Overcoming Mental Illness

Day #7 - Glen Nevis and Cow Hill

This was meant to be a “quiet day”, I like having them every now and then; just a day full of short strolls ’round town, nude sunbathing in the torrential rain, that sort of thing - so obviously I decided to go on a 25km hike up Glen Nevis!

Without doubt Glen Nevis is one of the most breath-taking examples of a Scottish Glen, and has over the years earned itself the award of “Addy’s most visited Scottish Glen” as I have lost count of the number of times I’ve been there.

My most memorable visit to the glen however was in mid 2001 when Lucy and I took a camping trip to Banavie and then into the glen on the way home. Now, the glen is notorious for it’s population of Highland Cows (i.e. hairy coos) and on this occasion we happened upon a field jam packed with these grass munching animals of exquisite cuteness. Venturing in for some photographs I started snapping away and then looked over to where Lucy was standing - the expression on her face being pure shock, extreme excitement or cack-yourself-with-fear terror. For standing less than a few centimeters from her was an only slightly hungry coo sniffing her. It must have been trying to decide if it should take a break from grass and chow down on something tastier instead. Fortunately for me it decided not to bite, which was unfortunate for him as he missed out on a rare morsel of tender tastiness. There is however a delightful photograph of this curious coo and a slightly befuddled looking Lucy.

This trip however, all the coos were elsewhere (possibly on a day trip to Rhum, who knows?) so I merely walked the glen to the falls and then began the trip back.

As I did I decided to return via an alternate route, which was up and over Cow Hill, which stands between the town and the Glen. It was a marvelous stroll and despite the grey damp weather offered fantastic views and made a change from the well worn paths I am used to trotting up and down the Glen.

Following this rather lengthy and utterly delightful hike I found myself watching what I can only assume is how the Fort Willians relax on a day-to-day basis…

…and I think more towns should adopt this strategy to entertain (and indeed exercise) it’s citizens!

When I last left you it was Sunday, and I was experiencing a rather nasty reaction to the Prozac I was prescribed. It messed me up as Sunday was meant to be Glen Nevis/Cow Hill hike day - instead it was “lying on my ass and throwing up whilst wondering which of the wonderful side effects I was to experience next” day! I did however attempt to salvage something from the bowels of medicinal hell and dropped by the Fort William Mountain Festival: Art and Photography Exhibition which was somewhat spiffing I have to say.

There was a plethora of immensely talented work on display. Numerous drawings and collages from school children which - it has to be said, took my breath away - as well as paintings, photography and mixed media from local established and non-established artists. Such as:

  
(CLICK IMAGE FOR LARGER VIEW)

As the festival bumph states “From slacklining to biking and from Ben Nevis to Everest - the 2008 Mountain Festival is bursting at the seams with inspiring events guaranteed to get you in the mountain mood!” It’s a 100% bursting at the seams celebration of all things mountains! From hiking, climbing and biking to flowers, prehistoric organisms and, of course, the humble goat.

But we’ll have more of these festivities later, first up, we will resume to manic adventures of Addy (not quite in full on manic mode, has to be said, but the Prozac certainly wasn’t helping keeping the Hyde at bay!)

Day #5 - Glencoe and Table Mountains.

When I began this whistle-stop tour of Scotland I knew the places I was going to be visiting would fall into one of three categories:

• Those wonderful brand spanking new spots I had always dreamed of visiting.
• Those wonderful [no-where near brand spanking new] nostalgic paths of old which I have worn out over many years of traversing.
• Those not-so-wonderful [and in no way brand spanking new] places of old I had once upon a time arrived and - as departing - stated “never again”

This particular day falls into the category of numero (ii).

Glencoe is one of the most intensely beautiful places in Scotland. Much like a mug of steaming hot chocolate which is over-flowing with dark chocolatey goodness - this region of Scotland is jam packed with history, wildlife, flora, fauna and an overwhelming sense of how miniature, pointless and insignificant we are in the grander schemes of the world.

My first visit to Glencoe came in September 1999 when I undertook my grand backpacking tour of this bonnie country and I have returned there on numerous occasions since. Upon this first occasion I became lost in the woods surrounding the river and took rather a lengthy sojourn in finding my way back to the village and bus-stop. I’ve traveled the glen by car, train and tour bus. Hiked the hills and forests and generally had a romping good time in this fau-chocolatey wonderland.

On this occasion I traveled to Glencoe in the weirdest bus I have ever seen. Granted, and rather unfortunately, it was not weird in the way Miyazaki’s Cat Bus is weird - but weird in the sense that unlike any bus I’d been on before (wherein the make up is:

[seat] [seat] {n i c e a i s l e} [seat] [seat]

The layout of this particular vehicle was:

[sea[seta]t] {redicuslouslytinyaisle} [se[astea]ts[eat]

To get across how tiny the aisle was think of a general school ruler, which is 30cm in length. This WOULD NOT fit in this aisle, in any way you could try and put it there! I tripped over three people, smacked a nice old lady in the head with a flailing arm as I did, and then, as a struggled to (a) climb over the seats and (b) retain balance - my head very nearly ended up in the crotch of a rather sprightly looking twenty-something woman. Which, from my viewpoint would be no bad thing - but from her viewpoint, having a strange man’s head delving into her nether regions on a public bus might not be her idea of a good time. I stress might not be as - really - everyone’s different and it’s all “each to their own” as in actual fact it might have made her year! We shall never know, as I retained balance and threw myself into the world’s most uncomfortable bus seat.

If anyone has ever traveled the A82 from Fort Willy to Glencoe I’d be willing to put money on the fact that the scenery is embedded in the core of your mind; it is unflinchingly one of the most beautiful stretches of road in this country. The views over Loch Linnhe toward Ardnamurchan are word defying, and as you cross the Ballachulish bridge you receive stunning panoramas over the North of Argyll toward the Pap of Glencoe, and the mountains beyond.

I departed at Glencoe Village and promptly began hiking up the glen. I paused for several moments at the visitor centre, reacquainting myself with the area before continuing further up the glen. I couldn’t say how far I walked, nor how many sheep I spotted, nor how many times I gasped in utter amazement that there is no-where quite like this on the planet.

A brief historical sojourn:

Glencoe is the scene of one of the bloodiest most upsetting moments in Scottish history. For it was in 1691 when the infamous “Glencoe Massacre” took place” Disgruntled with all the rebellions and conflicts William II issues a decree that any Highland clan would be given a pardon should they sign the treaty. The MacDonald clan leader, much like myself, was rather a slack fellow and left it until the last minute for the lengthy ride to Fort William to sign the treaty - which he did sign, albeit several days late of the deadline. Jumping on the chance an issue was ordered, and the Campbells (aligned with William) were sent to the Glen and enjoyed the Highland Hospitality offered to them by the Campbells. The Campbells stayed with the MacDonalds for ten days; sleeping in their homes, eating and drinking their food, having their way with the bountiful lasses (no doubt) and then one black morning the command as given and the Campbells duly began slaughtering every MacDonald under the age of 70; men, women and children. It was supposed to show what would happen should a clan stand against the wishes of William II. Many of the MacDonald’s did escape into the hills, but being a bleak and unforgiving place were killed by the elements…and for a far more in-depth retelling of the Glencoe Massacre try the book “Glencoe” by John Prebble, which is an excellent account.

As with Glenfinnan before it I spent the day hiking in the hills before returning to Glencoe village for a spectacular view out west as the sun was setting.

Upon returning to Fort William I dashed back to my abode, changed, made myself smell of honey (or at least better than how I smelt after a day’s hiking in the hills) threw up (because of the Prozac) and then had to remove the odor of vomit from my person before heading to the Nevis Centre (the entertainment hub of this fair town) for an evening of film as part of the festival.

There were short films, longer films, a couple of crap ones and a couple of spectacular ones. Stand outs for me were; 65 Degrees North in which a bunch of intrepid skiers headed to Greenland to be the first to descend some previously undescended peaks and the magical Puento; a one hour documentary dealing with exploring the table mountains and their caves in the Venezuelan rainforests. (This film, should you be given the chance, should not be passed up. It not only made me want to become a spelunker, but also elevated my desire to visit South America even more than it already was (and as South America is second on my list of not-visited-countries which I want to go to) this desire was already pretty fracking high.

Anyway, after a long day, I returned home and still somewhat queasy, clambered into bed. I was to be up early the next day as for the first time in seven years I was to become a sailor, which unfortunately did not include a cute little uniform, but I was island bound!

Well that was a bit of a gap wasn’t it. Blimey. Almost a week without any interesting post whatsoever! Och well, these things happen, and when you’re shacked up in the Highlands of Scotland with little or no internet connection (and when there is some it keeps dropping out!) these things have to be expected!

Yep, Addy has returned to Scotland. Two weeks of hill walking, mountain climbing, hairy coo spotting and general let’s-visit-some-old-haunts excitement are in full swing! So let’s wait not a minute longer!

Day #1: Bristol - Fort William

My trip began at 1:45pm on Thursday 14th February 2008 (Valentines Day, schmalentines day) at Bristol airport. Yep, despite the fact I have a tremendous fear of it I opted to FLY to Scotland. You have to combat your fears somehow, don’t you? So there I was sitting in the smallest plane in the world listening to the cranks and crashes and oh so obscure noises these wee planes tend to make thinking “is this thing actually going to make it off the ground?” or “frack, that was a lesser spotted sparrow dive bombing into the engine! We’re all gonna die in a fiery inferno!”…

…but we didn’t, we took off, they tried to sell us all sorts of bizarre things at discounted prices, and then we landed in Glasgow about an hour later. Not too bad. Then came the trip to Glasgow Queen Street; a cavalcade of three buses, two walks and a train trip (if the internet was to be believed) but was in actual fact just a matter of getting on a bus and then - BAM - twenty minutes later I was sitting at the train station thinking “what the hell do I do for two and a half hours?” So I whipped out the DS to continue my epic game of Germ Buster(which had, by the way, begun on the plane and thus far had been rocking on for approximately 2 and a 1/2 hours) and when I boarded the train bound for Fort William it was still raging!

It has to be said the trip from Glasgow to Fort William by train is one of many utterly gorgeous train journeys in Scotland. The train winds north, leaving Glasgow and then heading into the lower Highlands before crossing the bleak and unforgiving Rannoch moor. Quite simply the scenery is devine - it’s just a shame I was taking the trip in the evening so the only thing I could see through the window was my own reflection, which, in a good light, is equally as devine (and equally as bleak and unforgiving)

My arrival in Fort William occurred at 10:06pm and my heart jumped a thousand beats as I alighted the train to be slapped in the face by the beautiful Highland air (i.e. sheet of ice which passes as Highland air) and I immediately skipped away from the train station with a barmy grin on my face.

Where I’m staying, I’ve stayed at before, so I knew exactly where I was going. Under the underpass (much better than going over it, it’s called an underpass for a reason), along the High Street, past the rather new looking memorial, and then a left up the stairs into the building which is a rather cheap and cheerful hotel. I threw my pack onto the floor - and like anyone who has just returned to his home after 6 years immediately resumed my game of Germ Busterwhich I played until I unceremoniously lost and then collapsed into bed.

Day #2 - Fort William

I missed breakfast. Or rather, when I descended the multiple staircases I couldn’t find breakfast. I had trained my nose to seek out the wistful odour of corn flakes, but alas, it picked up nothing. There was not a corn or a flake or a person to be found - so I went to Morrisons and had eggs on toast instead.

My first view of Fort William/the Highlands in the day light was something I had been eagerly anticipating (so much so I had, very nearly, performed a 10point worthy triple forward tuck roll down the staircase. So obviously, by definition, it was going to be something special - it was FOG! Yep, Loch Linnhe and the mountains I know so well were enshrouded in a blanket of mist which meant I couldn’t really make anything out - which sounds disappointing - but it isn’t. Scottish mist is all part and parcel of Highland life and in it’s own right is a beautiful sight to behold. I stood for a while, watching the mist roll over the crystalline waters of the loch past a wee red fishing boat which has been in the same spot (barring tidal changes of course) for the last six years.

My day was spent milling, meandering and moseying around this quaint wee town (the second biggest in the Highlands) and checking out what I have decided is the Op-Shop capitol of Scotland. So far, six of them! Which is really rather wonderful. I collected numerous brochures and sat by the Fort planning the things I wanted to do over the next couple of weeks.

Day #3 - Glenfinnan (on the shores of Loch Shiel)

Glennfinnan. A place so ingrained in my psyche that there’s not a single person who’s ever known me won’t be familiar with the name. A tiny wee town consisting of half a dozen houses, a Church, visitor centre, monument and viaduct…ahh yes, the viaduct, a monumental moment in Addy history in it’s own right. It’s been mentioned a few times in this blog, primarily here, and my return to this special place (my second favourite place in Scotland) was an emotional bumper car ride of conflicting ecstatica mixed with teary memories of times and moments from days of lore.

I know the place well and nothing had changed in the seven years since my last visit, well, a bench had disappeared (presumably eaten by wood-mites) which featured in a particular stirring memory of this place, but that’s besides the point. My track from the train station to the loch is well worn and I circumnavigated it with barely a second thought.

The monument itself isn’t anything special really. A cylindrical tower atop which stands the figure of a Highland soldier - many people presume it to be of Bonnie Prince Charlie himself (the monument’s existence being to commemorate the beginning of the 1745 uprising which he started) but it is not Charlie, rather it could be Geoff or Bob or Angus McHaggis. What makes the monument something special is it’s location, at the end of the Loch with the murky waters spanning off into the distance between the mountains. It is considered to be one of the great views in Scotland; and anyone who has travelled by train on the Road to the Isles will remember always the view as the train passes over the Viaduct.

I never really do much in Glenfinnan. I sit, I think, I ponder, I traverse hillsides and occasionally (as has been documented in the past, consider suicide). Today however I did all of the above (bar the last) I trekked up two different hills and half way up a mountain. I had a staring contest with a stag (I interrupted his meal of heather and grass gravy, to which he offered me none) and by the close of the day as I returned to the station looked a little windswept and brow beaten.

There is nothing in the world more delightful than trekking the Scottish hills and glens with only a friendly stag for company.

Day #4 - Fort William

So being a Sunday, there is little open in this wee town today. Scotland has a habit of closing it’s doors on a Sunday, which is fine by me, as I’m feeling a little queasy today. A visit to the medic on Tuesday saw me prescribed prozac which is not faring well with me and the side effects (I should be used to side effects by now) are taking their toll. So a quiet day today methinks in the hope the side effects will not become a feature of this trip, nor affect my adventure in the way they have the potential of doing.

On a slightly more annoying note I was not prescribed any mood stabilisers, not because I don’t need them, but because they wish to keep me off them for the next 6 months to monitor my changes. In a warped sense this makes sense, but having lived with my oscillating mood for so long now I had hoped for something to help control it - they are getting rather difficult to control on my lonesome.

I will return wit the further manic adventures of Addy in Scotland in due time, and if we’re lucky, perchance the prozac will kick in a manic phase - as it has the possibility of doing!

PS…The first in the Manic Adventures of Addy in Scotland Video Blog will be posted as soon as I’ve had time to upload it!