Many rivers to cross

Wayfinders

Day 22: Lochawe to Taynuilt

Distance: 14.6 miles (439.3 total)

Time: 7 hrs 34 mins

Tomorrow: Taynuilt to Oban (est 12.1 miles)

When I walked the Borders Abbeys Way with Barnaby in 2023, he introduced 'Song of the Day' to this blog. There weren't too many surprises; it was usually something by his beloved Bruce Springsteen. If I had to pick a 'Song of the Day' for today's leg it would have to be Joe Cocker singing 'Many Rivers to Cross' (Joe Cocker - Many Rivers To Cross (LIVE in Dortmund) HD). When I'd set out this morning, I'd anticipated that the first part of the walk would be the tricky bit and the rest would be relatively plain sailing; as is so often the case, I was wrong.

The weather forecast for today wasn't great, with gusts of around 50mph predicted and a day full of rain. Yesterday I gave thanks for the fact that it had been either been windy or rainy, but rarely both at the same time. Today it was both at the same time, most of the time; there was a bit of variety mid-afternoon when it was windy and sleety. 

The first four and a half miles were a slow but steady climb along track, away from Lochawe, followed by a steeper climb off the track and up to a ridge looking down on Glen Noe; the name should have been a clue. Those first five miles took about two and a half hours. In the next two and a half hours I managed just three miles. A lot of rain had fallen and was falling. A lot of snow had melted. A map of the Glen shows it laced and interlaced throughout with pencil-thin blue lines feeding into the River Noe. Today every one of those pencil-thin lines of blue was running fast, high and fierce-white. The track of my journey along the Glen looks like the meanderings of someone who'd had far too much to drink trying to find a kebab shop on their way home; repeatedly I had to double-back or climb higher up the hillsides in my search for safe places to cross.

Eventually I came to a fast-running stream which left me with no options. There was a deer fence just thirty metres or so further up the hillside, so I couldn't climb to a point where the stream was narrower. For a moment I had that feeling of not knowing how to go forwards, not wanting to go back, and knowing that I couldn't just stay where I was. Looking for the narrowest, shallowest-looking point that I could find, I plunged my walking poles into the dark water and followed them across; I could feel the stream pulling the poles away from me and it was tricky going. There were three or four further such adventures. I've missed Barnaby very much at times, but I was so glad that he wasn't with me today. Mind you, he'd probably have just pushed me in face-down and used me as a human bridge!

Face-down was about the only position I didn't find myself in on this leg. A remarkable amount of today's travelling was done on my backside as my legs slid away from under me. At other points I was down on all fours just trying to resist the howling wind; I'm not exactly the most aerodynamic shape at the best of times, and definitely not when I've got my rucksack on. Towards the end of the trudge along Glen Noe I was standing surveying yet another section of river, looking for the safest place to cross. I was so pleased when I spotted one, and not too far off my course, that I shouted out, 'Thank you God!' At that exact moment the mud under my left foot collapsed away and I went tumbling down hard onto my side. It's a hard day when you feel that even The Almighty is taking the mickey out of you.

At the bottom of the Glen was a farm and paved road from there to Taynuilt. In Taynuilt I got the train to Oban and I've got the luxury of two nights in the same bedroom; something that hasn't happened since I was in Letterkenny, right at the start of this journey.

The most heartening bit of a hard day was when I came to the end of the paved track which I needed to leave to climb over to Glen Noe. I'm no great climber or navigator and I wasn't sure how I'd get on, finding my way over the top in the right place in these heavy winds and hard rains. Then I turned a corner and saw tall, dark, wooden wayfinders guiding my way to the summit! There's something very heartening about those guides. They remind me that you don't have to know how your entire journey will unfold, you just need to know enough to enable you to take the next steps.

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Thanksgiving: the people who erect and maintain wayfinders. The people in our lives who have been and are our wayfinders.

All Together Now: when I made my pilgrimage in 2010 I invited readers of 'A Pilgrim's Cairn' to join in the pilgrimage by making a walk of their own and sharing on the blog how it had gone (A Pilgrim's Cairn: How Was Your Walk?). I'd like to try the same again this time around. Next weekend I've got another of my non-walking ferry days. I'd love it if you'd join me on this journey by making a walk of your own that weekend. It doesn't matter if it's one mile or forty, just walk. If you'd then write in using the comments section at the bottom of each post, just saying something about where you walked, why you chose that walk and any reflections you have on it, I'd be SO grateful.

The Good Pilgrim

Day 21: The Drover's Inn to Lochawe

Distance: 17.8 miles (424.7 total)

Time: 8 hrs and 2 mins

Tomorrow: Loch Awe to Taynuilt (est 13.3 miles)

Let's begin with a big thank you to all those people who have sent so many messages of support and encouragement over the past few days. I've truly been overwhelmed by the number of positive messages I've been receiving. Yep, Barnaby taking over the Pilgrim's Cairn certainly appears to have been hugely popular with most of you.

And rightly so. The pattern over the past couple of nights has been for me to get sent away for a shower, shortly after we've eaten supper. While I've been abluting, Barnaby has been dictating his post to Neil. On my return I get to read the blog, and both times I've been so impressed. Barnaby's descriptions of the journey have been vivid and true. I feel like I write in a kind of monochrome: either I need to share that something hurts, or that some bit of the landscape was 'lovely'. Barnaby writes in colour!

Having Neil and Barnaby here for the past couple of days has been, well, lovely. Just not eating every meal on my own has been a most welcome transformation! Barnaby has been a fantastic companion as we walk, and he's really maturing as a walker. Terrains which in the past would have daunted him and led him to complain about a sore tummy/leg/head/foot, he has entirely taken in his stride. Indeed, he's been keeping me going at times when I've been flagging! It's been great too that we've been together with Neil at the beginning and end of each leg. Having someone there at 'the end of the day' makes such a difference. I am so incredibly lucky in my friends. There has been a lot of laughter.

It was beginning to rain quite hard when the three of us left The Drover's last night and scuttled to our rooms. It rained and didn't stop overnight. It rained and didn't stop until mid-afternoon today. Of course, the rain had to turn up on the day when I had some of the most exposed walking across some of the boggiest terrain. Now and then my boys like to play again of 'would you rather'. The conundrum is posed, 'Would you rather be chased by a herd of marauding elephants or a swarm of angry bees?'. The variations on this theme can sometimes seem endless, regrettably. Today I found myself asking, 'Would I rather have a bit of rain every day over the course of a four week pilgrimage, or four weeks' rain in one day on a four week pilgrimage?'

After about a mile from The Drover's I left the road and followed track up into the hills. It rained heavily. About seven miles in the track rather dissolved into boggy, stumbling, puddled hillside. Here and there, there were indications that someone might have driven a Land Rover through, and for a while I'd try to follow those tracks, but repeatedly those traces would disappear and I'd find myself splurging and stuttering forwards. Thankfully, all I had to do was to stick between two hills and find my way down to a forest below. Visibility stayed good, so that wasn't really a problem, and in some miracle of providence it was either pouring down or blowing a gale, but rarely both at the same time. Once I'd reached the trees it was just another couple of miles before I hit forestry roads and then it was various kinds of paved surface all the way to Lochawe. and the rather marvellous Ben Cruachan Inn.

On Monday, walking the West Highland Way from Milngavie to Drymen, I met a guy who was walking the whole route. I asked where he was staying that night and he said that he wasn't sure. I was in awe. I couldn't imagine setting out on that sort of hike at this time of year and not knowing where I'd be laying my head down at day's end. On Tuesday, walking with Barnaby, I saw a young couple walk past us clearly all set up to be camping along the route. I began to feel like a bit of a lightweight. Why couldn't I do the sort of really tough travelling that they were doing?

But we all have our own journeys to make and our own challenges to overcome. I know that there will be people suffering from appalling depression, who overcame far more of a challenge than I did today, just to get themselves out of bed and dressed. There will be people struggling with chronic pain, who achieved far more than I did, just by putting the kettle on and making themselves a cup of tea. We all have our own pilgrimages to make, our own hills to climb and heavy weather to endure. 

The good pilgrim doesn't compare their journey to anyone else's. The good pilgrim knows that in the love of God we're all just making the one journey. The good pilgrim simply tries to do what they can to help others make their way along the road that they have to travel. Just like Barnaby and Neil have done for me over the past few days.

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Thanksgiving: For all the Good Pilgrims who have genuine hearts.

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All Together Now: when I made my pilgrimage in 2010 I invited readers of 'A Pilgrim's Cairn' to join in the pilgrimage by making a walk of their own and sharing on the blog how it had gone (A Pilgrim's Cairn: How Was Your Walk?). I'd like to try the same again this time around. Next weekend I've got another of my non-walking ferry days. I'd love it if you'd join me on this journey by making a walk of your own that weekend. It doesn't matter if it's one mile or forty, just walk. If you'd then write in using the comments section at the bottom of each post, just saying something about where you walked, why you chose that walk and any reflections you have on it, I'd be SO grateful.

Barnaby continues to undulate (Neil talks some sense)

Day 20: Rowardennan to The Drovers Inn

Distance: 15.2 miles (406.5 total)

Time: 8 hrs 25 mines

Tomorrow: The Drovers' Inn to Dalmally (est 17.4 miles)

Barnaby writes:

When Neil dropped us off at Rowardennan, I was raring to go and a little bit nervous as the walk I was about to embark upon was said to be one of the hardest legs of the West Highland Way. As the snow held off, the day began with a catastrophe when my bladder was leaking (not that bladder, my water bottle). Finally underway, we had an undulating path around the Loch, we had already made acquaintance with a little robin that seemed to show its face every time we stopped for a snack and a drink. Our assumption was that it was the spirit of Granny coming to guide us to the infamous Drovers Inn, as we felt she had been watching over us during this walk.

 The majority of the day was filled with some tough-going ground - there were lots of roots and rocky terrain. Just to add to our burden, the path was constantly going up and down…undulating! To top it off, Daddy was whining the whole way about his ‘sore’ shoulders and arthritic knee. It was then that I felt that it would be better if I stepped up and was encouraging instead of being the one constantly saying “How long to go? How long to go?” Maybe I’m growing up!

 After a few hours of this challenging terrain we came face to face with a ‘wee’ family of Scottish mountain goats, including a bairn that can’t have been more than a few months old. Heroically, I stepped up to the plate and shielded Daddy and as we cautiously made our way past the goats (I may have been cowering behind Daddy the whole time!) luckily the kid had run off earlier and weren’t viciously charged down by the feral mountain goats – what a way to go that would have been.  There was one goat with quite the pair of horns that was unfazed by us and seemed to be staring at us and saying ‘are you going past or are you going to carry on hiding behind the rock’.

 After that intense encounter with the goats, the route continued similarly along the banks of Loch Lomond for a couple of hours. Finally reaching the tip of Loch Lomond we were on the home stretch and we were BOTH looking forward to a nice pint of Guinness and possibly some good company with Neil (Neil’s note: who was patiently waiting and had ordered the drinks already) and several bottles of J2O.

 Finally reaching the Drovers Inn we were glad to finally have found somewhere to settle down, eat Halloumi fries with NO SALAD. I’m sad to say that today will be the last day walking with Daddy for this half-term but I’ll keep on thinking of him as I head back to England and we have promised to top up his miles to 500 when it gets back so I can serenade you with the Proclaimers! In the meantime, Neil has come up with the brilliant idea (Neil’s note: that was Barnaby’s words, honest) of singing ‘Bring Me Sunshine’ on our flight back to Luton at full voice! I’m sure you’ll be sad to hear that it will be back to Daddy’s boring blog from tomorrow, farewell followers…

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Neil writes:

This morning began with a recitation of Psalm 96 together and I was very moved by the experience of verse 11 ‘Let the earth exult’ as I drove around the Loch in the opposite direction to Stuart and Barnaby (they headed North and I went South from Rowardennan). I was really struck by the permanence of the rock formations and how they would have been the closest the ancient world could get to a sense of permanence and eternity. Not for nothing was this landscape an inspiration to finding a sense of God’s steadfastness – our Guardian who will not let our foot give way and who neither slumbers nor sleeps. May the Lord guard your going and coming from now and evermore.

Barnaby's undulating ways

Day 19: Drymen to Rowardennan

Distance: 14.9 miles (391.3
total)

Time: 7 hrs 26 mins

Barnaby writes:

After stepping outside the Winnock Hotel, I was filled with a sense of happiness that I was finally able to join Daddy on this phenomenal walk. The day started with a gradual ascent along a road and after about a mile we hooked a left into a lovely forest where the temperature obviously increased. Daddy and I took off our hats as the inescapable Conic Hill loomed over us and the mild February breeze wafted past us. Walking for a while, we emerged into an open wild green Scottish moorland.

As Conic Hill came closer and closer we prepared ourself for the inevitable climb we were about to face. For those of you who don't know, Conic Hill is a steep incline which marks an important point in the West Highland Way. As we climbed, we noticed that snow patches were becoming more and more frequent until it came to the point where we were trudging through neck high snow drifts (joke) - the snow was about 2 inches deep. We had lovely views over Loch Lomond and across the Loch we could see snowy glens and our cameras couldn't do justice to the view - next time you'll have to come with us.

Looking out we could see there was an obvious snow line circling each of the hills that surrounded us. Half-way up Conic Hill, Daddy took off his hat... he immediately regretted it as the closer we got to the summit the icier the air became. For those of you who are new to this blog, let me tell you we have a tradition that whenever I join Daddy on the walk, we have one point in the day when we record 'Bring Me Sunshine'. For every walk we have done, in the sleeting rain and in the glorious sunshine, we have always done this. Today, was no different as we reached the summit of our walk, Daddy joined me in a glorious chorus (if I say so myself) of 'Bring Me Sunshine'. The social media algorithms deleted his singing as it was an insult to Morecambe and Wise.

After a lot of persuading we had a nice lunch in a cafe, just outside of the hotel we are staying in. But we still had six miles to walk across the bonny banks of Loch Lomond before returning here to for a pint of Ossian - the Scottish equivalent of Guinness!

Weirdly the ascents during the last six miles were harder than the 360 metre ascent up the side of Conic Hill. They may not have been 160 ft giants but they were constant undulating paths. I thought they would never end, as at some points in the last five miles we got quite low and that every incline thought the route was levelling out, but no it was just another hill. We checked how far it was to get to our destination and it seemed to endlessly be stuck on 2.5 miles. Every time we checked Daddy would angrily exclaim, "It was 2.5 bleeding miles, 2.5 miles ago."

Finally we reached our destination and filled up on pizza and J20 (and for some people a pint or two of Ossian). Tomorrow we have what is said to be the toughest part of the West Highland Way from Rowardennan to Inverarnan. Wish me luck!

I have to say, a highlight of today was seeing the beautiful views as a prize for the tough climb up Conic Hill. But more than anything, was spending time with Daddy after a long two and half weeks building up to today. I'm looking forward to tomorrow, for my second leg of the journey.

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Thanksgiving: Neil the Driver.

Thin places

My eyes were closed in prayer...

Day 18: Milngavie to Drymen

Distance: 13.1 miles (376.4 total)

Time: 5 hrs 15 mins

Tomorrow: Drymen to Rowardennan (est 14.2 miles)... with Barnaby!!!

Iona is often described as a 'thin place', a place where heaven and earth draw close; a place where we know that angels walk with us. We can also have thin places, or objects, or sounds, or even smells, where the past and present draw close to one another; I touched on this in an earlier post (A Pilgrim's Cairn: Hauntings). I discovered this morning that the West Highland Way is one of my 'thin places'. In truth, I'd had some sense that this might be the case when I posted yesterday's blog. I wanted to find a photo which included all the people I'd walked some or all of the WHW with. Looking at it this morning, the photo of Paul, Dad, Uncle Jimmy and I at the end of the Way, I was conscious of all that each one of them have meant and mean to me and all that has changed in our lives since that photo was taken. There was barely a mile of today's walk which didn't stir some memory, all of them happy, many of them ridiculous, some of them ribald (a big thank you to the Guide Map we used in 2007, which described Ben Goyne as a 'shapely mound'), and moments which were sublime.

After yesterday's machine-like approach to the twenty miles from Greenock to Milngavie, today's was the gentlest of gentle strolls. With only twelve miles or so ahead of me I had a lie-in (nearly half-seven!), pottered about, went out to a nearby cafe for a roll and coffee. It was after eleven when I finally set out; on most days of the pilgrimage I'd already been walking for three hours by that time. There's a kind of obelisk in the centre of Milngavie which marks the official start of the West Highland Way; I've got photos of me standing there with Paul in 2007 and Uncle Jimmy in 2008. I managed to collar three older guys who were leaving the Costa next to it and ask if one of them would take my photo. They asked if I was starting the WHW: I told them all about my walk from Letterkenny and one of them started looking quite pointedly at his watch! Although an occasional snowflake meandered through the air, the weather was mild and the walking was easy. I took my time on the road to Drymen.

I'm delighted to say that Neil and Barnaby will be landing at Glasgow Airport in sixteen minutes and I can't wait to see them both. Last night I had dinner with my Aunty Heather; the first time I'd sat down to eat with another person in three weeks and it was just such a joy.

Thin places. Pilgrimages. 

Journeys can described in lots of different ways, but perhaps principally in terms of whether we think of ourselves mostly as leaving somewhere, or as going somewhere. Somebody leaving a painful place behind will tend to define their journey principally in terms of what or who they're leaving behind. Somebody moving to make some sort of hopeful new beginning or making a pilgrimage, might principally define their journey in terms of where they're going. I'm conscious that my own story of this pilgrimage has changed over the past few recent days. When I was beginning my journey and I was unfit and wearing unyielding new shoes which left many of my toes hidden behind blister plasters, I would tell myself on hard days, 'You're a pilgrim. You're going to Iona.' And that seemed to do the trick. As my destination grows rapidly closer, I've noticed that I'm spending more time revisiting the paths I've walked to get here, the people I've met, the pints I've sunk, the landscapes I've been held by.

How do you define where you are in your various pilgrimages of life at this time? In the pilgrimages of family, of career, of relationships, of aging?

When the present seems uncertain and the future even more so, I think that there can be great value in retracing our steps. Looking back on the journey that brought us to this moment and looking for the 'thin places', the places where we were reminded of all that there is to be thankful for in life; the places where we knew, just knew in our hearts that life was meaningful and good; the places where we knew for a moment that angels walked with us and the love of God enfolded us. 

When we can recognise those 'thin places' in our past, then no matter how difficult life might be in the present, we can walk towards our future with confidence and hope.

All Together Now: when I made my pilgrimage in 2010 I invited readers of 'A Pilgrim's Cairn' to join in the pilgrimage by making a walk of their own and sharing on the blog how it had gone (A Pilgrim's Cairn: How Was Your Walk?). I'd like to try the same again this time around. Next weekend I've got another of my non-walking ferry days. I'd love it if you'd join me on this journey by making a walk of your own that weekend. It doesn't matter if it's one mile or forty, just walk. If you'd then write in using the comments section at the bottom of each post, just saying something about where you walked, why you chose that walk and any reflections you have on it, I'd be SO grateful. Go find your 'thin places'.

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Thanksgiving: that easyJet flight EZY285L has safely landed at Glasgow Airport. I'd better go and brush my hair, I've got friends coming.

Will we make stories too?

Me, Dad, Paul and Uncle Jimmy - 2007

Day 17: Greenock to Milngavie

Distance: 20.1 miles (363.3 total)

Time: 6 hours 34 minutes

Tomorrow: Milngavie to Drymen (est 11.8 miles)

This feels like the beginning of the final chapter. The first chapter took me from St Columba's birthplace at Gartan Lough to Derry, via Stroove Beach where Columba had left Ireland to go into exile. The second chapter was every mile from Derry through to today; there have been no major 'Columban' sites en route, it's just been about covering the ground. This third chapter will take me up along the first part of the West Highland Way to Inverarnan and then across to Oban. From Oban it's the ferry to Mull and then an overnight walk across the island from Craignure to Fionphort and on to Iona. I feel a very ordinary combination of a growing sense of achievement, alongside a sense of impending loss when the journey ends. I'm not good with endings.

This final chapter is beautiful and warm with connections. I like connections.

It's very fitting that this final chapter commences at the start of the West Highland Way, because it was making this walk in 2007 that really inspired me to take up long-distance hiking. That year I walked the WHW with my great friend Paul, who'd introduced me to hiking in the first place. His 'gentle' introduction was the Lyke Wake Walk, forty-two miles across the North Yorkshire Moors, all in one day (Lyke Wake Walk The Offical Website of the Lyke Wake Walk Hambleton Hobble Shepherd's Round North York Moors). I was his meek and obedient Curate at the time and just did whatever I was told.

When we'd walked the WHW in 2007, we'd been joined by my dad and my Uncle Jimmy for the final leg from Kinlochleven to Fort William. The following year Uncle Jimmy wanted to walk the whole thing, so we did. For several years it became an annual event for my uncle and I to do one of Scotland's many long-distance walks during the October half-term.

Over the course of those walks we accumulated a wealth of stories about people we'd met, things we'd seen, times we'd fallen out with each other, and that time we accidentally got quite drunk in The Climbers Bar of the Kingshouse Hotel on Rannoch Moor. Invariably, whenever we all met up as family those stories would be told, and a little boy called Barnaby became fascinated by them. Without ever having been on a hike, he'd become hooked on the idea of hiking. In 2022 we did a small local walk, forty-five miles in three days. The following year we walked The Borders Abbey Way in Scotland. Last year we walked The Paul Taylor Way (c) from Berkhamsted to Redditch. Why does Barnaby like hiking? Here's why: before we did that first walk three years ago he asked me, "Daddy, will we make stories too?"

My most recent walking companion is Rabbi Neil with whom I did a three and a half day sponsored pilgrimage last year. Apart from forgetting to warn him that he needed to bring a packed lunch on the first day, it all went very well; especially the visit to Tring Brewery.

Across some eighteen years and several really precious friendships this final chapter begins with a 'coming together' of so many stories, as my friend Neil brings Barnaby up to Scotland tomorrow to walk a couple of legs of The West Highland Way.

You've probably noticed that I haven't said a great deal about today's walk. It was all good. Look on Google Maps and trace Greenock to Milngavie; there's not a huge amount to say. I was pleased with my time and was really driving myself along a bit. At one point I felt just so totally in tune that I suddenly found myself saying, out loud, "You're a ----ing machine." I realised that perhaps I had drifted a bit from the spirit of St Columba, Patron of this pilgrimage. Men, eh?

All Together Now: when I made my pilgrimage in 2010 I invited readers of 'A Pilgrim's Cairn' to join in the pilgrimage by making a walk of their own and sharing on the blog how it had gone (A Pilgrim's Cairn: How Was Your Walk?). I'd like to try the same again this time around. Next weekend I've got another of my non-walking ferry days. I'd love it if you'd join me on this journey by making a walk of your own that weekend. It doesn't matter if it's one mile or forty, just walk. If you'd then write in using the comments section at the bottom of each post, just saying something about where you walked, why you chose that walk and any reflections you have on it, I'd be SO grateful. Will we make stories too?

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Thanksgiving: Barnaby's mum for getting him organised to come to Scotland to walk with me for two days. (Do you think I should tell him that there are some forecasts of snow?)

Broken chairs

The Old Largs Road

Day 16: Largs to Greenock

Distance: 13.3 miles (343.2 total)

Total Ascent: shall we just pack it in with the whole ascent thing? I'm not exactly in the Highlands and so far as I can tell, the altitude function on my watch is no better than a random number generator, so who knows what the figure is actually worth. Enough.

Time: 5 hrs 10 mins

Tomorrow: Greenock to Milngavie (est  21.1 miles)

Yesterday evening I discovered that the B&B I was staying in was just around the corner from a Benedictine Monastery which is home to a community of Tyburn Sisters; the Tyburn Sisters are devoted to keeping a continual vigil of prayer every minute, of every hour, of every year. With a short day's walking ahead I decided to have a lie-in (well, I managed 7.30) and then go and pray in the Monastery for half an hour before finding somewhere for breakfast. It was an interesting experience. There was already one lady praying quietly when I arrived in the Chapel, so I tried to put my rucksack and walking poles down as quietly as possible before going to kneel before the Blessed Sacrament; I didn't want to disturb her. Having not been in a church since the very start of this pilgrimage, when I went to pray in Letterkenny Cathedral, this felt like a special moment. It felt like a very special moment for two or three minutes, and then the banging started in the entrance hall; I'm not sure exactly how they did it, but the cleaner who'd been there when I arrived was making one hell of a racket with her dustpan and brush. Then there was some quiet and I returned to my prayers, until another chap arrived in the Chapel and started a long and fairly loud conversation with the woman behind me about which chairs in the Chapel were broken and which were safe to sit on. Then there was some quiet and I returned to my prayers, except the man who'd just arrived clearly had a bad cold and snuffled, sneezed and coughed with remarkable vigour. Then there was some quiet and I returned to my prayers, and remained suitably reverent even as the Chapel door opened and closed again and the three of us became four as another man joined in prayer. The newcomer didn't have a cold, however he had clearly had a good breakfast and began to burp, regularly, freely, considerably. I thought about prayer.

You already know me to be a grumpy and fractious type and yes I felt some irritation at the dissolution of my time of peace, perfect peace. My Confessor for twenty years, the late Fr Bill Scott, often used to say to me, "Sometimes we need to not take ourselves too seriously and to see how ridiculous we can be, and just laugh at it." I've always had plenty to laugh about on that count. These noises were the sounds of life, and God didn't come amongst us in Christ to live in sepulchral silence; in Christ, God comes amongst us in a world which has noisy cleaners, and chatty friends fretting over broken chairs, and a world in which people catch colds and break wind. Praise God for that!

God is the God of life, and where there is life there is sound. Even in your moments of deepest meditation, still you breathe in, and you breathe out, and your heart beats in your blood, and those sounds say 'I am'. I've spent large parts of the past three weeks in some quite isolated and remote spots, and none of them have ever been silent: there has been the sound of the wind, of water chuckling down streams and roaring onto the rocks at Tremone Bay, the grass has stirred and rustled, I could hear the rabbits run from me in the fields outside Ballantrae, and so many hymns sung by the birds. The sounds of life. The sounds of God's Creation. The many songs and whispers of the One God. Yes, there is a great value in quiet sometimes, but too often we fetishise it to our own detriment: we'll find silence enough in the grave. Instead of seeking silence, perhaps we would be better off asking ourselves what we can hear of God in the sounds around us, even in the sneezes and indeed burps.

Anyway. Pilgrimages. Walking. Yes. It was rather good to have a shorter day. In addition to prayer at the monastery I was able to treat myself to a coffee and a bacon roll at Scotland's Best Cafe (2016). Instead of keeping one eye on the clock as well as the miles, I was able to meander a bit, take a few photos, and still arrive in Greenock by three, with time for a couple of coffees and a spicy chicken panini (instead of collapsing on a stool in the first bar I come to and barely whispering those magical words, "Guinness please, and two packets of dry roasted nuts.")

Today's leg came in one part and that part is called the Old Largs Road. It wove easily up into the hills and strung me along above glens and past lochs. Apart from a little rain that was barely rain at all for the first half hour or so of the day the weather continued to be brighter and milder than it has any right to be in February. The drop down into Greenock was a bit steeper than my knees would have liked and I'm trying to make sure that I take good care of them; they're definitely the part of this clapped out old sod that could most easily derail this adventure and I do not want that to happen. I'm going to Iona.

In the monastery Chapel my sense of failure and guilt were acute again. And then I remembered the kindness and generosity of my friend Rabbi Neil. It seems an odd combination of thoughts, I know. But I was reminded that life is lived best when it is lived as gift, as grace. My hero, Revd Geoffrey Studdert-Kennedy (BBC - The Rev. Geoffrey Studdert Kennedy or Woodbine Willie) wrote a poem which ended:

To give and give, and give again,

What God hath given thee;

To spend thyself nor count the cost;

To serve right gloriously

The God who gave all worlds that are,

And all that are to be.

I heard the poem set to music once.

The God Who gave all sound-sodden worlds that are. The God Who speaks in all the musics of Creation.

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Thanksgiving: Musics.