnings, photographs, YouTube vlogs, mileage charts, and other people’s reactions. Before we had walked a single step of the day’s route, many were already responding to an experience we had not yet had.

 

Back to the West Highland Way

 

After breakfast, we packed up the tent and our gear. While we were doing so, the midges came out in full force, which helped us complete the task in what felt like record time. Before long, we were ready to leave Rowardennan and begin trekking the length of Loch Lomond.

 

From the youth hostel, we turned down a track that followed the eastern shore of the loch. Almost immediately, we came to Ardess Lodge and then the turnoff for the Ptarmigan Trail, which climbed up the mountain. With our direction set, we opted not to explore this side route and instead continued along the West Highland Way.

 

At one point, we passed Ben Lomond Bunkhouse and Cottage, with its large honesty box, before continuing along a wide dirt path that stayed near the edge of the loch.

It was a cool, quiet morning, and for a short while, it felt wonderful to have the trail mostly to ourselves. That feeling lasted until we suddenly came up behind the same large group of men who had been walking in our cohort for the past couple of days.  The result was that our pace was slowed as another group steadily caught up.  We soon found ourselves amid a horde of 50+ hikers on the trail. 

 

Further on, the path split. The lower route led to a loch-side scramble that headed directly toward Rowchoish Bothy, while the higher route ascended but involved less undulation. Both options rejoined slightly beyond the bothy. Given the option, we decided to take a break at the junction and follow whichever route ended up being less crowded.

 

Almost everyone took the lower route, so we promptly went up.

 

Walking along the wide, packed trail, we traversed through a peaceful pine forest, perhaps a plantation, passing a number of waterfalls rushing strongly after the rainfall of the past two weeks. When we reached the point where the two routes rejoined, there were no other hikers in sight, and we continued northward along the shore of Loch Lomond in relative quiet.

 

The trail gave us amazing views of the loch, but it also began to climb and descend along its edge. With the recent rainfall, the rocks were wet and, in places, very slippery to traverse. Carrying heavy backpacks, we took these sections slowly and carefully, especially where slick stones, creek crossings, and uneven footing require constant attention.

 

Inevitably, the masses of other hikers, many of them carrying only day packs, wanted to rush through. We soon found ourselves stepping aside and waiting for groups to continue ahead of us, even in places where it felt wiser to take a little time for safety. The section was more challenging than it appeared on the map, and despite the impatience of those behind us, it was not a speedy process for anyone.

 

As the morning went on, our day began to feel both longer and warmer. The route was beautiful, but it demanded patience, caution, and a willingness to move at the pace the terrain allowed rather than the pace the guidebook seemed to imply was possible.

 

Inversnaid, Scotland

 

By the time we reached Inversnaid, the mountains around us were incredible, and the small community and hotel were beautifully situated along the shore of Loch Lomond. We crossed on a narrow bridge near Inversnaid Falls, where the water rushed down close to the trail. After the careful walking of the morning, it was impressive to stand there for a moment and take in the force of the waterfall, the loch, and the steep landscape around us.

 

The scene changed quickly at the Inversnaid Hotel, where half a dozen coach buses were parked and people were shuffling everywhere. Thankfully, we managed to find a seat on a picnic bench outside and decided to go into the hotel bar to get a tea and perhaps a pastry. We walked in through the front entrance, only to be yelled at by the doorman and redirected to a back door designated for hikers.

 

Ironically, this entrance brought us to within a few feet of the same main doors and the same upset gentleman, whose role seemed to consist largely of standing around looking smug while intermittently yelling at trail users. As we ordered at the bar, the same performance was repeated again and again and again with other hikers who made the mistake of trying to enter through the obvious front doors rather than the less evident rear doors.

The redeeming feature was the view. From the hotel, there were beautiful views across Loch Lomond, and the waterfalls near the shoreline were wonderful to see. Inversnaid itself sat in a stunning location, and perhaps on a quieter day, or under different circumstances, we might have been able to appreciate it more fully. As it was, we were grateful for the break, but were also soon ready to move on from the buses, the crowds, and the strange hierarchy of doors.

 

Lochside Trekking

 

With dozens of hikers and tourists still milling about Inversnaid, we decided it was time to get going. Crossing the parking lot, we picked up the dirt and stone pathway of the West Highland Way once again.  Needless to say, almost immediately, the walking became more challenging. The path stayed along the eastern shore of Loch Lomond, but it was not a route that gave way to easy progress or wandering attention. Once again, slippery rocks, exposed roots, mud, awkward drainage, and repeated ups and downs meant that much of our time was spent watching our footing.

 

These were the kinds of undulations sometimes referred to as PUDs - or pointless ups and downs - although on this stretch they felt less pointless than simply exhausting. Rocks shifted unpredictably, roots crossed the path at awkward angles, and mud collected wherever the drainage was inadequate.  Every step required attention. Where to place a boot. Whether a rock would hold. Whether a root was slick. Whether the next bit of trail would climb again, descend again, or – even at one point – require you to squeeze between boulders before opening into yet another uneven section.

 

As it had been throughout the morning, it was better to go slow and steady, given the terrain, but it was ultimately also a draining way to walk. Hiking became a series of micro-adjustments rather than a flowing trek. Unlike technical climbing, where effort is obvious, and progress is visible even when it is slow, this kind of terrain always requires time and energy without clearly signalling how much has been spent. There were stretches where my body told me we had walked for an hour, only for us to discover that we had covered very little ground.

Continuing on the path continued to demand our attention so completely that we had to ignore many of the birds calling overhead. There was no doubt that beauty existed here, but it could not be enjoyed casually. To look out at the loch for too long was to risk a misstep. At times, even Loch Lomond felt less like a companion or a beautiful part of the landscape and more like a presence we were being forced to negotiate around without really seeing or enjoying. It often seemed out of reach, hidden behind trees, spotted through gaps, or far below the narrow track that was our trail.

 

We had walked through difficult terrain before – that included steep ascents, exposed ridges, long road sections, and days of tough weather - but those challenges still allowed for observation.   Afterwards, I could easily describe them through effort, wonder, distance, or progress.   By comparison, sections like this resist description even as it passed by. There were few singular moments to point to, and no dramatic moments to recount. For much of it, there was simply the effort of continuing on.  Rock. Root, Step.  Gravel Trail. Step.  While our bodies were tired from the work, it was our minds that carried the greater load, maintaining focus hour after hour with little release.

 

Not the landscape, nor the shoreline, nor the trail really ever fully opened up, although there were occasional wild campsites tucked along the rocky edge, many of them too narrow to pitch a tent safely. Somewhere along this stretch was Rob Roy’s Cave, though whether we missed it while watching our footing or passed it unknowingly in one of the boulder fields, we could not say. Our suspicion was that it was somewhere amid the large rocks and crags we carefully navigated, but by then the demands of the trail left little room for searching out landmarks.

We kept getting views along the side of the loch, but somehow never seemed to progress very far. Large boulders and crags continued to slow our pace throughout the afternoon.

 

At one point, we passed wooden carved benches shaped like leaves and nuts, and soon after had to squeeze between two immense boulders. On the rare flat portions of the trail, we took the opportunity to pause and look properly at the landscape around us. In particular, the views back down Loch Lomond were wonderful, and those brief moments reminded us why so many people are drawn to and love the Scottish Highlands.

 

Goats and Sandpipers

 

At one point, we crossed a creek on a wooden bridge and soon came out onto a stony beach along the loch. There, to our surprise, we found a small group of feral goats. Their massive backward-curving horns and shaggy black coats gave them a striking appearance, and they stood in the grass and among the rocks with complete indifference to our presence.

 

They munched on grasses and occasionally head or rather bum-butted, another of the nearby goats.  These were not wild goats in the sense of being a separate native species, but rather feral descendants of domestic goats, now living freely in the landscape. Still, there was something wonderfully untamed about them. They seemed perfectly at ease on the rough shoreline, as though the rocks and scrub belonged more to them than to anyone else.

 

Apparently, these feral goats are well known in parts of Scotland for being sure-footed, able to move easily over rough rock slopes, and often seeming utterly unbothered by people.  From our perspective, they looked almost theatrical or prehistoric when unexpectedly seen en route - especially when standing in the rough.

 

Within a few minutes, they had scrambled up over the rocks and disappeared back into the landscape with an ease that was almost startling. Moments like that always amaze us. They usually happen only because you are fortunate enough to be in the right place at the right time, moving slowly enough through a place to notice what is there.

 

Not long after, we also spotted red deer and watched a pair of sandpipers along the shore of the loch, adding yet another small burst of wildlife to a day that often left little room to look up.

 

Constant Navigation

 

Continuing on along the West Highland Way, we were thankful that a number of wooden stairs and small bridges helped us traverse some of the dodgier sections of trail, though steep descents and awkward footing continued to slow our progress. By this point, the day had become less about covering distance than constantly focusing on what came next. Rocks, roots, narrow ledges, wet sections, and other trail users all continued to require attention, and every brief stretch of easier walking seemed to give way to another place where we had to slow down and think carefully about where to step.

At one point, a pair of trail joggers rushed through, pushing past on the narrow route, only to stop a few feet in front of us and have a snack in the middle of the path. After the morning and early afternoon we had already experienced, it was exactly the sort of thing that tested whatever patience we had left. On a narrow shoreline trail, where everyone was already trying to pick their way safely through the same awkward terrain, even small moments of unawareness had an outsized effect.  Ultimately, the two acted as though they did not see us, and we stood there for 10 minutes before they got up and jogged off – never saying a word.

 

Scottish Bothy

 

Eventually, we came to a set of old buildings on the loch side, the first of which was surrounded by a huge fence topped with razor wire. Why anyone would need that kind of security in the middle of the loch-side landscape was a mystery to us, and it made for a strange sight after so many hours of rocks, trees, water, and ferns.

 

Adjacent to the ruin was Doune Bothy, a neat stone building that would have been ideal in wet or cold conditions.  For anyone who do not know, a Scottish bothy is a remote, basic wilderness shelter left unlocked and available to the public free of charge, and we always appreciate the generosity and trust behind places like that. In difficult weather or after a long day, even a simple roof and dry walls can make a tremendous difference.

 

Unfortunately, people had left food out inside, as well as a bag of trash, which would almost certainly lead to mice and other problems. There was also a visitor log and a bothy stamp, so we took the opportunity to sign our names and stamp our guidebook before heading back out. Before leaving, we packed up as much of the garbage as we could, tied it to our backpacks, and continued on, doing our best to leave the place better than we found it. As many signs in this region say – keep Scotland clean. 

Indeed, one memorable sign we passed noted, “stop your rubbish excuses”.  Agreed.

It was frustrating to see rubbish left behind in a shelter that exists because of shared care and public trust. Bothies only work if people treat them with respect. On a day already shaped by crowds, impatience, and the impact of heavy use, Doune Bothy became another reminder that access to wild or semi-wild places always depends on responsibility as much as freedom.

 

Beyond Loch Lomond

 

Beyond the bothy, the trail continued through fields of ferns before passing a water ferry that could take walkers across Loch Lomond. At another time, that would have been a wonderful experience, but by this point, we were committed to continuing on foot. The shoreline had already taken more from us than the map suggested it would, and yet the day was not finished.

 

Soon, we faced a hard climb up a steep hill that sapped what remained of our energy. It was exposed, rolling, and made more difficult by the presence of another group marching behind us, constantly grunting and pushing forward, yet refusing to pass. After so many hours of careful footing and crowds, the climb felt less like a final flourish than one more demand placed on a body and mind already worn down by the day.

At the top, we enjoyed our last views of Loch Lomond before the West Highland Way turned inland and began weaving through an open field. A narrow dirt trail stretched across the landscape ahead of us, descending and climbing again as it moved through a long valley. Perhaps the valley only felt so long because of our exhaustion, but by then every rise seemed to lead to another dip, and every descent seemed to promise another climb.

 

We soon stopped for a break and drank the last of our water for the day. It was there that I discovered what we had thought was dirt lodged under my right eye was actually a tick. How it came to be lodged there will likely remain the source of nightmares for some time. After the midges and slow progress along the shoreline, it felt like just another small insult from a day that had already asked quite enough of us.

 

Beninglas Campsite

 

Eventually, we reached a small wooden bridge, crossed a stream, and entered the property of Beinglas Farm Campground. Part of me was glad to be done, but to be honest, there was little sense of achievement. The day simply stopped.  After hours of narrow trails, slippery footing, and constant concentration, there was no grand arrival or triumphant feeling. There was only the relief of finally being able to set our packs down and sit.

 

We traversed the property to find the registration office, where the woman at the front desk was amazingly kind. Before setting up our tent, we purchased four iced teas and a couple of pastries, then sat at a picnic table and let ourselves rest for a few minutes. The day had clearly taken far more out of us than the distance suggested it should have, and those cold drinks and small treats felt like exactly what we needed before doing anything else.

 

Eventually, as more and more people began arriving, we got up and set about pitching our tent. By nightfall, there were forty-six tents set up, each with at least two people in each of them, in addition to those staying in huts, nearby lodges, hotels, and camper vans. Once again, the scale of the number of people on the West Highland Way was impossible to miss. This was not just a trail with walkers on it; it was an entire moving economy of campsites, bars, baggage transfers, accommodation networks, and people arriving in waves at the end of each stage.

 

That evening, we had dinner in the bar. After Wainwright’s Coast to Coast, the Pennine Way, and so many days living on dehydrated camp meals, we were more than ready for some variation. A hot meal inside, surrounded by other walkers and the hum of the campground, felt like one of the little rewards of being on a well-supported route, even if that same support came with crowds and a very different kind of trail experience.

 

Evening Reflections

 

Today’s trek did not really leave much space for looking about or for reflection while we were walking. There was too little spare attention for considering where we were, what the landscape felt like, or how the day was transpiring. Too much of our energy was spent progressing in the immediate moment: watching our footing, navigating rocks and roots, stepping aside for others, and simply continuing forward.

 

This was the day the West Highland Way stopped being something abstract in a guidebook, or the easy, well-supported trek it is often promoted as. Don’t get me wrong - it was not a very technical or dramatically difficult day. There was no high summit, no storm, no exposed ridge, and no single obstacle that made the stage obviously hard. In fact, it is difficult to say precisely what made the section challenging, because nothing about it was difficult in a straightforward way.  Yet it required almost constant effort.

For all the physical energy required to complete the stage safely, I am not sure I would even call it an athletic test. The greater challenge was mental. The constant undulation of the terrain, the slippery rocks, the roots, the narrow shoreline, and the need to focus on every step meant that our attention was consumed hour after hour. There was beauty all around us, but much of the time we could not look at it casually. To do so was to risk a misstep.

 

It is one of the truths of long-distance walking is that difficulty is not always proportional to distance, elevation, or weather. Sometimes a day is difficult because of how completely it consumes you. Sometimes the challenge is not one great event, but the accumulation of small demands repeated again and again until patience, concentration, and energy are worn down together.

 

Tonight, we are grateful to have a place to stop moving, lay down our heads and simply sleep.

 

See you on the Trail!