West Highland Way Day 3

 15th November 

Day 3 - Easan Dubh to Crainlarich, 15 miles

Today’s target was Crianlarich, another 15-mile stretch—same distance as yesterday, but with a reputation for being the toughest section yet.  I had a taste of the difficulties encountered along the shores of the loch yesterday;

The path meanders around the contours of the rugged shoreline, steep climbs, sudden drops, and a tangle of exposed tree roots and slick boulders make it more of a scramble in places.  The forecast calls for rain, making the already tricky terrain even more treacherous.  To make matters worse the ground is carpeted in fallen leaves, disguising the hidden obstacles beneath. It starts to feel less like a hike and more like a low budget obstacle course.

I set off before sunrise—because nothing says “fun” like stumbling into the wilderness in complete darkness, pre-coffee. I was mentally prepped for a long, tough day… and the trail was clearly on board with that plan.

The path narrows, huge boulders and sheer drops need careful negotiation.  At one point, I slipped on a wet rock and landed awkwardly on my leg, which was not part of the morning stretch routine. I very nearly went over again. And again.  This is the kind of hike that slows you down—not just because of the terrain, but because it commands your attention. It’s beautiful, wild, and relentless.

I arrive shortly at Inversnaid Hotel to find it closed.  Unfortunately I was now out of water and the outside tap on the hotel was also out of action.  Thankfully, salvation arrived in the form of a kind local from one of the very few houses tucked along this remote shoreline. They graciously refilled my bottles, restoring my faith in humanity.

The trail threw in some delightful distractions throughout the day - I encountered some red squirrels and some mountain goats... clearly judging my laboured pace.  At Ardlui I said goodbye to the loch that has been at my constant companion for two days and head into the hills.  I stop at Doune bothy for a well earned cup of coffee.  I glanced up to spot a golden eagle soaring overhead. The kind of creature that makes you forget you’ve been hiking in damp socks for six hours.  A little further on I stumble upon a dead deer, bearing what looked like a gun shot wound. 

So, to recap: squirrels, goats, coffee, eagles, and a murder mystery. Just your average afternoon in the Scottish Highlands.

By midday, I reach Beinglas Campsite—now fully embodying the image I described in an earlier post: soaked, weary, and trudging through the grounds with heavy steps. The campsite itself is closed, but to my surprise, the toilet and shower block remains open. I gratefully make use of the facilities before continuing up the old military road, which climbs gently away from the site.

For most of the day, I’ve been walking in just a t-shirt—remarkably fortunate for mid-November. But as I continue along the military road, dark clouds gather and the rain begins to fall, growing steadily heavier.  The kind of rain that makes you question every life choice that led you here, especially the one where you thought hiking in Scotland in this season was a good idea.

Just before reaching Crianlarich, the trail climbs steeply through dense forestry before descending once more to the roadside. Despite my best efforts to leave early and push hard, I find myself arriving yet again in the fading light of near darkness, muddy, slightly bruised, but undefeated.

Damp, tired and aching, I choose to spend the night in a hotel, savoring the comfort of a warm shower, a few pints, and a questionably calorie-dense hot meal, which was nothing sort than glorious.  Thankfully booking in advance was not an issue this late in the season and the room prices were very reasonable too. 

In the bar I meet a group from the Netherlands who are also walking the trail, the first (and only) people I've seen waking the trail so far.  We share a few experiences we've encountered along the way before I reluctantly turn in for the night. 

The luxury of a real bed feels oddly unfamiliar as my gear lies scattered across the room - in true hiker fashion, items draped over every radiator, chair, and vaguely flat surface in an attempt to dry them out. 

As I lay there in my unfamiliar cloud of comfort, I could hear the rain pounding down outside, completely unbothered. For once, I didn’t care. I was dry, warm, slightly tipsy, and—at least for one night—winning.