Re-Routes and Roads : Laggan Locks to Fort Augustus

“Roads were made for journeys, not destinations.”

Confucius

The second day on the Great Glen Way arrived far too early. I felt as though my head had just hit the pillow, and it was time to go again.

After the distance we had covered yesterday, our bodies had not recovered. My knees were stiff, and my shoulders were sore from my thinning backpack straps. Yet I had to get up - the day had begun. And so we got out of bed, prepared a quick breakfast of oatmeal and coffee while slowly packing our bags to step back out onto the trail. Throughout the hostel, the sounds of others awake and moving could be heard. Many were waiting for the full English Breakfast to be served at eight. We chose instead to leave early before the day had fully begun.

The route along the southern shore of the lock is described as an easy flat walk along the shores of the next loch – which would have been welcome terrain today. However, after stepping out of our room, the young lady at the reception desk reminded us that the next stage was rerouted.

The Great Glen Way, as we were coming to understand it, was clearly not a fixed line across a map or the landscape. We had already had re-routes on our first day on the trail, and today seemed as though it would follow suit. The lady at reception was particularly direct in her commentary. Accordingly, the reroutes between Laggan Locks and Fort Augustus that we would encounter had little to do with forestry or improving the trail itself. They were being undertaken to encourage hikers to pass through certain locations – most notably Invergarry – and had been undertaken at the behest of the Invergarry Hotel to support local business.

Two other hikers listening joined the conversation and saw things differently. For them, the reroutes were a welcome change. They described the original route as little more than a flat canal walk, something monotonous and lacking in challenge. The newer variations, with their added climbs and detours, were seen as improvements—transforming the trail into what they called a “proper ramble,” one that offered views and a greater sense of effort.

In practical terms, this meant that our morning would be spent on an alternative route – the Invergarry Link, which followed roadways and then climbed up into a forestry area, taking us to the community of Invergary before moving on. Despite having sections of road along it most hikers here seemed to support this new route. As we had come to see, in the UK, flat routes were often dismissed as dull, climbing was beloved. Here, there was a strong emphasis on elevation, on peaks, and on the act of climbing as something that defined the quality of the experience.

All of which is fascinating to think about. Less so when you have to walk through it.

It seemed that only time on the trail would show us what the next section was like.

Invergarry Link and International Appalachian Trail

Rejoining the Great Glen Way, our bodies made their position clear. The thought of steep climbs – something that might have been welcomed earlier in the trip was a distinctly unappealing way to begin the day. On a different day, we might have understood the desire to turn a flat canal walk into something more demanding. But this was not that day. What we wanted, more than anything, was the simplicity of an established trail and the ease of the towpath.

Instead, we stepped out into a morning rainstorm.

The weather had shifted overnight, and by the time we left the hostel, a steady downpour was underway. We followed the side of the busy roadway that the hostel was located on and returned to the forested trail en route to the rerouted pathway – the Invergarry Link.

It was not long before the narrow dirt track led us to a bridge where we got our first views of Loch Oich. From here, we followed the road once again before being led along a diversion up a switchbacking track to a compacted forestry tract. Here, the route was easy going enough as we were led through a corridor of trees.

Perhaps the most interesting part of this area was the signs noting that we were trekking along part of the International Appalachian Trail. The AIT is not a single continuous footpath, but a long-distance route that conceptually traces the ancient Appalachian mountain system. 

Beginning in the Appalachian Mountains of the eastern United States, it extends north through Atlantic Canada and continues across the Atlantic to parts of the UK, Europe and Africa, including Scotland and England. Its purpose is less about providing a comprehensive hike and more about highlighting the connections between these regions that mountains once joined before continents separated. What connects the route is not continuity on the ground, but continuity beneath it.

We have already spent some time moving along fragments of this same geological corridor. In Newfoundland, we followed the long line of the T’Railway Trail. In Nova Scotia and Cape Breton, we crossed it again along the Celtic Shores Trail and sections of the Trans Canada Trail. It continued through Prince Edward Island along the Confederation Trail, and into New Brunswick on the Sentier Trans Canadien. More recently, we have trekked along the AIT here in the UK, crossing it in northern England on Wainwright’s Coast to Coast and then when following the Pennine Way,

These past trails were not the focus of our thoughts at the moment. What had our attention was the rain and the route we were on – one that bore little resemblance to what we had expected when we set out. After more than five kilometres of following undulating logging roads, the route led us back into a small community – and from there onto the A87 roadway again. Crossing the River Garry, we followed the road into town, both of us hoping to find somewhere to stop, get out of the rain, and, if possible, sit with a cup of coffee.

Invergarry

The detour brought us into Invergary, and the sight of the local hotel felt promising. However, that possibility disappeared almost as quickly as it appeared.

Inside, it was made clear that the hotel was not interested in serving hikers looking for something small. Reservations were required, and anything less than a full lunch with drinks was not an option. After a brief exchange, we stepped back outside, unwilling to make that kind of financial commitment simply for the chance to sit down.

With no other options, we set off to return to the trail, which cut into the trees not much further up the road.

Not far along, we encountered a group of four couples who had just set out from the same hotel. Their gear was spotless, their shoes clean, and did not have backpacks on. They moved slowly up the switchback incline ahead, walking side by side across the full width of the path.

There was no easy way to pass them, and so it took us nearly forty-five minutes to cover less than a kilometre. Our progress was entirely dictated by the movement of those ahead. For us, tired from yesterday and dispirited by the morning’s detour, this was a frustrating moment.

Forestry Tracks and Re-Routes

Once we had finally made our way past the group ahead and reached the top of the climb, the character of today’s section of the trail became clear. The forestry roads that had defined the morning did not give way to anything different - they simply continued.

What followed was not so much the epic trek of climbs to bag a Munro or conquer a Wainwright peak that UK hikers love, but a series of steady rises and descents – what hikers often call PUDS, or pointless ups and downs. The route climbed, then dropped, only to climb and drop again. From time to time, it would detour onto another set of switchbacks to a higher elevation. From these higher points, there were occasional views, but more often than not the looked out over other forestry cuts and tracks rather than an inspiring landscape.

The sole virtue was that it seemed better than walking along a paved road. But it was undoubtedly repetitive and seemingly designed to both follow logging roads and give trail users a section with elevation.

En route, the impact of the forestry combined with the day’s steady rain made the situation increasingly challenging. The ground had been churned into mud and loose rock, the path was broken into ruts that required more attention to footing than to the surroundings. In these stretches, we spent more time navigating ruts than hiking.

All the while, we were meant to be walking alongside Loch Oich. In practice, we rarely saw it.

The combination of forestry tracks and constant re-routing did much to pull us away from the very landscape and nature we had come to experience. In truth, between roads, forestry tracks, logging routes, re-routes and detours the route felt less like a trail and more as though we were following a negotiated series of passages through spaces shaped for other purposes.

It is something we have had to come to terms with while walking here in the UK. These landscapes have been used, managed, and reshaped for centuries. Forests are planted and harvested, land is enclosed and directed, and even the spaces that appear open are often carefully controlled. What remains is not untouched wilderness, but something more measured -moderated, regulated, and defined by long patterns of human use.

It gives hikes in the UK a different feel from other places we have trekked. While in Canada, pathways might have arisen from wildlife tracks or old shipping routes here, they have been Roman roads, drover’s paths, military tracks, and commercial canals long before being repurposed into recreational routes.

Bridge of Oich and Return to the Canal Towpath

Eventually, the forestry tracks gave way, and the trail led us back toward the road as we approached the Bridge of Oich.

Set near the meeting of Loch Oich and the River Oich, the bridge stood out immediately - not because of its size, but because of its unique design. Unlike the more familiar stone or steel crossings we had seen elsewhere, this was a suspension bridge spanning the water with both Victorian design and precision. According to a nearby information plaque, it was built in 1854 and later restored in 1997, it reflected a period when engineering in the Highlands was as much about innovation as it was about necessity.

The trail was supposed to cross it, instead, we found it was closed.

With no access across the historic span, we were directed once again onto a nearby modern road bridge. It was, at least, quiet - blessedly free of traffic - but the pattern of the day and this trail was becoming familiar. Another closure. Another detour. Another small deviation from what we had expected the trail to be.

Beyond the bridge, the Great Glen Way rejoined the Caledonian Canal, following the Rich Oich along a wide gravel towpath which periodically led us to cross dry weirs. After the uneven footing of forestry roads and the constant negotiation of re-routes, the path here felt good to trek along. For the first time, walking was straightforward and simple – as such, we enjoyed the reflections on the water, views along the canal and buildings on its banks.

About an hour out from Fort Augustus, we passed Kytra Lock, where the canal and river continued on – now side by side with the canal on our right and the River Oich on our left. From here, the line of the trail carried forward with little variation, leading us gradually toward the town ahead. In the distance, Fort Augustus soon began to come into view.

Fort Augustus

It was still early in the day when we stepped into Fort Augustus.

At the southern end of Loch Ness, Fort Augustus occupies a position that has long invited both settlement and control. According to a local information plaque, although people have lived here for centuries - drawn by the meeting of river, loch, and glen - the modern village traces its origins to the early eighteenth century. At the time, a military fort was established as part of the British government’s effort to assert authority over the Highlands following the Jacobite uprisings. The site formed part of a chain of fortifications linked along the Great Glen, intended to control movement through this natural corridor. Originally known by its Gaelic name, Cill Chuimein, the settlement was reshaped by this military presence.

Since its construction, the fort has changed. The first structure, built after the 1715 uprising, proved vulnerable and was replaced in the 1720s with a stronger fortification, later named Fort Augustus after Prince William Augustus, Duke of Cumberland. Yet like many similar installations, its military relevance faded with time.

By the nineteenth century, the fort was dismantled and repurposed, its stones and spaces absorbed into the growing village. The arrival of the Caledonian Canal further altered the settlement, transforming it from a place of control into one of passage and commerce. Today, little of the original fort remains intact, but its imprint remains in the layout of the village, which spans at the convergence of routes – water, road and trail which meet here.

Canal Boats, High Tea and Trail Choices

Though the centre of Fort Augustus ran the Caledonia Canal. Here, a series of six locks stepped ships up and down the waterway between Loch Oich and Loch Ness. Alongside them, watching sailing boats move through the system were people…lots of people. Tour buses lined the nearby streets, and the paths along the water were filled with visitors moving between viewpoints, cafes, pubs and the edges of the locks.

The canal and lochs that had been, for the last couple of days, a quiet line through the landscape were here something else entirely – spectacle.

People gathered along the edge of the canal, watching boats rise and fall throughout the lock system. There is a word for this in Britain – gongoozling – the simple act of watching boats pass through canals and locks, of observing movement that is slow and without immediate purpose beyond curiosity. For a time, we joined the crowds.

Soon after, we found a seat on the patio of Ripples Tearoom and enjoyed a cup of tea and a plate of warm scones with jam. The food and the break were wonderful. After the constant adjustments, re-routes, and detours of the morning, sitting felt terrifically relaxing. Perhaps a little too relaxing as Sean literally fell asleep up sitting upright. It was clear that after more than a month on the trail, he was done. Watching him, I could not ignore the same exhaustion in myself, but I have wanted to sleep for the last two weeks. It was only midday, and by the numbers, we needed to continue on. We had 12 km to go before reaching our planned destination of Invermoriston, where we also had reservations for the night.

With that said, though it was only noon, it felt as though we were done for the day.

Looking online in Fort Augustus, the options were limited. Almost everything was full. Of the remaining two options,  the first hotel had a room for 300 pounds, equal to about 600 Canadian dollars for the night. Which was far beyond what I was willing to consider. That left a single alternative – a local hostel which I booked without hesitation.

The reservations further along the trail would be lost, but the decision was the right one. For once on this trip the decision was not about distance or tomorrow’s schedule, it was about recognizing the point at which continuing was no longer possible and no longer made sense. It was time to listen to our bodies.

Exploring Fort Augustus

There was, of course, one complication to our decision to stop early. It was only noon, and check-in was not until four. This left us with the better part of the afternoon to fill in a place we had not intended to stay in. Reluctantly, I finished my tea and woke Sean up, and we set out again, this time without any real destination beyond passing the hours.

We walked over to the shores of Loch Ness for our first views of the famed and purportedly cryptid-infested waters. Though the skies were dark, we had clear views across the loch and the landscapes beyond. While we stood there, a pair of military helicopters flew past and then circled overhead in what appeared to be training or reserve exercises.

From these shores, we wandered through the local cricket and estate grounds. Around us, rabbits dotted the field in surprisingly large numbers while a few song birds called from the trees. Not far from us was a large and beautiful stone estate house or hotel. Here, people walked around in suits and elegant dresses, which contrasted with us in our dirty hiking clothes and large backpacks on.

Eventually, however, despite our efforts, only an hour had passed, and the need to sit won out. As such, we bade our way to a local pub – the Bothy Restaurant and Bar. The goal was simple – to be somewhere we could stop moving, take off our backpacks and rest. Here we ordered a couple of salads – marinated pear and garden salad, which was amazing – and a couple of pints.

By 3 PM, the combination of weeks on the trail and now a couple of pints had left us both more than ready to sleep. Eventually, we made our way up toward our accommodation, Margo’s Lodge, and were thankfully allowed to check in a little ahead of time. Fittingly, our room was decorated with amazing posters of the birds and wildlife of the UK.

Trail Tourism

Not long after we had arrived, cleaned up and showered, we went downstairs and ordered a dinner of chickpeas and salad, which was another wonderful meal and clearly indicated that our hiker hunger had kicked in as after two large meals back to back, we were still hungry.

Upon seeing that we were trekking the Great Glen Way, we ended up in a conversation with the young lady working at the bar in the dining area, who offered her own interpretation of the reroutes on the trail.

Apparently there had been a deliberate effort to make the trail more business friendly – a comment that resonated with what we had been told this morning about the detour to Invergarry, In addition however, was also a push to extend the length of the trail, therefore expanding the length of each stage from roughly 17-19 kilometers to something closwer to 22-25 kilometers. The rationale being that by lengthening the stages and redirecting the route, more hikers would be discouraged from double-staging and pushing through. The result would be that more hikers would be encouraged to stay longer on the trail. More nights, more rooms old, more meals eaten.

     

At the same time, there had apparently been a push to reshape the character of the trail itself. The Great Glen Way, frequently described as a largely flat canal walk, had gained a reputation among some hikers as monotonous. The newer re-routes - introducing climbs, detours, and higher viewpoints - were seen as a way to transform it into something more aligned with expectations of what a “proper” hiking experience should be. Once again in the UK, elevation and effort gave way to a sense of a trail’s value.

Yet as we had experienced, these additions did not always translate into something more meaningful. The climbs often followed forestry roads. The views, when they appeared, were frequently shaped by logging activity and managed landscapes. What was gained in elevation was not always matched by what was gained in experience. It was a reminder that trails, like the landscapes they pass through, are not fixed. They are shaped - sometimes subtly, at other times deliberately - by the priorities of those who maintain and promote them.

Reflecting on Day 2 of the Great Glen Way

The shorter distance covered today, though unplanned, became something of a recovery day. After the long opening stage, the slower pace and reduced distance allowed us the opportunity to rest – both mentally and physically – after more than a month of hiking.

At the same time, much of what we had encountered along the Great Glen Way – forestry tracks, managed plantations, re-routed paths and even the engineered canal reflected a landscape shaped as much by human intention and efforts as by natural processes. This was not a hike through untouched wilderness, but a landscape that had been altered, maintained, and manufactured for centuries.

In Canada, we often have a sense of what wilderness looks like – or should look like – which is of course, different what it is or may well have been before humanity arrived. That vision is of an outdoors that is vast, remote and largely unaltered. Yet even there, many of the places we hold as “wild” – Algonquin Provincial Park, Jasper, Banff and others – are themselves shaped by management, policies and long histories of use. They are protected certainly, but also structured and defined. Algonquin itself was created as a preserve to ensure continual forestry use, and is still to this day used for that purpose.

The difference between these sites in Canada and those here in the UK is perhaps only one of scale and time. Here in England and Scotland, that shaping and use has taken place over centuries and millennia. In the process, forests have been used, logged, and transformed into agricultural plantations. We have seen the same in Spain and Portugal on our pilgrimages there – long lines of trees spaced out, forest floors that look vacuumed, and near identical trees. What we walk through in Europe and the UK is not the absence of human activity but the accumulation of it.

And perhaps there is value in this recognition.

Just as trials are constructed routes – lines drawn across maps and landscapes – so too are the environments they pass through. Expecting them to be something untouched leads to frustration. Accepting them as they are gives space for appreciation and time better spent enjoying the outdoors.

Altogether, today was one in which we had planned to go further. Yet the nature of the route, continual diversions and our own growing exhaustion led us to stop early.

The result – tomorrow will not be longer.

See you on the Trail!