With the Full Scottish Breakfast safely stored away–eggs, sausage, bacon, blood pudding, haggis, mushrooms, tomatos, and beans–we were ready for anything. A quick walk brought us to an outdoor store, where we bought our final necessities–a gas cartridge and midge nets–and before we knew it we were at the Queen Street Station and waiting for the train to Milngavie, or “Mull-guy”. as the l0cals say Unfortunately, the train wasn’t ready for us: signal problems were causing cancellations. So we waited, and waited…and finally jumped in a cab. The cabbie was loquacious and very funny. He has been to the US fifteen times, and never left the Orlando city limits. “Michael Mouse” is his self-proclaimed best friend.
He dropped us right at the beginning of the way.
We hoisted out packs, adjusted our straps, and we were on our way. Did I mention that there was a steady rain? Not a deluge, but not sprinkles either, so we were wearing our rain shells and rain pants to start our walk. The first mile or so was through a public park alongside a stream, but we were soon in a lovely woodland carpeted with blue bells.
We probably set the world record for blue bell photos on this one day alone. This was totally level walking on a good footbed, and we were making excellent time, probably 20 minute miles.
After a couple of miles, the woods began to open, and we soon found ourselves in open country alongside Loch Craigiann and then a smaller loch, Carbeth, with holiday chalets on its shores.
There were not a lot of walkers about. We had been passed by three young guys planning to do the walk in five days, and otherwise failed to see much of anyone.
After a short road walk, we entered a farm lane between sheep pastures; this led over a rise, and suddenly we were fell walking, with tufted turf dotted with broom, gorse, and heather all around. This was the Campsie Fells, with stunning views. In front of us was the large and imposing thunderhead form of Dumgoyne, a prominent top that would remain visible until we were descending from Conic Hill the next day.
In the foreground was the small, forested cone called Dumgoyach, with a farm on the far side. This was lovely and even exciting walking, even in the heavy rain: it was what we imagined we had come for.
This interval was all too brief on the first day, however: once past the farm, we turned onto a disused railway embankment, and walked like an arrow for several rather boring miles accompanied by the noise of a major road to our right.
We were now about halfway to Drymen and feeling a bit waterlogged and beaten down. Beaten down enough that we decided to skip the tour at Glengoyne Distillery, since it was about 1/3 of a mile off the trail and we were getting rather hungry. This is a decision I now regret!
We were very glad to reach the Beech Tree Inn in Dumgoyne, right on the path, as the rain continued to pour down. As we walked onto the property we saw a lone figure huddled under an awning and eating his lunch. He said to us, tersely and in a decidedly un-British accent, that there were no tables inside. Which proved to be true. So, while we enjoyed a hot bowl of soup and a piece of crusty loaf, we had to join him in the chilly, damp space under the awning. We managed to extract the information that he was from Boston, that he was an actor who worked in the mailroom of a large corporation, and that he, too, was walking the Way.
Somewhat restored, we waited out a particularly hard shower and set off once again along the embankment. Luckily, the rail line soon left the road, and we went a bit deeper into farm country. Still flat, but a bit better. As we walked, the rain started to let up, and finally stopped altogether just before we crossed the road again. What a relief to stow the rain gear!
Walking through fields, we soon came to the little hamlet of Gartness, crossed a very old stone bridge, and started the longish road walk to Drymen. The country lane was actually very quiet, with really beautiful farms–on one of which we saw a sheep with border collie markings!
The lane undulated for a couple of miles, giving us great views back to the Fells and some suggestions of what was to come beyond Drymen. We soon passed the Easter Drumquhassie Farm, site of Drymen camping, and saw the village in the distance.
When we approached Drymen, it wasn’t exactly clear how to get there. We soon saw a path leaving the road and crossing a hill, and sure enough, there were the outskirts on the other side. We were about to ask for the Winnock Hotel when I saw it across the road, right on the small but charming village green.
We were both tired, but not knackered, and somewhat exhilarated that we had done so well on the first day. The hotel oozed character, with thick stone stuccoed walls, low ceilings, weathered beams, and several fireplaces in the common areas, and our room was delightful, with an old four poster bed–into which we collapsed for a well-deserved rest. This was the story of our trip: our legs, with so many miles in them, and with our packs bearing down on them, ached when we lay down. Miraculously, they were always fine the next morning. And the afternoon and night in Dryment was no exception.
I then went down to the bar and had a pint of the local ale, and Sue joined me for her first of what would be many appallingly bad wines. The bar was crowded and very convivial, though we seemed to be the only walkers.
We were soon ready to undertake an extensive tour of Drymen–little did we know that this would be the biggest place we would see until Kinlochleven! Down one lane with a row of shops was the supposedly superior Buchanan Arms, where we made a dinner reservation. Seeing busfulls of German tourists arrive, though, we canceled and went back to the Winnock, with its much more interesting menu. Dinner was perfectly good, and we were hungry!
A quick after dinner jaunt brought us to a viewpoint from which we could see a sliver of Loch Lomond.
Back at the hotel, we took a dram of whisky upstairs–my first Glengoyne 12, which I really liked–and we were sound asleep by 10 PM.