WHW:Day 1 – Milngavie to Drymen

14:23 miles (although it said 12.1 miles officially)

I try to remind myself, about eight miles into what will eventually be fourteen plus miles, that I will get stronger as the days progress. That’s how I remember it the last time we went out on a big walking adventure. But that was ten years ago, almost to the day, of our current trek, so I could be treasuring rose-tinted memories.

Our current trek is along the West Highland Way, from Milgavie (pronounced Mulguy) to Fort William, a path covering ninety-six miles of some of Scotland’s beautiful scenery. I signed up for this with almost the same people with whom I had walked the Coast to Coast Walk in the north of England. Only John couldn’t make it from our original six-pack, but we are joined by five others, so we are almost now a football team.

In the practice walks, we had ascertained that we should have a timekeeper to make us stop for ten minutes or so every hour. We’d not been so formal the first time around, but we had plenty of breaks – usually, as Julie reminded me, when I piped up that I needed a bit of a sit down. As the youngest member of the group, I should by rights be the fittest. I’m not, I’m somewhere in the middle and most of the rest are in their sixties. As it is a large company, pausing to regroup and then having official breaks seemed like a way to let everyone enjoy the walk.

There is a small obelisk in the middle of the high street in Milngavie which marks the official beginning of the route. As we get near, several groups of other walkers are having the obligatory photo next to it, and I wonder if it’s going to get crowded out there. But, quite quickly, once we’re passed under the ‘West Highland Way’ metal banner, into the woodland park, the groups all manage to somehow create a genial distance from one another.

From there the path gently rises and we are in the green hills heading past Highland cows and sheep, with the sun on our backs, and for the first four or five miles I think that I’m going to really enjoy this experience. It is all beautiful, especially given how lucky we are with the weather, but I can feel the heaviness working its way up me as the day progresses. Spending a lot of time on my feet is not one of my fortes.

Our planned sidetrack into the distillery a little after mile eight is a happy relief, as I know some of the crew want to peruse the wares in the shop and I volunteer to sit outside looking after the rucksacks. I don’t know a great deal about whisky, but Brian and Paul buy small twelve-year-old bottles, and I discover that Brian carries a little hipflask on his walks (in case he needs warming up). It holds three thimble cups in the lid and he offers me a snifter of his old stuff. It’s a tad harsh, but definitely warming. He says the stuff he’s bought today is a lot smoother, and I’m left regretting that I didn’t go for a tasting session in the shop.

Brian and I are the only two singletons on the journey, as our spouses are not the hiking types. The others are in couples, so the sleeping arrangements are as follows: we split up one couple on a rotational basis to sleep with each night. Therefore, there are always three doubles and two twins. 

My calves are getting hotter and my toes scream to be released from their shoes, although the distraction of our first sliver of a view of Loch Lomond as we get close to Drymen does make me forget, momentarily, my physical problems. A local man, out walking, and not with a backpack, informs us that it is pronounced ‘Drehmen’. He says it smilingly, but with the tired look of a man that has had to correct a lot of people. 

I suspect that most of the people doing the walk are not native to Scotland. There were two groups of Americans in the Premier Inn that we stayed in, in Milngavie – all of them have told us that they did not vote for their current leader, almost volunteering that information before we can ask them anything else.

Less than a couple of miles after the distillery, there is an ice-cream place, and we all take another long sit. It’s so warm now that some of us are actually seeking a shady spot. Julie, as our first day’s ‘hour’ monitor, is wondering if the timekeeping has slightly gone awry as we’re almost doing more stopping than walking. 

However, the first day is a shock to the system for most of us, especially as we didn’t train in the heat. Val and Ian are the only ones that don’t look like they’re flagging. Val has taken on the herculean task of gently chivvying me along the final couple of miles while my calves throb. I am sharing with Val tonight, while Ian bunks with Brian, so I try and hold back some of my ‘woe is me’ talk in case she regrets her life choices. 

We do finally get there, and after dinner I rally enough to join a few of the crew for post-prandial drinks in The Clachan Inn which purports to be the oldest licensed bar in Scotland. I don’t know if that means that there are older pubs that didn’t have licences but it is a convivial place for a drink so I don’t think too deeply about it.