May 6, 2025
Tuesday
Immediately northwest of Glasgow is the Loch Lomond and Trossachs national park and its hard to find words to describe the beauty of the area with wooded hills and lakes. Indeed, it was a day which makes any toil all the more worthwhile.
The stony uphill trail continued on from where I'd camped, over the crest of the hill and entered woodland on a well maintained single-track cycle trail with signage at intersections and soon I am heading for a great hill like a wall barring the way without a way around, so soon I'm off pushing. It was lucky the chainsaws had been through as whole rows of trees had been blown down in the big January storm, so I haul the bike up through a corridor of cut tree-trunks. The forestry people were still working on the hilltop where I had to wait briefly while they cut up a small tree across the trail. From the top the way is forest fire road sweeping down to join an A road where I go left, then right upon a narrow single-track road.
By 11 I reach Arrochar on a lochside passing a naval base on the way in, needing to charge the phone, but the only cafe in the village has a closed on Mondays and Tuesdays sign on the door. I had a quick think and then double back to a sandwich shop I'd passed called Lou's Deli and once I've ordered a sausage sandwich and coffee, politely ask the woman with an English accent behind the counter, could she charge my phone. With available power outlets on the wall behind her she couldn't say no.
I sat on a bench outside the shop, lingering for around 40 minutes enjoying the warm sunshine while personnel in blue uniform from the nearby base come and go and orange hi-vis van drivers stop for food before going back in for my fully charged phone.
It is a steep climb up from the coast to rejoin the blue Komoot route which I'd deviated off. The way crosses and descends to another loch or sea inlet with steep wooded hills rearing up on the opposite side and follows the coast to a small place no bigger than a dozen houses at the innermost point where, the road turns a corner and returns back along the other side. It is like a Norwegian fjord. The route shadows the metalled road above upon a gravel forestry road, which turns inland up a narrow valley with steep wooded sides, climbing to a great height with a stupendous across at the road carved into the hillside opposite; ante like cars and trucks moving in a straight line. At this point I have stopped at a well placed picnic table and with a fair area of level short sward, it would have made a good campsite if it weren't only 4 o'clock.
By evening I have descended to Goilhead at the head of another loch-sea inlet and following the coast further come to a regularly used waterside campsite, by the fact there is a stone ring containing blackened ash of a campfire. There isn't much level space but enough for my small tent. I clear the spot and set up.
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