Ness' bit of everything

Six days and 96 mile multi day hike through the rugged beauty of the Scottish Highlands.

Introduction

I was watching a YouTube video of a woman hiking the West Highland Way when something clicked. A little voice in my head said, “Yes. Cool. I want to do that.”

So I did.

What follows is a day-by-day account of my journey along the trail – the highs, the lows, the heat, and the miles. I’ll also share some snippets from my field journal to give you a flavour of what was really going on in my head along the way.

Day by day breakdown

Day 0
Travel to Milngavie

After far too much deliberation over my travel plans – weighing up whether the UK train network would be a help or a hindrance – I finally decided to fly. I took a short flight from Southampton to Glasgow and, thanks to the city’s amazing transport links, hopped on the Number 500 bus straight into the centre.

Wanting to make the most of the food options before heading to a smaller town (with potentially slim Sunday pickings), I fueled up with a comforting Wagamama’s before facing the slightly chaotic Bank Holiday crowds at the station. From there, I caught a local train to Milngavie and walked just under a mile to the Premier Inn – my base for the night.

Once in my room, I switched my backpack from ‘flight mode’ to ‘hiking mode’, readying myself for the walk ahead.

Diary extract
“I can see the hills in the distance from the hotel window as the sun begins to set – the nerves have kicked in a little.”

Day 1
Milngavie to Balmaha
20miles
I woke early in the Premier Inn and headed down for breakfast – not especially hungry, but knowing I needed to fuel up for the big day ahead. There were a few other solo travellers there too, and we exchanged knowing nods. We didn’t speak, but there was a quiet understanding – we were probably all walking the same Way.

The walk to the official start was nearly a mile down the road, and that’s when reality began to set in. Booking accommodation slightly off-route always seems fine from the comfort of your laptop, but it hits differently when you’re actually on the trail.

The official start is an odd and grand little set-up, right on Milngavie High Street, nestled between a Costa and a Greggs. Not quite the wilderness I’d imagined. The path out of town felt more like a local dog walk – paved, leafy, and gently leading you away from civilisation.

I stopped at Turnip the Beet, a charming café where I grabbed a coffee and, since I was ahead of schedule, picked up lunch to take with me. A few miles down the trail, I found a spot to enjoy it. At around mile 12, just before Drymen, I stumbled across a bakery honesty box – and it felt like a gift from the trail gods. I’d been toying with the idea of detouring into Drymen for a sugar fix, but this solved everything. I found a shady spot to rest, aired my feet, swapped socks, and tucked into a millionaire’s shortbread.

My feet always swell on multi-day hikes, especially in the heat, and today was no exception. I made a mental note to be stricter about stopping, loosening off my boots, and letting my feet breathe.

After mile 15, the route began to climb – a gentle ascent through woodland, hiding the views. Then Conic Hill appeared: the final push before Balmaha. It had a bit of a reputation, but honestly? It was fine. I stopped a few times, wiping sweat from my brow, but my legs coped well. I was surprised when I reached the summit – it was packed! I’d barely seen a soul for the last 8 miles, but the car park on the other side clearly made it a Bank Holiday hotspot. Day-trippers, families and dogs everywhere.

Then came the views – Loch Lomond and the Trossachs laid out before me, it was absolutely stunning.

The descent, however, was a different story. Harsh steps, jarring my tired legs, and filled with cheerful walkers who’d just started their jaunt. I was relieved to finally reach Balmaha – and also unexpectedly nostalgic. I’d been here before, and it was lovely to feel a sense of familiarity. I celebrated with an ice cream by the loch, then realised my bunkhouse was half a mile up the road, off the route. Classic.

After dumping my bag and taking full advantage of the free shampoo and hair dryer, I ended the day with a hearty haggis burger at the Oak Tree Inn. A well-earned treat.

Diary extract
“All I can think about is the last 2 miles. It was a descent that felt like it went on forever. The hill – Conic Hill – wasn’t even that big! But on tired legs at the end of a 20-mile day with 13kg on my back – then yes, it definitely felt like a hill.”

Day 2
Balmaha to Inversnaid
14 miles
I rejoined the trail after a half-mile walk from my bunkhouse and stopped in at St Mocha for a coffee and a breakfast toastie – both of which were excellent.

It was also my first encounter with that familiar trail moment: “Oh, it’s you!”. I recognised a few people from the Premier Inn and from the day before, and we fell into easy conversation – comparing routes, stopping points, and pack weight. It was lovely, the kind of camaraderie that forms effortlessly on long-distance trails, and it had just begun.

The route for Day 2 followed the edge of Loch Lomond the entire way. The water stayed on my left, disappearing only for brief moments before reappearing with another beautiful view. The weather was super sunny – clear skies and rather warm – but the trail itself was relentlessly uneven. Roots, rocks, twists and turns. It was hard to get into any kind of rhythm or stride.

There was one section I’d been looking forward to for a long time. Around a decade ago, I worked for an agricultural countryside contractor, and we had a job along this very part of the West Highland Way. We’d been tasked with improving the path and rebuilding a wooden bridge over a waterfall. We stayed in a static caravan park nearby and would drive a 4×4 up a gravel track as far as we could. From there, we’d hike the rest of the way in – carrying supplies, tools, and materials. We’d do this over and over each day, lugging in everything needed before the real work began. I spent my days with my team mates digging out and resetting the stone path, or sawing wood and rebuilding the bridge by hand.

As I walked that stretch again –  just once this time – I found myself deeply reflective. I passed the place where we used to base ourselves, hiked the same path we used to drag kit up and down, and finally reached the very bridge we’d built.

Crossing it now, all these years later, I couldn’t help but reflect on just how tough that job had been – the physical graft, the long days, the sheer effort of it all. But I also remembered how strong I was. How capable and determined. I felt genuinely proud. That version of me – full of grit and drive – she’s still in there, a different form but there nonetheless. And I see glimpses of her every time I push through a challenge like this one.

Even with that boost of nostalgia and motivation, my feet were in agony. A deep, sharp pain in the arches of my feet, that I later realised was plantar fasciitis. It made every step brutal. The last few miles felt endless – I must have stopped ten times. I was so close to the end of the day, but couldn’t enjoy the views anymore.

Eventually, I made it to the Inversnaid Hotel, where I dipped my feet into the loch and waited for the shuttle to the Inversnaid Bunkhouse (a brilliant service, by the way – highly recommended). I got to the bunkhouse, thankfully had a room to myself, collapsed on the bed – and cried. The pain had tipped me over the edge.

After a small meltdown, I rallied. Stretches. Electrolytes. Ibroprohin. Trying to find that grit again. I forced myself upstairs to the communal lounge and bar – and I’m glad I did. The atmosphere was fantastic. The place was buzzing with fellow hikers, many doing the WHW, all sharing stories and laughing.

I inhaled deep breaths and also a massive chicken burger and suddenly realised that some of my emotional crash had just been hunger. Again. Classic.

Diary Extract
“My feet hurt – throbbing so badly, I could’ve cried for the last two miles. The route guide didn’t lie – it really did feel like the last two miles never ended. I stopped enjoying the view. What’s frustrating is my body feels fine – great, in fact. But my feet are so sore. I’m just so frustrated.”

Day 3
Inversnaid to Crianlarich
13 Miles (…or so I thought)

I write 13 miles here because that’s what was planned. That’s what the guidebooks promised. Day 3 somehow turned into 15 miles. Go figure.

It was a mixed day. I went through several waves of emotion – swinging from confident and chirpy (even catching myself dancing at one point), to fed up and frustrated as the pain in my feet crept back in.

I started the morning a bit grumpy. I hadn’t slept well and felt restless all night. I walked down to the loch, where the shuttle bus had picked me up the evening before, and picked up the trail again – reunited with the loch for another 7 miles. It felt even more undulating than the day before, but I was glad to tackle it in the morning where I also have the most energy. The constant clambering over boulders and weaving around tree roots made for slow going.

Eventually, the loch came to an end. I sat for a snack and took in one last view before standing up and, quite genuinely, giving it a wave goodbye. From there, the landscape opened out into moorland, with gentle rolling hills stretching ahead. It felt lighter somehow – both literally and mentally. I reached the Beinglas campsite just in time for lunch and a much-needed break.

By this point I was overheating – still in trousers after all the tick warnings. But the paths were dry and open, and I hadn’t seen a stretch of long grass for miles. I stopped mid-trail and finally changed into my shorts. Immediate relief, followed by slight irritation at myself for not doing it sooner.

Eventually, I took the detour down into Crianlarich – a fair drop off the main trail, and a climb I knew I’d be facing first thing the next morning. That was tomorrow’s problem.

I reached the hostel, cooked a simple meal in the shared kitchen, and finally put my feet up for the evening.

Diary extract
“The last section felt lonely, but I had mixed feelings. I even danced at one point of the trail, feeling so grateful and free. The path from the main road up to the crossroads where the WHW splits off into Crianlarich felt long, quiet and lonely.”

Day 4
Crianlarich to Inveroran
15 miles
Halfway. Three days done, three to go.

The others in my dorm were up early, so – if you can’t beat them, join them. I got up, had breakfast, and set off, knowing it would take me a little while to rejoin the trail. It was about 0.8 miles back, and even at 8am, the heat was already creeping in. Sweat was pouring off my brow as I hiked up the hill. It was anything major but the hill was enough of a ‘good morning’ reminder to the legs they are still needed. 

The path weaved along a balcony trail through the trees, with occasional glimpses of the valley below. Not long in, I passed a pair of hikers filling up water. We stopped for a quick chat, and though I carried on ahead, they soon caught me up – and from that point on, we didn’t stop talking and walking.

Their pace was a touch quicker than mine, but I was grateful for the company and the lift it gave me. We agreed to grab lunch together at the Green Welly Stop in Tyndrum, a very welcome break around mile 7.

There was never a conversation about whether we’d keep walking together – we just did. It felt natural. We chatted about life and what had brought each of us to the trail. They were also solo walkers who’d met on the West Highland Way and decided to stick together. They were warm, welcoming, and genuine – such a breath of fresh air after the loneliness of the day before.

We passed Highland cows and rams as we pushed on along the military road. They were planning to wild camp at Bridge of Orchy, while I was booked into the Inveroran Hotel a little further on. But after hearing from other walkers that the best camping spots were just beyond the bridge, they decided to continue too – adding another 2.5 miles to their day.

Before pushing on, we stopped for a drink at the Bridge of Orchy Hotel. It was lovely, but also dangerous – my legs and feet started to think they were done for the day, and it was tough to get going again at 4pm. But I made it.

The descent to the Inveroran was slow and sore, but worth it. I said goodbye to my new friends with a plan to meet again at the on-site shop when it opened at 8am.

The Inveroran Hotel was the most expensive place I stayed on the trail, but it was completely worth it. The food was incredible, the bed was comfy, and the shower was hot and powerful – pure bliss.

The hotel bar was an unexpected highlight. It wasn’t just hotel guests, but also campers who’d pitched nearby. The place was quietly bustling. Familiar faces from earlier on the trail started appearing, and the atmosphere was delightful. Sharing a wee dram with my new trail friends made for one of my best memories of the whole week.

Diary extract:
“The trail gods answered me – I made some friends today!”

Day 5
Inveroran to Kinlochleven
19 miles
A day of high highs and low lows. Classic long-distance trail stuff – the kind that tests you, and makes you feel all the things.

Morning Diary Extract:
“I was raring to go after sleeping the best I had compared to any night up to yet. I met my friends outside the shop as it opened for us to get supplies. I forgot when camping it takes more time. They hadn’t had breakfast, and packed down their tent as it was still damp. I realised waking up in the hotel was a lot less faff – no jobs to be done, which I hadn’t appreciated.”

After gathering supplies, we walked down to their camp spot. But I was starting to feel anxious. 19miles lay ahead, and I know I’m strongest with all my energy in the morning – it’s when I like to get my head down and eat up the miles. So, I gently excused myself, said I’d see them later on the trail as I knew their pace was a lot quicker than mine, and headed off solo.

Leaving what felt like a little base camp – like a transient village shifting on – I settled into a good rhythm. It was warm again, but steady going, and it felt like the best pace I’d had since Day 1. There were a lot of people on the trail that morning, all seemingly setting off at the same time. It was odd, like we’d all been funnelled into the same part of the trail.

The scenery opened up – vast, exposed, wild. The terrain changed too: a hard, loose gravel track littered with larger stones, constantly shifting underfoot.

Then something completely out of place happened. I heard engines. A lot of them. Before I knew it, motocross bikes appeared – speeding through the trail. It was surreal to see such a mechanical, noisy invasion in such a remote and peaceful place. I’d seen the warning signs, but hadn’t imagined just how strange it would be. To be fair, the riders were polite and respectful, keeping a distance when they passed hikers, but after an hour of constant revving, dodging off trail, and general disruption, it started to wear thin.

Eventually I descended past Glencoe Mountain Resort, with Kingshouse in sight, and above the hum of engines I heard it “Vanessaaaaaa!”

As I turned around, there they were – my friends had caught me up, just like we’d expected. Mile 9. We descended together into Kingshouse, and took a proper break outside the pub: lunch, suncream, water. A little reset before the next 10 miles.

This next stretch felt quieter. Most people seemed to stop at Kingshouse, and with the bikes finally behind us, it was just the sound of our voices and our feet on the trail. We sang as we walked the empty military road through the valley.

But then the afternoon shifted for me slightly.

Afternoon Diary Extract:
“I noticed my pace slowed. Theirs did not. It suddenly felt like I couldn’t catch them. I knew the Devil’s Staircase was coming up, and I started questioning my ability, my fitness, my being there. It became overwhelming. We had a break at the bottom of the staircase. I quietly sobbed to myself while they chatted about snacks and refilling water. There was nothing I could do. So I let it out. I knew there was no way out – but I don’t think I wanted there to be.”

I don’t know if they noticed, but as we started the climb, there was a gentle silence. Then one of them suddenly said “So, Ness, tell me – what hobbies are you into?”

And just like that, it snapped me out of it. I had to think, answer, engage. We chatted about what makes us tick, what fills us up, and somehow, the Devil’s Staircase passed us by. We summited, not really batting an eyelid. 

The descent into Kinlochleven was slow and winding, and the final stretch along the gravel service road felt like it would never end. My hostel was the first stop we came to. We said our goodbyes again – though we knew we’d meet tomorrow – and they carried on to find a camp spot.

I checked in, grabbed a hot shower, and remembered… this was the fully booked hostel. I was sleeping in one of the tent boxes outside.

Day 6
Kinlochleven to Fort William
15 miles
After one of the most bizarre nights’ sleep – if you can even call it that – in a tent box, on the ground, I sleepily packed up and wandered into town. I found a coffee, a pastry, and a bench. It was early, about 8am, and already the streets had that still, sleepy kind of energy.

I set off slowly, following the road before climbing the trail – mile-long switchbacks right from the get-go. In the distance, I heard familiar voices – my friends camped just off the trail. They were battling midges as they were packing down their tents. They insisted I carry on without them, just like the day before. “We’ll catch you,” they said. So off I went, and to outpace the midges, I just walked faster – simple as that.

The views were stunning: open and wild, with crumbling old barns dotting the landscape. The military road made another appearance with large, loose stones underfoot, the kind that threaten your ankles with every step.

I kept expecting to see my friends again, but it never quite happened. Eventually I took a lunch break, solo, with a perfect view of Ben Nevis. As I started packing up, there they were, appearing over the brow.

Apparently, I’d found a new gear that morning – they kept saying they thought they’d catch me ages ago, but I was nowhere in sight. I guess I had the finish line in my sights.

I’d already had my long break, but they hadn’t yet, so we found a shady spot and sat together. I stayed a little longer, sharing some first aid (always worth carrying extra bandages and tape), and we chatted about the day’s hike. Then we parted ways – again. That was the last time I saw them on the trail.

I charged ahead, chewing through the miles. And then, all of a sudden, I was on the main road into Fort William. Cars, buildings, people. It always feels odd arriving somewhere so urban after so long in the quieter, wilder places. I weaved my way through the Saturday highstreet crowds, slightly dazed, until I reached the finish.

There’s a statue there – of a man rubbing his feet. A bench. A sign. I had the obligatory photo with him, then found another bench and just… sat.

Finishing an adventure like this always feels strangely anticlimactic. I never really know what I expect. Fireworks? A brass band? A deep, spiritual awakening? Instead, all I could think was: “Well, I guess I’ll get an ice cream then.” So I did – sitting on a bench near the end, watching other people finish.

It felt strange not finishing with my friends. But there was also something quietly wonderful about it too – knowing I’d started alone and finished alone. I was proud of that.

Still, I wanted to see them finish. So I waited. And I’m so glad I did. We hugged, got a photo and then got a beer. That was the ending I wanted. Eventually, we said our final goodbyes as we had different onward journeys ahead. I was so incredible grateful for bumping into them on the trail. For them being so welcoming and giving me the motivation when I really needed it.

I made my way to the train station, joining what felt like hundreds of fellow hikers. With limited public transport options out of Fort William, the 5:30pm train was one of the few viable choices. There had been a bus at 2:30pm, but I didn’t have time to make that one – and the days after Sunday’s travel options were even more restricted, with nothing that would get me to Glasgow in time for my flight. So, the evening train it was, rolling into Glasgow just after 10pm.

It was quite a sight – walkers with all their kit, some with beers and snacks in hand, piling onto the carriages. There was a real mix of moods: lively groups sharing trail stories and toasting the finish, others sitting quietly, gazing out of the window, clearly deep in their own thoughts.

The journey itself was long – the kind where you have to stand up and stretch to stop everything getting cramp – but it was also one of the most scenic train rides I’ve ever taken. Mountains, lochs, and soft evening light, as if a final parting gift from the Highlands.

As the train rolled into Glasgow, a quiet army of weary hikers spilled onto the platform – mud-splattered, sun-kissed, and a little broken in the best of ways. Then, like smoke, we vanished into the city’s Saturday night chaos. No one on the streets knew the miles we’d walked, the blisters earned, or the moments that tested us. While they hugged friends and searched for the next bar, we quietly re-entered the world, each carrying something quietly remarkable.

My Last Dairy Extract:
“As I neared the end of the West Highland Way, I found myself thinking a lot about how solo adventures feel completely different to those I’ve done shared with others.

Being solo brings with it a whole different mindset. It’s hard to put into words. There’s a kind of mental stillness that’s both powerful and, at times, confronting. You’re in your own head more – there’s nowhere to hide from your thoughts, your pain, or your emotions. That can be both a blessing and a challenge.

Most of my multi-day trips before this one have been in groups – mostly with people I didn’t know beforehand, but still part of a shared journey. In those moments, your focus shifts naturally onto others, or at least mine does. There’s distraction, camaraderie, and often a sense of duty to care for the group. I’ve noticed that when I’m in a group, it’s easier to shift my mindset. Whatever pain or discomfort I might be feeling becomes background noise when there are conversations to be had or others to support. Even just the mindset of ‘I don’t want to let the others down’.

But being solo is something else entirely. You’re completely on your own schedule – no compromise, no waiting, no pushing beyond what you can manage. There’s freedom in that. You listen to your body more closely. You choose your pace, your breaks, your moments of stillness.

In truth, I think I’ve found value in both styles of travel. Group adventures bring laughter, distraction, and human connection. Solo journeys offer deeper reflection, resilience, and a quiet sort of pride in knowing you’ve carried yourself through it all. Each brings something different – and I think, I need both in my life.”

Reflections

It’s been a month of so since I completed the West Highland Way, and as I sit writing this, I’m still processing it all. I’ve learnt a lot. There’s a kind of quiet beauty in having a goal – something to aim for, to train towards, to break down into manageable steps. It gives life a sense of purpose. While walking, I felt a deep, simple joy in the doing – in the rhythm of it all. But when I reached the end, I didn’t feel accomplishment or even relief. I just sat on a bench, staring. I didn’t know what to do. And in some ways, I think I’m still there – still sitting on that bench.
Over these past few weeks, I’ve felt strangely detached from work (for reasons I won’t get into here), and without a new personal goal to focus on, I’ve felt… unanchored. A bit lost. I’ve come to realise how much I rely on goals – big or small, personal or professional – to give me direction. Without them, I float. I lose my sense of purpose.

What solo adventure are you planning? And, what gives you that sense of purpose?

Ness x