Concluding the Great Glen Way : Drumnadrochit to Inverness

"Surrender to what is. Let go of what was. Have faith in what will be."

Sonia Ricotti

The final day of a long walk often carries a hope, if not an expectation of closure – whether it be a summit, a sign, a moment of arrival, and…in the process, a sense of achievement that ties everything together takes place. Personally, I like to have a clear sense of a trail – its character, nature, and what it offers – by the time we reach the final trailhead.

On the Great Glen Way, that ending proved elusive…at least for us. Detours, closures, and urban confusion stripped the finish of ceremony, leaving us to decide for ourselves where - and how - this journey would truly end.

As a result, perhaps fittingly for us, our time on this trail ultimately concluded not at a closed castle gate but on the shores of the Moray Firth and North Sea as we went in search of birds and marine life.

Morning out of Drumnadrochit

Morning in Drumnadrochit began as most of ours do on the trail. Making a quick coffee as we pack away our tent and repack our backpacks. From there, we walked out through town along the sidewalks, which form part of the Great Glen Way in this stretch.

In town, we stopped at a local teahouse and café for a more filling breakfast, where coffee and large pastries filled with berries filled us up. Sitting out on the patio, we allowed ourselves a few minutes of rest before setting out – aware that by the end of the day we would be finishing another trail, though what we would do next remained uncertain.

It was there, near to the café, that we realized we were sitting at something of a crossroads. A large nearby sign marked the beginning of the Affric Kintail Way, a 44-mile or 70-kilometre cross-country trail stretching westward from Loch Ness to Morvich on the shores of Loch Duich. Unlike the Great Glen Way, which traces a broad geological corridor between Fort William and Inverness, this route cuts across the Highlands through glens, forests, and more remote terrain. The map before us suggested a different kind of journey altogether - one less shaped by roads and settlements, and more by the interior of the landscape itself. It was easy to imagine continuing not toward Inverness, but away from it, following this line west into quieter and more rugged country.

Setting the idea aside, we soon continued on, walking past Nessieland and the Loch Ness Centre as we worked our way out of town. The route here remained on pavement, though here at least there was a sidewalk – something we found ourselves grateful for after so many road sections elsewhere. En route, we had fleeting glimpses of Loch Ness as well as fields where Highland cattle – coos – and sheep grazed.

It was only as the path climbed behind a collection of homes that full views of landscapes and loch opened up. From there, across the water, Urquhart Castle came into view, set clearly against the waters of Loch Ness and the far shore.

Climb to Abriachan Forest

Leaving Loch Ness – and with it the concentrated tourism of Drumnadrochit – the trail threaded its way uphill, weaving around local properties, along fence lines, and switchbacking between dense stands of trees.

Not a long climb, it was nonetheless steady, at times steep and relentless. As a result, even though we had better and better views of the loch below, most of our attention and energy went into the ascent.

    

Throughout this stretch, the trail remained a narrow dirt path, the ground was lush in places with mosses, pine needles and hummocked land. It was, in many ways, a welcome change – quieter and more enclosed than the logging roads and highways had been on other days along the Great Glen. The climb itself, however, was unbroken, and while it was undeniably a challenge, it was one we found ourselves appreciating. For all the criticism we had heard - both online and along the trail - about the flat canal sections, we realized here that we had not minded them nearly as much as others had suggested. There had been something to those easier stretches, particularly when set against climbs such as this.

Eventually, the trail gave way to a gravel forestry track, the surface changing beneath our feet as the landscape shifted again. Stone outcroppings appeared around us as we continued upward, and the forest grew denser, dominated by tall pines that seemed to close in the higher we climbed. It was a different kind of terrain than the lochside below - less open, but in many ways just as wonderful.

In the undergrowth, clusters of mushrooms grew on the damp forest floor. Not long after we came across a trail survey box and paused to fill it in, taking a moment to contribute to the record of those who had passed this way.

From there, the route followed what felt very much like a logging road, the line of the trail extending forward through the trees. The terrain began to roll more gently now, the steepness of the initial climb easing into something easier to trek quicker along. 

Here we began to notice forest art, carved birds, and painted signs along the route, as well as a beautiful carved sign noting that we were in Abriachan Forest.

Eco Campsite and Eco Cafe

Not long after passing signs for an eco campsite, we began to notice others - hand-painted and slightly irregular - pointing toward something called an Eco Café. They directed us off the main trail and into the woods, promising treats, lunches, and something just out of sight if we were willing to follow.

With visions of Tales of Little Red Riding Hood or perhaps Hansel and Gretel in mind, our curiosity was enough to pull us in. There was something about it – the informality and the invitation without explanation - that appealed immediately. Perhaps because on some level it felt familiar – having grown up around similar alternative spaces at the Toronto Waldorf School and having lived in British Columbia, where such places are not uncommon, this felt less unusual than it might have otherwise.

The path was made of woodchips and led us indirectly onto the property. Admittedly, after a few minutes walking we both began to feel slightly uncertain – as though we had crossed into a space that was not entirely public but which, having been invited in, we could nonetheless venture. As we walked on, Sean, less certain than I about the choice to enter, gently sang the tune to the Teddy Bear’s Picnic

“If you go down in the woods today,

You're sure of a big surprise.

If you go down in the woods today,

You'd better go in disguise.”

We soon came to a sign that instructed us to ring a bell, which we did and then waited.

“Beneath the trees where nobody sees

They’ll hide and seek as long as they please…”

I told Sean to have confidence and shush. 

After a few moments, a man appeared, relaxed and welcoming, as though this were all entirely expected. He greeted us and directed us further along toward the house, explaining that his wife would decide whether we were allowed to stay. We initially thought he was joking but after being prompted a second time, we did as instructed. We both slipped off our backpacks to leave at the picnic table in the forest and set off toward the house – Sean, continuing to have doubts, continued singing under his breath,

“…watch them, catch them, unawares...“

At the edge of the house, we met with a cheery, wonderful lady who welcomed us, detailed what was available and asked us to wait back at our seats. So instructed, we set back off to find that the kind gentleman had set up citronella candles around a table in a small clearing, which he suggested we move to instead of where our packs were. To this Sean quietly continued the song stuck in his head,

“if you go down in the woods today you better not go alone

It’s lovely down in the woods today but safer to stay at home…”

Despite his nervousness, however, what came next was one of the best trail experiences we have ever had and was clearly not a light stop. We were served a full meal, far more substantial than anything we had anticipated when we stepped off the trail. Bowls of soup, bread, cheese, olives, and tomatoes appeared, followed by slices of cake that felt almost excessive after the climb we had just completed. It was wonderfully good food and generous in a way that went beyond simple hospitality.

Around our wooden table set in the forest, the area was filled with small painted signs, carved pieces, and homemade objects that suggested this was as much a lived and loved place as it was a stop for passing hikers. The atmosphere was definitely alternative and informal but it was also imminently welcoming.

All of a sudden, the long days on re-routes and navigating roadways melted away. It was here – fittingly in a forest – that the wonder of this region finally clicked for us. It was not just a break, it was a complete reset of our experience and perspective.

Unfortunately, eventually practicality returned. We packed away what we could - cake carefully pushed into large ziplock bags for later, paid our bill, and gathered ourselves to leave. It was not easy to step back onto the trail after such a filling meal. But the trail continued on, and soon so too must we.

Drover’s Roads and Forest Treks

Back on the trail, the forest that had enclosed us for much of the morning lingered only a while longer and then the land opened up. Layered mountains sat on the horizon, and the landscape around us was exposed – wide fields and moorland spread out with little to interrupt our views. The route of the trail had once again changed, and so it was again a different kind of walking than what came before.

And so we found ourselves walking several kilometres, alternating between a narrow dirt track and quiet roadways. There was no shade here, and with the openness of the terrain, the warmth of the day was certainly more noticeable than it had been in the forest. Around us the local road stretched ahead in long, gentle curves, offering picturesque views of the region.

 As we walked, we began to spot birds sitting on fence posts and soaring overhead. As we walked forward, they would scatter, lift off one post and resettled a few posts further down – repeating the process as we advanced. Around us, the rolling moorland and distant hills offered the sort of romantic landscapes that we had hoped to see during our time in Scotland.

Along the route, signs referenced cattle droving, inherently hinting at a longer history of usage in this region. The path we followed here, whether on a track or the road, was not new. Drover’s tracks were routes that had once been used to move livestock across the Highlands, linking grazing lands and commercial markets over considerable distances. Walking here, it was easy to see why people would want to stay in these landscapes and live more closely tied to the land.

The terrain shifted again as we left the road, the open fields gradually giving way to a pine forest. The transition was subtle at first, a few scattered trees becoming denser, until we were once more enclosed within the woods.

Approach to Inverness

We passed a few kilometres in these amazing, lush woods. Here, the trail wove between stands of trees and thin ditches filled with rainwater. For a period, we were enclosed from the exposed moorlands once again.

Unfortunately, not long before the trail transitioned yet again. Trees began to thin out, and we reached a hydro corridor along which we could see the city of Inverness stretched out below us. From this height, the city appeared large and densely developed. Its buildings spread from the coastlines and waterways.

Standing there, it was a panoramic view that marked a turning point in the day and on the Great Glen Way – the trail would no longer lead us to open country, or forests, or another stunning loch. In its final kilometres, it was heading towards a city and the end trailhead.

The name of Inverness also carried, at least for us, an unexpected familiarity. The last time we had been in a place called Inverness we were on the Celtic Shores Trail, only two months into what would become a 556-day walk across Canada on the Trans Canada Trail between the Atlantic and Pacific coasts. That memory was now set alongside the present – another connection made in a long line of trails and journeys.

With six or seven kilometres remaining to reach Inverness Castle and the end of the trail, we continued on, the path now clearly committed to its descent into the city.  The trail itself descended quickly and was steep in some places. As a result, the transition was almost immediate – one moment we had been in a forest on a national trail, the next we were in a city following sidewalks and paved roads.

The trail wove through neighbourhoods on the outskirts of Inverness, and streets replaced paths. The route navigated between homes, along sidewalks, alongside a golf course, and through small urban passages that connected one section of the city and one stretch of path to another. We no longer felt like thru hikers on a national trail, and instead felt oddly out of place as people in dirty clothes walking along residential streets and past playgrounds. Here, the trail felt almost incidental, as though it had been forced through the constructed fabric of the neighbourhood.

Along the way, we passed NatureScot, a brief and unexpected point of recognition. The construction and look of the building reminded me of Bird Studies Canada, where I had spent nearly a decade working, the connection made me wonder whether they needed a resident ornithologist. Given how beautiful Scotland was, I would have no problem moving here to be this close to the landscapes of the Highlands.

While we felt awkward walking through the city streets, it was not long before we reached the canal and towpath that we were supposed to follow into the city centre of Inverness and the end of the Great Glen Way.

Urban Chaos, Trail Re-routes, and Castle Closures

The return to the Caledonian Canal should have been straightforward. The route brought us back alongside the water, the guidebook showed the trail tracing the line of the canal as it merged with the River Ness, guiding us into Inverness. On paper, the route was simple, clear and direct.

In reality, as we moved further along the route and into the city, the clarity of the trail began to break down. At times it seemed that the path doubled back, shifted direction and moved through the city in ways that didn’t always make it seem clear. Whether it was the route itself or simply our own fatigue after a long day or longer month on the trail, it became increasingly difficult to tell where we were meant to go. Signs pointed one way. Construction reroute signs pointed to another. Bridges were closed. Sections of the path were blocked off. Detours redirected us onto roads that then led to more construction and further re-routes.

The result – we turned to Google Maps – the same two people who walked 14,000 km across Canada without navigational aid could not find their way across Inverness.

Google led us back toward what appeared to be the correct route – only to discover that the trail had again been rerouted through Inverness. The section around Ness Island, which we had expected to follow, was no longer accessible. Instead, the paths through the islands and along the river formed something closer to a maze, looping and redirecting without clear resolution.

We even asked for help – and admittedly, the local residents were amazing. They stopped, explained, and tried to point us in the right direction. They were generous and kind with their advice. At least I think so – as we found ourselves repeatedly struggling to follow the details and specifics through unfamiliar thick accents and differing advice. In the end, for us, it was not the lack of guidance but a lack of comprehension on our part.

Beyond Google directions and local advice, the trail dissolved into a forest of detour signs and partial redirections. What had been a continuous route became fragmented. So we stopped trying to follow it. Instead, we made our way to a main street in the city and followed the most direct line through the urban centre to Inverness Castle. In the process, we left the marked trail behind for the first time since we had begun in Fort William.

Unsatisfying Conclusion

The castle, when we saw it, when we reached it, was not what we had expected.

It stood above the River Ness as it had for centuries, its position unchanged. It marked the eastern end of the Great Glen, but the structure itself was entirely covered in scaffolding. Its red sandstone walls are hidden behind construction and fencing. Dump trucks and delivery vehicles crowded the space rather than historical reflection.

We stood for a moment, taking it all in. For us, it was not a destination it was supposed to be an ending. Instead, the place we reached was a closed construction space. It was, for us, simply the most recent of closures and disappointments.

We had not been able to visit any of the castles along the route, each one closed or inaccessible in its own way. The trailhead here felt no different.

 

We took a picture at the finish sign – as we always do – only to be pushed out of the way by two tourists who saw our backpacks and cameras and decided that they absolutely needed to be where we were, and see what we were looking at. They literally ran up, elbowed us out of the way and then took selfies. My only question was why? Why would you take a picture here if you had not trekked the Great Glen Way or had some attachment to it? Regardless, it seemed a fitting end to our hike – a closure due to renovations and being pushed by tourists off the final trailhead.

A trail disrupted to the end.

Chaos Continues

Recognizing the situation for what it was, we walked on. We made our way the short distance to the hostel, both tired of carrying our backpacks and tired after a long day. With the trail done, we wanted to stop moving.

We made our way to the short distance to the hostel where we had reserved a room – the Bazpackers hostel. Unfortunately, the day’s disruptions were not over yet. Despite arriving at 4:30 PM, our room was not ready, and we were told to return in two to three hours. In addition, the laundry facilities we had chosen the accommodations for were unavailable. After days on the trail, these small details seemed heavier than they should have. Dinner in the nearby restaurant also proved to be out of reach without reservations made weeks ago.  Thankfully, we had cake and had enjoyed a large lunch at the eco-cafe!

There are no words for the level of frustration we felt at that moment. We were tired, hungry and had to wait until early evening for our room. We were not even allowed to leave our heavy backpacks. We had to wait.

So, with time still to fill, we walked out toward the coast, not in search of anything specific, but simply to keep moving, to find open space, and to end the day somewhere quieter than where the trail had officially ended. Unsurprisingly, we went in search of nature and birds.

Birding the Coastline

Frustrated by an inglorious and unglamorous ending, we walked to the sea in search of a better conclusion. According to e-Bird the region of the Merkinch Local Nature Reserve is a great place for bird watching in the area.

It felt like a more fitting place to end. Rather than a monument or a castle, we stepped out onto a shoreline. We made our way across the uneven ground of the tidal flats until we reached the water itself. This was it. This was a proper way to conclude our trek on the Great Glen Way.

Here, waders picked their way through the exposed flats, while gulls drifted and settled into the waves further out. Closer to land, we watched an oystercatcher moving along the water line, its bright orange bill standing out against the darker rocks of the shoreline. Nearby, a starling worked through the seaweed.

Standing here while the waves washed up onto shore, there were no clear markers, no trailhead, no defined endpoint – but it was perfect, and it was enough. Despite everything, we had walked coast to coast on our own terms. We had followed the Great Glen from one body of water to another, tracing its length across the highlands. And here, at the edge of a sea, we were done.

The Great Glen Way had given us constant re-routes, trail closures, and even castle renovations, which in the process seemed to reiterate the same lesson and message – follow your own compass. A trail and a guidebook are simply that – a guide.

Reflecting on the Last day on the Great Glen Way

That evening, we were eventually allowed to check in, and the day was finally behind us, there was little left to do but rest. There was no denying that Great Glen Way had not ended with a single defining moment or even a sense of accomplishment, but instead (perhaps fittingly) with a disrupted arrival. Which, in its own way fit our experience on the trail as a whole.

Given everything, what it meant to have completed it was less clear.

There had been no single point where it felt finished, no moment that marked the trail having been completed. Instead, it seemed to just….fade out, much like the route itself had done earlier in various stretches. For now, though, it was enough to know that we had crossed from one side of Scotland to the other, as we had on the Coast to Coast trek across England weeks ago.

In the morning, we will leave Inverness behind - catching a bus south to Edinburgh, and from there continue on to Newcastle-upon-Tyne, where we will set out on our next walk along Hadrian’s Wall. The line we have followed along the canal for the past four days will give way to another, tracing the length of a Roman Wall.

But that would come next. That comes tomorrow.

For now, the Great Glen Way was behind us.

See you on the Trail!