Beginning the Great Glen Way : Fort William to Gairlochy Lock

 “I take to the open road, healthy, free, the world before me.”

 

Walt Whitman

 

After the West Highland Way : Choosing to Continue

 
Having recently completed Wainwright’s Coast to Coast, the Pennine Way, and West Highland Way back to back to back, we were exhausted by weeks of hiking, poor weather, and the need to continually adapt.  By the time we arrived in Fort William, the trails of the UK had taken their toll on us – but it was not the landscapes or distances that had worn us down the most.  It was the crowds of people that we found to be the greatest challenge.

 
The shock of going from two long-distance routes, which provided time to ourselves in nature, to walking in an almost constant horde on the West Highland Way had unexpectedly drained us.   To say it was crowded would be an understatement.  It was not what we had anticipated and certainly not what we were used to.  The experience of hiking had shifted as a result.  Days that should have been defined by the landscape or bird sightings instead became stages defined by having to negotiate space – adjusting our pace, stepping aside, and being pushed along the trail.  We didn’t hike so much as move through what we often felt to be a constant flow of people in the outdoors.  By the time we walked into Fort William, the end of the trail felt less like a conclusion and more like an escape.

 
Even looking back at our trail notes and journals, which got slimmer and less detailed as the days passed – a clear reflection of how tired we felt.   As such, when we completed the West Highland Way (yesterday) we were uncertain whether to continue on along the Great Glen Way as they seem like natural extensions to one another.   The idea of four or five more days in a similar crush of hikers was untenable for us to even think of. 

 
On other long-distance journeys - on the Camino Francés, the Bruce Trail, or along the Trans Canada Trail - we had learned to build in rest, typically taking a day off for every seven days of walking. Here, that rhythm had collapsed. Across the Coast to Coast and Pennine Way, we had taken only two days off in more than a month, and through the entirety of the West Highland Way, we had not stopped at all. The next opportunity for rest, at least in theory, lay ahead in Inverness at the far end of the Great Glen Way - and even that felt uncertain.

 
For us, hiking the Great Glen Way was never planned as a standalone adventure – it was part of a series of hikes taken between ocean journeys.  As a result, when we reached Fort William, we had to confront a number of questions.  First, do we want to hike another trail?  Second, if so, can we even keep going?  And if we did, what kind of trail would meet us next - one shaped by wilderness and enjoyment or one shaped by exhaustion and frustration?
 
Added to this was a deeper challenge.  As writers of slow travel journeys and long-distance hikes, we are conscious of how experience shapes narrative.  Fatigue alters perception, and frustration reshapes judgment.  With that said, if we were already this tired, could we still walk and write with honesty?  Could we trust what we were feeling or interpret it fairly?  Or were we now simply rushing from trail to trail and not giving any of them the proper time to be enjoyed?

In the end, we found the answer – not within ourselves but from a local bookseller.  He mentioned in passing that far fewer people continue onward toward Inverness and that as an easier trail, it might give us the space and time we needed.  After the crowds of the West Highland Way, that hope was enough to encourage us to continue on.
 

The Great Glen Way

 
It was with that hope in mind that we set out on what would become our next four-day trek across Scotland - the Great Glen Way. Beginning just beyond the end of the West Highland Way in Fort William, the route stretches 79 miles, or roughly 124 kilometres, to Inverness on the opposite coast. Like the trails that had come before it, it offered the promise of crossing the country on foot, this time from the Atlantic-influenced Loch Linnhe in the west to Moray Firth and the North Sea in the east.

 
The Great Glen Way follows one of Scotland’s most important geological features: the Great Glen Fault, a natural corridor that slices diagonally across the Highlands almost from coast to coast.   Along this fault line sit a series of long, narrow lochs, or lakes, including Loch Linnhe near Fort William, Loch Oich further inland, and the famed Loch Ness – each of which is linked together by the Caledonian Canal.  The result – which the trail follows – is a system of engineered canals and natural waterways that form a continuous route across Scotland. 
 
On paper, the trail appeared straightforward. Opened in 2002 as one of Scotland’s official Great Trails, it is typically described as level, well-marked, and easy going, with relatively little elevation compared to other long-distance routes in the UK. Guidebooks frame it as an easier walk, one defined less by topography and physical challenges and more by time on towpaths, forest tracks, and canal-side paths. 
 

Morning in Fort William

 
A day after completing the West Highland Way, we were awake ...and if not ready, then at least prepared to continue on.  The decision had been made, and like so many mornings on other long journeys, there was little to do but follow through.

 
We were awake early, packed up and headed out for breakfast at a nearby Wetherspoon’s restaurant.  It was a familiar routine on this trip by now.  A full English for Sean, a vegetarian version for me, and several cups of strong coffee to bring some measure of energy into our tired bodies.  The meal was well enough - I would not say remarkable – but that wasn’t the point.  We needed fuel and a large meal – that was its purpose.  Our hiking clothes had begun to hang off of us as our bodies were now burning more energy than we consumed day in and day out. 
 
Stepping out from our hotel, we returned to the end point of the West Highland Way – a statue of the Proud Walks of the West Highland Way, often called the Man with Sore Feet.  It felt important to tie together these two trails and to acknowledge one ending before moving on.  From there, we turned toward the remains of the local historical fort, just a short distance away, where the Great Glen Way begins.
 
The contrast from the night before was immediate. The streets of Fort William, which had been busy and crowded with hikers and tourists, were now quiet.  Shops were still closed, and the usual movement of cities and people had not yet begun.  For the first time since we walked in less than a day ago, things were quiet and we found ourselves grateful for that brief window of peacefulness. 

 
Ready, we made our way along the High Street, passing the mixture of bookshops, outfitters and pubs before crossing beneath a busy roadway and cutting across a grocery store parking lot – our goal being the local McDonald’s restaurant.  Not for more food or coffee (though that was tempting) but because we had been told that this was the most evident indicator of where the trail began.  Nearby to this take out restaurant were the remains of the Historical Fort William and the official trail terminus for the Great Glen Way. 
 
Behind us were the mountains and crowds of the West Highland Way, ahead of us (hopefully) were the easy trails and canal towpaths of the Great Glen Way.
 

Historical Fort William

 
Having navigated a somewhat busy roundabout we found ourselves in the remains of the Old Fort which appeared to be little more than a low-lying open field ringed by a grassy berm and stone walls.  Around us a series of historical plaques told the tale of what was now a city park with picnic tables and a trailhead. 

According to the information panels, what remains of the Old Fort of Fort William is only a fragment, but its purpose once shaped the entire head of Loch Linnhe. Built in 1690 on the orders of William of Orange, the fort was intended not as a frontier outpost in the romantic sense, but as a mechanism of control.   A means as a part of a wider effort to contain the Highland clans and suppress Jacobite support for the Stuart cause. It rose on the site of an earlier Cromwellian fortification, its walls strengthened with deep ditches and positioned between river and sea, a deliberate assertion of government presence in a region long resistant to it.

Around it grew a small settlement – Maryburgh, named after the King’s consort Mary - supplying the garrison with food and labour, an uneasy pairing of military authority and civilian dependence that would eventually give rise to the town of Fort William itself.

The fort’s most turbulent moment came in 1746, when it was besieged by Jacobite forces in the final weeks before Culloden. The attack failed, and within days the Jacobite cause would collapse, leaving the fort’s original purpose increasingly redundant. In time, its role shifted, its structures adapted, and then gradually dismantled. By the nineteenth century, railways cut through its grounds, and later developments erased much of what remained. Even its gateways were removed and reassembled elsewhere, stone by numbered stone. What survives today is less a complete site than a trace or an outline of walls and historical memory, marking the beginning of the Great Glen Way at a place that was once not a starting point, but a line drawn to hold something back.

Birding Loch Linnhe

 
Before we left Fort William, we stepped through the remains of the old fort and out toward the shoreline through the Sally Port.  What had initially seemed like a brief detour quickly became something more absorbing.  The tide was out. 

 
Where water would normally sit along the edge of Loch Linnhe, the shoreline had receded to reveal a wide stretch of tidal flats - mud, stone, and seaweed exposed in uneven bands. The air carried familiar smells of salt water, seaweed and wet sand.  The stillness of the coast was only broken by the slow motion of ships in the waters further out and the quick movements of birds picking their way across the shallows. 

 

We moved slowly out across the edge of the flats, careful with our footing, watching as the shoreline came alive in small ways.  Terns few overhead, while oystercatchers worked the exposed ground and coastal rocks with their long beaks.  Closer to the waterline common sandpipers and dunlins moved between patches of seaweed.  Among them, common ringed plovers also shifted between short bursts of speed and long moments of stillness as they too watched.  Above us on railings and piers a mixture of Eurasian blackbirds and gulls also watched. 

 
It felt wonderful to be out here – and made us wonder whether we should simply stay in Fort William for a few days rather than hike on.  To be able to stop and look for birds in peace once again. 

While it was all wonderful, it was the gulls that drew us the most.  Tucked among the rocks just beyond the exposed shoreline were small nests, each holding speckled eggs that blended almost perfectly into their surroundings.  In some cases, the eggs had already hatched, revealing small, mottled chicks—barely distinguishable from the stones they rested against. It took time to see them clearly, but they were very cute. 

 
Not wanting to disturb either the scene or nests we made our way back up to the historic Fort.  Eventually we had to get going, and the arrival of a tour bus in the nearby grocery parking lot pushed us to get started.   The mere notion of more crowds prompted us to get onto the trail. 
 

Beginning the Great Glen Way 

 
Passing once again through the Sally Port we stood on the edge of the old fort and present day town.  
 
Just beyond the gate, we met another couple preparing to set out on their first long-distance walk. Their plan was to reach Gairlochy that day, some 17 kilometres along the route - a distance noted in the guidebooks as the first recommended stage of the Great Glen Way. It was, by most measures, a modest beginning. And yet, standing there with them, we found ourselves envious. Not of the distance itself, but of what it represented - the ability to begin at a measured pace, to allow the day to enjoy their time on the trail, to take in the experience as it came rather than simply moving through it. We wished them luck.

 
We marked our own start in the way we always had, pausing briefly for a photo before turning back toward the town.  Once again, navigating a busy city roundabout, the trail initially saw us passing alongside the local McDonald’s.

 
From there, the route led us along a paved walkway that skirted the edges of the restaurant and into a residential neighbourhood. It was an unceremonious beginning, one that wove through everyday spaces - houses, side streets, small businesses - before gradually moving beyond town.

 
Thankfully, the path soon led to the shoreline of the Rivery Lochy, where houses and the city gave way to an open green space that was far more relaxing.  As we left the last of the neighbourhoods behind, the trail moved following a dirt track as it traced the river inland. The water moved steadily beside us, and for the first time in several days, walking began to feel less like simply pushing on and more like an enjoyable ramble.
 

Inverlochy Castle

 
It was not long, indeed it was only a couple of kilometres, before the trail led us near to the remains of Inverlochy Castle. Curious we left the trail for a short detour toward the old fortification, which dated back to the late thirteenth century.  The remains of its stone walls revealed a presence that was imposing – even as a ruin.  Thick walls, broken openings, and fragments of arches all hinted at the shape it once held. 

 
Given the opportunity, we would have liked to have explored it more closely but the site was fenced off.  Signs made it clear that the structure was no longer considered safe and access was restricted.  In simpler terms, the castle was closed. 

 
As such, after a few minutes of admiring the site and its implied scale, we turned back, retracing our steps to Soldiers Bridge before crossing the River Lochy into the neighbourhood of Lochyside and heading onward to Caol.

 
At the time, the closure felt incidental - one of those small interruptions that barely registers in the course of a day. We could not have stayed long in any case. But looking back, it stands out differently. There was something in that brief instance – a detour, a closure, and moving on – that would repeat itself again and again in the days ahead along the Great Glen Way – and come to reflect our experiences on the trail.
 

Around the Bay to the Caledonian Canal

 
The next stretch passed more quickly than expected.  For a time, the trail followed a paced path along the opposite side of the River Lochy, where a heron and several hooded crows made their way along the rocky shoreline. 
 
Before long, the route shifted back to the coastlines of Loch Linnhy, taking us along the rocky beach and the wide exposed stretch of Coal.  Above us the skies had darkened and we were grateful for the weather holding as there was little shelter here.

 
From this vantage point, the view back toward Fort William was clear, the town sitting low against the water while the surrounding hills rose behind it. The route followed the sandy and stony edges of Caol Beach, and although Ben Nevis lay somewhere behind us, it remained mostly obscured by cloud.
 

Standing here, we found another information plaque, which made us aware of a connection we stood on.  Here in Coal, we were on the edge of the Caledonian Mountain Range, which passed through Ireland and across the Atlantic Ocean to Newfoundland… where we had trekked the East Coast Trail and long ago departed from the Atlantic terminus of the Trans Canada Trail.  Not for the first time, I found the geology of a place we were visiting fascinating – to see those subtle connections between varying landscapes and across the globe beyond what was immediately visible. 

 
Continuing on we passed a small derelict sailing boat which lay tilted near the waterline, worn down by exposure and neglect.  Not much further along, a larger wreck came into view, its structure a little less intact and just as abandoned – sitting in a way that suggested that it had not been moved in years.  We passed both without stopping long. 
 
Gradually, the route turned inland, pulling us away from the open shorelines and western coast of Scotland and toward the beginning of the Caledonian Canal. 

 
Running from coast to coast through the length of the Great Glen, the Caledonian Canal follows a geological line joined by engineered locks into a comprehensive waterway.  It was completed in 1822 after more than two decades of construction. The canal was designed under the direction of Thomas Telford as an engineering solution, a naval necessity and a means to economic development.  By combining existing waterways with roughly twenty-two miles, or just over thirty-five kilometres of man-made cuts, locks, and basins, it created what was, at the time, the greatest canal of its kind. Its purpose was practical and urgent: to offer ships a safer alternative to the storm-lashed Pentland Firth, to reduce exposure to naval attack, and to provide employment in the Highlands at a time when emigration and upheaval were already reshaping communities. 

The final waterway was ultimately sixty miles or approximately ninety-seven kilometres in length, of which one third was built and consists of twenty-nine locks, including the famous Neptune’s Staircase and ten bridges. Yet even as it opened, marked with ceremony and celebration along Loch Linnhe, the canal carried within it the limits of its own moment. Ships were growing larger, trade routes were shifting, and the narrow dimensions of the canal quickly constrained its usefulness for commercial shipping. It never fulfilled the industrial promise imagined at its conception.

Today, the canal remains in use, but for different reasons - giving way to working vessels, leisure craft, and those who move through the Great Glen for recreation.

Twinned Canals and New Connections

 
Reaching the western gates of the Caledonian Canal, we paused with a more practical concern in mind. According to the guidebook, it was possible to rent a key from the lock keeper - one that would provide access to composting toilets along the route, to be returned later at the end of the canal system. It seemed like a small but useful piece of advance planning.

 
When we arrived, however, the lock keeper was nowhere to be found. We waited briefly, looked around, and then, with no clear option to obtain the key, we opted to continue on and hope that when the call of nature came, it would not be “urgent” when we were in nature.

 
At the start of the canal itself, another detail caught our attention. A sign marked the site as being twinned with the Rideau Canal in Canada. It was yet another unexpected connection, one that shifted the place slightly in our minds. The Rideau, running between Ottawa and Kingston, is a route we knew well - not only as a historic waterway, but as a corridor followed in part by both the Rideau Trail and a long stretch of the Trans Canada Trail in Ontario.

 
Both canals and engineered waterways – separated by distance had been created with similar purposes during the same era at the height of Britain’s Imperial power.  Both defined regions and formed parallel lines across different landscapes, and both served as expressions of an age’s ability to shape the world.

 
Standing here we also made another fascinating discovery.  According to another sign, this area also marked the beginning of the Great Glen Canoe Trail, a sixty-mile, or roughly ninety-five-kilometre, water route that follows the same corridor through Loch Lochy and Loch Ness. It was a different way of moving through the same landscape, one that ran alongside our own path.
 

Canals we have Known

 
The Caledonian Canal, being twinned with the Rideau, was not the only connection we felt in that moment.  We have followed canals before – across Canada, in France, in Spain, and more recently in England. As such, there was something familiar in following a towpath alongside a waterway.  The environment and trail felt familiar because we had walked elsewhere on routes very much like this.

Rideau Canal, Ottawa, Ontario, Canada

 
With that said, there was also a difference here in Scotland.  Elsewhere, canals had appeared as segments within larger journeys.  Along the Trans Canada Trail, we had followed stretches of the Lachine Canal near Montreal and the Trent–Severn Waterway through Ontario – each route shaped as much by human intent as by geography, carving passage where none had existed before. Similarly, on the Bruce Trail, the Welland Canal had been built to cut across the Niagara Peninsula, providing passage around Niagara Falls, another instance of water redirected to serve the moment.

Lachine Canal, Montreal, Canada

 
In Spain, similar moments had emerged unexpectedly. The Canal de Castilla near Frómista on the Camino Francés, and again along the Camino de Madrid, had offered brief days of hiking alongside regional waterways.  Even on the GR65, the Via Podiensis, near Moissac, the presence of canals had hinted at networks that extended beyond the immediate trail, even if we never followed them more fully than a few kilometres.

 Canal de Castilla near Frómista, Camino Frances

 
More recently, walking Wainwright’s Coast to Coast, we had crossed paths with the Leeds and Liverpool Canal - a reminder that these types of corridors were once proliferate in Europe and the UK.  Each threading through different landscapes but all serving similar purposes – economics, industry, and defence.
 
On the Great Glen Way, however, the canal and its towpaths are not a passing feature or part of a single day of hiking – they are the route.  This is the trail, almost in its entirety.  Which in our experiences, is something new. 

On trails, I see this sort of moment as a connection between places and trails – such moments often lead me to reflect on other times, what they were like, what we were like in those times.  The nature of the Great Glen Way and the towpath that we followed for much of our time here allowed for a lot of wandering thoughts and reflections.

Neptune’s Staircase

 
Walking on, we almost immediately passed a blue painted sign pointing toward Inverness.  The path led us past the Corpach Locks, where the waterway stretched ahead of us in a long constructed ribbon that was bordered on either side by manicured towpaths.  It all felt very defined and regulated – the hedges and trees were the same distance from the canal, and the path was exactly parallel to the waterway. Easy trekking, but somewhat surreal to see how nature had been defined and managed.

 
It was not long before we reached the Banavie Swing Bridge. Beyond it, the canal shifted again, rising in a series of stepped chambers that marked the beginning of Neptune’s Staircase.

 
Here, the scale of the engineering became more apparent. Eight locks lifted the canal from sea level up nearly twenty metres, each chamber stacked above the next in a sequence that extended up the hillside. It was the longest lock staircase in Britain, and unlike much of what we had seen so far, it invited awe and respect.  If we thought the walls of the canal had regulated nature, we were only partially right – in truth, it was engineering feats like this that redefined the environment.

 
We stood for a time watching as boats were raised and lowered through the system. The movement came as water levels were themselves raised and lowered while gates opened and closed in turn.  In some odd way, it was spectacular to watch the system work and watch it being used. 

 
After climbing alongside the staircase and following its full height, we continued on, returning to the trail and following the towpath.   In front of us, the gravel track stretched ahead once more, tracing the line of the canal as it carried us further inland.
 

Walking the Towpath

 
Beyond Neptune’s Staircase, the day settled into a more consistent type of trek.  We had left the coastline behind, joined the canal and climbed up the flight of locks, and the trail was now well underway.   

The canal was now simply the route we followed.  From time to time boast would steadily move along the waterway – those piloting them or sitting along the railings often waved.   Narrow boats, recreational sailing boats, and larger working vessels worked their way through the system as we followed the trail.  Occasionally, a kayaker or cyclist would pass by us on the path, but mostly the Great Glen Way remained quiet.  For long stretches, it was just us and a towpath.

 
Along the route, from time to time, we passed information cairns and plaques set alongside the path.  Each detailed the history and culture of the region as well as notes about the construction of the canal.  Each was interesting and offered a little more explanation and understanding to the region we were venturing through.

 
In many ways, this stretch of the day was simple and repetitive, and that, for us, was just right in the moment.  Step by step and lock by lock, we made our way onward.
 

Moy Swing Bridge and Gairlochy

 
Eventually the trail lead us to Moy Swing Bridge.  Near the bridge itself, an information marker offered a brief insight into how these crossings once functioned. Moy Swing Bridge, it explained, is the oldest surviving original bridge along the canal, operated by hand to allow vessels to pass. When required, the lock keeper would leave his cottage and walk out to the bridge, opening it manually before returning to close it again once the boats had cleared the passage. It was a small detail, but one that added a sense of scale to the system - reminding us that what now appeared fixed and permanent had once depended on individual, physical effort.

Not long after passing Moy Swing Bridge, the trail continued along the canal, though this stretch carried a slightly different character.

At one point, the path narrowed into a thin ribbon of land, with the Caledonian Canal on one side and the River Lochy on the other. The two waterways ran parallel here, close enough that it felt as though we were walking on a very narrow and precarious island between them.  I don’t think this would be an enjoyable area to trek in if the waters were running high or there had been a great deal of rain recently.
 

Gairlochy Swing Bridge and Gairlochy Lock

 
A couple of kilometres beyond Moy Swing Bridge, the canal widened again as we approached Gairlochy.  First Gairlochy Swing Bridge and soon after the set of locks that linked the river Lochy to Loch Lochy. A small wood-clad marked the lock keeper’s station and docks, and nearby, the locks continued the work of raising and lowering boats as they moved through the system.

 
By the time we arrived, it was just after noon hour – roughly 17 km into the day.  For many, this was the end of the first stage of the Great Glen Way.  A fact reiterated by people sitting near the locks, some arranging transport back to Fort William, others preparing to camp for the night, while more were prepared to walk on to their accommodations in Spean Bridge. 
 
One hiker, who had set out ahead of us earlier in the day, had stretched himself across two benches, leaving little room for anyone else who might have wanted to sit. Nearby, the lock keeper moved about his work, offering little in the way of conversation - answering questions, when asked, with a shrug more than words.  It was a nice place, and we could see it as a place to stop.  It was a place to take a break, but for us, not a place to end the stage.

 

With another 19 kilometres still ahead before the end of the day, we did not have the option of lingering, no matter how much our bodies suggested otherwise. Weeks of walking had left us tired but also strong and conditioned enough to be able to push on.
 
So we kept walking…with another full stage ahead of us before we could stop for the day.

See you on the trail!