Not following much of my initial plan. Not heading toward the train station. Only carrying half of my original rations. I set out from the Hostel in Glasgow towards the beginning of the West Highland Way. I walked out of the city on the picturesque, well maintained, Kelvin walkway. The way follows the river Kelvin straight north out of the city. Slowly Glasgow dripped away. The buildings, and parks dotted with picnickers, began giving way to fields, and the shabbier less maintained parks of the suburbs. The traffic on the path began to change as well the further away from Glasgow I got. The dog walkers, baby walkers, and joggers changed to the far less pleasant cyclists.
The cyclists did a lot of general yelling at me. I assumed that being generally unpleasant was part of cycling culture until one hollered that I was walking on the wrong side of the path… apparently the bicycles and cars both drive on the opposite side of the street in the United Kingdom. After moving to the proper side, I had far less problems with the cyclists. Soon even the cyclists were gone. The trail changed from paved to dirt and the trees sheltering the river grew thicker and wilder, occasionally giving way to sheep pastures, moving ever further away from houses and roads.

Finally left the city!

The trail eventually left the Kelvin and joined a new river, the Allander. Continuing through the refreshing pastoral landscape I was painfully aware of my pack weight and the blisters forming on my feet. I thought how nice it would be to conscript one of the sheep to my cause. Tie my pack to its back and lead it through Scotland, what a sight that would have made!

After a few more hours of walking I finally made it to Milngavie! The start! Feeling exhausted I made my way through the town to the beginning of the West Highland Way. It was easy to find. Marked by a massive sign and an equally massive group of eager, happy hikers, taking photos, chatting, and generally milling around. I hated them. They all looked so happy, clean, ready to go, smiling, chatting, and taking smiling photos of themselves before taking one step along the path. I scowled at them all; the way only a grizzled veteran who has been on the trail for upwards of 6 hours could. I felt tired, dirty, sweaty, blistered, hungry, and unsure. I was only positive of a few things.

1. I would probably not be making it to any official camping areas that night, this meant wild camping. Finding a suitable, flat, spacious enough location where beast nor Scotsman nor merry hiker would harass me.
2. Once camp was set I would be treating the blisters my feet were most certainly developing.
3. My pack was too heavy.

I snapped a quick picture of myself to have a record of the beginning and continued walking.

Me, Exhausted on the left in the middle of a days hike. I had not even climbed a mountain that day! Me on the Right at the top of Romania’s tallest Mountain looking much happier. It is amazing what a little training can do!

The West Highland Way begins its lazy journey through the Scottish highlands by first cutting through Mugdock wood, which in spite of its name, is quite an enchanting forest. The bright green of the grass, and muted greens of the moss covered trees created a lovely canvas for the sun rays cutting through the leaves overhead to play on. I was trying to enjoy the surroundings but a few things were making it difficult to take in the splendid woods. Namely my seemingly rock filled pack, and my aching feet.

Grumbling, and puffing I stared intently at the path under my feet, trudging not through but past the beautiful woods. Worrying about where I would sleep, worrying about my rations, worrying about my pack weight, worrying about my feet, worrying about the next month of walking I had planned, worrying if I had enough water, worrying if I was athletic enough for this undertaking, worrying about the job I had left behind a few weeks earlier, worry, worry, worry. Walking. Worrying. Looking intently at the ground. Missing the beauty and freedom around me.

Mugdock Wood

As the hurricane of worries in my head seemed to be reaching a fever pitch I saw it. A sign. Exactly what I needed to see, exactly when I needed to see it, and surprisingly enough exactly where I was looking. Right beneath my feet. A stone set into the path with the word “breath” on it. I stopped, standing in the middle of the path, standing truly in the middle of Mugdock wood. Smiled, took a deep breath as prescribed by the magical stone in the Scottish wood, and felt a weight fall from me. Looking up at the trees and the path stretching away from me I took my next step and finally started my journey into the heart of Scotland, and the world.

Magic Scottish Stone in the Magic Scottish Mugdock Wood

Glasgow to Milngavie