Walking with Plato (6 page)

Drumnadrochit is a pleasant, touristy village. Its attractions include a Loch Ness museum, something called Nessieland (‘an exciting new interesting, systematic, formulated and factual exhibition on Loch Ness’, apparently), and the magnificent ruins of nearby Urquhart Castle.

But for Wendy and me, with our tight schedule and our even tighter budget, its one unmissable attraction was the Drum Takeaway: a great-value fish-and-chip shop, which we stopped at en route to our campsite, just outside town.

The following morning, we could have opted, as many walkers do, for a modest fourteen-mile loch-side walk from Drumnadrochit to the village of Invermoriston. But instead, mindful of the five days we’d lost at Dunbeath, and strangely unmindful of our battered feet and heavy rucksacks, we plumped for a twenty-two-mile forced march to
Fort Augustus
.

It was a splendid day, full of sunshine and birdsong. The trail, which lay close to the west shore of Loch Ness, offered some glorious sights: wild expanses of moorland strewn with yellow-flowering broom, shady forest paths dappled with sunlight, rugged hills clothed in a patchwork of light-green meadow and dark-green forest, and the grey-blue ribbon of the loch itself, stretching out along the contour of the glen.

It was a day – if ever there was one – for experiencing the ‘primitive, simple and massive’ joy that contact with nature can bring. In fact, looking back now, in my mind’s eye, at the yellow-flowering broom and the dappled forest paths and the grey-blue ribbon of the loch, I feel a kind of joy.

But at the time it was largely lost on me because of my feet.

In John Bunyan’s seventeenth-century religious and literary masterpiece
The Pilgrim’s Progress
, there’s a passage in which the hero, Christian, and his companion, Hopeful, stray from the straight and narrow way that leads to the Celestial City.

Footsore and weary, they turn aside from their rough and stony path to tread for a while upon soft green meadows.

But, in departing from the Way, they unwittingly trespass upon the lands of Giant Despair, a pitiless monster who imprisons them in his dungeon in Doubting Castle and starves and beats them for many long days until they discover a means to escape.

When I read that passage as a child, I was amazed that Christian, who had braved fire and water and lions and dragons and darkness and hunger and nakedness and sword, had succumbed to the temptation of something so seemingly trivial as a bit of springy turf underfoot.

But now that I too was a pilgrim, of sorts, I understood.

There comes a time, after walking long distances, day after day, with a heavy pack on your back, when you become preoccupied with your feet. The scenery around you – be it never so beautiful – ceases to engage you.

If the way is stony, as much of the route between Drumnadrochit and Fort Augustus is, you spend your time scrutinizing the ground, looking for patches where the stones are not so large and angular, or for patches of turf springing up through the path, or for anything, in short, that will lessen for a few precious moments the pain in the soles of your feet.

Bunyan, who was a tinker by trade, and therefore well used to walking long distances over rough ground, would have known this, and would have known – as I now do 
–
that, to the tender-footed Pilgrim, a detour along soft meadows is no small temptation.

When we finally arrived, late in the evening, at the village of Fort Augustus, I felt that we had pushed our worn-out bodies too hard. We had taken a pleasant two-day walk and compressed it into a painful one-day slog.

Fort Augustus is home to a dramatic series of locks (gated water-filled enclosures, used to transfer boats between stretches of water at different levels), which connects the southwestern end of Loch Ness to the Caledonian Canal. It’s a fine sight, and attracts a lot of tourists. But Wendy and I passed it with barely a glance, and pressed on to the nearby campsite.

The following day’s walk was supposed to be an easy ten-miler: first along the towpath of the Caledonian Canal, and then along the banks of Loch Oich to a free camping site at Laggan Locks. Unfortunately, the weather was foul. So what should have been a gentle stroll turned out to be a wet and windy tramp.

I enjoyed it though. Partly because it was nice and short, which meant that I had plenty of free time to look forward to at the end of the day. And partly because this section of the Caledonian Canal is so very interesting.

Before setting out on the Great Glen Way, I had assumed that the Caledonian Canal would be like every other canal I’ve ever walked along: a narrow waterway populated by cute little barges.

But it isn’t.

The Caledonian Canal is actually a shipping lane that runs the entire length of the Great Glen, enabling boats of considerable size to navigate their way across country from the northeast coast to the southwest coast of Scotland.

It was designed and built by Thomas Telford during the first half of the nineteenth century, and consists of twenty-two miles of man-made canal connecting thirty-eight miles of loch. Along its route there are three lochs, twenty-nine locks, ten bridges, and four aqueducts.

Work on the Caledonian Canal began at the turn of the century when the sailing ship was still king. But, by the time it was completed, steam-powered ships ruled the waves. Many of these were too large to navigate the canal, which meant that it was a commercial failure. It soon began to establish itself as a tourist attraction, however, and now attracts hundreds of thousands of visitors each year.

On a map, the Caledonian Canal looks like an enormous zip-fastener running between the northern and southern parts of the Scottish mainland. In fact, it seems to me that, were it not for the twenty-nine locks stapling the two land masses together, the northern part would effectively be a separate island.

The Caledonian Canal, then, is not your average canal. So, although my feet were still sore, and although the wind and rain were driving into my face for much of the day, I enjoyed watching the numerous pleasure boats scooting along the canal, navigating the locks, and zipping along the expansive waters of Loch Oich.

The weather was so foul that day that we abandoned our plans to camp at Laggan Locks, and instead plumped for the relative comfort of a private room at the Great Glen Hostel, in the tiny hamlet of
South Laggan
.

We arrived early in the afternoon, which gave us heaps of time to hang our wet things in the drying room, to shower, to cook dinner, to eat and drink, and to relax. This early finish to the day, along with the unaccustomed luxury of a night in a hostel, was a tonic to my weary soul. I felt that, if every day were like this, JoGLE might be a very jolly affair.

Our room was small and simply furnished. It had a bunk-bed, a chair, a desk, and a radiator. And it was heaven.

For two weeks, Wendy and I had stayed in a backpacker tent that was too small to allow us to sit upright. Night after night, we had squeezed ourselves into sleeping-bags, lay down on three-quarter-length inflatable mattresses, propped up our feet on loose piles of clothing, and rested our heads on travel pillows.

But, here, we had a comfortable room, a carpet to stand on, a chair to sit on, and proper mattresses to lie on.

The hostel itself had a kitchen, a dining area, and a lounge. And this too was heaven.

For two weeks, we had cooked our meals on a one-ring burner, sat cross-legged on the floor to eat, and chased the food around our plates using a plastic ‘spork’ (a combination fork/spoon).

But, here, we had a multi-ring hob, a table, chairs, and proper cutlery.

Last, but by no means least, the hostel had towels for hire.

For two weeks, we’d ‘dried’ ourselves, after showering, using travel towels: small, leathery items that push water around the body rather than removing it.

But, here, for a small fee, we were able to dry ourselves with proper fluffy towels.

Suddenly, the most basic comforts, which we had taken for granted all our lives, took on the character of splendid luxuries.