On a rainy fall day in the Scottish Highlands, the hills literally cry. It can seem, at points along the road, that waterfalls are seeping out of every nook and cranny. They cascade over rocks, pool in ponds, surge over the walking path.
Clearly there’s a reason why Scotland is called “the land of falling waters.” In the fall it rains, if not every day, then darn close to it.
I’ve been looking forward to sharing this constant and copious weeping with Mary. She thrives on environmental moods. She lives on a river. We both love a wild and watery show of nature.
But here we are several days into our hike and we’ve yet to see rain beyond a one hour-ish patch. Being from Seattle, I can’t even call what we got rain. The sky spit for a moment. So, while we have seen little rivulets here and there, some wet rocks in pathside streams, and, of course, the miles-long lake beside us, we have definitely not been leaping waterways on the path. Until today.
Between the many curves (oops, undulations!) of the woodland path between Rowardennan and Inversnaid, the water was finally flowing today. It rushed down the ridges above us, cascaded down tree lines and popped out of the middle of rock walls, tickling ferns along the way. Tiny geisers appeared on the left, disappeared, and then reappeared on the right side of the path, welling up in tadpole-filled pools. Water from surrounding hills fed a gathering of moss-covered stumps and rocks at one turn, creating the illusion of a soft and verdant village. At this same spot several years ago my friend Cynthia was sure we’d stumbled into a fairy town.
Today Mary and I both saw “Hobbits!” It was late morning; elevenses.
At another twist in the road and another waterfall we caught a pungent whiff of garlic and discovered a swath of wild ramps (also called wild leeks) growing near a wet ravine.
Talk about a sight for sore eyes (and stomachs). I’m not saying there have been no vegetables at the eateries we’ve visited thus far, but by my mostly vegetarian standards, practically none. At best they have been overcooked and buried in curry sauce, at worst arrived on the plate as a mealy not-quite-fried tomato at breakfast. Seeing that expanse of edible green, my GI tract leapt for joy. We picked more than our share, crammed them into a big cup and stuffed it into my backpack pocket. A bit like Wilson to Tom Hanks, our container of ramps quickly became a cup of personality, demanding to be taken everywhere, added to breakfast eggs and sandwiches.
With garlicky breath we eventually turned the last corner on today’s 7 mile walk to find ourselves standing atop the waterfall at Inversnaid, watching big-eyed as water flowed down in raging white tendrils from Loch (lake) Arklet above us into tranquil Loch Lomond below. The elegant and old Inversnaid Hotel sat adjacent to the falls.
At first we couldn’t figure out why the hotel seemed so enthused to see us stumble in. Turns out Mary and I were the first “single” booking in at least two years.
“Well that’s cool,” I thought, having no idea what a single booking was and hoping it meant a fruit and cheese basket and a bottle of Scotch.
We were just starting our decidedly bland meal in a completely empty dining room when we understood our status. All of a sudden a group of about 50 elderly tourists walked, shuffled and rolled in to take up the rest of the seats. The same thing was happening in the hotel’s other two dining rooms. The buses had arrived! Turns out Inversnaid generally services only tour buses.
“It’s sooooo nice to get actual walkers,” our energetic waitri whispered.
At first it felt awkward and a little sad to see folks largely limited to bus touring in order to travel. But then we looked in the mirror. As we sat there the saying “there but by the grace of god go I” rushed in to humble me. As did the two bus ladies we later had the opportunity to chat with. One was nearing 80 and the other was well past it. Since their husbands died they’ve been taking several tours every year.
“It keeps us young and in shape,” the older one told us. “We aren’t going down without a fight.”
That conversation was our kindness and our happy accident today. It helped us reframe and embrace a truth of aging and recognize the beauty in elders, with or without limited mobility, having a great time traveling together. And to see the benefit and ease in having their itinerary and meals planned ahead. To understand the freedom that might one day bring — especially to me, a wanderer at heart. At the end of the day, I think Mary hit the nail on the head:
“Sometimes known is more fun than unknown.”
To enjoy a bit of today's waterworks click below.
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