Day 239: Inverkip to Arrochar

The road to Gourock Ferry Terminal is grey and wet. I’m the only passenger and spend the short journey across the Firth of Clyde answering questions about my hiking gear from one of the crew who is keen to start camping.

Kilcreggan Pier is manned by a friendly old chap who sets out my hiking options up the Rosneath Peninsula:

“If you’re feeling energetic there’s a path through the hills.”

“The alternative is to follow the B833 along the coast.”

“I’d take the bus!”

Given the long distance and climbs ahead, I’d already decided to follow the road. Faslane, home to our nuclear submarines, is visible across Gare Loch to my right, while Coulport, the maintenance depot and ammunition store, is over the hills to my left on Loch Long. Is it wise to keep them close together, given the last two Trident missile tests ended in embarrassing failure?

The trees running down to the water’s edge are strewn with rubbish, mushrooming at each lay-by. Why do people blight the nature they drive all this way to enjoy? There’s something profoundly depressing about this. I can’t wait to leave the roads, another reason for not sticking rigidly to the coastline. Unfortunately, my left glute is complaining again, slowing me down, so I don’t arrive at the lovely Perch Cafe in Garelochhead until 1 pm.

A pretty woodland path, well signposted from the church in town, twists and turns up the steep hillside to join the Three Lochs Way. Despite working up a sweat, it’s easier than road walking, using different muscles.

There’s a little more tarmac to navigate as this section of the trail passes through a MOD firing range.

The clouds part. Blue sky appears. Layers are shed. Breathe deeply. The adventure begins here.

The tarmac road fades to an unmade track. Buzzards circle overhead. A tiny moss nest waits for spring.

The Lost Rainforests of Britain by Guy Shrubsole raised my awareness of the threat posed by invasive rhododendrons to our woodland, swamping all other plants. Originally introduced by landowners to provide cover for game birds, “Out of the 74,000 acres of temperate rainforest left in Scotland, around 40 per cent is estimated to be infested with rhododendron.” I now see it everywhere, hillsides choked with glossy green leaves, like the red weed from The War of the Worlds.

The trail dips beneath the railway line, crossing Allt Derigan.

Glen Mallan is beautiful, the path narrowing and crossing a burn before another steep climb.

A fenced compound stretches across the opposite hillside, with camouflaged buildings and bunkers at intervals. It’s the MOD’s largest ammunition store — Queen Elizabeth docked in Loch Long last week, loading supplies. I keep my distance.

Passing through Glen Douglas, the path rises once again, offering gorgeous views in the fading light — another perfect moment.

I’m weary but energised by the spectacular finish.

The majestic profile of The Cobbler is framed by a fiery sunset.

There’s a shortcut down to Loch Long, thankfully marked with a post, as the light is rapidly fading. By the time I reach the trees, it’s too dark to see, although the light of my headtorch and the camera flash are sufficient to capture the descent, steep and wet.

The short walk into Arrochar is pretty, despite the cold.

I’m booked into the Glenloin campsite for two nights, although the Wicker Man vibe sends my imagination into overdrive.

As I expected to arrive late, the campsite owner kindly agreed to leave a key for the toilet block under a traffic cone with my name on it. I can’t find the cone in the dark and call her. She directs me to a backup cache of keys under a dog water bowl — success!

Once the tent is up, I wander back along the shore to a tiny fish and chip shop, where a small group of people stand and chat. Ordering my meal, the owner conjures up a couple of bottles of whisky from beneath her counter. No wonder everyone is so sociable. It’s been a wonderful day.

Next day

Birdsong wakes me — I’ve slept solidly for 12 hours. This is what fresh air and long distances do to me and, no, I did not indulge in the whisky last night.

There’s no chance of me climbing the Cobbler. 51 miles over the past two days, most of it on the unforgiving tarmac, has taken its toll on my legs, so I need a day to recover and ease the aches and pains. This has nothing to do with the fact that today is the final day of the Six Nations.

The Village Inn is a fine pub. The rugby is on all day. It’s crowded and there are no free tables, but a couple invite me to join them. In one of those strange coincidences, we passed each other in the dark last night as I neared the chip shop. They did wonder where that strange person with a headtorch and backpack was going in the dark.

The pub fills with a large stag party of stereotypical young English students, returning from a day of clay pigeon shooting. Swamping the bar with orders for rounds of shots, they are politely shepherded into another room.

It’s a lovely atmosphere, with good food and banter, but I’m so tired that I can’t stay awake for the England v France match and return to the warmth of my sleeping bag, falling asleep to the rain pattering on the tent.

Now that I’m heading deeper into Scotland, with fewer marked footpaths, I thought it would be helpful for other hikers to start marking my trail on the OS map. This is not real-time tracking, as I don’t have the battery capacity, but a markup after the event. It’s possible to zoom into the map to pick up my detailed route or zoom out to get a better feel for the location.

Walk distance: 26 miles.

Total distance: 4,034 miles.