Day Nine

9th May 2009 SCOTLAND

A highland chieftain…. just for one day

I hear the sound of rain and somebody telling me that I need to move, the puddle is getting closer… I am not properly awake… again I hear something about a puddle… and still nothing registers. It is not and till Tom leans over from the stone bench he had been sleeping on and gives my arm a shake that I open my eyes. "You need to move, the puddle is creeping into the porch." Tom was up on the bench; I was on the floor and although the wind had stopped the rain from coming into this open church porch the puddles had other ideas. We get up, get dressed and stuff our sleeping bags into bags and then push those bags into our backpacks all this takes no more than ten minutes. I think Tom senses that I’m still tired and he’s not wrong… it was one of those nights that takes forever to fall asleep and when you do fall asleep it’s time to wakeup… not sure why I didn’t sleep well, I guess just stuff going around in my head… I don’t think it was the stone floor… the sleeping mat I have is near on half an inch thick… I mean crumbs… that’s plenty thick enough isn’t it!!

Tom tells me that the Morrison’s supermarket should be open by now… "let’s go get some breakfast." He pauses for a moment, "yeah, I know, you have no money… it’s on me". I nod my head in gratitude. We put our hoods up, throw our bags over our shoulders, push our hands into our pockets, step out of the porch and into the puddles and head out for breakfast.

After a night on a stone floor, it is good to be sat in the warm café of Morrison’s with a full breakfast and a pot of tea in front of us. Tom asks me if there is anything I need before we head our separate ways. There is, but I’m not sure if by asking I break the rules I made myself for this walk… of not excepting donations of money… I ask anyway… I explain to Tom that everything I have, sleeping bag, spare clothes, a pair of trainers and other bits and bobs are all wrapped up in binbags and all that stuff goes into another binbag that lines my rucksack. The binbags I started this walk with were not the best of quality… they were falling apart… to take on a walk like this I need to keep things dry. I ask Tom if he would be ok to buy me half a dozen sturdy binbags. Tom shakes his head and laughs; "I ask you if there is anything…anything you need… and what do you ask for… a fist full of binbags… yeah I think I can manage that." I laugh. Outside the supermarket before we head our different ways, we again shake hands and again I say thank you for both the breakfast and the roll of twelve black binbags (… a steak dinner last night… a full breakfast this morning… and twice as many binbags as I had asked for… hmm… from a jack to a king… that’s me). As we start to walk away in different directions, I turn and call out to Tom he turns around and I raise my voice a little: "Seriously, thank you." He says nothing, holds his hand up high and carries on walking. I’m not sure but I sensed that Tom did not have much at all… and still he gave.

The plan today is to pick up the West Highland Way, it is a long-distance path (a little under a hundred miles) that takes you through the glens, down the side of Loch Lomond and finishing at a little town called Milngavie just north of Glasgow. I know of this path but have never walked on it before, I’m hoping the path is pretty well marked, the maps I carry are not the best of maps for walking into the hills with. I’m thinking I’ll be on this path for maybe five days before I walk into Glasgow. Today my aim is to reach a place called Kinlochleven a small town surrounded by mountains and on the east side of this town there is a sea loch that stretches back for a few miles to the open seas of the west coast… the walk is not the longest day, looking at my map it is less than a thumb print but more than half a thumb print… and the weather… drizzle and heavy clouds.

It takes me a while to find the start of the route, I meet a couple of guys… they are studying a map, I ask if it would be ok for me to have a quick look. The route looks simple enough… head south on the West highland Way for a little over two hours and turn left (east) on to the Old Military Road and when close to Kinlochleven again pick up the West Highland Way and head down the hills into town.

The first part of the walk I’m gaining height and finding my way through woodlands. Once out of the woods the drizzle turns into rain and the gentle breeze turns into wind. Before getting any wetter, I decide to take action, I dig out two of my new binbags… one of them I make two arm holes and a hole for my head to go through, once that’s over my head and over the rucksack I turn the next binbag into a kilt… I declare myself the founder and Chieftain of a new clan… the McBinbags. I don’t have a sword… instead I hold my compass up high, face into the wind and rain defiantly, and shout out “FREEDOM” (…can we not be Heroes, just for one day). A moment later three guys walk round the corner heading in the direction I had just come from… proper mountain men, all the right kit on, hill bags full ready for any eventuality… not sure if they heard me cry out the word freedom, I think they probably did… as we pass by, I give a nod "How do". I don’t look back… not sure they were that impressed with this guy wrapped up in bin bags… little did they know that they had just walked past a Highland Chieftain.

The woods are behind me, I’m on a mountain track and heading up hill, my compass pointing south, and the weather looks to be going downhill and heading north… theirs only one way this is going to end… Bring it on… Ten minutes later the clouds come rolling over the opposite side of the glen another ten minutes and there on top of me… I pull up my hood from under the bin bag… the wind and rain batter both bin bags and hood. By looking at both my compass and the map that I have…the track I’m standing on can only be the West Highland Way… I did kinda figure that the West Highland Way would be a good and clear track and to see that it is, is good. I glance down at my watch, within two hours I should come across the old military road. I readjust my hood and with head down I start to walk. The visibility is not great, when the clouds do lift a little, I see snow on top of the hills around me, I feel a chill in the air, I automatically go to put my hands into my pockets… only to find bin bags don’t have pockets.

This is the Scotland I know well (…I live here) … to be a part of a wind-swept landscape… the sound of the wind rushing by in a hurry to be someplace else, the rain bouncing of hood and face, clouds chasing across the sky, the smell of wet earth… it feels good… some of my best memories of being out in the hills are the days when the weather has been a little crazy… I cannot imagine the cry of freedom having quite the same impact with a backdrop of idyllic blue skies. For the word freedom to be cried out in all its passion, anger and pain the world around us needs to be a little bit upside down… and I’m not sure blue skies help… I could be wrong.

What of this freedom… This desire for freedom is powerful, it has been with the human race since forever… the need to be free is a part of who we are… But what is freedom… to do as we wish... to take what is not ours… to live in such away that my needs and desires come before the needs of others… No I don’t think so… that is the abuse of freedom. True freedom only works in partnership with responsibility. If someone breaks their responsibility to keep to the moral laws of the land, they loose their freedom and end up behind bars… As a truck driver I have a responsibility to stay within the law of how many hours I can drive each day and also the rules of the road (The Highway Code)… if I drive a thousand hours a week or go through small villages with a forty-four ton truck at a thousand miles an hour, I will lose my driving license… and the freedom of the open road… and then I really would be a truck driver walking. I have this image of Mel Gibson standing up on his stirrups, sword held high and crying out ‘FREEDOM AND RESPONSIBILITY’…yeah I know … doesn’t really work does it.

A number of hours pass by, the clouds have dropped right down, the wind has eased off a little… and the rain I think is here to stay. The map I carry is really not very good … a road trip great… but for walking in the hills and with the weather being what it is… not great at all… I pass a number of small groups, they are all heading in the opposite direction (I guess most people walking the Highland Way start from the south and head north to Fort William). Meeting people reassures me that I am still on the right track. It is mid afternoon, I have not been wetter on this walk than what I am now… the boots are squelching… not sure why the left side of me from head to toe is also wet… I feel the left side of my tee shirt sticking to my skin… I think the bin bags were maybe not the best idea… instead of keeping the rain out, they have created channels for the water to get in. While I’m still walking I stay warm, but I know when I stop I will get cold and will need to get out of these wet clothes.

A handful of hours more and I am walking down hill towards Kinlochleven, the rain had not stopped all day. Before stepping on to the main road on the outer edge of the small town, I take off the binbags… if I’m hoping to find a place to stay the night I need to try and look a little bit presentable (a drowned rat wrapped up in a bin bag is not a good look… hmm a drowned rat not wrapped up in a bin bag is probably not much better).

Pretty much as soon as I step off the hill and on to the road I see a Youth Hostel on the other side. I open the door and walk in. I again explain myself to the young lady behind the reception. I am told the hostel gets busy and she can not give a bed to somebody who can’t pay and not let someone have a bed that can pay… I was thinking to let her know who it was she was talking to… the Chief of the McBinbag Clan… but without the kilt and robe to back up my claim I guess I could be anybody in her eyes, not only that the argument she had put forward made sense. She tells me that she is sorry. “Not at all, you are right to say no”. I offer a smile and step back out into the rain… and head into town.

As I walk into town (hobble would be a better word)… hmm… maybe what I say next sounds daft… I had an overwhelming sense of what it was to not belong… I felt that I was walking in the shoes of those that had gone before… the outsider…wet, cold, a little hungry and in a strange town not knowing quite which way to go… the shoes that I walked in took me to a gate leading up to the Episcopal church of St Paul's… it felt as if I had been guided… yeah I know… believe me I am not a mystical kinda guy… I’m a truck driver… my feet are very much on the ground. Back in my own boots I stand at the gate for a moment, … I’m not to sure what happens next… but I somehow knew that I was in the right place… I look up at the church and stay at the gate a moment longer.

The church is a white building, a green lawn in front and trees behind. I open the gate and walk up to the church, I go to open the door… before my hand reaches the handle, the door opens and a guy steps out of the church, we pretty much crash into each other… both say sorry at the same time. The guy sees that I’m an outsider and asks if there's anything he can do to help… I hesitate for a moment and then ask if he would know where the minister would be. It turns out the Rev. D. Davidson's home is not far away at all. I decide not to go into the church, my boots are leaking.

Five minutes later I’m standing at another door… the Rev D. Davidsons door… I really don’t like knocking on people's doors… but I knock… the Reverend opens the door and again I explain myself … the Reverend listens “I have family staying… there is no space here… wait one moment”. The Reverend comes back with a set of keys. "Let's go, I know where you can stay." A five minute drive in his Land Rover and we are outside the local Fire Station… Donald Davidson is not just a minister of the church, he is also a fireman. The Reverend unlocks the station and shows me around in an order that I think he knows I need to see… a drying room for my clothes, a shower and the crew room with a kettle, milk, teabags and sugar, also a bunch of soft chairs that can be pushed together for a bed. "If you're ok I’ll head back, I’ll stop of at the chippy and let them know you’ll be there in an hour or so, tell them that I’ll pick up the bill later"… I am handed a spare key to let myself in and out. "Will see you tomorrow morning before you set off." "Thank you…" As Donald closed the door behind him, I again quietly say "thank you".

I put my boots into the drying room and decide to get undressed while in the shower… my clothes are already wet, a little bit of soap and hot water will do them good. Half an hour later my wet clothes are hanging up in the drying room. Before heading out to the chippy I decide to empty my bag out on to the floor… a chance to get rid of all the old bin bags and repack using the stronger bin bags Tom had given me this morning… I throw away my make-do kilt and top, they didn’t really work very well and besides I don’t think the world needs yet another clan. Ten minutes later I’m heading out. I step into the fish and chip shop and before I say anything the lady behind the counter says with a big smile "you must be the chap Donald spoke of"… she was really nice, chatting away as more and more chips were getting piled on to the fish… I felt incredibly moved at how kind and beautiful people can be.

Back at the fire station, sat at the table with a steaming hot fish supper in front of me and still thinking about how good people can be. I felt I understood better why I walk without money…for sure if I had money in my pocket, the day would have ended very similar … I would have walked off the hill… crossed the road and paid for a bed in the youth hostel, my clothes would be hanging up in a drying room as they are now, I would have grabbed a shower and then walked into town for a bag of chips… money or no money the day would have ended pretty much the same… ah but look a little closer… there is an invisible world of differences between the two… When somebody shows a little kindness (especially to a stranger)… does not a little bit of goodness creep into the world. When you are given something, it becomes a gift and not a purchase… it has so much more value (be it a smile, a fistful of bin bags, a place to stay or a fish supper… these things become precious). Walking with no money strengthens my faith in God and the people living on these islands (past and present). Sitting here now in the fire station… each chip I eat I feel an immense amount of gratitude. I give thanks to all that has been given today. Tonight this fire station becomes a chapel… even if it is …just for one night.

I again wonder about the word freedom and the guy on horse back with sword in hand…hmm… a better world will not come about by what the sword can take but by what the heart can give… if the McBinbag clan had survived to see another day… as chief I would have made that the clans moto.

Supper is done… the day is all but done… I push away from the table… what cupboard did Reverend Donald say those tea bags were in.