Great Glen Way. Part 2: An epic first day

I formulated two options. One was to turn the trip into a three-day assault on my fitness levels and the other was to continue as normal but power-walk my way to hostel number one with limited rest time. Three o’clock was my decider time. If I arrived at 3, it was too late and I would find somewhere to stay in Fort William.

Speaking to the owner of the hostel for night one, I asked if it would even be possible for me to arrive well after their requested cut-off of 9pm. Thankfully, they agreed to leave the door open for me and even told me my room number and where I would find it, so I didn’t have to think about that at the end of a really long day. What absolute gems.

Pulling in to Fort William, I checked my watch. 4pm. I paused and thought for a moment. “It’s not 3pm though, is it? Let’s get going!”

And so, I pulled out my map and headed off in the direction of the start. A ceremonial selfie, quickly sent to Flo, and I was on my way.

The start of the Great Glen Way is not that interesting. There are a few kilometers of housing estate before you get to the canal where you stay for several more kilometers. Just as I was power walking my way through the final street, a man painting his fence shouted after me, “Got long to go?”. “21 miles. Just started.”, I shouted back. “Good luck!” he replied. He’d done that countless times before, I knew it. It was a simple exchange but it put a huge smile on my face and spurred me on. I was doing this thing!

When I was planning the walk, I was warned about the monotony of the first stretch which makes the rest of the trip so much more satisfying. To be honest, it was only in hindsight that I realised the truth of that. I was just happy to be using my legs, breathing in the fresh Scottish air , and making progress.

The canal came and went, as I let Stephen Fry tell me about the crazy world of Greek mythology. It all felt very quick. I was conscious of time, so I was walking faster than normal, but the miles seemed to be ticking off comfortably without any boredom or dragging on. I sent Flo periodic notes about how many miles I’d done, and how many I had left to go. I was in Smugsville with my average pace. The goal of the Great Glen Way has been well and truly broken down into days and I was fixated on only one thing: get today done.

The next feature of day one was a Loch-side section. It was a welcome change from the endless stretch repetitive of canal path, highlighting the change in light. The Sun had started to set so soon I’d need to get my head torch out and hope that it lasted for however long I needed it. Always overly prepared, I had a backup, anyway.

For hours, I’d been powering on, ticking off the miles, and making steady progress. It was only when the terrain changed that I realised I hadn’t actually stopped for a break. I knew I’d missed the opportunity to have a cosy dinnertime rest, which is what I’d originally planned in for when I arrived at the hostel, so I had been chomping away at a trail mix bag that included jelly babies, smarties and nuts.

At exactly the moment I realised I hadn’t stopped for a rest yet, the most ideal resting spot emerged. It was a single bench looking over the Loch with silhouetted mountains on the far side. The Sun had just about disappeared and left behind an incredible scene. I never knew the world could present so many different shades of blue. I took a photo or two to send to envious friends and family, but nothing could compare to being there. In the five short minutes I took to rest and eat a slice of homemade, slightly squished, cake, a warming wave of pride washed over me as I realised what I’d already achieved. I had started with an idea, overcome pre-adventure anxiety, booked everything, packed light, dealt with a massive setback even before I’d really started, and power-walked to that bench, to enjoy that solitary, perfect moment.

After 5 precious minutes of being consumed by Scotland’s pure beauty, I hauled my pack onto my shoulders, whacked my head torch on and continued. I’d been posting about my walk on Instagram Stories, and saw that I had a core group of people who were watching every single one. It was warming to know that at least someone else knew where I was. I didn’t feel unsafe, walking on my lonesome, possibly because I hadn’t actually given a platform to negative, panicky thoughts, but it was comforting nonetheless.

I rounded the corner and smelt the burning of wood, which was followed shortly by laughter and murmurs. A small group had settled on the edge of the Loch, with tents. As I approached, their torch beams darted towards me and their murmurs turned to concerned whispers. Not wanting to cause a fuss, mostly because I had a cosy bed in mind and the sun had already disappeared, I picked up the pace and marched onwards. It wasn’t long before I reached the road – the Lochside group were clearly out for an easy camp as they hadn’t gone far from their vehicles.

The next few hours were sectioned into manageable chunks, naturally by the terrain underfoot, which meant that I pretty much lost perspective of time. Garmin was helpfully telling me how long I’d been walking for in time and kilometers, but without the reassurance of my watch I soon fell into an endless tramp.

Trees surrounded me for about three, perhaps four, hours. One step in front of the other: left, right, left, right. At the turn of a kilometer, I changed things up with a burst of running for however long I could sustain it for. Sometimes it was just a hundred meters, sometimes it was a full half a kilometer. I loved it when a downhill section made it feel like I was easily falling, moving closer to the moment I could stop.

From experience of long distance running, and, to be honest, long car journeys, I knew it was a good idea to get my neck moving every so often. Keeping eyes fixed forward, focusing on those next few meters ahead, meant that when I remembered to shimmy my head around a little, my neck was suddenly jolted awake, giving the muscles something to do. After an hour or two of forest track, I whipped my head to the right, without thinking, which lit up the trees around me. I hadn’t realised that there was quite a drop towards the Loch, which had been hugging my right since I left my rest stop. That was enough neck exercises for one night!

To break up the monotony, I got my phone out and turned my mobile internet back on. A few messages buzzed in: responses to my Instagram stories. “Keep going, Vici, you can do this!” “I wish I was fit enough to do that. How long have you got left? Aren’t you scared? You’re so brave!” Was I scared? I hadn’t thought about it. Should I be scared? I suppose I am out here on my own. If anyone with bad intent decided they wanted to attack me, my only connection to the world was my phone. There was no one around for miles. It was dark. Really dark. If I hurt myself – broke my ankle, or leg, for example – my head torch battery would probably run out and my spare wasn’t very bright. These are not helpful thoughts. I replied to the message, “Not really allowing myself to be scared. No plan B, got to keep moving. 15km to go. About 3 hours.”

Onwards I plodded, walking, with the occasional trot, through endless forest. The final 5km arrived and I could finally see both the hostel and my GPS marker on the same screen without having to scroll across. I’d like to say the end was in sight, but it was still very much pitch black apart from the next 5m of headtorch-illuminated ground.

Flo, who I’d been updating every half an hour or so, was eager to know that I’d finished. Mostly so she could finally go to bed. “I’m staying up until you get to that hostel room.” Before getting to the hostel, I’d have to navigate my way across the canal, which I hoped would be an obvious hop. For hours, I’d been the only thing with a heartbeat for miles around. But as I neared the canal, I was surprised by a nearby “baaaa!”. Not thinking, I mirrored the noise in reply as my headtorch lit up a startled sheep. By this point, I’d picked up the pace quite a bit so that was the extent of my conversation with the cloud with legs. Onwards I went, towards the soft, cosy bed.

Just before the canal crossing, there was a small village of cabins which were clearly occupied by groups who’d escaped the apocalyptic lockdown life for a calm weekend away. I was jogging, by this point, One very confused man watched me walk up the road and, just as I was at the most vulnerable distance from him, he said “Taking your chances this late, aren’t you?”. What did that even mean? Was that a threat? Chances on what? With no time to ask, or to wrap my head around such a weird question, I adjusted my torch and scanned for where the path was meant to lead me across the canal. Thankfully, it was all very straight-forward and I was over without even a riddle with a troll.

“1km left, Flo. I’m running now.”

This was the only section of the trail I’d actually looked up on Google Streetview. And thank God I did! 500m up a very narrow trail surrounded by moody trees (that smelt AMAZING). Then turn into the sludge at the opening and take a U-turn.

With 100m to go, I got my phone out and started recording. The hostel’s red sign came into view first and I welled up. I’d made it. What. A. Day. My eyes felt like they were welling up but no tears were coming. I was just so tired, so overwhelmed and so proud of myself. In the end, the video just showed a shaky, dark scene with not much to see. I nudged the door and found that it was open. At reception, my room key was waiting with a note from the owner.

 

“I made it.”

“Yes!!!!!”

“I’m not crying, you’re crying.”

“I’m really proud of you.”

“I’m really proud of me, too.”