First, a quiz! What is this? (Answer at the end.)

We had a glorious day, appreciating every second of perfect weather, especially since we had 18.85 miles to cover. Not all of it was “official” because we took the advice of Colin, Mr. Braeside B and B, to take a side excursion to Inchcailloch Island, for, we were told, the island was carpeted with bluebells and that it was a spectacular sight. Of that, more later.

Along the way, there was this:

deforestation of miles of pines. So sad and so ugly. However, at least these logs served as a “bathroom.”

A bit of today’s trail, either up or down conic hill:

at the top of which hill was a spectacular view of Loch Lomand, which, at 23 miles long, 5 miles wide, and 623 feet deep at its deepest, is much more impressive than it appears in this poor photo. Some of the islands you see have been lived on at one time or another, sort of like the Thimble Islands!

People who worry sheep are very naughty:

Because you can see how adorable they are. Can you see a bit of the shy one hiding behind her two more photogenic friends?

To get to the island, Colin had told us to look for a wee man with a wee boat, a row boat. Heading down to the shore, we actually found such a fellow and asked, “Are you the wee man with the wee boat?” “No,” said he, “Not I. Go over there and they’ll fix you up.” So we did and were directed to a ferry taxi, which would carry us over to the Island and come to fetch when we wanted, so long as it was on the hour or the half hour. Said boat was not the Knotty Buoy:

On the boat was delightful family, three generations, going over to the island to take some family photos. Here are Olivia, Brudy, and James:

After a good belting of “On The Bonny Bonny Banks of Loch Lomand” by all, we were quite happy:

As promised, everywhere the eye turned, bluebells. A swath? A carpet? A mass? Truly an impressive sight:

Here are a few up close:

Now, this is the wee man driving the wee boat back to shore, a trip of about five minutes:

Back to the task and on from Balmaha to Rowardennan, and don’t believe anyone who tells you it is only seven and a half miles–well, maybe if you drive it it is. But look at the Highland cows! A mama:

And her calf:

At the end of our walk, which took us to a hotel where we are not staying, we bought dinner to go and brought it back to our abode for the night. We dined in full sun on the porch from which a had a marvelous view of the loch. Dessert was chocolate cake:

Answer to the quiz question:

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Cold, wind, and hail, mixed with sun was the weather for our fist official segment of the walk. The cold was very cold as in wool tank top, thin wool base layer, wind shirt, light fleece, overall wind shirt, rain pants, gloves, and hat, and not a bit overdressed. But the rain was not torrents or anything. In fact, during the worst of it, we happened to be in the Glengoyne Distillery taking a tour. The tour was not the best tour ever, but the copper vats wherein the first stage of the process takes place were gorgeous, Pictures however, they did not let you take.

The scenery today looked like this:

Not so many sheep, but in this field, there were several Wilburs with their Maaa-maaas

To be perfectly honest, today’s walk was a wee bit dull. Aye and there were some beautiful bits such as streams, waterfalls, muchas flores muy preciosas, but the walking was all on track except for when it was on road. This is track:

We arrived in Drymen four-ish and found our very nice B and B easily. It helps when one’s accommodations are on Main Street. We have a grand view from the bathroom:

It is really pleasant to have enough room to be able to open our suitcases AND we have radiators, just the thing for drying laundry.

Jerry Anne relaxing after a long day:

Tomorrow’s trek to Rowardennan is supposed to be challenging. But the weather service promises sun; that can make all the difference.

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Ahhh, nice fresh-smelling sheets for our beds, a small luxury:

Heading out on our warm-up walk to Glasgow, some extra sustenance of the freshly baked variety was required:

Actually, being well-suppled from lasts night’s spree at Mark and Spencer’s food emporium, we had plenty for lunch, so did not actually buy anything at that bakery, but I have been told that everyone likes photos of food, so why pass up an opportunity to please?
The walk to Glasgow, is ten and a half miles, but we did it in fifteen plus. Mostly you just follow two rivers, the Allender and the Kelvin. This is the Allender:

The Kelvin looks pretty much the same. Sometimes there is a bend in the river:

Sometimes you have to turn away from the river because the path just stops. That is when losing the way happens. It was a gorgeous day, sunny and cool, and the walk was easy and pretty, so these unplanned diversions were not so bad.
The branches of this scary-looking tree reached down to the path:

But these primroses cheered the way:

One diversion that was planned was a visit to Glasgow’s botanic gardens. Isn’t this a gorgeous orchid?

I have no idea what this is but it is from a tropical clime:

There was some fascinating information about Pandas and their diet of bamboo. I took a picture of the narrative but it didn’t come out clearly enough, but do look up “pandas and bamboo” or some other search terms to find out about this. It is really really interesting. Since I cannot show you a picture of that, here is one more exotic flower:

This sad tale of King Robert of Sicily (who knew?) did photograph:

And here is the poor wretch, naked, and with his little monkey friend:

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Location:Milngavie

After a less than fabulous flight, we landed in Glasgow only fifty minutes behind schedule, but so speedy and efficient were the immigration and customs (they did query us in a most detailed manner, a process that included a “request” that we divulge the amount of our funds whilst we planned to cavort in their bonny country), not to mention an almost instantaneous delivery of the luggage from the flight, that any lost time was quickly made up.

We had planned to take a taxi to Milngavie, such being the recommendation of some source or other, but the queue was so long that it seemed silly to wait, so we took the bus, which happened to be waiting right next to the taxi stand. Off we got at the train station, and thence straight to the official start of the West Highland Way:

Oh–I almost forgot–first impressions! The air. The air here is fresh like you don’t know from. Clean and crisp. The light I cannot explain but it is at a different angle and is very clear. Just so you should know, it is 9:30 p.m. and not yet getting dark ¡No anochece todavía! And of course, there are the flowers:

And dandelions that look like they are on steroids:

The town is prosperous and pretty. Our B and B has only two tiny guest rooms, very tiny, but it is a comfortable and our hosts let us check in at 10:30–the standard you-are-allowed-in time is 4:30, so you can see how nice they are! After a bit of rearranging, we headed out for lunch. Never does a huge latte taste better than after a transatlantic flight!

We explored the area, popped into a few shops, and then headed over to the local art gallery where there was a most impressive exhibit of children’s (ages 8-17) art work. Here are a few samples from the 8-10 group:

On the patio of our B and B, we dined in splendour, serenaded by rich and melodious birdsong:

Tomorrow we walk from Milngavie to Glasgow, and who knows, maybe back again, too!

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Location:Milngavie

A new year and a new walk! Two walks, actually. This excursion to Scotland allows for two technically different walks: The West Highland Way and the Great Glen Way. In geographic terms that means we—Jerry Anne and I—will walk from Glasgow to Inverness. The mid point, Fort William, is the locale for those who want to experience Britain’s highest peak, so they say, Ben Nevis. We will do that, too. Because why not? Now, to be honest, the walk does not begin in Glasgow, exactly, but in a little town, Milngavie, a few miles out. However, we shall walk the ten and a half miles from Glasgow to Milngavie (pronounced Mul-guy) because I am compulsive, because it is a good way to start, being flat and all, and because it is too hard to explain that you started in Glasgow if you really didn’t.
The planning for this trip began last August, and it has been lots of fun preparing and arranging it all. I am responsible for all screw-ups, like, if we show up at a B and B and there is no booking for us. Unlikely, since I confirmed and reconfirmed, but still, YOU NEVER KNOW! I am also responsible for good choices, assuming there are some! We will be staying in a variety of places from hostel, to modest B and B, to a couple of really nice—from the pictures and according to Trip Advisor—B and B’s. But reading Trip Advisor can be like going to a Cathedral. Not your everyday simile, right? Well, both claim so many and such superlatives that their credibility becomes questionable, pero, vamos a ver (but we’ll see).
The point of this entry is really to see if I remember how to import photos, so now I am going to try to retrieve the one test test photo I took for this purpose:

Oh, there it is! Success! I am so happy! There is my suitcase, and there are my boots, all nicely waterproofed and spiffy-looking, and there is my trusty backpack, crammed with rain gear and lots of wind jackets, those thin bits of nothing that do wonders to protect one from the elements, except that we are going to have perfect weather this year.
Tomorrow we leave and Tuesday, early morning, land in Glasgow, one hopes. Jerry Anne has had a series of miss haps (is that really two words?) and bad luck lately–an Achilles tendon problem, a broken toe, and now a cold, but she will soldier on, and we expect to have a grand adventure!

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Location:New Haven

Bath, a city with many attractions, was a great place to end the walk. There is the famous circus, not as in clowns and lions and tigers, but as in a series of attached row houses arranged in a semi circle. It was, in its day, apparently, a good address to have, and maybe it still is:

What would Bath be without the baths?  Not only are the baths not used, there are signs warning not to even put your hand in the water!

All sorts of people used the baths, even the soldiers:

There are lots of museums. This is the dining room in a Georgian house. No photography was allowed, but, not knowing, Wendy caught this shot:

Ahhh, see the chimneys? Well, the guide on our walking tour told us that the citizens were taxed according to the number of windows they had. If two windows were very close together, they counted as one window, so the lucky owner payed less taxes. Neither Wendy nor I could understand why they didn’t just count chimneys. (Maybe the TV antennas got in the way?)

The city boasts many fine candy shops:

and choosing can be difficult:

This is—so they say—the oldest house in Bath. It is where Sally Lunn baked her buns:

Of course, we had to visit the very kitchen wherein the buns were baked:

And there she is, hard at work:

The fashion museum was lots of fun. In one section, you can try on clothes, boys, girls, men and women.

You would not believe how heavy a victorian crinoline is.

But it does make the dress look grand!

In the main square, in front of the Abbey, there is entertainment all day, mostly musicians of one sort or another, from opera singers to……

The good citizens of Bath are very proud that Jane Austin spent a couple of years in their fair town:

Behold the famous Abbey:

If you want to climb 220 steps, you get to see the bell structures and the clock:

I have no idea what, exactly this is, but take my word for it, it has to do either with the clock or the bells, most likely the clock:

Then you see the city from way high up:

The official end, or beginning, to the Cotswald Way is at the Abbey, although, at the moment, there is no plaque announcing that. One is promised for September:

It was something of an achievement to walk the whole Cotswald Way, but golly, gee, it wasn’t exactly worthy of Her Majesty’s congratulations!

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Last night’s lodgings were pretty basic, to say the least, but sometimes shelter from the rain is enough. The final stretch was fifteen miles by one account, sixteen by another, but it turned out to be 20.52, which is a lot of miles, in case you want to know.

Mr. snail had a good breakfast and is enjoying the early morning wetness:

Too bad that I did not learn how to use the zoom until we were in Bath because a close-up of the grass, studded with large dew drops is beautiful. Do enlarge the shot to get the effect:

A friend emerged to join the trek:

A hen and her chicks:

Once in a while, one is reminded of civilization:

Then it is back to fields and sky:

We saw lots of this. Oats? Barley? Wheat? (Probably not wheat, but what do I know?)

A break from the rain in a field of the grain (as shown above):

Some of the dry stone walls have fallen into disrepair. What a pity. They are so much more beautiful than barbed wire:

A bower of roses:

What an enticing place for a nap and a snack:

This here stone pig does guard duty. He certainly has that je ne sais quois:

I wonder what happens when the lorries and coaches ring that number. After all, in case of a flat, there are lots of spare tires right there:

By and by we arrived at—are you ready for this—Pennsylvania. The guide book said that at Pennsylvania there was a gas station. The book was right about that. There was not one other thing!

We were so looking forward to getting to Cold Ashton, some eight miles along, where we had planned to partake of refreshment. But AGAIN, as at Ferrybridge, the oasis turned out to be an abandoned watering hole. How disappointing!

Then we missed a sign, which is really easy to do, especially when it seems sensible to continue straight along what looks to be a major path. Not only did that error add a mile to an already very long day, it took us a difficult spot. There was a choice: either cross a cattle grid with nothing to hold on to (which Wendy did since her boots spanned two rungs) or go through a horrendously muddy patch, which I did, with the following result:

For some creatures, however, the mud poses no problem:

When we realized our error, we had to renavigate said awful mess. Why I did not think of this way of getting across the first time, I do not know:

We trudged through the fields where the Battle of Lansdown was fought in 1643. It seems that the people fighting the battle did not have much idea why they were so engaged at the moment, but one must do one’s duty, so fight they did. (FYI, the account is worth reading.)

As a memorial to the battle, these fancy orange metal standards were erected to mark the Cotswald Way for a bit:

When you are having a V E R Y long day, it may be best to leave your house behind:

We walked from 8:20 a.m. until 7:45 p.m. with just a few short breaks, doffing and donning the rain gear all day, as has become the custom. Finally, muddy, very muddy, and weary, we arrived at our lovely inn in Bath, home for the next three nights. It was almost an embarrassment to show up so un-respectable looking, but our hosts could not have been nicer. They took our muddy gators and rain pants for washing, and offered to drive us to a local restaurant for dinner. But we pleaded for cereal, fruit, and milk instead, which they supplied in abundance. It was a welcoming and happy conclusion to a beautiful, beautiful walk.

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First, a last glance at Tetbury with a shot of this attractive shop:

Of all the exquisite things we saw in the antique shops in Tetbury, one stands out for the way it so precisely represents a way of life gone by. It was a set of four miniature silver dogs, each a different breed, perfectly rendered, their purpose being to hold a menu card (hand written, of course) at dinner parties. Oh–the price for the set–almost 2000 pounds!

Not quite so elegant was this metal plaque in the B and B. Now, why would anyone go to so much trouble to record that?

Another house, typical of the style in the Cotswalds:

Tormarton, our stop for the night, was the penultimate destination of the walk, a fourteen mile stretch. In reality, it was sixteen plus, and not easy walking, either, so we got onto the path at 8:20.

Our friend, Mr. Snail, got an early start, too:

You can see that the path is still very muddy, but at least there are still signs. Wait! Does the one on that wee post have the acorn?

Uh oh, disaster along the way! Guess we’ll have to convert to a relay:

A pretty field:

And a stunning sky:

What seems to be Queen Anne’s Lace in different colours:

There were dramatic woodlands, too. The base of this trunk looks like gigantic toes, don’t you think? (At least it did in real life.)

A slice of a majestic tree:

One of many gorgeous views:

Every creature needs to be considered in the scheme of things, does it not:

Moving along is such hard work, especially the up-hills:

But eventually, one gets to the B and B, even in the pouring, pouring rain:

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Before tackling the last two substantial days of The Way, we scheduled a rest day. Since public transportation out of Wotton is almost non-existent, we had a taxi whisk us to the Westonbirt Arboretum some ten miles away. What a wonderful decision! Apparently, Westonbirt is the largest arboretum in Europe. Whether it is or not, I don’t know, but the parts we walked though were gorgeous and truly awe-some.

Last night, Wendy said that we were not going to take a picture of every tree we saw. This was quite a surprise because Wendy is the big picture taker. Of course, her intention did not materialize, but you are going to see only a few shots, I promise.

Look at this trunk:

It is worth looking at this photo full size because who knew?

A lot of the magnificence is in the arrangement of the trees, but you just have to come and see for yourselves. Not being able to capture any of that, I opted for a few striking specimens, such as this one:

and this weeping evergreen:

Unfortunately, it started to pour, even though the day actually started out sunny, so we headed to the bus stop outside the garden to catch the 12:02 to Tetbury, a town famous for its antiques, not to mention a shop that Prince Charles owns, the proceeds from which go to a fund to help “troubled youth.” I’ll say this for his shoppe–it is magnificent! It was so so hard to resist the very fine linens: placemats, napkins, and towels. I mean really hard!

Of course, the first and central sight in an old wool town is the market square:

You can see that the buildings date from way back:

We visited some exquisite food shops. Would you get a load of this display of garlic?

One establishment sold lovely things for the garden:

Most had things for inside the home:

Quite by accident, the first antique store we visited, turned out to be the finest in town, but there we took no photos! Looking at the displays was just like visiting a museum.

Not every store had thrillingly tasteful wares:

There were beautiful flower shops:

And a bit of street whimsy:

At the end of the day, we were picked up at The Snooty Fox. (Isn’t that a great name for a pub?)

For you cat lovers out there, here is the B and B’s Burmese kitty. (I think the guy said it was Burmese.)

We are hoping that it won’t rain too much tomorrow.

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Wendy is a careful navigator and she also takes some really good pictures. Here are two. One, a sheep standing on three legs, or so it seems:

And this one of a cow looking quite elegant—-for a cow:

This was a day of much upping and downing, and, as on many other days, much donning and doffing of the rain gear. Dear reader, you will not believe this: I agreed to a short cut today, the section being classified as one of the more strenuous of the route. But, said short cut, which shaved a whole two miles off a sixteen-mile day, is still an official Cotswald alternative. There is cheating and there is cheating!

The Cotswalds’ villages and sights have some of the most charming names: Chipping Campden (where it all begins), North Nibley, Hetty Pegler’s Tump, Hedgecomb Farm, Rosebank Cottage, Hawksbury, Cold Ashton, Wood Stanway, Dowdeswell, Birdlip, Tetbury, where we shall visit tomorrow, and on and on.

OMG, here he is again!

The walk today was through lots of woodland, but there were some stunning views when we emerged into open land:

A poem (?) on a gate, not by Wordsworth, for sure:

Snack time! Traveling the Cotswald Way takes a lot of energy.

More choices:

What a sky!

The beginning section of the notorious steps leading up to the Tyndale Monument. The steps seem to go on f o r e v e r.  It is said that if one climbs to the top of these steps and then goes back down to the bottom, one will be given the key to monument, and, after a second ascent, can then climb all the steps inside the monument. Or, one could simply plan one’s visit for a weekend when the monument is open.

The monument does not tilt; I do:

Yet another memorial. Trees planted to celebrate the British (inter alia) victory at Waterloo:

By the time we dragged ourselves into Wotton-Under Edge, it was 5:45 p.m, more than nine hours after we set out. True, we did stop for a latte in Dursley, but still….

Tonight, a dine-in evening. Chicken and some sides from the local Co-Op made a fine meal, indeed.

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