It was the eve of my beginning the West Highland Way. A 96 mile trail winding through the Scottish Highlands from the town of Milngavie to Fort William. I had meticulously studied the route, gathered maps, assembled a hiking kit, plotted out places to camp, eat, buy gear, and now I was assembling my rations with the same level of intense but haphazard care. Sitting in the poorly lit basement lounge of a Hostel in Glasgow I stared at the mounds of food surrounding me, nine to be exact, one for each day I planned to be walking through the Scottish Highlands before being able (willing) to resupply my rations. Bagged, sorted, weighed, measured, analyzed for calorie content, labeled with the day to be eaten and sorted so as to not eat too many of the same candy bar on any given day I realized in spite of my careful planning and diligent preparation I had failed to take one critical aspect into account… Volume. It never fails there is always something overlooked…

I looked at the ration piles in front of me, the little clustered piles of bagged food stretching away from me across the table looking not too unlike the mountains of the highlands I was preparing to traverse. I turned to my loaded pack on the chair besides me critically eyeing the small pocket on the back and the shallow hollow in the bag, just above the tightly packed gear. “Shit” I declared to nobody in particular and began removing some of what I considered to be the less savory, and boring food options.

Soon I had two smaller piles. One consisting of my now largely reduced rations, packed into their bags, still labeled by day, and now woefully inaccurate calorie counts. The other made up of granola, salmon, more salmon, and a few candy bars which, if truth be told, I was happy to be rid of. The discarded pile I carried to the Hostels kitchen and left on the free food shelf (one of the many alters to the Travel Gods when one knows where to look) in hopes that this would be a sufficient offering to bank a little travel karma. The remainder was dumped, stuffed, and forced into the remaining spaces of my pack. After filling all remaining room in my bag, I turned to the table and frowned upon the much smaller, but still far too present remaining mounds of food. “Shit.” I offered what was seeming to be becoming my Mantra once again to the universe at large. My patients waning, I quickly lashed the remaining food bags to the top of my pack. Eyeballing the bulging, lopsided pack, I was about to carry across the rugged terrain of Scotland with feigned pride. I decided I was ready. I was prepared. I had done everything I could do… other than strength, cardio, and endurance training… I would start walking in the morning.

With the confidence of somebody who had just overloaded their pack, cut their rations in half, or done zero physical or mental preparation for the task at hand I decided I would not take the train to Milngavie (the start of the West Highland Way for those of you who have forgotten due to the intermediate, exciting story of packing food into bags) in the morning! I would start walking early, straight out of Glasgow. from city, to town, to countryside, to the highlands!

Route of the Entire Scotland Walk