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| Me, Dad, Paul and Uncle Jimmy - 2007 |
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?)
I found finishing the Pennine Way (22 years ago now) dreadfully confusing. The walking had become so much part of me and what I did that I found it difficult to conceive of not doing it; of not going through the routine of putting the walking kit on, lacing the boots, and packing the rucksack. It took me a little time to realise that the walk actually hadn't ended and would never end, because it had become a key part of my story. It was a catalyst for deep discovery about so many things, personal and other, that have gone on deepening the more the story gets told and interacts with another multitude of stories. As you know, I can bore for England with my endless anecdotes. Stuart - although not physically with you, through the blog, Netfics, WhatsApp, phone conversations, and shared prayer, I am privileged to share a little of a story that won't end on Iona but will continue to be told again and again, and in doing so will deepen and grow, as it connects with many other stories. What a gift you've have given to Barnaby to grow to know the power and profundity of walking and to want to tell and hear the stories that carry its meaning. I feel so grateful that when I 'told' you that we were doing the Lyke Wake all those years ago, you didn't tell me to naff off. Thank you for your invitation to join you where we are on our own pilgrimage walk. I shall be doing that (sorry mate it won't be 40, or even 20, more like 4). Your old and very very good friend, Paul T
ReplyDeleteFirstly, you definitely 'told' me that we were going for a 'little walk', and this morning I'm bloody glad that you did. What's more, your Godson Barnaby will be grateful too.
DeleteAs for the walk's end, I remember feeling exactly the same things in 2010. The routine and the road become everything, and it's quite a shock to the system when the road reaches its end.