2: The Way Continues
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From Balmaha, The Way followed the east side of Loch Lomond. We had half thought of taking a boat-trip to the island of Inchcailloch, the largest of the little archipelago at that end of the loch, but the brochure had mentioned the geology of the island as one of its attractions and, after our meeting with Perth and the polytechnic students, the word ‘geology’ put me off. Hera had wanted to follow the nature trail on the island, but, because of the students, Todd and the clownish Carbridge, I decided to push on to Rowardennan, which was our next stopping-place.
This part of our walk was rewarding but, along one shortish stretch, it was also hazardous, for it debouched on to a narrow, hilly, winding road with blind bends around which cars could give unwary walkers an unpleasant surprise. Some of the walk was up and down quite considerable slopes, but some of it was along the side of the loch. Hera sang and, if I knew the tune, I whistled it. We were very happy. The holiday was going to be a success, after all.
Inland, we passed through natural woods as well as through more of the Forestry Commission’s plantations. Now and again we loitered at one or other of the small beaches which we came to beside the water. We also stopped to look at the views ahead and astern of us and, as we walked on, we could look across the loch to the motor-road which ran along on the other side past Tarbet and Ben Vorlich and on to Ardlui.
Sometimes we paddled in the shallows or sat and tossed stones into the water. One way and another we walked or idled away the time and ate some of the food we had bought in Drymen. Altogether it was a very easy-going, pleasant day. The weather was perfect but not unduly hot, the oak woods through which we passed were magnificent and so were the views when we came again into the open country or on to the shore of the loch.
All that day we found that the markers which charted The Way were well posted and easy to follow. The sign was a thistle inside a hexagon and there were also unmistakeable yellow arrows on signposts where The Way diverged from what appeared to be the obvious path.
We were so happy that, where this was possible, we walked hand-in-hand, more like children than like a sensible couple who had planned to test the temperature of a possible future together. I had begun to have my doubts at the outset of the walk, but they were all resolved on that halcyon day when we trekked from Balmaha to Rowardennan, where we were booked in at the youth hostel.
The magic in the air came from the weather and the scenery, of course, but, even so, I had learnt something of value to me. Hera and I could expect to have our ups and downs, a rough passage at times, frustrations and disagreements, but there would also be compensations, ‘port after stormy seas’, a benign providence somewhere in the offing, the isles of the blest for a safe anchorage at the end of the day. How one deceives oneself!
The youth hostel at Rowardennan was backed by trees and a hill, had a curious little turret and was beautifully situated on the shore of the loch. It had a hundred beds, served meals from Easter to September and there was also a members’ kitchen, but it was very much more convenient for us to buy a meal there and conserve our emergency rations.
Ben Vrackie was away to our right as we faced the hostel, and the huge bulk of Ben Lomond loomed ahead. We were booked for two nights at Rowardennan and next morning nothing would satisfy Hera but to take the ferry across Loch Lomond to Inverbeg. It was running, so, together with a number of other hostellers — although none of them, so far as I could see, were acquaintances of ours — we boarded the boat.
Once ashore, we had lunch in Inverbeg and then walked along the road which follows the river through Glen Douglas. We crossed the railway and reached the Garelochhead-Arrocher road where, thanks, I think, to Hera’s beauty, we thumbed a lift to Oban by way of Inverary on Loch Fyne and the Pass of Brander.
I had to hire a car and a driver to take us back to Inverbeg and we missed the boat on its return journey and had to spend the night at Inverbeg and cross back again in the morning.
‘I wish we could stay here another night,’ said Hera, when we stepped ashore at Rowardennan again. I felt the same urge and, in any case, I wanted to explain why we had not taken up our option of bedding down at the hostel the night before. We knew we were not the only hostellers who had crossed the loch on the previous day and some thoughtful soul had reported to the warden that we had missed the boat. I asked whether we could stay an extra night. The hostel was not full, so permission was readily granted and we spent most of the daylight hours on the little loch-side beach in front of the hostel, except for part of the afternoon when we took another trip on the water to the head of the loch and back.
It would have been possible to follow the example of some of the other hostellers and climb Ben Lomond, a scheduled half-day excursion by a well-established route, but we decided upon a lazy day instead, as there would be enough walking to do before we reached Fort William and Ben Nevis.
Part of our time on the beach was spent watching canoeists, for the place is the centre for the Scottish Youth Hostels’ canoe club. We could have gone trout-fishing, had we wished, for permits were available. However, the long, lazy daylight hours suited our contented mood and I do not know when I have spent a pleasanter or more relaxing time. Hera had one complaint, but she voiced it with a smile.
‘It’s a lovely holiday,’ she said, ‘but everything is going much too well. It isn’t testing our relationship at all.’ Obviously she had forgotten any strained feelings after we had left the airport hotel.
‘Give it time,’ I said. ‘We haven’t got to Crianlarich yet, let alone to the edge of Rannoch Moor and the Devil’s Staircase.’
‘I shall be glad to be on the move again tomorrow,’ she said. ‘Even if that other lot are walking all the way from Milngavie,’ (we had been told to pronounce it Milguy), ‘they can’t be all that far behind us now. We’ve spent a lot of time on The Way. I know we must have passed them early on, but they’ll be catching up with us soon.’
I had forgotten Carbridge and his press-gang.
‘Heavens, yes,’ I said. ‘It reminds me of An Inland Voyage, when I think of the possibility of running into that lot again.’
‘Well, this isn’t an inland voyage so far,’ said Hera. ‘We’ve been more or less beside Loch Lomond all the time and we even crossed it yesterday.’
‘I meant Stevenson’s book. He and his friend met some Belgian canoeists who more or less invited them to canoe with the local champion, who would make himself available if they would wait until the Sunday. They didn’t. They sneaked off. He says, “And, indeed, it was not time for scruples; we seemed to feel the hot breath of the champion on our necks.” Now that you have mentioned Carbridge, I seem to feel his hot breath on mine. We’ll leave first thing in the morning.’
We were unlucky. The gang, some of them looking extremely jaded, turned up just as we left the beach that evening to go into the hostel for supper. The person who showed no sign of fatigue was the effervescent Carbridge. He came in with Todd and was shouting loudly and gleefully to him as they entered, ‘And where did you get to last night, you sly moonlighter? Trust a don to find a donah, eh, you hidalgo, you! And, damme, look who’s here, old boy, old boy!’
Well, it is not possible to leg it into a youth hostel and make a dash for your own room or to have your own separate table for meals. As soon as we appeared, we were seized upon by Carbridge and the others and found that it was impossible to escape. For what remained of the evening, including the supper-time, we were unwilling listeners to stories of the adventures, mishaps and triumphs of the party as they had made their way from Milngavie to Rowardennan. Only the hostel rules of lights out and silence broke up the gathering and cut short the flow.