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Looking back... the Great Glen Way

waaay back actually... this dates in my journal from 27 April

On the shores of some Loch on day 1 of the Great Glen Way. Yesterday I said goodbye to Tony and Craig after walking the 2 miles into Fort William then headed into the ER. The nurse called the national health line who found me an emergency appointment with a dentist to fix that poking wire in my mouth. Later I dropped my bag at a homey old hostel before an improbable shopping session-- I bought exciting things like a new pair of hiking socks and more white gas. Sauteed mushrooms for dinner (and wrote home about it too) because that's what I do these days. 

I started my walk this morning at noon after a slow start with a visit to the grocery store and the library. The rain was coming down in freezing sideways sheets. After an hour through little villages along the water, the rain abated to a drizzle and I came to the Caledonian canal. I went past the flight of 8 locks called Neptune's Staircase... no boats were out because of the weather. I heaved down my pack and had a nice chat with the British Waterways man whose job it was to hand-crank a bridge to open and close it for passing boats and traffic. I had walked the 10 miles to Garliochy by 4 which surprised me because I didn't think I had gone that fast... I guess there just weren't many sights to stop and gawk at along the way. There was actually nothing at Garliochy beyond a bridge and a signpost, so I kept walking. The trail led off the towpath by the water to the paved road high above it-the normal marked trail was actually through a forest but a detour sign said falling tree limbs made it dangerous. I listened to the signs. I passed a few streets of houses lined up against the southern shores of the loch but no services at all for hikers... not even B&Bs. After entering the "wild" section of trail (a sign warned me that the next 7 miles would be far from human habitation) I found a bench and fire pit: just the place to set up camp. I heated water for dinner on my struggling sputtering stove (I am too afraid of fire to make a campfire when I am by myself). Now I am all snug in my sleeping bag and the rain has stopped. Maybe the tent will have a chance to dry. I am off to my book again.

Up and off by 9 yesterday. I always want to wake up earlier when I am wild camping because I don't like people passing my tent while I am still sleeping. I walked in the "wild" "isolated" forest until 12. I was only passed by a couple of cars. So much for wilderness. The northern end of the loch had locks on it, and a big docked boat had a bar on it, so I went in for hot tomato soup and friendly conversation with my fellow walkers (it took a minute to order the soup because they didn't readily understand to-may-to as opposed to to-mah-to). Next I went off along the canal and the straight path created by stripping an old railway line. 5 miles of singing later, I came to a swinging bridge and a tea house built just for walkers.  An afternoon pot of tea with homemade scones was really an obligatory stop. The trail led between the canal and a river, with boats going up and down the locks in the afternoon sun. I sang loud and obnoxious renditions of Mamma Mia and Wicked and Ragtime to keep me going as I got tired. I got in to Fort Augustus around 6, rounding out mile 32 for two days. 4 English guys pulling their canoe out of the water asked me about camping spots in town. I ended up hanging with them, eating a snack of chips before setting up a cool camp in the grass along the public walk just beyond the locks and before the open water of Loch Ness. It was a calm night, weather wise, and the tarp draped over the canoes and supported by oars was shelter enough. The English guys had a British Waterways key, which meant access to the warm showers in the bathrooms. We stayed up late chatting and eating snacks like crisps and green olives and anything else the guys could find in their bottomless bags. How easy it is to pack big when you get to carry your gear in a canoe rather than on your bag. Later, I found myself a spot under the tarp with my new friends and had a surprisingly warm and comfortable night. 

Woke up to their 6.40 alarm. I bought bread and cheese and yogurt for breakfast and lunch snaclks after watching them put out. There was a 7 mile climb in intermittent sunshine to Invermoriston. As always my walk was punctuated most by weather and food... I had a hot chocolate and banana break before another climb and then walks along the forest plantation track high above Loch Ness. Around 3, when the 2 guys I had walked with went down to Altsigh to catch their bus, I calculated that I had about 10 miles left until Drumnadrochit. I didn't really plan... just kept walking. The clear views of the long loch and the villages across the water were the best that afternoon. I took long breaks in the sunshine to scan the water's surface for Nessie but the only tracks were the V streaks left by passing tourist boats. The breaks were a little too long I guess, because I trudged past farms then villages always looking at my watch and my map, wondering how much further. I couldn't camp because I drank up all my water because of the unexpectedly hot afternoon. I had purifying tablets, of course, but there was even any dirty brackish water in sight (yum). So I had to make it to Drum. I walked feeling quite run-down, slamming my walking poles into the ground to take a bit of weight off my aching feet. My energy was so low I couldn't even sing stupid songs to keep me going. I made it to town with fading light just after 8. I found a small independent hostel in Lewiston just before Drumnadrochit after my second 20miles+ day. Tomorrow I will rest here I think-so tired- feet aching. 

May 1. I lazed away yesterday with big bowls of cold milk and crunchy cereal and internet and newspaper reading at the library (this was the beginning of the Swine flu scare in Scotland). While in town, I was watching a boys' field hockey match in the park. The boys were about 13.  A woman passing by asked if any of them were mine. Emm no. 

Walked out of town in the morning past lambing fields then mostly harvested tree plantations. It was a windy day with only pocketfuls of sunshine. I went slowly, deciding not to go all the way to Inverness. Read my book during lunch until my fingers got too cold, then went a little further to a campsite in the heather. Rory welcomed me to his little campsite-- basically cleared out spaces on the bouncy heather moor with 9 year old rowan trees fighting to grow all around me. I could have camped "wild" but figured it was worth the small price to have a toilet, a bonfire, and someone else making me breakfast in the morning. Especially since my stove puttered out completely while I was trying to heat water, which meant I had two packets of plain tuna for dinner. Yum. And then my spork snapped in half while I was trying to eat. Great. But my morale wasn't really down--all this little stuff--all fixable. So I joined Rory at the huge fire to watch heather burn bright orange like coral  and to share a few wee drams of whisky. I turned around and around warming myself for hours until the sky was totally dark at 10. Rory pointed out birds' nests and flying bats and told me of his plans to work as a stonemason on the Sagrada Familia in Barcelona--cool.

Inverness hostel. I walked impatiently past farms then in the forest. I passed another girl my age walking by herself in the opposite direction. It turns out she was from Finland (!!!) so I had her write down her email address so I could ask her for trail advice in her home country. I came out of the forest and saw the city from above, but there were still 3 miles to the city center. I liked the last bit of trail, walking on urban-islands on the river just above the city center, because this was a part of Inverness that I didn't know existed when I last was there 2 weeks earlier with Becca. That made me a bit sad too, because I wished Becca had seen those spots. I did rejoice in the fact that when we were there together, the daffodils were in full bloom; now, two weeks later, they are drooping and brown. Mostly the last bit of the walk was challenging because my shoulder hurt and after two weeks of pushing myself my ankle finally pushed back. So I was quite a sight, a vertible boulder of a backpack on my back and limping into a clean modern city. I found a hostel bed and searched around all the outdoor shops in town for a way to repair my stove. Tired and clean, I spent the evening in the hostel reading a book. After only a few hours relaxing indoors, I felt a bit sluggish, like my body knew I should really still be out walking.

FInlandia

My arrival into the country was smooth-- I didn't get quizzed quite as much as I did upon entering the UK, and there was a bus waiting to wisk me and my ever-bigger backpack into the center of town. Helsinki at 9pm was still light but calm and rather empty, strange since with light outside I expect crowds as well. I was in the UK long enough to forget to appreciate simple Western city characteristics like street names and numbers, but I was nevertheless happy with the clean layout of the city center. I stayed in my hostel and went to bed after a couple of leftover London bananas I had in my backpack for dinner. 

After repacking my bag to meet non-airplane standards (this means tent, sleeping pad, tarp, and stove bag all go on the outside, for a more hard-core traveler look... ok also because then the bag isn't as tall), I left it at the hostel and went out to see the city. The morning started out with calm enough weather, overcast skies but still bright enough for a California girl to sport shades. I visited a red brick church with Russian writing and the fish market on the water. (No Carolyn, no whole bony fried fish yet.) The city parks have blooming tulips in a purple hue as the center of the flower planting arrangements... they are in bloom now up here just as they were almost 2 months ago in London. The pounding rain soaked through my hiking pants pretty quickly so I figured that was a good time to go into a museum (I tried to find an outdoor store to go shopping for white gas and new socks but didn't find any in the immediate vicinity). The Ateneum was first, a classic big city art museum with the best of Finnish artists plus a few European highlights. There was a whole floor dedicated to artistic interpretations of traditional Finnish myths. Next up was the modern art museum, for weird videos and light installations. That was it for Helsinki sightseeing for the day.

Helsinki doesn't feel too foreign when I am just walking around on the street. But I noticed right away that I am in a completely new place. How could I have forgotten how easy I had it in Scotland. In the grocery store to get bananas and yogurt for breakfast, many of the food labels were in 3 or 4 languages... english not being one of them. Of course I don't need too much direction to buy yogurt--just look at the package--but when it comes to more advanced purchases like my camping food, I will have to take along a Finnish friend to give me some direction. Simple interactions at the checkout counter silence me. I can say hello in Finnish because it sounds just like hey, but beyond that I only know the words for one, two, three, and beer. So when I go to pay for samiakki, I can only smile and nod at the common courtesies normally exchanged at the counter--I feel guilty because those are the words I ought to learn right away, but I also feel plain old foreign. Little things like ordering a cup of coffee I have to think about and plan in my head whereas in Scotland I could just go right up to the counter without having to repeat kahvi and maito a few times under my breath. Because Finnish is pretty much on a different linguistic tree than the languages I know or pretend to know, I can't even read newspapers and menus and half-understand (unless there is Swedish as well, which is related to German, which I pretend to know... Swedish is the other official language of Finland).  The good thing about being in a completely new country is all the food I will have to sample... looking at the pastry shelves and the candy display, there is so much that as of yet I do not recognize. I got on that right away with dinner tonight with my CS host Jenny. She served a baked Karelian rice pastry topped with eggs mixed with cottage cheese and butter. Now it is midnight and finally dark, but I don't feel tired quite yet--I'm still on UK time and the UK light schedule. 

Cairngorms Photos

3rd Quarterly Report

My introduction to the mountain hut system of Tanzania started on the slopes of Mt. Meru at the Mirikamba Huts. I write huts and not hut because Mirikamba was like a little village in the mountains. There were 7 or 8 buildings clustered around in a small area, all of them solidly built with quality materials that meant no wind would blow in through cracks in the wood. I shared a private room with my friend Alena. There was solar power to let us read in bed at night, flush sit-down toilets, and even soap dispensers by the sinks so we could wash our hands. Luxury, indeed, considering many hotels and homes in cities don't have all of those features. At Mirikamba there was a mess hut complete with cushioned wooden chairs, all brought up invidivually by porters since the construction used no animals in the transport of building materials. The other huts I visited were similar to my first night at Mirikamba. Not all the places I slept on Kilimanjaro were as well preserved, probably because the volume of visitors is much higher, but I still slept in comfort all my nights on the mountain. The guides and porters slept indoors too, in beds on Meru and in huts at least on Kili.

Tanzania proved to be the country with the biggest discrepancies between what the locals and the foreign tourists wanted out of the wilderness. There would be no one climbing the tall mountains, no one living in them, if it were not for the foreigners, it seemed to me. Tanzanians saw the mountain (by which I mean Kilimanjaro, the central focus of hiking in the country) as a place for a job, not a vacation. There were no locals climbing up when I was there, although I know that Tanzanian student groups do make the climb. The only instance of local involvement in the mountains (besides having a paying job there) was in a small village outside of Mtae in the Usambara mountains. A local volunteer ranger protected the little forest I walked from anyone who might try to cut down trees or take branches for firewood. This ranger was protecting his village's piece of the forest and their water supply-- tourists did not really have any place in this purely local affair.

Danger on the trail? Since that was a factor I used to evaluate wilderness in other countries, I will bring up the discussion here. Yes. Absolutely. The obvious danger was the animals. That is whe the Tanzanian park service sent an armed ranger up Mt. Meru with each group. I didn't feel threatened when we passed 10ft from giraffes and water buffalo, but I was a bit nervous. I could see Michael, our ranger, fingering his gun the entire walk--there was a danger there. The quick gains of altitude is dangerous as well as being downright stupid. But the guns and the frequent admonitions to go pole pole, slowly slowly, guard against both the danger of animals and fast altitude gains. At Mirikamba, the tourists were warned not to venture beyond the perimeter of the camp because the armed guards could not be responsible for us out there. I stayed put, not wanting to meet any curious elephants. In that way, the huts themselves made the wilderness a bit less wild, a bit more safe for all of us visitors. A danger of the wilderness that I had not expected was the poaching that my ranger Michael described. Besides protecting tourists from animals, the rangers must go off-trail in national parks and protect the animals from armed and dangerous poachers.

Parks seemed to be set up as money making machines--a wilderness set aside because foreign visits demanded that... the Tanzanians rightfully wanted to make money off of the visits to the mountain. The rules that govern human presence on the mountain are shaped around western influences, and not what the locals might want out of their mountain. My guide on Kili, Philip, told me about the strict laws against taking anything away from the park. The usual take only pictures leave only footprints saying. But once in the park, he picked up rocks and put them in his pocket to take down the mountain. And it was ok to use the plants for medicine, he told me. I reminded him out what he had told me, but Philip shrugged that off saying that there were enough rocks for every visitor to take one. If picking plants is for medicine, that is a reason to shrug off the rules, never mind the western-modeled rules that instruct otherwise. National parks might have had strict regulations, but with a huge country like Tanzania, there were certainly other less-regulated wild landscapes. Michael, my ranger from Meru, explained the rules pertaining to game reserves and game-controlled area, the land that surrounds national parks. Hunting by locals is allowed on a limited basis in these areas.

The idea that Tanzanian wilderness had something to give humans was consistent in my visit to the lower Usambara mountains. There the locals handed me piles of pears freshly picked from the trees, or tomatoes from the fields as they were picking. The idea behind these free hand-offs, as Yassin, my guide explained, was that there was enough for everybody there. I can accept that logic for the Usambara mountains, for now. The number of visitors is only a fraction of what Kili receives. But the idea of taking something that the mountain produces for human consumption is an important one, because the gifts of crunchy pears did not appear because I was a mzungu, a novelty in a small village. The unspoken rule that within the mountains products are free for all even if outside the mountains they are sold is long-standing. It was around before the mzungus were, and therefore is telling of a specifically Tanzanian concept of wilderness unaltered by Western mountaineers shaping national park policies.

One failure during my time in Tanzania was my inability to get a woman's perspective on wilderness. All of the locals I talked to about wilderness were men. They were the ones who had the jobs as armed rangers, as guides, as porters. I did meet and talked to women who were part of the park service, but most of them had desk jobs at the bottom, not up in the mountains. Michael ventured an opinion when I asked him about it: Women do not like coming up into the mountains. They want to stay down in the offices. This seemed like an excuse more than anything else, so I asked a female park ranger when I was back at the bottom of Meru. Did she want to go up and guide tourists on multi-day hikes? No, she told me, aligning herself exactly as Michael had predicted. She preferred to work just for the day and return home at night. I wondered if there was a macho culture surrounding working up in the huts that made it uncomfortable and impratical for women to work up there. Like the excuse the park ranger in Chile gave me for why no women were working at the ranger station in el Cajon del Maipu: men and women would have to share a bathroom, so therefore women really couldn't work there comfortably. This Tanzanian ranger might have had a different view on the danger in the park, from both animals and humans, than her male co-workers, but I don't know the real reasons behind her statement that she would rather not lead hikes like the one I had just finished. My inability to understand how women see the wilderness in Tanzania is not really a personal failure on my part--the tourist industry is set up so that tourists are interacting with men almost all of the time. Actually, this is true for most of where I've walked. There were more male than female hut guardians in Switzerland and Chile, only male guides and porters and cooks in India. I am not quite sure how to overcome this limitation.

A few successes I've had... in Tanzania I managed to plan more quickly with the limited time I had in the country. Because of government regulations, I had to walk with a guide at all times, but I was able to organize my entourage more easily than I could in India. The limitation on my independence, however, was frustrating. I am glad to be in Scotland, where I can control the routes I take, where I sleep, and the food that I eat without worrying as much about safety and getting sick. I was quite proud of the fact that I spoke more Kiswahili than the average tourist, thanks to my Peace Corps Volunteer friend Alena who taught me some key phrases at the beginning of my time in Tanzania. Being able to say how are you (Habari za leo) rather than just the touristy Jambo paved the way for better relationships with guides and porters on the trail. And of course, making it to the top of Mt. Kilimanjaro lands in my successes list. My body's response to altitude was not completely in my control, so I can't claim that luck did not play a role in the climb... but I was there, standing among glaciers at almost 20,000ft!


Right now I am well into my 9th month of travel on this 12 month Watson journey. I am almost finished with the Speyside Way national long distance trail, which is the third of its kind I will have completed in the last 3 weeks. That means over 200 miles since Rebecca's visit ended. Yes, I am feeling a bit tired. I love being in Scotland (despite blustery sideways freezing rain days like today) because the discussion of wilderness is everywhere. It is not just about bothies (the Scottish huts I came to see). Scottish Access Code information is posted and readily discussed, and by wild camping on the national long distance trails like the West Highland Way and the Great Glen Way, I can see how the Scottish understanding of wilderness on paper plays out in practice.