How to choose a reputable adventure travel company or guide

Adventure travel” is a nebulous term these days. But whether your idea of a thrill is a Class-III rapid or climbing Everest, there’s one thing that’s ubiquitous when choosing an outfitter: safety. There are hundreds of adventure travel companies worldwide; not all are created equal. There are key things you should look for when choosing a company or independent guide, whether you’re booking a three-week luxury trip, or a one-day backpacker’s special.

I’m not implying adventure travel in general is risky, or that most operators and guides don’t know what they’re doing. There are numerous certifications in place (they vary according to country) to ensure companies adhere to national and industry safety standards.

The following are tips on what to look for or avoid when choosing a company or guide, based on personal experience and what I’ve gleaned from the owners of several highly regarded adventure companies. I’ve done trips with each company, but I have no personal gain in endorsing them: I’ve just found them to be, among the dozens of outfitters I’ve used, the best of the best.

My sources include Mark Gunlogson, president/guide of Seattle’s Mountain Madness, a mountain adventure guide service and mountaineering school; Marc Goddard, co-owner/guide of Bio Bio Expeditions, a whitewater/adventure travel company in Truckee, California, and Britt Lewis, co-owner/guide of Austral Adventures, a custom travel company on the island of Chiloe, in Chile.

I’m also including a few horror stories based on guide negligence. That’s why, the first thing you should do when planning any kind of adventure activity or trip is…

Do your research
Even a brief online search will bring to light any serious breaches in safety or conduct. Safety doesn’t just apply to those who plan to scale the Andes or kayak the Zambezi. Even the tamest “adventures” require guides who are knowledgeable about the area and activity, and are currently certified in emergency first aid and rescue procedures.

[Photo credit: Flickr user Luis Fabres]

Lest you think I exaggerate the importance of guide knowledge and research, the idea for this article germinated in 2003, when I was visiting Australia’s Kakadu National Park during the “Wet,” or monsoon, season. That time of year brings potential problems such as floods, but it was a widely publicized trial that made an indelible impression.

A negligent guide was charged in the accidental death of a 24-year-old German tourist who’d been killed by a croc, after the guide assured her group a swimming hole was safe. My own guide informed me that just weeks earlier, another company had tried to gun their small tour bus over a flooded waterway, only to have it overtaken and swept downstream. The passengers were eventually airlifted to safety (don’t let these things scare you off of Kakadu in the Wet; it’s absolutely spectacular, and free of crowds).

Australia of course, isn’t the problem. It’s just that crocs and corpses make compelling headlines. Sometimes accidents aren’t publicized, lest they impact tourism (In New Zealand, an operator confessed to me a rival company’s fatal bungee-jumping miscalculation a month prior, which put them out of business), and of course there have been dozens of mountaineering and whitewater-related tragedies on commercial trips on various continents over the years. Again, participating in these activities doesn’t make you likely to suffer a mishap. Are they inherently dangerous? Yes, but so is crossing the street, driving a car, or hiking solo.

What certifications to look for
This depends upon type of activity and country. Says Lewis, “If there aren’t national qualifications or certs, a combination of information is required for form an opinion about an outfitter. How clear and accurate is their literature or website, their answers to your questions, etc.?” I would also add, how long does it take them to respond to your emails or phone calls? A few days is standard, but if you find yourself having to follow-up repeatedly, move on.

Marc Goddard: Ask about the qualifications of each guide. If you’re doing a river trip, find out how many years the guides have been guiding rafts, and on which rivers. Don’t be shy about asking some serious questions: you will, after all, be entrusting them with your life!

Mark Gunlogson: The adventure travel industry has matured, and most activities now have some sort of industry standard. In the case of mountain guiding, there’s the American Mountain Guides Association certification for guide services. Level of first-aid training for guides is also essential to look for, and industry standards apply here, as well.

Signs you’re dealing with a good company or guide
Whether you’re planning a high-end holiday or making a walk-in query in a backpacker ghetto, there are questions to ask and things to look for that signify a solid company. Be aware that hostels and other backpacker-oriented locales are magnets for sketchy outfits. If it sounds too cheap or good to be true, it probably is. If the activity involves something potentially dangerous, don’t bite.

Gunlogson suggests asking the company what’s included and what’s not, so all services are clearly spelled out, including guide qualifications. But, he says, “In the end, sometimes it just comes down to how comfortable a person feels with the company and their interactions with them.”

Adds Lewis, “Ask a few simple questions about first-aid and emergency procedures. Do they appear to have a plan for unforeseen events? If you’re a walk-in, does their office have a fire extinguisher? Are their vehicles legal for tourist transport? Are the guides certified for the activities for which they’re assigned?”

I learned just how deadly budget guides can be while climbing Cotopaxi in Ecuador with a Mountain Madness guide. We were forced to turn back at 17,000 feet due to extreme avalanche danger. My guide was fully accredited, and his experience includes some of the toughest technical climbs in the world (For my part, I’d been conditioning for this trip for months, at high altitude, upon the advice of Mountain Madness).

We had returned to the refugio, an overnight acclimatization hut located at 15,000 feet. We saw a young, rowdy group of backpackers being shepherded out the door by their equally youthful guides; it was obvious from their attire they were attempting a summit. My guide, concerned, went and had a word with the other guides: They totally blew him off. I didn’t hear about a group of backpackers getting creamed in an avalanche that day, but that experience really clarified for me the potential for disaster posed by cheapie trips targeted at inexperienced backpackers. It’s not worth it.

On a related note:

Look for red flags
“If they’re farming you out to a local outfitter, it could be a red flag,” says Goddard. “But the big warning is if they don’t know who their guides are, or what their qualifications are.” Some companies do “outsource” to local guides or outfitters, It’s not always a bad thing, and in fact can be positive, because you get someone with insider knowledge and you support the local economy. It comes down to their qualifications and relationship with the parent company.

Gunlogson adds, “Ask about guide qualifications, number of years in business, and hidden costs regarding services.” A reputable company willingly discloses information.

Ask for referrals
Lewis suggests asking for past client’s emails, and contacting them about their experience. You can also look at reviews on sites like TripAdvisor.com, or search travel blogs.

Listen to your gut
If you have a bad feeling about a guide, it’s best to pay heed. On my same Australia trip, a certain American guide led us on an overnight bushwalk in Litchfield National Park. Amongst his many other transgressions, he endangered our lives by having us pitch camp on a narrow sandbar at the base of a waterfall-fed swimming hole (I actually voiced my concern, only to receive a withering look from him). Sure enough, a monsoonal downpour made the water level swiftly rise, leaving us backed into a rock wall. Fortunately, we were able to rescue our tents and gear, and the water receded before we had to swim for it. That’s when I learned to listen to my instincts regarding guides. My sensor went off immediately after meeting this guy due to his arrogance, but I felt obligated to do the trip.

Whether it’s a negative reaction to a guide, concern over the poor/worn quality of the gear, or the activity itself, always listen to your gut.

What to do if you have a bad experience
You have several courses of action. You can go to sites like TripAdvisor.com and travel blogs and write the company up (letting them know about it before taking any action). Says Lewis, “It depends on the country in terms of informing authorities. However, the power of the Internet is a huge reward to a good company and an effective way to punish an unsafe one.”

Adds Gunlogson, “Unless there’s injury and an obvious case of negligence, there’s not too much you can do unless you really want to spend the time and money to pursue it. In the end, word-of-mouth has a cathartic effect for clients if their complaints are ignored. Those companies that understand the power of a former client taking to the Internet do their best to mitigate any potential bad-mouthing, whether justified or not. It lets the client know that their dissatisfaction was acknowledged.”

I say: Playing devil’s advocate, I’ve found there’s usually one client on every trip who seems determined to have a bad time and find fault, even where none exists. DON’T BE THAT PERSON. No one likes a whiner or a complainer, and guides work long hours, under considerable stress. Don’t just sit on your butt: ask what you can do to help, be it chopping vegetables, loading gear, or finding firewood. If you have a legitimate complaint, by all means follow the advice provided above, but don’t go trolling for a refund or discount just to be an a-hole.


What are the refund policies?
Because shit happens.

Consider climate and seasonal factors
If you want to avoid a monsoon, snow, or inhumanly hot, humid weather, be sure to voice those concerns and do some research on your destination. It also pays to ask about or check on things like growing, spawning, or breeding season of pesky or harmful flora or fauna. Someone I know (her name is Laurel) paid through the nose for a snorkeling trip off a remote island in Southern Thailand. Imagine her surprise when she hit the water and discovered it was peak jellyfish spawn. She spent the remainder of the trip covered in painful, head-to-toe welts that made her the object of much mockery. Far more painful was the knowledge that the scam artists/snorkeling guides knew full well swimming was inadvisable.

Are they a green company?
It matters, and this philosophy also includes hiring locals whenever possible. Don’t let yourself get “greenwashed.”

Honestly assess your own capabilities
You don’t just put yourself at risk (of a bad trip, potential injury, illness, or worse); you jepordize the safety and well-being of other clients. If nothing else, you make your guide’s life hell. Please don’t if you can help it.

Do you trust your guide’s capabilities and judgement?
When you literally trust a guide with your life (and I can only say this about three of them), it’s a sign that that company is doing something right. Never have I been more impressed with guides than the two trips I’ve taken with Bio Bio; Mountain Madness follows a close second.


Consider travel insurance
If you’re doing some really hard-core stuff, will be in very remote areas, or have some existing health or physical conditions, it may be worth the extra expense.

Don’t forget to tip
Says Goddard, “I don’t feel tipping is mandatory; it’s done if you feel the guides did a good job. An average tip is 10% of the trip price, a great tip is 20%.” Adds Lewis, “The amount may also depend upon what country you’re in, but it’s always appreciated. Few, if any, guides do their job solely for the money [FYI, it’s not a high-paying job]–there’s a love of people, nature, or the activity that comes with it. But tips are welcome, as they’re a tangible “thank you,” and acknowledge a job well done.”

If you made it this far, consider yourself schooled. Here’s to safe adventures!

[Photo credits: crocodile, Flickr user jean-louis zimmerman; first aid kit, Flickr user 8lettersuk; warning, Flickr user psd; cash, Flickr user Todd Kravos; caving, Laurel Miller]

The East Highland Way day six: strange sculptures and cursed castles


It’s the last day of my hike along the East Highland Way and the trail has given me a special wake-up treat, namely this view of Loch Insh in the early morning. I love this photo because it captures the most alluring aspect of Scottish lochs–the way their placid waters reflect and soften the light. Lochs are the magic mirrors of the Highlands, capturing the surrounding trees and hills and turning them into something ethereal.

Like all the villages I’ve stayed in, Kincraig vanishes within minutes of me setting out. I’m soon back in the countryside. Well, almost. First I have to negotiate a farmer’s field made squishy from yesterday’s rain and then stop to admire the Frank Bruce Sculpture Trail. This local artist, who sadly died last year, carved eerie human images out of trees. He left much of the tree in its original shape, so it looks like the people are growing naturally out of the wood. Sorrowful faces, giant hands, and struggling bodies rise out of the ground between living trees in a quiet woodland. It feels like I’m in the middle of a forest in which some of the trees have suddenly come to life. Bruce’s work is social commentary too. A grieving Third World mother holds her starving baby in front of some fat rich men, while nearby two patriots are locked in a life-or-death struggle.

It’s effective and more than a little creepy. The images stay in my mind until something more troubling occupies my thoughts. The route is taking me through an undulating, forested valley between several hills. Trails crisscross the area and I have to be careful to take the correct one. Soon I run into trouble. I come across a paved road where none appears on the map. I know I’m on the right spot judging from the relative position of the surrounding hills, so this road is a bit of a mystery. Next a few houses appear, also not on the map. For the past five days the Ordnance Survey maps have been meticulously accurate, yet now they show glaring lapses. The explanation is simple–this particular section hasn’t been fully updated since 1998. I was aware of this beforehand, but what could I do? The land has changed drastically. New trails are everywhere, curving away out of sight into the woods going who-knows-where.

%Gallery-100361%Time for a compass reading. I know where I’m headed–a small loch called Loch Gamhna and a bigger one just north of it called Loch an Eilein. From there I head pretty much due north to Aviemore, the final stop on the East Highland Way. Studying the topography (with the reasonable assumption that the shape of the hills hasn’t changed!) I see my route will take me through the gap between two hills ENE of my position. If I follow my compass reading I can get there even if the hills are out of view behind trees.

Just as I finish my reading a middle-aged man appears along the trail with his young daughter.

“Are you lost?” he asks.

“No, thanks. I just needed to take a reading because these maps are outdated.”

“Well,” he says in a haughty voice, “You should spend a little extra for the most up-to-date version.”

“I did, but–“

“Nature is a work in progress, you know,” he interrupts.

“Yeah. I was wondering which of these new trails can take me to–“

“Don’t you have a compass?”

It’s still in my hand. I hold it up.

“I’ve taken a reading, what I’m wondering is–“

“If you’re having trouble reading it I’ll check my GPS for you.”

“Never mind, have a nice day,” I say as I turn and leave.

It’s obvious this guy isn’t going to be any help. He’s playing a game of one-upmanship to impress me and his little girl. She doesn’t look impressed, only bored. I know how she feels.

So off I go following my compass readings. Now and then I get glimpses of the two hills I’m shooting for and I see I’m on track. It would be nice to have confidence in the trail I’m on, though. So far it’s been heading in the right direction, but if it veers off on another course I’ll have to slog through the woods. As I’m taking another reading an elderly man on a mountain bike appears. His face looks about seventy but his body appears half that age.

“Do you need any help?” he asks as he pulls up beside me.

“I’m headed to Loch Gamhna. I’ve taken a reading so I know where I’m going but I was wondering if this trail actually leads there.”

I feel grateful he lets me finish my sentence, unlike the previous guy.

“Yes, the OS maps are all wrong for this area nowadays. I’ve spent many an hour lost around here. If you follow this trail for another mile you’ll come to a cairn at a fork on the trail. Take the righthand path downhill and over a stream. Keep following it and you’ll get there. I see the route on your map has you going on the eastern shore of Loch an Eilein. I suggest following the western shore. There’s a good trail and you’ll get a better view of the castle.”

I thank him and he pedals off. That’s how people should treat one another out in the wilderness. Helpful and no attitude. The first guy was useless. If I had truly been lost, Mr. Superiority could have been downright dangerous.

I follow my friend’s directions and they’re right on target. Over the river and through the woods to Loch Gamhna I go. It’s a marshy little loch with tall grass growing in its shallows. The stalks wave in the increasing wind. Just past it is the large Loch an Eilein. As it comes into view its sparkling waters turn dull. The sky has clouded over. Great gray clouds swoop in from the north. I take the mountainbiker’s advice and head along the western shore to a spot across from a small island. Taking up almost the entire island is a low castle built in the 14th century by Alexander Stewart, the infamous Wolf of Badenoch.

During the Middle Ages he was the terror of Scotland, ruthlessly destroying the opposition in order to assert his authority over much of the Highlands. When the Church opposed him, he even sacked the cathedral at Elgin. This devil in armor is said to still haunt his island stronghold. A local woman tells me that as a child she used to row out to the castle with her family and it always felt uncomfortable there. Someone else tells me the castle gives off a strange echo. I try it, standing directly opposite the gate and giving a short, sharp shout. The shout comes back to me a second later, too slow for it to have bounced off the castle. It must have bounced off the opposite shore, but it sounds like it’s coming from within the battlements. Even stranger, the echo sounds louder than my original shout. I shout again and the echo comes back even louder.

Just then the sky opens up in a torrential downpour. I’ve woken the Wolf of Badenoch in his lair and he’s seriously pissed! I hurriedly don my rain gear and slosh on to Aviemore.

And there my hike ends, at a friendly little village at the heart of Scotland’s hiking culture. People with backpacks are everywhere, converging on this spot from a dozen different trails. Yet I have seen none of them on Scotland’s newest trail–the East Highland Way.

I always feel a tug of regret when finishing a good hike, especially one that has given me six days of serene nature, historic wonders, and insights into my own past. I enjoyed it even more than last year’s journey along the Hadrian’s Wall Path. I always treat myself to a long-distance hike around my birthday to cheer myself up, and when I turn 42 (ugh!) next year you can bet I’ll be back in the Scottish Highlands.

Coming up next: Hiking the East Highland Way, the practicalities.

Don’t miss the rest of my series on the East Highland Way!

The East Highland Way day five: exploring Scottish heritage


Newtonmore is the biggest village I’ve stayed in since starting the East Highland Way. With a population of 1,000, you could almost call it a town. It’s pleasant, with lots of interesting shops and pubs, yet feels too big and claustrophobic after hiking through the Scottish wilderness yesterday. I need to get back on the trail.

Before leaving town I can’t miss The Highland Folk Museum. This remarkable outdoor museum has recreated shops, homes, farms, and businesses from all eras of Scottish history. Well, they’re not all recreated. They’ve actually collected many genuine historic buildings from all across Scotland and display them on 80 acres of land. Costumed workers who really know their history hang around and tell you about them. Think Colonial Williamsburg with kilts. Sadly, this remarkable glimpse into Scotland’s heritage may close due to budget cuts. Welcome to the Age of Austerity, where the past is discarded and the future uncertain.

I spend all morning exploring thatched roof huts, a one-room schoolhouse, and a sawmill that would never pass modern health and safety regulations. It’s all so fascinating that it’s early afternoon before I set out for Kincraig, my next stop. One problem with the new trail is that some parts are still along paved road, and for a time I’m skirting the edge of a busy thoroughfare. Thankfully there aren’t too many of these stretches. It’s no fun walking along a country road with no shoulder. At least the drivers are understanding. Mostly.

Soon I come to Ruthven Barracks. This old stronghold of English power sits proudly on a hill, its walls still intact although the interior and roof are now gone. During the rebellion of 1745-6 it was nearly abandoned as all available troops went off to fight the Jacobite rebels. Only a dozen men remained to defend it as 200 Highlanders converged on the garrison. Hiding behind stone walls and firing out of the gun ports, the English fought the Scottish off. Then Scots came back with artillery and the English did the smart thing and surrendered.

Not long afterwards on a waterlogged moor called Culloden, the Scottish and English armies met in battle. The MacLachlans, my ancestors, stood on the left flank. About six thousand Highlanders, some Lowlanders, some French soldiers, some Irish, and even a few English stood with them. The Jacobites wanted to put the House of Stuart on the throne and were led by Charles Stuart, better known as Bonnie Prince Charlie. The English army, supporting the reigning King George II of the House of Hanover, prepared to meet them with a larger and better-armed force.

%Gallery-100286%My ancestors stood proudly in line as the English artillery opened up on them. They waved their swords in the air and boasted how they were going to kill the English. They must have felt proud that one of their kinsmen, the repetitively named Lachlan MacLachlan, was one of Bonnie Prince Charlie’s top officers. Some sources say he was in charge of supplies, but if so he did a crap job because the Jacobites went hungry much of the time.

Cannonballs ripped through the Scottish lines. The right flank could stand no more and charged without getting orders. Bonnie Prince Charlie sent Lachlan MacLachlan off to the left flank to get them moving too, but a cannonball decapitated him before he could deliver the message. Eventually the MacLachlans and the rest of the left flank surged forward, eager to kill the English. They soon got mired in boggy ground, and the famous Highland Charge that had destroyed the English army at the Battle of Prestonpans ground to a halt. The Scottish ranks staggered under withering volleys of musket fire. The right flank had reached the English, but soon got cut off and wiped out. Within half an hour nearly a third of the Jacobite army lay dead or wounded on the field and the rest fled for their lives. The MacLachlans never even reached the English lines.

So my ancestors never got to kill any Englishmen. I can’t say I’m sorry. Why would I wish any harm to the English? They brew such good beer.

Ruthven Barracks had one more chapter to play in the Jacobite uprising. The day after the disaster at Culloden a few thousand Highlanders gathered here, defiantly declaring that they would continue the fight. Soon the sad news came from Bonnie Prince Charlie saying the cause was lost and they should save themselves. Perhaps there were a few MacLachlans among the disappointed men. Perhaps not. Most of them lay dead on the battlefield. They would lie unburied for many days until being heaped into a mass grave.

Beyond Ruthven Barracks the East Highland Way winds through fields and woodland before skirting the edge of Loch Insh. It has finally stopped raining. The clouds break and a surprisingly warm sun glints off the loch’s placid waters. This is typical Scottish weather, what one Scot described to me as “four seasons in one day.” You have to bring clothing for all seasons, and keep your raincoat strapped to the webbing on the outside of your pack for quick access.

I stand looking at the loch and thinking of the folly of my ancestors. To rally around one monarch to overthrow another seems ridiculous to a modern mind, and perhaps it did to them too. Whatever they thought, their feudal clan system did not allow for dissent.

To be perfectly honest I really don’t care that they lost. I’ve never been one for secondhand patriotism. I have Irish ancestors too but I don’t drink green Guinness on St. Patrick’s Day. Guinness is an odd choice for wannabe Irish patriots anyway, considering that Arthur Guinness was a Unionist, the brewery is currently owned by a company based in London, and the brewery may have played a willing part suppressing the Easter Uprising. (Interesting photo here)

So no green Guinness for me, and I’m not going to moan about the disaster at Culloden just because a bunch of my relatives got killed there. If they hadn’t been, someone else’s family would have. It’s not like I’m the only person with a mass grave in my family’s past. At least mine has a marker.

Don’t miss the rest of my series on the East Highland Way.

Coming up next: Strange sculptures and cursed castles!

The East Highland Way day two: hiking into the hills


Haggis is not breakfast food. Yes, Highlander is a cool movie, and haggis is Scotland’s national dish, Robert Burns even composed an Address to a Haggis, but don’t have it for breakfast. In fact, I’d suggest not having it at all.

OK, you have to try it at least once, like you have to try sheep’s head when you’re in the Middle East, just don’t expect to like it. On my first morning in the Scottish countryside I’m served a “full Scottish breakfast” of eggs, toast, bacon, baked beans, sausage, and haggis. Basically a “full English breakfast” with haggis added.

Haggis is sheep lungs, heart, and liver cooked with onion, salt, oatmeal, suet, spices, and stock. The traditional recipe calls for this witch’s brew to be simmered in a sheep’s stomach. Coming as two thick patties on my plate it looks like mealy, low-grade sausage, and somehow manages to taste both spicy and bland. I expect to be revolted, having never eaten lungs before, but instead I’m simply underwhelmed.

You don’t have to come to Scotland to try haggis now that the U.S. government has lifted its ban on haggis, but you’d be missing some amazing countryside. After the first day on the East Highland Way I’m in Spean Bridge, an old village of tidy stone cottages, friendly pubs, and a small museum about the WWII commandos who trained in the area. It’s not far from my clan homeland around Loch Fyne. In fact the local history pamphlet is written by a schoolteacher named MacLachlan, who gleaned some interesting anecdotes from elderly residents, such as the fact that kids in the 1920s looked forward to springtime because they could take their shoes off and not wear them until autumn. All the boys were keen shinty players back then. Shinty is a bit like full contact field hockey and is not well known outside Scotland. In fact, until I got here the only meaning I knew for “shinty” was that it’s the Amharic word for “piss”.

Puzzling over this linguistic curiosity, I head east towards Tulloch, eleven miles deeper into the Scottish Highlands. Within moments the village is left behind and I’m all on my own in a wooded area following a dirt road. I’m using Ordnance Survey maps, incredibly detailed maps showing not only the topography and landmarks, but also individual buildings, ancient sites, and fences. My compass rarely leaves my pack.

%Gallery-99965%Hiking a new trail has pluses and minuses. At times the route follows dirt logging roads or even paved roads. This is not ideal and hopefully proper trails will appear in these parts. A big plus, however, is that when I’m not on the few stretches of paved road I don’t see anyone for hours. That, and stunning scenery, is why I hike.

The trail follows the contours of a chain of steep hills. To the north is the River Spean and beyond it more hills. The woods open up, giving me a clear view of the rugged hills and the river gleaming dully under a cloudy sky. While I see nobody, this is not an abandoned land. Sheep graze on short grass amid fields of blooming purple heather. An occasional fence shows this is private property. Much of the countryside is open access, meaning I can legally pass through. Not all farmers are happy with this, especially when they discover their once-remote property is on the route of a new trail.

I come to a gate that’s been tied shut. A ladder has been lashed across it with heavy rope to make the point doubly clear. A farmhouse stands nearby, dilapidated but obviously inhabited judging from the trash scattered all around. I can see that the gate on the other side of the property is also tied shut. I check my map. Yes, this is the right place. I have the right to cross here but obviously the landowner doesn’t want me to.

What to do? If I assert my rights I risk getting shot by a Scottish redneck. Shot in Scotland? Yes, farmers and hunters can own guns here, and while Scots aren’t as hyperprotective of their land as Americans, I am not happy about this situation. With the river on one side and almost sheer hillsides on the other, a detour isn’t an option. After a cautious look I scramble over the fence, run across the yard, and scale the other fence. I walk down the farmer’s driveway, legs pumping, hoping he didn’t see me. I don’t feel comfortable for another mile.

Soon all is serene. I’m crossing an isolated field with a sweeping view of the Highlands. A cluster of ruined farmhouses provides a good rest stop. My first impression is that these date from the Highland Clearances. After the Scots lost the rebellion of 1745, the English evicted thousands of families and burned their homes. Many got shipped off to the colonies. It wasn’t the first time. After the failed Argyll Rebellion of 1685, some of my ancestors were sent as bonded labor to the West Indies. Slaves, in other words. But why hold a grudge? In later years Scotland was the industrial powerhouse of the British Empire, as responsible for all its glories and sins as England herself. If I held a grudge against England for past misdeeds, I’d have to accept grudges from everyone whose ancestors were ever hurt by the British Empire. Not a pleasant prospect.

There’s not much left of these old farms. The walls only come up to my waist, except for one house where the chimney and hearth stand to their original height. I sit eating my sandwich where a family once ate porridge and haggis. It’s an eerie feeling. I wonder what happened to them and feel better when I notice the stone walls have mortar in them. That means this house dates to the nineteenth century. These people left to find their fortune in the city or another country. They may have left because of poverty, but at least they weren’t forced out by soldiers.

Bidding the ghosts goodbye I tromp into some woods and up a steep slope before descending again, crossing a bridge, and entering the “village” of Tulloch. It’s actually only a train station and two houses. The bunkhouse is part of the train station. A few other hikers are staying here, using it as a base for daytrips into the hills. As we sit in the lounge drinking beer the Flying Scotsman, a luxury train, stops at the station for some reason. I and a fellow hiker hurry out onto the platform and peer through the windows at couples in formal evening wear dining under crystal chandeliers. A woman wearing diamond earrings looks out at me and smiles. I smile back and toast her with my beer can. She laughs and toasts me back with her champagne glass. Her considerably older husband is too busy with his steak to notice.

It’s a bit surreal, these two worlds of grungy hiker and bejeweled heiress meeting briefly at a lonely rural station on a Highland evening. The train chugs to life and starts to pull off. She waves at me, husband still devouring his steak and what the hell, I blow her a kiss. She laughs and blows me one back.

It’s the closest I’ll ever get to marrying a millionaire.

Coming up next: Exploring Scotland’s lochs!

Check out the rest of my journey hiking the East Highland Way.

The East Highland Way: hiking Scotland’s newest trail


I’m in Ft. William on the west coast of Scotland, the starting point for many popular long-distance hikes, including Scotland’s newest trail–the East Highland Way. Over the next six days I’ll be walking 76 miles past lochs, mountains, historic sites, and remote countryside. The hike is so new there isn’t even a guidebook yet, but Kevin Langan, who established the route and is writing a guidebook, kindly sent me some maps. The trail is unmarked, so these maps and a compass will be vital to be making it to Aviemore in the Central Highlands.

I wake up to a beautiful view of Loch Linnhe outside my window. The view is all that’s beautiful. It’s pouring rain, my legs hurt from climbing Ben Nevis yesterday, and I have a persistent cough courtesy of my four-year-old son that makes me hack up great gobbets of phlegm every time I say “loch”. A perfect morning to start trekking across Scotland!

Because of the scarcity of accommodation in this part of Scotland, the days aren’t of even distance. My first stop, the village of Spean Bridge, is only nine miles from Ft. William. Make that eleven since I’m staying west of town, but even so it’s an easy first day. This gives me a chance to walk out my fatigue from climbing the UK’s tallest mountain and gives me time to explore historic Ft. William.

There’s always been settlement along the shores of this loch that opens into the North Atlantic, but the city owes its prominence to the fort that gives it its name. Fort William was an English base to keep the Scots in line. There’s now a movement by some nationalists in town to change the name to something more Scottish! Not much of the original fort survives, and for more information I head to the West Highland Museum. What strikes me about this museum is the focus on the rebellions against the English. While these are a major part of Scottish history and still affect today’s politics, the coverage seems almost obsessive. Weapons and paintings of Bonnie Prince Charlie are everywhere. My own clan, Clan MacLachlan, took part in the rebellions, and what I know of Scottish history is centered around the various Lost Causes my ancestors supported. Not talking about the Scottish rebellions while in the Highlands would be like not talking about the Civil War while traveling through the American South. As I continue on my hike I’ll see places where my ancestors marched and fought, and learn more about their role in Scottish history.

I dawdle in the museum talking to the curator and hoping the rain will ease up, but it only gets worse, so I stop delaying and head on out. The town is unremarkable beyond the beautiful views of the loch. The main street has been given over to tourism and the rest of the town looks a bit run down. At the edge of town is Inverlochy Castle, pictured above. This imposing castle was built in the 13th century to guard the River Lochy and the western edge of the Great Glen, the easiest transit route to the northeast. It’s built in a basic, solid manner with a moat, a square plan, and giant towers at each corner. This isn’t some elegant Renaissance chateau castle, but a practical fortification meant to take plenty of abuse. It was the base of power for the Comyn family as they asserted their influence over much of medieval Scotland. Two battles were fought at this site and almost 800 years later much of the stonework still looks solid.

%Gallery-99692%The route east from the castle is an easy but not particularly attractive one. Like the first day of the Hadrian’s Wall Path and other popular paths, much time is spent getting out of populated areas. The route follows just south of a railway and highway on a dirt trail through managed forest. Logging is big business up here and orderly rows of trees are grown to be cut down and replaced with the next generation. Not exactly primeval woodland, but it does keep the sight of cars from my eyes.

The weather clears, then clouds up and rains, then clears again. This is typical Scottish weather–“four seasons in one day” as the saying goes. Before long I’m in Spean Bridge, a village on the River Spean. I decide the weather and my legs are in good enough shape to take a popular three-mile scenic loop trail near town. It’s the prettiest land I’ve seen all day, mostly unfarmed with wild trees and a real feel of untamed nature. It leads to the mossy ruins of High Bridge, scene of the first battle of the Jacobite uprising of 1745.

Bonnie Prince Charlie had recently landed in Scotland and was gathering the Highlanders to march on England to overthrow the Hanoverian monarchy in favor of his own Stuart line. Clan MacLachlan was quick to join up. If I had been alive at that time I doubt I’d have been enthusiastic about overthrowing one monarch only to be ruled by another, but nobody went against the wishes of their clan chief. While we were still sharpening our swords up north, a dozen men from Clan MacDonald hid at one end of this bridge awaiting a force of 85 English soldiers sent to reinforce Ft. William. On August 16th (my birthday) 1745, the redcoats tried to cross. The MacDonalds shouted at the tops of their lungs, leaping from bush to bush on the steep slope of the opposite bank and firing their muskets. The redcoats thought they were outnumbered and ran.

My ancestors did get to help out in the next battle, at Prestonpans on September 21 (my son’s birthday). On that misty morning, an English army of 2,300 men was virtually wiped out by a fierce Highland charge. This was my ancestors’ sole tactic. A mass of men would charge at the enemy. Once in musket range they’d fire their muskets (if they had them), then charge again into pistol range, fire their pistols (if they had them) and throw them at the enemy. Then they charged into the enemy lines with a shield and dirk in one hand and a sword in the other. The sheer momentum of the howling, slashing, hacking Highlanders was enough to break the English lines. It was a good start to an ill-fated campaign.

The trail continues up a steep bare hill that provides me with a grand view of the rough Highland terrain I will tackle tomorrow. At the summit is a memorial to the British commandos of World War Two. They trained here, not to overthrow one king in favor of another, but to overthrow a mad dictator bent on world domination. Never in history has the line between right and wrong been so clear cut. Nearby is a sobering garden where people leave photos of loved ones who fought and died in that war and in Iraq and Afghanistan. All my achievements pale in comparison.

Tomorrow: The East Highland Way Day Two: Into the Highlands!