Beyond Gairlochy : Continuing onto Laggan Locks

"I was free. I was affronted by freedom. The day's silence said,

Go where you will. It's all yours. You asked for it. It's up to you now".

Laurie Lee, As I Walked Out One Midsummer Morning

The Decision to Walk On

 
Hiking is often described in terms of distances – stages, total kilometres, end point – but in practice it rarely feels that way. The fact is that trails are not defined by the kilometres they cover – whether in total or each day – so much as the decisions made along them. Hiking is, at its core, more about the changes that take place inside as much as the terrain one crosses. Our writing, we hope, reflects something similar. We have never set out to document distance alone, our goal is to relay the experience of moving through a place, exploring an area, and seeing the world from the trail. In this way, much of what we talk about are the moments that shape the journey and decisions made en route.

The Great Glen Way was a trail that was noted in the guidebook as easy and bemoaned online as being somewhat monotonous. It is, after all, a long level corridor defined by a canal towpath rather than by challenging peaks and rugged topography. Yet this morning, our first on the trail, had already offered more than we had expected. There had been amazing bird life in the tidal waters of Loch Linnhe in Fort William, unexpected connections to Canada along the Calendonian Canal, the wonder of watching boats ascend and descend Neptune’s Staircase and the peacefulness of quiet moments in nature along the towpaths since.

It wasn’t a challenging stretch, yet amid a state of physical exhaustion from coming to Fort William after hiking Wainwright’s Coast to Coast, the Pennine Way, and the crowded West Highland Way back to back to back, the morning had given more than we had anticipated before reaching Gairlochy Lock. We had arrived just after noon, roughly seventeen kilometres into the day. Around us, others who had set out this morning were already stopping. Some waited for taxis to head back to Fort William for the night. Others were prepared to walk toward their reserved accommodations in Spean Bridge, while a few were setting up camp nearby.

It was easy to see why. It is a nice place, we could see it as a place to stop. Seventeen kilometres was for some only a modest distance to go in a day, but it is also a long enough stretch to allow you the time to enjoy a region. Clearly, this area had lots of to offer – even quietness felt like something we could have accepted without hesitation. Ultimately, we had a decision to make. Gairlochy was, without a doubt a nice place to take a break, but for us it was not a place to end the day.

For us, there was still another nineteen kilometres ahead before we could stop for the day, we did not have the option of lingering for long, 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 adjusted our backpacks and kept walking.

First Day on the Great Glen Way Continues

Crossing over the lower Gairlochy Lock, we continued along the Great Glen Way, which momentarily moving inland away from the water. Almost immediately, we found a number of information signs noting that this region and Clune Bay had been a training ground for soldiers preparing for war.
Apparently, during the Second World War, this stretch of the Highlands became a key training ground for British Commandos, centred around Achnacarry. Recruits arrived by train at Spean Bridge and were immediately set to march the seven miles to the training centre, often in full kit and without transport, a deliberate introduction to the demands that would follow. 

From there, the surrounding terrain – the lochs, forests, and steep hills - were used to replicate the conditions they might encounter in active service. Training was noted as relentless and highly physical: forced marches, timed endurance tests, weapons drills, and assault courses, all designed to produce soldiers capable of operating independently in difficult and unfamiliar environments.

Water also played a central role in this training. At places like Clunes Bay along Loch Lochy, Commandos practiced amphibious landings using Landing Craft Assault (LCA), rehearsing the movements that would later be used in operations across Europe and beyond. Before taking to the water, recruits drilled on land-based replicas, learning to embark and disembark under pressure, often in cold and unforgiving conditions. More than 25,000 men passed through this training system between 1942 and 1945, many going on to serve in major Allied operations, including the D-Day landings. Today, little remains beyond scattered markers and reconstructed elements.

Regardless, these facts made this remote area feel connected to other parts of Europe and wider global history. It seemed in more ways than we ever expected that the Great Glen was connected to so much more.

Break on the shores of Loch Lochy

Beyond Gairlochy, the nature of the Great Glen Way shifted, if only briefly. For a short stretch, the route followed a regional road before turning inland and climbing up into a wooded section above the canal. The path here was easy enough - wide gravel weaving through trees and ferns - but it felt like an unnecessary detour. After following the level towpath and shoreline for so long, this brief climb from the water seemed less like a change in the trail and more like a diversion – arising for other reasons.

Before long, the trail dropped back down, passing close to a home where the boundaries between public path and private space felt less clearly shared. High fencing and an overgrown section of trail suggested that walkers were not especially welcome here. It was a short stretch, but one that stood in contrast to the otherwise open and accommodating feel of the route.

Then, just as quickly, we were returned to the water’s edge, where Loch Lochy stretched out in front of us. Here, the trail once again traced the edges of the lake. There was little movement on the water and lots of shade over a strip of beach – and so it was here that we finally stopped for our first break of the day.

Unbuckling our backpacks and untying our shoes, we sat down and took out the guidebook to see what lay ahead. We are never great at advance planning, and it was here that we literally opened the Cicerone book up for the first time. I’ve always felt that there is a certain optimism in setting out without looking too far forward, though it tends to fade as the kilometres pass by and challenges arise.

Sitting there with my toes in the water, I came across references to “Lizzie,” the lesser-known counterpart to Loch Ness’s more famous inhabitant. Like many Scottish lochs, Loch Lochy has its own history of monster sightings – not something you want to discover when you’re sitting prone with your own bits in those same waters. Not one for believing too heavily in local myths and folklore, nevertheless, I soon had my feet dried off and socks back on.

Checking the waters, the only thing that disturbed them was a fascinating widebeam boat with kayaks strapped to its sides.

Shoreline Paths and Road Routes

Knowing that we had to get going, we soon picked up our backpacks again and set off. Here, the path continued to trace the shoreline before passing through the small community of Bunarkaig - a modest cluster of homes set close to the loch. The route followed a paved road here, staying near the water before gradually pulling away again.

A sign pointed toward the Clan Cameron Museum, just off the route. On another day, we might have taken the time to visit, but with a long distance both behind us and still ahead, we continued on without detouring.

For the next several kilometres, we walked on the side of the pavement. There is little to inspire in long sections of pavement, and this one was no exception. After the time spent on a trail, following a canal way, and along the shores of a stunningly beautiful loch, the steady impact of time spent walking on tarmac was unwelcome.

     

Sometimes there is no way to romanticize time in some areas or some sections of the trail. All you can do is push on and get through them and back to where you want to be.

Approach to Clunes

From Crann Beag, the road took us onward toward Clunes, still some two and a half to three kilometres away. Here, the walking remained on pavement, and beyond a bend in the route, the line of the road remained unchanging. Tall Scots pines bordered the road, their forms familiar – they were descendants, we would later read, of the first forests to return to the region after the glaciers retreated.

We passed through Clunes without stopping and soon found ourselves gratefully leaving the road and returning to a forest path. A sign here marked the distance ahead - seven miles to Laggan Locks. It was not the sort of information we wanted to see by mid-afternoon.

By then, I admit that the fatigue had begun to settle in – we were tired. Not from any particular difficulty in the terrain - the trail itself remained straightforward and level - but from the distance that we had already covered today. The last kilometres in a day are always tougher – especially on a longer day.

These days, it is rarely our legs that give the first indication of being tired. Instead, it shows in smaller ways. Our shoulders lean forward more than they should. Backpack straps are tightened, then loosened, then adjusted again, never quite settling. Hip belts are shifted to move the weight - if only briefly - from one place to another. Each adjustment offers a moment of relief before the discomfort returns.

The answer was simple - we began to take more frequent breaks. But more breaks invariably make the day longer. It is wonderful to sit down, but increasingly harder to stand back up and continue on.

When we reached the edge of the Arkaig Community Forest, we were both showing clear signs that it might be time to stop, and if that is not possible, indicators that we may once again have pushed on too far.

Scottish Forests and Notions of Wilderness

Stripping off our backpacks at the gate dividing the paved road from the track through Clunes Forest School, we dropped both our backpacks and ourselves to the ground, grateful. Here we noticed a posted sign – warning about this being a “remote area with dangers”. A reflection of attitudes about nature that we have already experienced here in the UK. There seems to be an age-old perception of the outdoors and sparsely populated areas as places that one needs to be wary of. Trees had to be contained by fence lines, fields limited by stone walls, and wildlife domesticated.

For two people who grew up in places like Algonquin Park, Northern Ontario and the wilds of British Columbia, where bears, mountain lions and huge moose are the norms, the UK and European views of nature and wilderness continue to be fascinating to us. Walking through squirrel conservation areas on the Coast to Coast trail, or watching hikers be stunned at seeing a lone fox, makes me feel grateful for the plenty we have in Canada. Don’t get me wrong, while not on the scale we have in Canada, the fact remains that both England and Scotland do have amazing spaces of wildness in them. In spaces full of bogs, moors, and craggy rocklands, there is a wilderness – it is simply one tamed by more than 2000 years of intensive usage. The simple fact was that after weeks of hiking across the UK, the ideas of “remote” and “wilderness” had come to feel relative – less about isolation or wildlife and more about how landscapes are framed and understood.

Trekking on

After sitting for more than a few minutes to rest and have a drink of water, we continued on. From there, the path followed a wide gravel track into the forest. It appeared to be a logging road, cutting steadily through what looked to be a managed conifer plantation. The stretch offered few views of the loch itself but the walking itself was easy, being both level and predictable, which from our perspective was welcome.

Around us lined the route in ordered rows, and in this manner we continued along this track for some time before reaching the Glas-dhoire trailblazer campsite. A carved wooden bear marked the entrance to the site, and there were signs for basic facilities, including composting toilets. 

It felt like it was exactly the sort of place that on any other day we would have chosen to stop – a campsite beside the loch, and no one else in sight. It was wonderful and inviting – but once again the needs of tomorrow and the next trail pushed the realities and desires of the present aside. Our bodies would have loved to stay, but after lingering here a moment more than we actually needed to we continued on.

Expected Re-route, Unwelcome Switchbacks

Walking on was going to be tough – there was another 15 or so kilometres still to go, even if it was a level track alongside the loch. According to the guidebook, the trail was meant to continue along the shoreline of Loch Lochy. Instead, we came to a re-route that turned sharply upward, climbing away from the water and into the hills above.

It was not a welcome change.

By this point, we had already covered more than twenty-three kilometres, and the nature of the trail – flat and easy going was something we had come to rely on. The sudden shift upward felt less like a necessary diversion and more like a deliberate alteration to the route. There were stone cairns, newly placed signs marking the way and installed benches, giving the impression that this was not temporary, but part of a planned change to the trail.

We had seen something similar on other routes across the UK – a desire to add sections of ascent. It was climbing for its own sake – a reflection of an outdoors culture fascinated by Trig points, Wainwright peaks and the tops of Munroe Mountains. There seemed to be a national perspective that somehow flat terrain and trails without climbs are lesser. Here, that perspective – unwelcomely - seemed to assert itself again.

The only clear reward was the view. From the exposed hillside, Loch Lochy stretched out below us, its length finally visible in a way that had been hidden from the shoreline. The slopes of the hills around us were scattered with purple wildflowers, adding colour to what otherwise would have been a mountain filled with tree stumps and churned mud. But once at the top, the experience was uneven - alternating between brief, expansive views and stretches that narrowed back into forest corridors, switchbacks, and areas shaped by logging.

Eventually, after a couple more hours of hiking, the path turned downward.

The descent carried us into the small farming community of Kilfinnan, where the trail gave way once more to road walking. It was a narrow, active stretch, with logging and local traffic passing close by and signs of construction along the way. Others moved along the roadside as well - some bundled in heavy layers against the weather, while we, having climbed and descended in quick succession, felt the opposite, warm and soaked in sweat from the effort.

Regardless, we continued on through the neighbourhood, the Great Glen Way drawing us toward a small marina ahead. Just beyond which lay Laggan Locks - and with them, the end of the day.

Arriving at Laggan Lock

By the time we reached Laggan Locks, the day had narrowed to a single objective—stop. It had taken us 8 hours to reach this point – completing the first two stages of the trail in a single push.

Two flights of locks marked the end of Loch Lochy, and we crossed over at its far edge, moving through the final workings of the canal system for the day. There were signs posted about route closures ahead, notices of changes and diversions that would affect the path beyond this point. Under other circumstances, we might have stopped to read them more carefully. At the moment, I honestly had no energy to care about what was going on with the trail beyond were we were tonight. In addition, there were more information plaques detailing regional history and the construction of the canal – these too we ignored and walked past. We were beyond wanting to learn more about the region at the moment. We had taken in what we could throughout the day. Now, we simply wanted to sit.

It was here, exhausted and with little energy to consider anything beyond where we could sit for a few minutes, the world gave us a gift – the Eagle Barge.

Moored a few feet away from the trail and from us was the Eagle Barge - a floating pub moored on the bank. Neither of us had to say a word – between the option to sit on the ground and drink water or at a table and have a pint, the choice was clear. We stepped on board and found a place on the upper deck, where, for the first time that day, we allowed ourselves to stop completely.

Sean was kind enough to be the one to stand back up and go inside through the narrow passageway to the bar. He ordered us two pints – all I remember was that they were wet and cold – I couldn’t tell you the type, company name, or whether it was local or not. The first went down fast, the second I enjoyed.

We sat with drinks and a pack of crisps, watching the light change across the water as evening settled in. Boats moved slowly through the locks nearby, and conversations drifted across the deck between those who had arrived by foot and bike and those who had come by water. After hours of movement, there was something deeply welcome in simply remaining still with our boots off, with a couple of cold drinks. It was, in every sense, a perfect moment. Had I the funds, I think I would have bought the boat and simply lived there.

I didn’t want to move…ever again. Unfortunately, our day was not done yet.

Great Glen Hostel, Laggan

After an hour and a half, we left …very reluctantly. Slowly putting our shoes and backpacks on again, we rejoined the trail. We had exactly 1.8 km to go. At the time, that distance seemed like an entire other stage onto itself.

The trail led us through a short stretch of forest and then, a small sign directed us off route, and we found ourselves on a short section of highway - no more than a few hundred metres. The short walk brought us to the Great Glen Hostel, where the distance behind us could at last give way to sleep. Unfortunately, arrival did not immediately bring rest.

Check-in took longer than expected, the process slowed by distraction more than difficulty. After the length of the day, I won’t deny that patience was in short supply, and even small delays felt more noticeable than they otherwise might have.

Eventually, however, we were checked in, got into our room and sat for a while before doing anything else. By which point, we both wanted to simply stop moving. Again, it was Sean who stood up and set out to complete the necessary tasks of the evening. Thankfully, he went on to do laundry, hung it to dry and later collected it. As he did this, I wrote our trail journal, trying to remember the details of the day.

Everything else could wait until morning.

Reflecting on Day 1 of the Great Glen Way

Obviously, after thirty-eight kilometres of hiking, the defining feature of the day was distance. So long in fact that we had effectively combined two stages into one. We had thought we could manage it, and in a practical sense, we did. But the cost of that choice was clear by the end. There is a particular kind of fatigue that comes not from terrain, but from duration—a sense of running low, like a candle nearing its end, still burning but with little left to give. That was us when we reached Laggan Locks.

We had chosen the distance, and with it, the consequences.

The question, as the day closed, was not whether we could finish what we had started, but whether we could continue in the same way tomorrow. Whether our bodies would accept another long day, or insist - that we stop was another question for tomorrow.

What makes a trail easy?

This long double-stage day also challenged the idea of what makes a trail “easy.”

The Great Glen Way is often described in those terms - level, well-marked, and without significant elevation. And in many ways, that description holds. The route followed towpaths, forest tracks, and canal-side paths, with only gentle changes along the way. Throughout the landscape of the glen was also unexpectedly beautiful.

But notions like difficulty are rarely absolute and more often are subjective. Context matters. Distance matters. Weather, fatigue, and the accumulation of days all shape how a trail is experienced. What appears straightforward on paper can feel very different when carried across thirty or more kilometres in a single day.

Today was not difficult because of what the trail or topography demanded of us, but because of what we asked of ourselves before beginning the Great Glen Way and the decisions we made while on it. There is no denying that this is a beautiful region, and I found myself wishing that we could spend more time here. The Great Glen way is a different trail – more one of walking alongside infrastructure and waterways than being immersed in nature – yet its coastlines and canal undoubtedly have a draw of their own.

See you on the Trail!