Scotnatrail 13-15 Caddar to Callander. Hill, moor, wood, and loch, at last

Pictures to day 13 only

Day 13 . Caddar to Dryman on local paths and West Highland way

The rain is tipping it down in the morning so breakfast in the tent. At this moment the biggest psychological limiting factor on my ability to complete the trail is my longing to read my book - it’s not just the psychical comfort of sitting snuggled up reading in a warm house I long for, but the book itself, I couldn’t read it on my phone if it tried as I just don’t have ten minutes of time. I could buy it as an audiobook though and so often am I tempted too, I just dread how quickly it will be over.

By the time I’m ready though the rain’s stopped - I here a cow crunching twigs past me, and as I’m packing a man comes along, looking for the cow, he waits for the farmer nearby as I pack and we chat a little (said my spot wasn’t great as it’s where the young people come to drink - I guess their looking for discrete places too - but midweek night and rain is a decent protection, and turning up late at night also stops me camping in bad spots. ) - more wishes of good luck - they all sum up too real luck like I had yesterday so thank you to all who give them!

Final stretch back along the canal to the church at Caddar - less scary than I found it last night, though I still would not like to hang long about the murderer’s cofffins on a wet and dull day. Another friendly dog Walker giving me route tips, and more good luck - and make friends with two golden retrievers at the golf course- definitely the best type of dog- even their terrritorial barking is friendly. Just so glad to be leaving the canal.

Considering the idea of what it is to be a girl alone on the trail. My experience is definitely different. I have a mountain more fears, and my defences are confidence, and invisibility. And yet these fears of weakness are also strengths - not only personal challenges to overcome, but helpful benefits; as Joe the boatman said, ‘I know it probably sounds a bit sexist but being a girl, everyone wants to help you’, perhaps it does but here for once it is true - people are so willing to help me and give me support than they would perhaps to a man on the trail who might be intimidating. I certainly would not intimidate anyone. If it is the product of sexism it is a fair one - balancing the burden of being a girl alone and all the exaggerated and out of proportion risks this world associates with that, due to the stigma that very much still exists about women travelling alone (and having to deal with people like the man on the golf course on the Cotswold way who say ‘I would not let my daughter out like that’- ah yes, what safety there is in the gilded cage- which to be fair I have not met anyone like in Scotland, even those with concern through lack of experience outdoors have not gone so far as to say to me, demandingly, you should not do this, You don’t understand what youre doing - I do, they don’t).

An interesting, though the tone is a bit off what I would say, article on sexism in travel says “Travel has historically been, and to an extent still is, seen as a natural, bold activity for men, and a risky or frivolous pursuit for women” it is correct that this is still a perception among those who don’t go outdoors a lot, the article goes on to talk of the nock on impacts of low level forms of sexism. The question ’are you alone? your brave’ though is so often on people’s lips, that I wish their was a greater understanding of the joy and safety in going alone, the only limitation I carry is the extra burden of the ‘constant, exhausting need to evaluate potential dangers.’

As always I turn to the beautiful line from a poem by Elizabeth Austen I found while doing my PCT research.

“The girl who goes alone, says with her being - the world is worth the risk”

It is a poem that feels very very true (except the bits about bears and boyfriends!) - and excellently expresses the concept that it is not the fear of things going wrong that is hard to overcome - everyone experiences this, and risk is part of the thrill of being outdoors, but the burden is knowing that if something does go wrong, people will be thinking, we’ll she shouldn’t have been out there in the first place. Well ha, we’re here having the time of our lives- and in this joy of freedom and this freedom in a beautiful kind world, are learning what it is, to be alive.

Another extract from the poem runs:

“

The thing

about being a girl

who goes alone

is that you feel like you shouldn’t go

if you’re afraid. If you go it should mean you’re not afraid,

that you’re never afraid. Your friends will think that you go

unafraid.

This girl

who goes alone

is always afraid, always negotiating to keep the voices

in her head at a manageable pitch of hysteria.

….

I walk in the wilderness alone so I can hear myself.

So I can feel real to myself.

I go because I know I’m lucky to have a car, gas money, days off

the back and legs and appetite

to take me there.

I go while I still can.

The girl who goes alone

claims for herself

the madrona juniper daybreak.

She claims hemlock prairie falcon nightfall

nurse log sea star glacial moraine

huckleberry trillium salal

snowmelt avalanche lily waterfall

birdsong limestone granite moonlight schist

cirque saddle summit ocean

she claims the curve of the earth.

The girl who goes alone says with her body

the world is worth the risk.

“

I think it very powerful; I would recommend reading it in full - particularly the first half(this is the ending) at:

http://kathleenflenniken.com/blog/?p=175

But also it’s the lovely words of the amazing Ann Daniels I consider, In her caption to an Instagram post: PIC

This part of the walk is blustery and Grey on country roads. But I am treated by views of Glasgow to the south- it’s cathedral and tower blocks. Meet a nice old couple at the church at baldernock (though their sitting on the bench I wanted) then last leg to

Milngavie pronounced Mil’guy. Beautiful countryside cottages with Glasgow’s towers in the background. As I finally get into the town I see my first west highland way sign at the train station.

Shopping in Tesco’s. Then (really good) soup tea and cake at Gavin’s mil. It’s great in Milngavie, as the start o the west highland way people know why your there. Pass under the wet highland way arch: back to Walker land

Up a hill (hills! Forgotten the world wasn’t flat :( ) my guide declares ‘The adventure begins. And I think it is. I had a taste for adventure in the Southern Uplands way - but now, for adventure in real time. Also being back in a national trail is brilliant - way marking!

I have 18km to go and it’s already heading to 2pm but itl be fine- I’ve done it before. Broad path way, though my feet are so adjusted to tarmac they don’t like this gravel. Messaging Mhairj who plans to join me for a bit :) Rain returns. I pass the Craigallan camp fire that burned through the Depression where those wanderers unemployed found companionship- a really important part of British outdoor history, Robert Macfarlane talks of them in old ways I believe - the ‘tramps’ - seeking work or the next work house and living without possession, from fire to fire across the nation- George Orwell’s “d day in the life of a tramp” is also a brilliant passage to read on this important forgotten society. Or the older tales of peddlers crossing the country with a bag of ribbons and nights in strange barns, carrying rare gifts to sell at the doors of remote towns.

Pass lovely woodland cottages - get swing time :)

Then suddenly, leaving woodland, I break out to a view… and what a view! Huge rounded hills, cragy and shear, disappearing into cloud. My first such breathtaking view of the trail. This is apparently Dumgoyne. The veiling of the view makes it only more atmospheric and grand. Perhaps the hills are not large at all, but for now their height is unknown. Is it some sort of sill? Where exposed the rock stands virtually, and forms horizontal outcrops.

Foot sore, and with my neck pain flaring I take a break,( wearing a rucksack has always given me a pin point of pain at the back of my neck that hurts when I turn) “, pleased I am halfway from milingavie to the camp but still 9km to go and it is 4pm.

A poem on the path to the beech tree pub made me smile, wasn’t planning to stop but it persuaded me, but was closed sadly - never seen quite such a Walker friendly cafe.

There are many kms of straight traveled track in the path of the old railway (and modern water pipeline). My right foot is again experiencing the stabbing pain. I pass too a cute deli, it’s closing soon so no point stoping, but has a lovely outdoor honesty box so I get some crisps- another reason you have to love national trails. Finding it tough even though it should be easy.

The final road trudge is just as hard. But the sun comes out now and again for stages. I reach Dryman campsite. Set up my tent in sun and blustery wind- love being able to lay everything out so early lots of time to sit. Debating between shower or dinner first, and settle on dinner - I have safari pasta tonight! But did the final 8.7 km in under 2.5hrs which is pretty decent at the end of a 29km day. I was a bit sad to look ahead and realise this was my only day on the west highland way, I’d thought I had longer, and it’s such an iconic route. Oh well, at least having done less of it gives me more of an excuse to do it one day.

Day 14 Dryman to Aberfoyle woods on Rob Roy Way. Sunny

I got up in the night last night, and,oh god, the STARS. How in this tired creaking world does such a sight as that still exist? It felt like a sight from some remembered dream or tale, but they were there; filling the sky in such numbers I felt I had never seen before - the bright familiar ones for sure were there, a burning brightness, but it was the faint ones: all of dark space was filled with immeasurable light, with their pinpricks hardly scattered but splashed across the night. And flashes across the sky, faster than my sleep filled mine could comprehend them, carried back whispers of the life of a shooting star. Even the memory of it seems fake. But every poem that ever was speaks true - the sight of stars like this makes you question everything about our lives. How are we down here shivering about routines in the rain filled daylight, with that up there.

I spent breakfast (very slowly) looking at geological maps of Scotland to try and understand a bit. I seem to be right near the Highland Boundary Fault, that cut North Glen Sannox, passing into … wait for it …. The Dalradian! (I’m sure my hatred for the Dalradian from mapping day will disappear if I get to see some cool folds) - although actually as I’m now heading NE I’ll be walking parallel to the fault, staying in the Devonian sediments of the Midland Valley. I suppose some if the red sandstones I’ve seen before were akin to the old red sandstone of Arran

I am increadible slow in the morning/ on purpose. - clear not rainy morning and time to spear. But a big problem that’s developed is my iPhone to usb cable has become very dodgy. I have lots of battery pack power but if I can’t transfer it it’s a bit useless so it’s going to be phone off for a lot of time today. I pack up then head to Dryman to pick up my maps at the post office and stop for tea to sort them. My phone really isn’t charging

Now on the Rob Roy way - I love this - proper countryside, proper people. From two lovely ladies with lovely logs get a ‘ she looks like a hundred miler’ and lots of luck. I obviously don’t say, I’ve already walked much more than that, but I have- wooow! This section is so beautiful over hill and moor and wood, in burning bright sun. I keep thinking need to save power - but need to take a photo of that so bad. Water rippling on high lochs and hot sun and large bilberries.

Many exhausted overheated road cyclists struggling up the hill as I stroll by

Keep thinking about the amazing tea breaks in Mongolia, tables and benches in absolute remotness. I eat my lunch in full sun up on a metal water access box - chatting twice to a cyclist as he passes both ways (also helps look for my map which the wind caught up)

The path passes along the route of an interesting source for glasgow from Lake Katrine, which had a huge impact when it opened in tVictorian times. Domed access shafts like ancient observatories

I keep fiddling with the iPhone cable - and find I am able to charge if hold in specific point. It’s pretty rubbish, keeps turning on and off but at a rest manage to get power up to 46%

By 4:30 sore feet - short day but they’re never any easier km by km.

As I finally head to Aberfoyle pass the interesting Kirktom church remains - an information sign talks of the ‘fairy minister’- the old reverend here who was renowned for his writing e and research into fairies. It also had More information on iron coffin ‘Mortsafes’ protecting the dead from Burke and Hare- the mirderous grave robbers, like I saw in Caddar

I get Fish and chips at the Faery tree inn,

The. Evening walk passing through Douness (?) centre of red wooden huts that feels so like the Winter weekend campsite of scouts (even got crate staking - which I remember thrashing in explorers. Archery and raft building on a tiny pond too - a really cute place for a residential.

The evening walk is beautiful, rising along the hillside with views of all to south and east lit in warm evening sun- the Campsies and Ben Omond

Keep deciding against spot after spot on the track, finally choose a passing place far up the gravel forestry track, but after way too many attempts I just can’t get all my pegs in sequely in the gravel of the track and being swarmed by midges. In a hurry and curflufle try the woods opposite and find a mossy patch I can just about pitch in. It really is a stunning spot. the moon high in the bright sky which is fading to yellow at the horizon but still as blue as midday on the roof though it is 8:15 pm - a few dog walkers go by. Deeper in the woods is a sheer wall of rock where the hill ascends vertically .

I have to walk in circles all about to run from the midges as I clean my teeth.

The Fairy Reverend, Fairy Hill; Faery Tree pub for dinner, and now this very Fairy spot to camp in, rich in moss, filled with the sound of a soft running stream and the occasional chirp of birds, with heather flowers and pine cones nested in a bed of soft moss peaking under my tent, and under the peaceful gaze of the moon.

I have such a big view of the sky from here I’m thinking of setting a 2am alarm to see the stars - after yesterday’s spectacular, but half covered by cloud display, the perfectly clear evening suggests tonight will be even better.

Today has been a hard day, what with the stress about the phone, and feeling weirdly lonely (mostly because I wanted the company of my podcast). It was beautiful, but everything seemed to go on a long time- a bit too much of the lovely moor a bit too much of the lovely woods that they became tedious. But here in this beautiful campsite t (with my battery somehow at 90%! - I got it to 63 at dinner pinching the cable, but it decided to charge itself on the walk up) in this magical spot (ignoring the gravel forestry track a few meters away, I am reminded - to rephrase a much more impactful quote than the context I’m using it in ‘ there is beauty in this world, and it’s worth persisting for’ - fighting the tedium of wanting to sit down and phone a taxi somewhere nice and cosy, is enough of a win for today.

To add a final touch of Fairy to my campspot a moth comes to be my companion in my porch.

When I’m on the trail I’m simultaneously thinking, ‘ why do I do this, this is such a stupid thing to do, hope I never do this again,’ and ‘oh gosh I have to walk this walk, and this walk, and that walk…’. At ten at night the thought came to me that I will walk the North Downs Way in December. Ever since the doing the South Downs I’ve known I need to do the North, but I also know not to expect it to be quite as brilliant - I want something different from it and the idea of doing it in winter has existed for a while - of any trail to do in winter it seems the one, and also such an antithesis to the absolute sumeriness I experienced on the South Downs way. Also I want to walk 1000km of trails this year and the Scotnatrail only gets me to 8 hundred and something so need to do a bit extra to round it off. I want to do this for charity - a lot of people here ask if I am walking for charity, I am not, because I don’t feel I can ask people to give money because I am doing something I am doing anyway, but the North Downs in winter… THAT is a Challenge. I would like to do it maybe for a homeless charity, or one that focuses on the impact of cold on the old maybe.

Day 15 Aberfoyle woods to Callander on Rob Roy Way

Strange noises in the night, like drumming and singing. I suppose it probably was distant drumming, though it always felt as if it were about to come closer.

And The stars were out. And so many. I always wonder when I hear the night described as dark. I have seen it filled with grey clouds that glow internally, or glistening with the millions of stars, it is never dark even without a moon.

Sadly my phone has developed a crack in it. I know not having a screen protector and only having this hard case was a stupid idea. Im not even half way don’t know if it will survive the rest.

I stepped over the stone doorstep to leave my campsite, thanking the fairy’s for their keep. The mist that had drifted over the forest had by now - 8:40 slithered down to the valley, such that I could see over its top to the wind turbines gently spinning on a far hill, back lit by sun defusing clouds.

It was a morning for singing. So I sing- songs of greeting to tree and hill and stone, songs of walking and the miles to go (not actually that many)

I am plotting the North Downs way in my head - have this bad tendency as soon as I’ve finished one walk to start plotting the next… and I haven’t even finished! Stop to clean my teeth as the forestry ends and opens go open land. With spider webs spun in the dewy grass everything feels to be sprinkled with magic this quiet morning. I also sing my first rendition of Wayfaring Strange of the trail - been avoiding singing it as it’s so haunting and meloncholy, and I’ve never yet felt meloncholy so far on the trip - they’ll be plenty of time for that to come.

I reach Loch Venachar - clouds float as the sleep breathed mist about the trees ahead but the loch is bright and silver in the clouded light. I feel so utterly happy - and sing it! Whenever you’re happy, tell the world, say it aloud! Not only does it increase your happiness- making the shade of happiness real, it reminds others to realise that they too are not always unhappy, and like smiling, spreads.

It is lovely on the pebbly loch side - sad wild camping is banned here- though there are a lot of fire spots. A bright pink blob being dragged through the water hint at a wild swimmer.

I sit till 11, absorbing th peace of it, quiet interrupted only by bird song, the splash of a fish, or the occasional passing car. Silently a canoe, and a paddle boarder pass.I follow the outline of upside down hills on the water, their peaks breaking off in ovals and moving away as the water ripples

P

Last walk through forestry, and lunch on a high Boulder, before descending to Callander.

The local Conglomerate rock here is Known as ‘pudding stone’

The coop is really bad for gluten free supplies. Tea and cake

The town is wonderful for independent shops and outside a brilliant old book shop (just like the one that used to be by King’s; four walls of brown books on bending shelves, and in the middle sat the bookkeeper with her fluffy cat), are books for 20p - I am Malala is there,, I hope someone (hopefully a young girl of 12 like I was) picks it up and discovers the most inspirational tale imaginable - what a treasure in those 20p , but I buy Emma: I would love to spend tonight reading things on my phone, but the world has seen against that, and it won’t be getting anymore power- reading it is then

Buy a screen protector, realise it’s cracked, rush back to the shop for 5 - get one it’s ugly and white but will do the job.