The West Highland Way with Ali

October 11

I flew into Glasgow on a Saturday and navigated my way with the help of friendly strangers via bus and train to Milngavie with my pack and small carry-on. The bus driver, more excited than I was about my upcoming adventure, insured me that I’d love it, and that I’d meet plenty of friendly hikers along the way. He, himself, had done the hike 16 or 17 times.

Off the bus and with a good feeling in my gut, I followed a young couple with packs on their backs. Mistakenly, I assumed they were on the same journey as myself, but I quickly learned that this Polish couple was returning home from a holiday in Japan. A quick cuppa would have been nice so I could glean their itinerary dos and don’ts, but instead, each of us, eager to get to our own destinations, made our way through crowded protests to the train station.

On the train, I met another friendly couple, who spotted me right away as a WHW walker. They informed me that there’s only one reason out-of-towners go to Milngavie, and after arriving in that small town, I supposed they were right.

Not much time passed before the friends that I had been waiting on began trickling in. First was Elizabeth, the one who initially decided that this was a necessary adventure for her and all her friends. Elizabeth and I have been friends for a few years now, but since we live in different countries, we don’t see each other often. When we do though, it’s usually at church or in the great outdoors.

Soon after Elizabeth, the bulk of our group arrived: Jessy, Amanda, Cindy, and Marcella. Of these four, I only knew one, Cindy, but not very well. I was a bit out of my comfort zone with all the new faces, but with my security blanket, aka Elizabeth, I knew it would be fine. We strolled along the main street, and I quickly realized that the couple on the train was not lying. There really is no reason to go to Milngavie unless you’re hiking the WHW. It was Saturday afternoon and most of the shops were closed, so we did some window shopping and googled a nearby restaurant, Garvie & Co, for dinner. While no one tried haggis, I was content and delighted with the sweet potato soup and halloumi burger.

After dinner, we took our time strolling up and down the aisles of the Tesco across the street because really, going into grocery stores is one of the best ways to experience any new place! We stocked up on snacks for the hike as well as treats for the evening. There were plenty of familiar brands but limited room in my small carry-on, so I only purchased the essential snacks for a few days on the trail.

October 12

We started the day with an early morning in order to meet our luggage transfer guy from Baggage Freedom, whose white van had painted on the side a blue-faced Highlander with arms outstretched as he clutched multiple bags. Their slogan? “We may take your baggage, but we will never take your freedom!” I felt confident that our bags were in good hands.

It was on to breakfast and then off to meet two more from our group, Kristi and KC, who taxied in from Glasgow that morning. Eight women, together at Costa Coffee, located adjacent to the WHW start, met to start with a short devotional, prayer, and of course, the toilet. Elizabeth spoke to us that morning about the intention of our walk, and I knew that even though we were hiking the same trails and taking in the same views, each one of us, would, inevitably, have our own unique experiences. That’s the gift of hiking. We would each be on our own journey. And, I won’t lie, each day, I was also very focused on the destination…because, let’s be real, who doesn’t get tired after hiking for hours?!

So, we were off…snapping a gazillion pics within the first mile…and only 11 more to go! Our first day had us hiking from Milngavie to Drymen. At mile 8, we gladly stopped at the cutest little restaurant/shop, Turnip the Beet, where I had more delicious sweet potato soup (and some less delicious burnt naan). It was great to relax, put up our feet, and use a proper toilet.

It was hard to leave that comfy little place, but we still had four miles to go. So, we all got moving once again and fell into our natural hiking rhythm. Typically we hiked in two groups – a faster group and a slower group, but the people in the groups varied as we moved in and out based on how we were feeling and also who we hadn’t yet connected with. The ladies were lovely and the scenery was beautiful, but I was ready to be done for the day. We followed the trail into the town of Drymen and found our way to our first night’s lodging “Kip in the Kirk,” where we were greeted by freshly baked scones and warm drinks as well as everyone’s favorite hostess, Frances.

An energetic older woman, Frances is undoubtedly the WHW’s biggest fan. She insisted that we walk every last inch of the trail regardless of if it meant back tracking in order to reach a desired restaurant or our lodging for the night. She directed our attention to her map numerous times to make sure we understood. While in her presence, we also learned that “Kip in the Kirk” meant “sleep in the church” a bit different from my funny Dutch translation, “chicken in the church.”

With our first day of walking complete, I showered, ate, stretched, and slept soundly to prepare myself for day 2.

October 13

At breakfast I met, Shela, another hiker, who, we soon found out, would be walking all the same distances and staying at nearly all the same lodging as our big, friendly bunch. Her bubbly and talkative personality (and fun Irish accent) quickly made Shela someone I looked forward to seeing each day.

We left Drymen (and Frances) behind with the goal of walking 15 miles this day. Our goal was to reach Rowardennan by way of Conic Hill and along Loch Lomond before the sun set. We were blessed with another dry day which helped us to completely take in the autumn beauty. We hiked through the national park, and while I opted to skip summiting Conic Hill due to the fog, the views of the loch below were wide open and stunning.

It was here that I met a man named Jack hiking from Tel Aviv. Like Shela, Jack would become someone we would see regularly along the way and share conversations with when time allowed.

Lunch was eaten at the Oak Tree Inn where the warm room and food tempted me to quit walking for the day, but since we had a few more hours to go before arriving at our hostel, we didn’t have that luxury. After lunch we had one more quick stop at the neighboring gift shop where I found a WHW patch and learned the Scottish saying, “Long may your lum reek.” Directly translated, it means, long may your chimney smoke, and in doing so, what you’re really offering with this saying is a blessing that wishes the recipient a long, healthy, and prosperous life. It was a good way to start off the second half of the day.

I should explain that our group’s lodging was split most nights. We had a “comfort” group of five women, which I dubbed the Luxurious Ladies. I was not a part of that group. I was with three others, and together we were the Hostel Hotties. When we finally reached Rowardennan, I quickly learned that the hostel was another 15 minutes beyond the hotel that the comfort group would be staying at. My spirit fell; I was exhausted and in need of nourishment. I didn’t have it in me to walk to the hostel, and then walk back to the hotel (where the only pub was located) in order to have dinner, but regardless of how tired we were, we did it anyway. I don’t think I’ve ever been so thankful for a bowl of chili.

We made it to our hostel after dinner by the light of our headlamps. It had been another long but beautiful day. I was glad to climb into bed after taking a shower and Advil PM.

October 14

Our party of four enjoyed a quick breakfast of toast, yogurt, and muesli and were soon off for day three. Today we would be walking 14 miles to Inverarnan.

The day began with our typical group selfie and an Honesty Box stop. Honesty Boxes are small booth-type structures (if you’re old enough, think phone booth size) that locals stock with sustenance for hikers along the way. Sometimes the treats were homemade, sometimes they were prepackaged store-bought items, and sometimes they were sold out or even locked up, but when the stars aligned, they became a magical place where travelers used the honor-system to pay for the goods they took.

I lost count of all the beautiful waterfalls we saw. Most of them were small and seemingly insignificant, but we came upon the grand Inversnaid Falls as we approached our lunch stop at the Inversnaid Hotel. The hotel didn’t have much to offer in regards to food, but their views were stunning. We found the lobby with big, comfy chairs that overlooked the loch and planted ourselves right down. We were together as one group admiring the view, replenishing our fuel, and enjoying one another’s company. Again, it was tempting to just cuddle up and take a nap, but we had quite a ways to go before reaching our hotel for the night. Trekking along, I got to know my fellow hikers a little more as we shared our life stories with one another. On this day I learned all about Amanda, a sweet librarian who has lived in more places than most, and Cindy, who grew up on a diary farm in Kansas. 

As the miles continued on, the chatter quieted and I tried estimating how many more hours we still had to walk. I set little goals for myself, so you can imagine how sad I was when the trail opened up (right around the time I thought we should be arriving) to lodging that was not ours! I was discouraged to learn that at this point, we had finished our miles on the trail for the day, but we now had to walk to the main road and then backtrack to find our inn. Thankfully, KC pulled the emergency chocolate out of her bag, and that gave me the boost I needed to press on.

Our group arrived (before dark) at The Drovers Inn, Scotland’s oldest and most haunted inn. Oooooo! I was too tired to notice any haunting or nighttime disturbances taking place around me, but if taxidermy’s your thing, then you’ll want to take a gander. The inn was built in 1705 and is located just 27 miles from Rob Roy’s grave. I ate well and slept well, and since our room had a heated towel rack, I was even able to wash and dry some of my grimy hiking clothes before the next day.

October 15

After a night at the haunted inn, I woke feeling refreshed and ready to walk to Tyndrum.  Today’s twelve-mile hike, in my mind, meant that we’d be done in just four short hours, so we set off hopeful to arrive at our destination with plenty of time to relax and explore the town. On this particular day we didn’t have an allocated lunch stop, but we had been informed of the Artisan Café, just two miles from Tyndrum, a place that is said to have the best scones on the trail, so we made that our first destination. Ten miles of hiking with flapjacks and dried fruit had me jonesing for a warm scone and a chair to enjoy it in. Mary, our hiking buddy that joined us at the end of day two, was especially excited about reaching the café. I think she and her feet were in need of a break more than a scone. We trudged along, getting closer and closer and counting down the minutes until we’d reach the café, when KC, who had been our navigator for the day, quietly gasped and whispered with wide eyes, “Oh no! The café is closed today. DON’T tell Mary.”

“What? It’s closed? Are you sure?” I questioned KC.

“Mary’s going to be so upset. She really needs a break.”

Google maps didn’t lie. The Artisan Café & Deli is, in fact, closed every Tuesday and Wednesday, and Mary soon found out. There were no cozy cafes, and no proper chairs in our future that day. Instead, we had our break outdoors, sitting along the trail chomping on more granola and dried fruit, and Mary managed to doctor her feet. While we sat there, enjoying not walking, we warned the rest of our group that the café was indeed closed (womp womp). It was a little bit sad, but we managed to rally and finish our last two miles early enough to do some laundry and get a good stretch that afternoon.

When the others arrived, we ventured out to explore Tyndrum. Thankfully it’s a small little town. We walked to the convenient store to replenish our flapjack stashes and then decided upon the Tyndrum Inn for dinner, where we learned that the food is good, but the service is better if you come in as multiple small groups instead of one large group.

October 16

Day 5 was a day that we were all looking forward to. It was our shortest day of hiking, a mere 7 miles. We walked from Tyndrum to the Bridge of Orchy as one large group for the most part and were able to enjoy lunch at the Bridge of Orchy Hotel. We were all pleased to have the entire afternoon to lounge. The Hostel Hotties, however, were transferred back to Tyndrum by taxi, where we stayed a second night at the Tyndrum Lodges. This was welcomed as it meant we didn’t have to pack up and take our luggage out early the next morning like we’d grown accustomed to doing. It also allowed us to visit the Green Welly Stop that was closed upon our arrival into Tyndrum the day before. The Green Welly Stop, if you’re not familiar with it, is a lovely store along the WHW that sells pretty much anything you need and don’t need. There were, of course, souvenirs aplenty as well as hiking gear and equipment. There were food items and an entire self-service restaurant. But perhaps the most intriguing thing we found while at the Green Welly Stop, was the placard which boasted this establishment as the 2025 National Winner of the Loo of the year.

I happened to be talking to my family on the phone, when Jessy spotted the sign. With a firm urgency she looked at me and declared, “I think we need to go to the bathroom.”

This was an odd statement. I had only met Jessy on this trip, but she was the master behind all the logistics. If she said we needed to go to the bathroom, I had no reason to second guess her. She pointed at the award hanging there on the wall. I ended my call, and the four hostel hotties went to the loo.

My dear reader, I know it is with bated breath that you continue reading, in order to hear a precise description of the loo of the year recipient, and it pains me to tell you that our experiences and impressions were simply mediocre. I wish I could tell you of an extravagance and luxury that would cause you to stop reading and book a flight straightaway to Scotland so you could see for yourself what words alone could not describe. However, that is not the case. So, if anyone ever tells you otherwise, you can kindly inform them that you’ve read this blog and that you know better.

Dinner that night provided by the Ben Lui Restaurant. This was a place where I enjoyed some warm mac-n-cheese and the other Hotties indulged in some great Indian food while Jessy googled the criteria necessary to win a loo of the year award.

October 17

The Hostel Hotties woke early to ready our luggage for transfer and ourselves for a taxi back to the Bridge of Orchy, the day’s starting point. Today’s hike would be 12 miles, taking us to Kingshouse, a former trading post in the middle of the Scottish Highlands. The landscape really opened up, and we had the privilege of seeing deer along the trail as we passed a small ski resort towards the end of our hike. While we were impressed by the stunning fall colors and scenery around us, it might be fair to say that we were even more enamored that day with the beautiful Scottish wedding party that milled about the Kingshouse Hotel, our day’s destination.

Most of us arrived before the set time to check-in, so we had the joy of gawking while we waited patiently and comfortably in the warm lobby. The bride, of course, was stunning and deserved all the attention, but we couldn’t get enough of the men in their traditional Scottish dress. The kilts resulted in a perma-smile on our faces as we craned our necks to drink in the picture before us. It was one that consisted of black leather kilt shoes called Ghillie brogues with ties that wrapped around their tall white stockings or hose. Some men wore a Sgian Dubh, or black knife, tucked into their stockings with the perfectly polished silver hilt peeking out. They had beautiful dark tartan kilts adorned with rabbit fur bags which I’ve since learned are purses called sporran. So even Highlanders have man-purses, y’all! On top they wore what looked somewhat like a tuxedo. It consisted of a short-tailored jacket with tails known as the Prince Charlie Jacket. The jackets were embellished with large polished buttons down the front and back and along the arms. Beautiful. It was all so beautiful. And it was a special gift for us to be able to witness this.

After dinner and people watching, the Hostel Hotties walked to the hostel for bed…in a room that had a glowing green light turned on ALL. NIGHT. LONG. I wish we could say that we slept soundly after the day’s activities, but I’m not sure any of us really slept at all.   

October 18

Ready or not, it was time for another day of hiking. After goodies from the breakfast buffet and a warm cup of ginger tea, we prepared to leave Kingshouse Hotel in order to conquer Day 7. Today we would only go 9 miles, but we would be climbing the infamous Devil’s Staircase, an old military road that was constructed around 1750 linking Stirling to Fort William. Before leaving, however, we gathered around the fireplace for our devotional. KC shared sweet words of encouragement that made each of us feel loved and seen, but it was the message she read from her mom back in Arizona that really stuck with me; she wrote, “May you and all the group triumph today over the devil’s staircase…after all, you slept in THE KING’S house last night.”  

We had hiked a total of 72 miles so far. We were more than ready to face the devil’s staircase. We left the warm hotel and began our walk. The sky was a dull overcast gray, but occasionally an ever so small smidge of blue would peek through. The glen was a patchwork of yellows, greens, and browns, and there was no fog which allowed us to enjoy the views of the mountains that surrounded us. We had grown accustomed to Kristi whistling “Heigh-Ho” or “Following the Leader” as we walked, and today was no different. We marched along and eventually found ourselves at the base of the devil’s staircase. It was a popular place and very accessible from the A82, and since it was a Saturday, cars were littered along the side of the road carrying eager hikers and nature lovers to another beautiful destination in the Highlands.

The ascent up the devil’s stair case was…not bad. There were numerous switchbacks and great views to distract us from the effort that the climb demanded, and I was surprised when I reached the top that I was already there. The remainder of the day was filled with hiking through the valley and taking in the views before reaching Kinlochleven, our destination for the day.

Kinlochleven was a “great wee village.” We stayed at the Blackwater Hostel located around the corner from a well-stocked Coop supermarket and a lovely restaurant, the Highland Getaway Inn, that allowed us at 3:30 to make a 5:30 dinner reservation for nine. We had used the West Highland Way Walkers to plan out our itinerary, accommodations, and transfers. And by we, I mean Jessy. The WHW Walkers’ coordinator gave us a well-informed plan for each day that included where the best stops were located as well as restaurants or cafes for lunch and dinner. While we were, in fact, given amazing recommendations, we learned early on that we were responsible for making our own dinner reservations each night. And by we, I mean Jessy. She took care of us, making sure we were all fed every night and did a nice job of keeping the tired ducks in line.

At dinner we discussed the departure plan for the following morning. It was our last day, and it was going to be another long day – 15 miles, but this time there was wind and rain in the forecast. We would have different start times so that no one finished in the dark and so that we could all finish together.

October 19

Elizabeth was up and moving before any of the alarms went off, but that was not unusual. She often snuck away while it was still dark out for her quiet time. Soon, the first group left. Then the second group left. When it was my turn to leave, I walked out of the hostel lacking confidence in my wardrobe selection. How heavy was the rain? I couldn’t tell from my room, but I was about to find out. I initially left without rain pants on but quickly changed my mind and, with the grace of a ballerina, shimmied them up over my chunky hiking boots and around my waist.

Rain pants? Check. Rain jacket? Check. Backpack cover? Check. I was ready. I met up with the third group: Marcella, Mary, and Cindy. We took a blurry selfie or two, and we were off.

Like usual, Cindy led the way. We walked briefly through the “great wee village” and then found the trail. The rain continued to pour down and the wind blew to and fro, but still we hiked.

Eventually we caught up to the second group and together scoured the land for places to “spend a penny.” The pickins’ were slim out in the glen, and my warning caw-caw was less than adequate for the pack of cyclists that pedaled past. In my defense, however, I was a little distracted trying to locate gloves from the bottom of my backpack. We gathered ourselves again, and continued on.

When my right foot was completely drenched, and I could feel the water sloshing in my boot, we happened upon the first group. Thankfully, they were hunkered down in a small treed area along with other hikers who were trying to get some relief from the elements as well. This became our lunch stop. I tried opening my food, but due to the cold wind and rain, my fine-motor skills had abandoned me. Nevertheless, while the chill set into my bones, I managed to stuff my face with food. When I finished eating, I was torn. I couldn’t decide if my exhausted and discouraged body wanted to stay and rest longer, OR if, since shivering had overtaken my body during this stop, I wanted to start moving again.

We threw our packs back on and began again. One foot in front of the other. The wind and our covered ears made it hard to hear one another, so we trudged on quietly. We thanked God for the days before when we had time to share our stories with one another. We thanked God for the dry days and the comfort we had experienced. We thanked God for the still stunning views. We thanked God for our health and our strong lungs and legs. Yes, we praised him through the storm.

Eventually as the wind died and the rain lessened, I saw a little, recognizable hiker in front of me. Shela! We fell in step with one another and her conversation carried me along and down into Fort William. 2.3 miles from the finish, we came upon a mobile concession stand that sold warm drinks and sweet treats. Refueled and rejuvenated by hot chocolate, we were ready to continue on. As we walked toward the city, passing Ben Nevis, I was reminded of another windy and rainy day in which my family and I hiked to the top of the UK’s tallest peak, and I was so grateful I wasn’t asked to do that today! Soon, we approached the “original” end of the West Highland Way…not to be confused with the “official” end that is marked by a line on the pavement and a sculpture called “The Man with the Sore Feet.” So fitting. Once our group was all together again, we finished the hike walking from the original end to the official end in much the same way we started just 9 days ago. Together. Excited. Hopeful.  

If you have walked the West Highland Way, leave a comment below, share a memorable moment, or tell us about your journey!