Wrong Turns on the West Highland Way

If you can’t make a mistake, you can’t make anything.

Marva Collins, American educator, 1936-2016

My husband and I love to hike, so a couple of summers ago we took on the West Highland Way, a 95-mile-long trail in western Scotland. It runs from Milngavie (“MULL-guy”), a town just outside of Glasgow, to Fort William, the capital of the West Highlands. It is Scotland’s most popular long distance route, and its many adventurers complete it over varying lengths of time. Some power through and finish in a few days; others ramble at a more leisurely pace and take as long as two weeks. We divided the hike over eight days. It was our first adventure of this sort, a long-distance hike, and it turned out to be more rugged and difficult than we anticipated. This was both good and bad—we really enjoy physical challenges, but the difficulty threw us for a couple of loops along the way.

As much as I enjoy hiking and being out in nature, I equally enjoy a hot shower and comfortable bed at the end of the day. Some hikers shoulder all of their belongings and camp each night along the Way, but we worked with a company that makes the endeavor a bit more humane. They arranged lodging at inns or bed-and-breakfasts in quaint hamlets and villages along the trail and shuttled our luggage each day from place to place. We had a map and hiked at our own pace; we just had to make sure we ended each day in the correct village. 

It was ideal. . . . By day, we hiked along lakes and rivers, through old-growth forests and windswept moors. At night, we arrived at charming B&Bs, luggage awaiting us in our room, our hosts kindly inquiring how we would like our eggs in the morning.

There is no better way to experience the beauty and grandeur of a place than on foot. It forces you to go slowly. You can certainly cover more ground by car or train, but so much detail goes unnoticed. Walking, you are fully immersed in the sights, smells, and sounds of your surroundings. 

We loved exploring Scotland on foot and plan to undertake similar adventures in other countries. On the next hike, however, I will employ some accumulated wisdom I came by the hard way. The thing is, I love to research and plan trips. I thoroughly studied the ins and outs of a long-distance hike and knew what pitfalls to avoid. That being said, I fell hard into each and every pit. 

Day 1 of our hike was 12 miles; that was about the median length over each of our eight days. Some were longer, some were shorter. However, Day 1 was by far the most difficult day of the hike for me, for a number of reasons:

I didn’t eat and drink enough.

I didn’t dress warmly enough.

I didn’t pee often enough.

And my pack was too heavy.

Four cardinal sins of long-distance hiking, and I committed all four of them on the very first day.

The day started out easily enough. We chatted amiably with a few fellow hikers as we waited for the travel company’s van to arrive and make the first luggage pick up. We asked a sprightly old Scotsman to snap a photo for us, and were surprised to learn that he was planning to hike the West Highland Way as well.

“Aye, my sister wanted a wee adventure for her 70th birthday!” He gestured at a cluster of silver-haired folks standing across the courtyard. “It’s a loovely trail. Jest watch out for the midgies!” he gleefully advised before ambling over to join his group as they set off on their hike.

My husband and I exchanged a dubious look. In his bright blue plaid slacks, the old Scotsman was the least likely long-distance hiker imaginable. He wasn’t even carrying any supplies! And if his sister was 70, how old must he be?! Jesus. 

Off we went. The terrain was pretty tame at the outset. In fact it felt a bit as though we were hiking through a metro park until we got farther into the countryside. It was a perfect day for hiking—sunny and comfortable. We were making good time, stopping only for a PB&J picnic lunch and a few photo ops. 

The trouble started about two miles from our destination. I started to hit the wall. To be honest, I had never hiked 12 miles in one go before. I love to walk and hike, but a typical hike is more like three to five miles. I didn’t have a good frame of reference for what 12 miles would feel like. 

When I started to hit the wall, I should have stopped for a break to have something to eat and drink. But I was so tired; it felt like too much trouble to dig down into my pack for a Clif bar. We were almost there, right?

Also, I kinda had to pee. But what a hassle. We were almost there. Two miles? I could hold it. 

Until it became a bit harder to hold. But by then, there were no good places to slip off the trail and take care of business. I had squandered all of my opportunities. Guess I’d have to hold it.

And then it started to rain. We were in Scotland, after all. But no worries, I was well prepared with my waterproof jacket and pants. Only . . . I was so tired . . . and I had to pee . . . and I just wanted to get there. Stopping to dig out my rain pants and put them on felt like too much trouble, seeing as we were almost there. Besides, it wasn’t raining hard at all. I’d just tough it out. 

You can guess what happened next. The light rain escalated into a steady rain. The steady rain burst into a torrent, a transition signaled by a single giant thunderclap. Were we hiking, or were we on the deck of a doomed crab boat? We were so soaked, so fast, that rain gear no longer mattered.

By the time we reached our village, I was numb. We straggled into town like a pair of nautical birds returning from a misadventure at sea. I was wet, cold, hungry, and did I mention that I had to pee?? My husband asked through the driving rain, “Where do you want to stop in to warm up?” I think my lips moved, but nothing came out. Ahead there was a small cafe; mutely, we agreed upon it as our destination and trudged grimly forward. As we got closer, I saw someone standing outside the cafe beneath an awning. Wait a minute. Bright blue plaid slacks. . . . It was the hale old Scotsman! How could he have beaten us here? Yet there he stood, as dry as a bone, puffing thoughtfully on his briar pipe. Which he raised to us in a jaunty salute as we shuffled into the cafe.

So Day 1 was not my best day. In fact, at our B&B that evening, I began to question the entire undertaking. Why are we doing this? Is this supposed to be fun? What are we trying to prove? The whole thing seemed like a giant boondoggle. We decided to sleep on it and see how we felt in the morning.

Wouldn’t you know, everything looks better after a good night’s sleep and a proper Scottish fry-up.

With a renewed dedication to making the most of the experience, we made some adjustments and set off on the day’s hike. I learned little things every day that made the hiking easier and more comfortable.

I learned to eat and drink at regular intervals . . . and to keep an Emergency Clif Bar in the front pocket of my jacket for easy access.

I learned to respond quickly in regulating my temperature. It takes me a long time to warm up, but when I do, I go from comfortable to sweltering in an instant. Even when it seemed like a “hassle,” I stopped to adjust my layers of clothing, to keep as comfortable as possible. These adjustments included my rain gear as well. The rain (and it rained nearly every day of our hike) was a non-issue as long as I had my rain gear on. (Plus, rain kept the midges away. Oh, the midges. These tiny biting insects are relentless. Even slathered in Avon’s oily, cloying “Skin So Soft,” touted as the only effective deterrent for the little buggers, I still incurred my share of bites.)

I learned to pee before it became a dire need. If I kinda had to go, then I would go as soon as we saw an opportune place to stop. There are no merit badges on the trail for “holding” it the longest.

I learned to carry the bare minimum in my backpack. The funny thing was, on Day 1 I thought I was traveling light! I mean, our real luggage was shuttled from one B&B to the next. I only had to carry my supplies for that day’s hike. But I realized that I had included too many “just in case” items that I could live without, and did I really need to carry the entire loaf of bread and jar of peanut butter so that we could make our sandwiches at point of use? After Day 1, I shaved every possible ounce from my day pack, and it made a world of difference. A backpack that feels okay during Mile 1 can feel totally different by Mile 12.

Despite my many mistakes, there was one thing I did get right: my Darn Tough wool socks. When I started researching footwear, it seemed counterintuitive that wool socks would be the best choice. I equated wool with heavy itchy sweaters. But wool has some superpowers that make it the ideal hiking companion: It is moisture-wicking and dries quickly, and it is naturally antimicrobial so it combats stink. Between my well-fitting hiking shoes and Darn Tough socks, I accumulated exactly ZERO blisters along our 95-mile hike. Darn Tough offers a lifetime warranty on their socks (you can mail back a spent or damaged pair any time and they’ll send you a voucher for a replacement!), and I have since upgraded my entire sock collection to feature nothing but Darn Tough socks in varying ankle heights.

Here they are. Minus the pair that is currently on my feet, of course.

(Okay. If I haven’t convinced you to try them yet, here is a link to get $5 off your first pair of Darn Tough socks. It also puts $5 in my rewards account, but to be honest, I haven’t ordered new socks in years since I just send back my old ones for replacements! I really just want you to try them. You’ll love them!)

Exploring Scotland via the West Highland Way was a perfect introduction to the beauty and hospitality of the country. Additional Scottish trails like the Great Glen Way are high on our list of future travels. If you enjoy nature, adventure, and physical activity, a long-distance hike could be just the ticket. Each day held challenges, but after righting the wrong turns from Day 1, there was nothing we couldn’t handle!