Milngavie - Drymen
The tiny town of Milngavie was far too small to room my excitement. Lesson 1: always book accommodation ahead. Especially when you arrive at your destination at 22.00 in complete darkness and that rural small town ain’t nothing like bustling Queenstown, NZ, but completely and utterly deserted. Fuck. I had ambled over from the train station to a deserted main street. Every light was out, there was not a single person to be seen anywhere. …Except that odd-looking guy who stood watching me from the dark shadow of the rail station tunnel. Long story short, he stalked me for 30 min while I ran around Milngavie and found shelter in a Premier Inn. Rape and dismemberment avoided.
Now, the first day of my first solo hike ever! Who would imagine that picking food off the shelves at Tesco could be this much fun! The various items - dried apricots, nuts, energy bars, madeleines, jerky, chocolate and freeze-dried pineapple (because why the hell not) - felt like the most monumental foodstuffs ever to populate a grocery cart. There was not a grander occasion unfolding in the northern hemisphere!
Later I would ask myself why the heck I filled my whole 3L water bladder all the way up. What was I thinking buying food for eight days when there would be other towns to resupply in along the way? Preparations, like everything, are best done in moderation. Hence, I felt a little too Cheryl Strayed-y for my liking as I sat on the ground to wriggle into my decidedly overweight backpack, before sumo-squatting into a “not-so-remotely-thank-you” upright position.
Mandatory photo of the obelisk marking the southern terminus. Embarrassing moment as I realised I didn’t have a clue where the trail actually started. Pointed in the right direction by elderly trash-removing volunteer. STEPPED ONTO THE FREAKING TRAIL!
You would think I was summiting Everest as I blazed along what can only be described as garden paths. I dug my trekking poles into the well-groomed ground with each step, flying high on my otherworldly accomplishment of actually doing it. This wasn’t hard! This was amazing! Into the woods, over fields, passing through creaky wooden gates, consulting the map because that’s what you should do. Everywhere was green, green, green. Everyone I passed sent me bright smiles, which I returned with doglike enthusiasm. A group of older women hiking the WHW southbound asked me if I was doing it for charity (apparently that’s a thing), and concluded warmly “Ye’ve got a big heart luv, doing it all on yer own”.
Hours passed as I bore along continuous woods and fields. It started to drizzle, but a little Scottish rain stood no chance against my virgin fist of trailmix! Right? More worrying was how tight my boots seemed to be. They’d fit in the store, although I’d forgotten about my giant custom-made insoles (got flat feet) upon purchase… Said insoles + two pairs of high tech Bridgedale socks + those lovely swollen afternoon feet = bad news. My feet were really starting to hurt as I passed the “Drymen 5 miles” signpost. The WHW is graded and easy trail, there are very few climbs or decents of any noteworthiness, but the days are quite long right off the bat. A thick mist enveloped all views but the trail snaking straight ahead, and there were no distractions from my increasing discomfort. Dark grey clouds hung low, and it rained and rained and rained.
Arriving in Drymen (read: hobbling) was indeed a one-way ticket to utter bliss in the form of ham & garden pea risotto. As my more experienced fellow hikers will note, food = resolve. On one hand my boots were too small, my pack was too heavy, I had about 130 km to go, aka I was unspeakably fucked. I hadn’t passed any campsites, and pitching my tent in someone’s garden wasn’t super tempting. I was in for another expensive night’s accomodation.
On the other hand… I just had a darn good risotto, that B&B called Kip in the Kirk across the road looked very inviting, and I survived my first solo-hiker day ever. I did not feel lonely or lost. I could do this.
