My toe hurts Betty, My toe hurts Betty, My toe hurts Betty, My … is the song of the wood pigeon. I learnt this from a fellow walker, Peter Kenny, a Shakespearean actor, singer and voice-over for audio books, who obviously has the ‘ear’ for bird chat. We met over breakfast at a B&B in Gairlochy; he, with his two companions, had walked the West Highland Way and continued straight on to the Great Glen Way. We met them several times over the next few days until a final drink together in Drumnadrochit. There, he listed the birds he had seen on the path. John and I were astounded – he listed almost the complete content of the bird book companion guide. We had seen a stone chat, a few tits, a blackbird, a song thrush and a pheasant.

Some people have the eye and the ear, and a fast lens to record. We did see, on the shores of Loch Lochy, some attempts by bird lovers to create little feeding stations for birds, and John was lucky to snap a tiny little mouse helping himself to breakfast.

This walk was different from the West Highland Way of last year. It had its own beauty and challenges, and it was long. Sometimes it was a little boring as we tramped through dark corridors of pine trees in the rain, or along stretches of the Caledonian Canal that went on for miles and miles. I kept remembering Robert Frost’s poem, The Road Less Travelled, for we saw very few people as we trudged along: the odd cyclist, the odd walker, but mostly it was quiet.

We left Fort William in the drizzle, the mighty Ben Nevis obliterated by cloud, but we had a spring in our step. It was good to leave the houses and town behind and smell the grasses and pungent coconut odour from the gorse. The drizzle grew heavy and we stopped in Caol to put on our rain gear. We hung about as we watched the local primary school out on a ‘field trip’ with their enthusiastic teacher drawing attention to the signs of the shops. ‘Can you read that one, Hamish? Yes, that’s right, it says hairdressers, and now what about that one?’ and so on. We got to the end of the row and we saw ‘Alcohol Counselling’. Never mind the rain, I had to see how she would handle that. She was very good. ‘Now, this is where people go if they want to talk about drinking alcohol a little bit too much.’

We left the little group and on we went to the start of the Caledonian Canal, built by Thomas Telford between 1803 and 1822.

It was built to allow safe passage for naval vessels at the time of the Napoleonic Wars. It was a through route for trading vessels, allowing a short cut through Scotland. We approached Banavie and Neptune’s Staircase, which is a series of eight canal locks.

We hoped we might see a boat passing through and we were lucky as we saw the tall double masts of a large yacht. As we got closer we saw that it was the Beluga 2, registered in Hamburg.  It had a rainbow painted on the front and the crew were casually dressed and happy to wave. It was the Greenpeace boat.

They are on a research expedition documenting the impact of plastic pollution on some of the UK’s most precious wildlife like puffins, gannets and basking sharks. We walked further along and came to the Moy Lock.

The path meandered along the canal, and we spotted the odd heron, and swathes of bluebells and apple blossom heavy with raindrops. The smell was intoxicating. (Should I go for counselling!)

Quite weary after our first day of walking, we were glad to reach Gairlochy, the heart of Clan Cameron country. We read a plaque on the bridge.

It was here that the new recruits met to start their Commando training. The land was wild, the Cameron house at Achnacarry was made over to them, and the young lads no doubt have their own memories of weeks spent climbing and crawling in ditches and turning into human fighting machines. One lad remembers: “Past Spean Bridge Hotel, through the village to the bridge and over the river in pouring rain and on we marched until our boots drummed on the bridge over the Caledonian Canal with the pipe and drums playing. Then up a back-bending, stamina sapping incline. We climbed so much I began to wonder if the hills in this part of the country went up on both sides.”

And we do it now for fun!

The next morning, we ate black pudding and fried egg, our first walker’s breakfast, and set off to visit the Cameron House Museum, but in true tourist fashion, it didn’t open till 1.30 p.m.

So… on we went to view the bridge that was made famous in the Rob Roy film.

It was OK, but quite a detour, and one that we could have done without, as we still had the main part of the route ahead of us, and the rain was getting heavy. We walked along the shores of the beautiful Loch Lochy, then we started to climb up into the forestry of Clunes. We rose high, then dropped down, then up again.

We did pass a fellow, in his late 70s, who was doing the East to West challenge, using different routes. He did wild camping, crossed over the hills from Clunie to Drumochter, and talked about camping in the isolation of Cape Wrath. There are some very dedicated people about. We marched on. The road was enclosed by walls of black pine trees, mighty and tall, the interior a perfect place to dump a body, if you were so inclined.  We were relieved to find a log suitable for eating lunch. Finally, we dropped down to Laggan Locks, and amazingly a piper was playing. Was he welcoming us? We had been looking forward to eating at The Eagle on the Water, one of only two restaurants in the area, but guess what, it was closed on Tuesdays. We ate last night’s sushi and a sandwich. Not the best day.

Another breakfast of black pudding and egg and tomato and we were glad to leave the rather damp B&B. The sun was shining, the day was warm and we walked along by Loch Oich, first on the old railway track then on part of General Wade’s military road.

Then finally back to the canal, where the road went on and on in a blinding white line.

John was on a mission to find a commemorative bench to have lunch, rather a grizzly idea, I thought,  hoping someone might have died so we could have a comfortable place to eat our ham and cheese sandwich! It was good to get into Fort Augustus, and have a coffee, and idly watch the trippers who were coming in their droves from boat trips on Loch Ness.

Our hotel was amazing. A Michelin chef, who served soup and sea bass that was out of this world, flavours so subtle, so perfect.

In the rooms were towels so white and fluffy. As I sat in the lounge, savouring the quiet, and relishing the rest, I noticed that the curtains were in ribbons. Heavy velvet that had slowly disintegrated over the years. Maybe they will be in the budget for next year’s improvements.

Fort Augustus to Invermoriston was the best for me. The day was warm, the sky blue, and just a black cloud threatened the party, but it soon blew away.

We had views of Loch Ness, sat and ate our lunch in the sun and met about three people all day.

The hardest part for us both was the descent.

It was hard, windy and steep. My toes felt crushed. John’s injured toe was causing him agony,

and it was with relief that we came to the ravaged remains of Telford’s bridge spanning the River Moriston.

We were glad to have a beer later in the Glen Moriston Hotel. I remember passing this junction in the road hundreds of times during the period of my life when I lived in Glenelg. I never thought that one day I would arrive by foot, and sit and watch the traffic. In this old Inn, Samuel Johnson and Boswell also nursed a dram contemplating their trip to the Hebrides. I missed my Michelin chef. The meal was horrible.

In the morning we passed the last clog shop for 53 miles (!) and took the path up and up through the woods, up to the tree line and beyond. We saw little wildlife, only a deer and a pheasant. Our ‘twitcher’ friend later told us all he had seen. Oh well.

We crossed a troll bridge, and posed in a circle made from sticks and climbed a steep ascent. I was idly thinking of what my famous last words might be as I puffed up the hill, when I was shocked to see John break into a jog. He was quite proud of himself. We both had a sit down at the top.

Coming down towards Drumnadrochit we passed blaeberries growing in abundance, wood anemones, yellow flowers, and banks of primroses.

At last we arrived at Drumnadrochit. Our feet were sore, John’s in particular. We decided to call it a day. The weather had turned, and heavy rain was expected and we didn’t relish another 31 km across the hills with no views.

The Drumnadrochit Hotel was a dump – accommodation reminding me of the staff quarters of hotels I worked in back in the 1970s: black mould around the tiny window, the shower with no fan, etc. In one review we read later, someone said, ‘It’s fine if you are blind and deaf.’ Quite.

We whizzed to Inverness on the bus, and wandered about under our umbrellas. It was nice to revisit this highland city, and sit in cafes and sip frothy cappuccinos.

In the evening we took a stroll down along the River Ness, and came across crowds of people filing into the Eden Court Theatre. We went along just to see what might be on. Before we knew it we were buying the last 2 tickets to a show. We didn’t even know what it was. It just seemed quite spontaneous at the time. It turned out it was ‘Remembering Fred’, a song and dance tribute to Fred Astaire, and starring Aljaz and Jeanette from Strictly come Dancing. Oh my goodness, it was amazing. She was like liquid mercury, I just couldn’t take my eyes off her and he was fantastic too, and so comical.

We walked back along the banks of the river, quite ecstatic. It was a wonderful end to the trip.

In the morning we went to catch a bus back down to Edinburgh. The bus station was full of Americans who were off a cruise liner, and were trying to organise sightseeing trips. John and I were quite bemused watching their frustration with the broken change machine for the public conveniences, then seeing their disgust at the dirty facilities. Outside all the smokers were lined up so it was more preferable to huddle inside to wait for the busses. Just as I caught an American woman’s eye, we both turned and saw a man seated outside tip a bottle of J&B whisky to his mouth. Cheers! Oh dear. I do hope she will also manage to see the rowans and hazel and birch trees that line the rivers, the bog cotton on the high hills, and hear the sound of the cuckoo and smell the rich smells of gorse and apple blossom. I wanted to tell her to get out and walk. I hope she will.

And so we are home. We did it, well most of it. And the sun is shining and we have lots of time to let our feet recover before the next challenge, whatever that might be. I wonder if we will ever watch the sun set or rise at Cape Wrath?

Final note, loved this outside the Buchanan Street Bus Station in Glasgow, a reminder to us all, Time is not just marching, it is running away with us!