from Inverness: weather matters

Over dinner at the Kitchen Restaurant (a fairly new place in town), I lean over and tell Ed: the hostess is Polish; the waitress is Polish; the table runner – she’s Polish too.

So I ask our smiling server – how is it that there are so many Poles in Inverness?
Ten percent of the population here is Polish. She shrugs. We come here for a little while, we find work, we stay longer than we intended.
So you plan to go home?
Oh yes! In fact, I’m taking a vacation back home in two weeks and I am counting the hours! My family back home can’t wait to see me, I can’t wait to be there again!
Don’t you like it here?
Sure, it’s alright, but it’s not Poland. People here are different. For instance, so strange about the weather. It gets one degree below freezing and they freak out. Or, this week – you should hear them – heat wave! Such a heat wave!

Yes, they think it’s hot. And on the trail, on a long stretch of shadeless path, it did seem, under the weight of the pack, very warm indeed. But a heat wave? Only in the eyes of the Scots.

I look outside the restaurant window. Two young guys are spinning around on an inflatable on the River Ness.





On our walk into town, I could just hear the young boy begging for an ice cream to cool off. The dad acquiesces and then throws in – go ahead, take your shirts off, it’s hot enough.





On a patch of green, two people are practicing the pipes. I imagine they’re faces are pink with the effort. And pink from the sun.





The weather here is something of a sore subject. The bar tender in Invermoriston commented – people say – aye, it’s raining, after all, it’s Scotland! Sure, it rains, and we have sun too and all we hear about is the rain!

But the fact is, the weather changes here constantly. This spell of warm sunshine is, after all unusual.

And so we debate as to the neck leg of our journey here. The plan is to take a kayak some ways along the River Spey. How far will we get with this idea? Much depends on the weather. The ever unpredictable Scotland weather.


IMPORTANT NOTE: for the next seven days (until June 9th), my Internet access is going to be very uncertain. Over my years of blogging, I can think of only a handful of times where I could not post because of a connection problem. This may well be another such time. I will try – I’ll be hiking and kayaking with my computer in my pack (scary thought that it is). But we’re not sure if we’ll find places to stay (we have our sleeping bags) let alone places to hook up. So, stay patient please!

from Inverness: weather matters

Over dinner at the Kitchen Restaurant (a fairly new place in town), I lean over and tell Ed: the hostess is Polish; the waitress is Polish; the table runner – she’s Polish too.

So I ask our smiling server – how is it that there are so many Poles in Inverness?
Ten percent of the population here is Polish. She shrugs. We come here for a little while, we find work, we stay longer than we intended.
So you plan to go home?
Oh yes! In fact, I’m taking a vacation back home in two weeks and I am counting the hours! My family back home can’t wait to see me, I can’t wait to be there again!
Don’t you like it here?
Sure, it’s alright, but it’s not Poland. People here are different. For instance, so strange about the weather. It gets one degree below freezing and they freak out. Or, this week – you should hear them – heat wave! Such a heat wave!

Yes, they think it’s hot. And on the trail, on a long stretch of shadeless path, it did seem, under the weight of the pack, very warm indeed. But a heat wave? Only in the eyes of the Scots.

I look outside the restaurant window. Two young guys are spinning around on an inflatable on the River Ness.





On our walk into town, I could just hear the young boy begging for an ice cream to cool off. The dad acquiesces and then throws in – go ahead, take your shirts off, it’s hot enough.





On a patch of green, two people are practicing the pipes. I imagine they’re faces are pink with the effort. And pink from the sun.





The weather here is something of a sore subject. The bar tender in Invermoriston commented – people say – aye, it’s raining, after all, it’s Scotland! Sure, it rains, and we have sun too and all we hear about is the rain!

But the fact is, the weather changes here constantly. This spell of warm sunshine is, after all unusual.

And so we debate as to the neck leg of our journey here. The plan is to take a kayak some ways along the River Spey. How far will we get with this idea? Much depends on the weather. The ever unpredictable Scotland weather.


IMPORTANT NOTE: for the next seven days (until June 9th), my Internet access is going to be very uncertain. Over my years of blogging, I can think of only a handful of times where I could not post because of a connection problem. This may well be another such time. I will try – I’ll be hiking and kayaking with my computer in my pack (scary thought that it is). But we’re not sure if we’ll find places to stay (we have our sleeping bags) let alone places to hook up. So, stay patient please!

from the Great Glen Way Trail in Scotland: tic tac toe

We’re in Inverness now. Sore, each in different parts of the body, but deeply content. Hiking clear across Scotland – initially, it seemed too big of a challenge. And yet, the things I worried about proved manageable. The thing I did not worry about proved to be the greatest problem, ultimately posing the highest risk. It’s like that in life – you worry needlessly over so much and you hardly give a passing thought to thing that do you in. More on that in a bit.

I left Ocean with a report on waking up on Saturday to the view of Loch Ness at the time of sunrise. Let me pick it up from there.

Refreshed. Onwards! We continue high above the shores of Loch Ness. Truly, I can not get enough of her!





But the trail begins to dive inwards now. We are leaving behind not only Loch Ness, but the forests at her banks. Still, this is enchanting countryside. Bucolic, serene, with the highland cattle and ever present sheep to remind you where you are.
















After four hours of moderate hills and quiet landscapes, we are in Drumnadrochit. I have adjusted to the different rhythm of our days. Morning coffee cannot come in the morning. It has to come when the next village crosses our way. On this day, it comes in the late afternoon.

And I have a chance to post (see post below)! I hurry – it’s a long process to unload photos, pick better ones, adjust them as needed, put them up in flickr, transfer them to blogger, write the text – really, the more interesting the day, the more time it takes to put it on Ocean. The Loch Ness Center has functional WiFi, and for the price of a cup of tea, we sit down and I do my work. The Internet is grindingly slow. Finally at 6:30, I say the magic words – I’m done!

For his incredible patience, I reward Ed with a promise to camp again. And it’s the right thing to do. The last stretch is the longest of the Great Glen Way. Putting in some uphill miles now is a good idea, especially since the sun, normally so welcome, and giving vivid contours to the stunning landscape, gets to be significantly hot at midday. Ed goes through water at a speed I’ve never seen in anyone (he refills in streams and purifies with iodine). Now, in the evening, the hike is less of a toil.





We hike for several hours – through forests that are first dense and dark, then thinning, until the terrain looks like the stubs on a man’s unshaven face. With a few hairs left behind.





We pitch a tent just as the sun sets (close to 10). There isn’t a view this night. Nor do we have the comfort of a brook nearby. But it’s late and we haven’t eaten much and the map shows a tedious landscape ahead. And so we sleep here, along the road used once to haul back these trees that smell like pine heaven.


In the morning (today), we’re up early. It’s still a long hike to Inverness. At first, the views are tremendous. We’re away from Loch Ness now, and the moors and hills stretch into the distance – with patches of brown (the still dormant heather), yellow (the gorse) and green, all against a blue sky (note the windmills!).





But walking is a slow thing. There is a lot of hot path from one hill to the next. In this last stretch, the hike seems both interminable and magnificent.






And then, it all ends. We enter a forest and a few miles later, we are at the outskirts of Inverness.

We have walked from coast to coast.

So, where does the title for this post come from? And doesn’t it seem that all was simple and trouble free once the weather improved?

I’ll roll you back to my last post, where I wrote about moments of bliss. On this walk, we were reminded that even in moments of bliss, there is always that tiny element of struggle: nothing is without thorn or (more aptly, because it's Scotland) thistle. My toe, for example, got a significant and irritating blister (hence the “toe” in the tic tac toe).

But by far, the biggest issue came for us when, halfway through the hike, I found the first "tic". We had been warned of midges and we had come prepared for their onslaught. The midges stayed away, but the unheralded ticks did not.

Toward the end, we spent a good amount of time hunting our skin surfaces for tikcs. And we found not an insignificant number of them. Unprepared, we had to remove them as best we could. Lyme disease isn’t as widespread as it is in the States, but it’s here and on the rise. So, now we know. A warning to those setting out in the Highlands -- do as you would in Wisconsin (or elsewhere in the States): avoid brushing against their habitat, wear long duds, bring tweezers, know what to look for. Where there’s a sheep, there’s a tick.





Oh, why the “tac” in the title? Well, I’ve not mentioned that the village of Drumnadrochit has taken on the Loch Ness monster theme to a commercial level that is sort of, well, just a tiny bit tacky.





This is the village that has lured tour groups with an entire Loch Ness Monster Center. I’m not sure what’s on display there. But I am grateful for it – it’s where we found access to WiFi.


IMPORTANT NOTE: for the next eight days (until June 9th), my Internet access is going to be very uncertain. Over my years of blogging, I can think of only a handful of times where I could not post because of a connection problem. This may well be another such time. I will try – I’ll be hiking and kayaking with my computer in my pack (scary thought that it is). But we’re not sure if we’ll find places to stay (we have our sleeping bags) let alone places to hook up. So, stay patient please!

from the Great Glen Way Trail in Scotland: tic tac toe

We’re in Inverness now. Sore, each in different parts of the body, but deeply content. Hiking clear across Scotland – initially, it seemed too big of a challenge. And yet, the things I worried about proved manageable. The thing I did not worry about proved to be the greatest problem, ultimately posing the highest risk. It’s like that in life – you worry needlessly over so much and you hardly give a passing thought to thing that do you in. More on that in a bit.

I left Ocean with a report on waking up on Saturday to the view of Loch Ness at the time of sunrise. Let me pick it up from there.

Refreshed. Onwards! We continue high above the shores of Loch Ness. Truly, I can not get enough of her!





But the trail begins to dive inwards now. We are leaving behind not only Loch Ness, but the forests at her banks. Still, this is enchanting countryside. Bucolic, serene, with the highland cattle and ever present sheep to remind you where you are.
















After four hours of moderate hills and quiet landscapes, we are in Drumnadrochit. I have adjusted to the different rhythm of our days. Morning coffee cannot come in the morning. It has to come when the next village crosses our way. On this day, it comes in the late afternoon.

And I have a chance to post (see post below)! I hurry – it’s a long process to unload photos, pick better ones, adjust them as needed, put them up in flickr, transfer them to blogger, write the text – really, the more interesting the day, the more time it takes to put it on Ocean. The Loch Ness Center has functional WiFi, and for the price of a cup of tea, we sit down and I do my work. The Internet is grindingly slow. Finally at 6:30, I say the magic words – I’m done!

For his incredible patience, I reward Ed with a promise to camp again. And it’s the right thing to do. The last stretch is the longest of the Great Glen Way. Putting in some uphill miles now is a good idea, especially since the sun, normally so welcome, and giving vivid contours to the stunning landscape, gets to be significantly hot at midday. Ed goes through water at a speed I’ve never seen in anyone (he refills in streams and purifies with iodine). Now, in the evening, the hike is less of a toil.





We hike for several hours – through forests that are first dense and dark, then thinning, until the terrain looks like the stubs on a man’s unshaven face. With a few hairs left behind.





We pitch a tent just as the sun sets (close to 10). There isn’t a view this night. Nor do we have the comfort of a brook nearby. But it’s late and we haven’t eaten much and the map shows a tedious landscape ahead. And so we sleep here, along the road used once to haul back these trees that smell like pine heaven.


In the morning (today), we’re up early. It’s still a long hike to Inverness. At first, the views are tremendous. We’re away from Loch Ness now, and the moors and hills stretch into the distance – with patches of brown (the still dormant heather), yellow (the gorse) and green, all against a blue sky (note the windmills!).





But walking is a slow thing. There is a lot of hot path from one hill to the next. In this last stretch, the hike seems both interminable and magnificent.






And then, it all ends. We enter a forest and a few miles later, we are at the outskirts of Inverness.

We have walked from coast to coast.

So, where does the title for this post come from? And doesn’t it seem that all was simple and trouble free once the weather improved?

I’ll roll you back to my last post, where I wrote about moments of bliss. On this walk, we were reminded that even in moments of bliss, there is always that tiny element of struggle: nothing is without thorn or (more aptly, because it's Scotland) thistle. My toe, for example, got a significant and irritating blister (hence the “toe” in the tic tac toe).

But by far, the biggest issue came for us when, halfway through the hike, I found the first "tic". We had been warned of midges and we had come prepared for their onslaught. The midges stayed away, but the unheralded ticks did not.

Toward the end, we spent a good amount of time hunting our skin surfaces for tikcs. And we found not an insignificant number of them. Unprepared, we had to remove them as best we could. Lyme disease isn’t as widespread as it is in the States, but it’s here and on the rise. So, now we know. A warning to those setting out in the Highlands -- do as you would in Wisconsin (or elsewhere in the States): avoid brushing against their habitat, wear long duds, bring tweezers, know what to look for. Where there’s a sheep, there’s a tick.





Oh, why the “tac” in the title? Well, I’ve not mentioned that the village of Drumnadrochit has taken on the Loch Ness monster theme to a commercial level that is sort of, well, just a tiny bit tacky.





This is the village that has lured tour groups with an entire Loch Ness Monster Center. I’m not sure what’s on display there. But I am grateful for it – it’s where we found access to WiFi.


IMPORTANT NOTE: for the next eight days (until June 9th), my Internet access is going to be very uncertain. Over my years of blogging, I can think of only a handful of times where I could not post because of a connection problem. This may well be another such time. I will try – I’ll be hiking and kayaking with my computer in my pack (scary thought that it is). But we’re not sure if we’ll find places to stay (we have our sleeping bags) let alone places to hook up. So, stay patient please!

from the Great Glen Way Trail in Scotland: at the side of Ness

It’s almost 10 p.m. and still fairly light. If I lift the flap of the tent, I come face to face with heather. Not in bloom, not this early, but still, I can imagine the purple hue. Springtime, I make do with bluebells and buttercups and a host of other flowers.










The smell is of fir. Like sleeping underneath the Christmas tree. It’s morning now. Saturday. The sun is breaking up a few early misty clouds. Stepping out of the tent, I look toward Loch Ness – the southern tip, where we began our hike on Friday. So different now, in the morning light!





I start the rituals of a stream bath. It’s not really a big stream – we’d passed more gushing ones earlier, but it doesn’t really matter. Gone are the days where you could bathe in a mountain brook. Now, it’s all about porting water and sudsing away from the banks. So it takes time. Instead of a mirror, I stare at the face of the primrose, clinging to the stone by the trickling stream.





The water is cold, but that’s the only thing that’s cold. We have hit (finally!) a warm spell in Great Britain and suddenly, with that blast of sunshine, life is easy, life is good.




Our morning yesterday (Friday) was quite different (and equally pleasurable): our sweet, sweet b&b hosts (a mother daughter team) let us sleep in and dry out from the previous day’s rains before feeding us a wholesome breakfast of eggs from the back field, where the dozen chickens roam (see that one? -- I’m asked, she’s a regular hen pecker – never leaves him alone!)





… cooked tomatoes, mushrooms, Scottish pancakes, toast. We pass on the sausages and hams because I track the eating habits of my traveling companion. It’s funny how easily that happens: one day I cannot have enough of prosciutto for lunch, the next, my plate is empty of meats.

Filled with the b&b’s wholesome foods, we hike down to the village of St Augustus (at the southern tip of Loch Ness) to stock of on essentials and to watch the boats work their way up the docks.





And still, we aren’t in a hurry to set out. The day could not be more different than the rain drenched previous one. Brilliant sunshine! And my legs are moving again, without pain! But when a sense of leisure enters the soul it’s hard to throw a heavy pack on the back and get going.

So we play with the b&b dog for the rest of the Friday morning.


But eventually, just after noon, we get going. Up, through the forest, to a ridge from which we begin to appreciate (now that it's not lost in a misty rain) the stunning beauty of the area...





and especially -- of the extraordinary Loch Ness.





They say that if you combined all the lakes of England and Wales, you still would not have the water that Loch Ness has. She is deep, she is narrow, she is long. The books tell us it takes more than two days to hike her northern coastline.

Walking along her side is sublime. You’re in the forest, she is hidden behind the tall pines and then you come to a series of clearings and there she is again!





At one point, we sit down, there, high above her and then we take off our packs…










..and eventually we lie down on the soft moss and grasses of the Glen and we doze. I think then how these moments are so rare – of complete tranquility. At a café over an espresso, looking out at a beautiful square or street; at a morning breakfast outdoors surrounded by potted flowers; or now -- stretched out on a bed of moss, looking out over Loch Ness on a warm, clear day. They are what we work for, right? They are what gets us through the tedious stuff and dark February days.

Half an hour later, we’re up and hiking again.





Past timber operations. There’s a lot to be said about forestry in Scotland. I’ll just note here that there are signs explaining the attempt now to promote diverse growth in places where timber operations made the land barren (and I don’t just mean recently: cutting down Scottish timber during the period of industrial growth depleted the forests so much that in the construction of the Caledonian Canal, needed timber had to be imported from across the Baltic).










We reach the end of the day’s segment at 4:30. We’re in the village of Invermoriston. Where the bridge from 1805 provides a vital link between Inverness and Fort William.





The plan is to grab some refreshment here, but the restaurant is still closed. We settle in at the pub...





... and this time, without hesitation, we each order a pint. One dark, one light.





I ask if by chance they have WiFi. They do! But you need your own computer.
I have my own computer…
The guy with the knickers shakes his head in total disbelief. When I get away for vacation, I don’t want contact with anything or anyone!
I like checking in to see if my daughters are okay… (I skip mentioning checking work and blogging – no hope for sympathy there at all).
The couple at my other side are listening. The guy agrees. We’re on vacation (from England) and my wife and daughter are texting nonstop!

I think – how nice that we all have available the tools and we can use them or not use them, but they are there. I log on. All’s well back home. I’m at peace.

At 5:45 we begin what is regarded as the next day’s hike. We didn’t get the meal in the village that we wanted, but between nuts and ale and an ice cream bar from the local grocer, we feel fortified.





Up the hills again, up past ferns and firs, up toward the ridge, where the views of Ness are so magnificent…










We want to make progress and we do. Our legs are stronger. We are used to the packs.

A few hours into the hike we begin to search for a spot to pitch a tent. It’s so easy here. The trail is empty, so finding a quiet spot is only a matter of taste: forest, or grass? Proximate to stream? Or view?

We find our piece of heaven. We eat our bread and cheese and tomatoes, I take one last look outside – the glen is still, in the shades of dusk.

And now, Saturday, cleaned, refreshed, I’m ready. I’m looking forward to the next village of Drumnadrochit. Only 10 miles away. I’m hoping they have coffee there.

IMPORTANT NOTE: for the next nine days (until June 9th), my Internet access is going to be very uncertain. Over my years of blogging, I can think of only a handful of times where I could not post because of a connection problem. This may well be another such time. I will try – I’ll be hiking and kayaking with my computer in my pack (scary thought that it is). But we’re not sure if we’ll find places to stay (we have our sleeping bags) let alone places to hook up. So, stay patient please!

from the Great Glen Way Trail in Scotland: at the side of Ness

It’s almost 10 p.m. and still fairly light. If I lift the flap of the tent, I come face to face with heather. Not in bloom, not this early, but still, I can imagine the purple hue. Springtime, I make do with bluebells and buttercups and a host of other flowers.










The smell is of fir. Like sleeping underneath the Christmas tree. It’s morning now. Saturday. The sun is breaking up a few early misty clouds. Stepping out of the tent, I look toward Loch Ness – the southern tip, where we began our hike on Friday. So different now, in the morning light!





I start the rituals of a stream bath. It’s not really a big stream – we’d passed more gushing ones earlier, but it doesn’t really matter. Gone are the days where you could bathe in a mountain brook. Now, it’s all about porting water and sudsing away from the banks. So it takes time. Instead of a mirror, I stare at the face of the primrose, clinging to the stone by the trickling stream.





The water is cold, but that’s the only thing that’s cold. We have hit (finally!) a warm spell in Great Britain and suddenly, with that blast of sunshine, life is easy, life is good.




Our morning yesterday (Friday) was quite different (and equally pleasurable): our sweet, sweet b&b hosts (a mother daughter team) let us sleep in and dry out from the previous day’s rains before feeding us a wholesome breakfast of eggs from the back field, where the dozen chickens roam (see that one? -- I’m asked, she’s a regular hen pecker – never leaves him alone!)





… cooked tomatoes, mushrooms, Scottish pancakes, toast. We pass on the sausages and hams because I track the eating habits of my traveling companion. It’s funny how easily that happens: one day I cannot have enough of prosciutto for lunch, the next, my plate is empty of meats.

Filled with the b&b’s wholesome foods, we hike down to the village of St Augustus (at the southern tip of Loch Ness) to stock of on essentials and to watch the boats work their way up the docks.





And still, we aren’t in a hurry to set out. The day could not be more different than the rain drenched previous one. Brilliant sunshine! And my legs are moving again, without pain! But when a sense of leisure enters the soul it’s hard to throw a heavy pack on the back and get going.

So we play with the b&b dog for the rest of the Friday morning.


But eventually, just after noon, we get going. Up, through the forest, to a ridge from which we begin to appreciate (now that it's not lost in a misty rain) the stunning beauty of the area...





and especially -- of the extraordinary Loch Ness.





They say that if you combined all the lakes of England and Wales, you still would not have the water that Loch Ness has. She is deep, she is narrow, she is long. The books tell us it takes more than two days to hike her northern coastline.

Walking along her side is sublime. You’re in the forest, she is hidden behind the tall pines and then you come to a series of clearings and there she is again!





At one point, we sit down, there, high above her and then we take off our packs…










..and eventually we lie down on the soft moss and grasses of the Glen and we doze. I think then how these moments are so rare – of complete tranquility. At a café over an espresso, looking out at a beautiful square or street; at a morning breakfast outdoors surrounded by potted flowers; or now -- stretched out on a bed of moss, looking out over Loch Ness on a warm, clear day. They are what we work for, right? They are what gets us through the tedious stuff and dark February days.

Half an hour later, we’re up and hiking again.





Past timber operations. There’s a lot to be said about forestry in Scotland. I’ll just note here that there are signs explaining the attempt now to promote diverse growth in places where timber operations made the land barren (and I don’t just mean recently: cutting down Scottish timber during the period of industrial growth depleted the forests so much that in the construction of the Caledonian Canal, needed timber had to be imported from across the Baltic).










We reach the end of the day’s segment at 4:30. We’re in the village of Invermoriston. Where the bridge from 1805 provides a vital link between Inverness and Fort William.





The plan is to grab some refreshment here, but the restaurant is still closed. We settle in at the pub...





... and this time, without hesitation, we each order a pint. One dark, one light.





I ask if by chance they have WiFi. They do! But you need your own computer.
I have my own computer…
The guy with the knickers shakes his head in total disbelief. When I get away for vacation, I don’t want contact with anything or anyone!
I like checking in to see if my daughters are okay… (I skip mentioning checking work and blogging – no hope for sympathy there at all).
The couple at my other side are listening. The guy agrees. We’re on vacation (from England) and my wife and daughter are texting nonstop!

I think – how nice that we all have available the tools and we can use them or not use them, but they are there. I log on. All’s well back home. I’m at peace.

At 5:45 we begin what is regarded as the next day’s hike. We didn’t get the meal in the village that we wanted, but between nuts and ale and an ice cream bar from the local grocer, we feel fortified.





Up the hills again, up past ferns and firs, up toward the ridge, where the views of Ness are so magnificent…










We want to make progress and we do. Our legs are stronger. We are used to the packs.

A few hours into the hike we begin to search for a spot to pitch a tent. It’s so easy here. The trail is empty, so finding a quiet spot is only a matter of taste: forest, or grass? Proximate to stream? Or view?

We find our piece of heaven. We eat our bread and cheese and tomatoes, I take one last look outside – the glen is still, in the shades of dusk.

And now, Saturday, cleaned, refreshed, I’m ready. I’m looking forward to the next village of Drumnadrochit. Only 10 miles away. I’m hoping they have coffee there.

IMPORTANT NOTE: for the next nine days (until June 9th), my Internet access is going to be very uncertain. Over my years of blogging, I can think of only a handful of times where I could not post because of a connection problem. This may well be another such time. I will try – I’ll be hiking and kayaking with my computer in my pack (scary thought that it is). But we’re not sure if we’ll find places to stay (we have our sleeping bags) let alone places to hook up. So, stay patient please!