“When you give yourself to places, they give you yourself back; the more one comes to know them, the more one seeds them with the invisible crop of memories and associations that will be waiting for when you come back, while new places offer up new thoughts, new possibilities. Exploring the world is one the best ways of exploring the mind, and walking travels both terrains.”

- Rebecca Solnit, Wanderlust: A History of Walking

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Forward:

A year ago this time, I sat at my laptop inside my parent’s Illinois home during the holidays. I looked up at my partner Alec and said with both excited and nervous energy, “I hit the purchase button - I bought a plane ticket to Scotland. I guess I’m going on a long hike!” It would be my first time leaving the states in my entire life. This trip had a few objectives, not all of which were specific to hiking. I planned to attempt four primary goals: Walk The West Highland Way, The Great Glen Way, summit Ben Nevis via the CMD route, and show myself the truth of my new-to-me camera - could it satisfy my desire to capture the landscapes so beloved to me while I walk? Could I comfortably carry a professional camera, lenses, and bag of over 20 rolls of film for 10 days straight? And if my camera and I make magic, if I feel great carrying it around so long, what comes next and what does it mean? The following images were shot with support from Ilford Photo, and were shot on Ilford Delta 400 and Delta 3200. They were shot on a Fuji TX1, also known as the “unbranded” Hasselblad XPan. After two major trips with my camera system, I now stare down a short couple of month before we tackle our greatest journey yet - a thru hike of the 2,200 mile Appalachian Trail. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves however - for now, enjoy this journey across Scotland.

Four months after committing with a plane ticket purchase, I arrived in Glasgow. I slept like a rock on the overnight flight, and swiftly caught a ride to the village of Milngavie (pronounced Mull-Guy). “Laura?”, says a familiar voice. On the stoop of our hotel sat my friend Kat. Kat, who thru hiked the Appalachian Trail from Georgia to Maine, and I met on the AT the year prior and became fast friends. A dual citizen now living in London, Kat took the train up to meet me for a new adventure - The West Highland Way - a 96 mile bipedal epic across the Scottish Highlands, and Ben Nevis’ CMD route - a route for me, would become one of my greatest and favorite challenges. I would continue on solo afterwards, with an attempt to arrive at Inverness as my final destination.

After a night of sleep, Kat and I woke up early to a Scottish Breakfast and ambled to the center of town to greet a large concrete obelisk, which symbolized the start of our journey. After a quick self portrait, we began our 96 mile adventure to Ft William.

Not but a mile or so into the day’s walk, I see a man in a mix of traditional Scottish garb and modern hiking gear walking our way. For better or for worse, this American was intrigued. We stopped and chatted for a time, and Alan, as he introduced himself, recounted his own walks from Milngavie to Ft William and back. Out of his pack he produced a newspaper that included a cartoon drawing of the route. I tucked it into my pack and kept it to this day. “May I take your portrait?” I ask. “I’ve had many made, but sure”, Alan replies. Meter, frame, click. One exposure will suffice. “Would you like me to send it to you?”, I say. “No thanks, I’ve had many photos taken of me before. Enjoy your walk!” One of my favorite things about having my camera around on a journey such is this, is connecting with people in the unique ways cameras allow for.

A lot of people know me as a portrait photographer with a particularly advanced portfolio in the world of music. I’m not afraid anymore however to keep myself in a box. There’s so much about the world I have an interest in photographing. It may be a bit bold and unusual to buy an xpan and photograph walking journeys, but it’s brought me much joy. I also think I’m a natural at it and I enjoy the challenge of the format and subject matter I’ve been working with.

The farms and hills went for miles on end, and the route snaked along primitive dirt paths and modern roads. It was clear however that the landscape was slowing morphing, mile after mile. Soon Conic Hill, or Chronic Hill as it’s so affectionately called, came into view.

Upon reaching the top, we were treated to the first views of the famous Loch Lomond. The hilltop winds whipped and howled, and on no uncertain terms worked relentlessly to knock me over. Fortunately, I succeeded in standing.

A flat tent spot on the flank of the hill was sighted, and Kat and I set up our tents. We laughed at our matching tents and enjoyed a camp meal and conversation while the sun set. I shot a few more frames in the fading spring light before retiring my camera back to it’s case. Look to the left, and you’ll see the Scottish Lowlands from which we came. Look to the right, and you’ll see the clear and distinct rise of munros (mountains). Our camp lie on the Highland Boundary Fault, a fault line which separates the lowlands and highlands of the country. Looking northward, we had now entered the Highlands.

Day 2 would mark our journey along the bonnie, bonnie banks of Loch Lomond. I’m sure that you’ve heard the tune - you take the high road, and I’ll take the low road. And I’ll be in Scotland before ye. The trail winded us up and down forested hills and open views of the massive loch, with a few intersecting small villages that appeared to largely exist at the pleasure of tourism. Much of this section was in a national park, so the lands were mostly wooded with mighty Atlantic Oaks and Scots Pines; vestiges of old Scotland.

The bonnie, bonnie banks of Loch Lomond were much more demanding than the day’s previous walk. I learned pretty quick that Scotland didn’t believe in switchbacks when trail building. Relentless ups and knee crunching downs were a promise the trail ensured. I couldn’t help but smile though. How delightful it is to be traveling by foot. I marveled at the stark sunlight as it hit the water and illuminated the craggy hills and mountains. Eventually we settled our campsite on a hill near the waters edge. A meal and camp chores completed, and off to a sound sleep we went.

We greeted the morning at the Loch’s edge. Since I was regularly stopping to photograph, I got up earlier than Kat and began my walk. She’d always catch up with me. The path mercilessly sent me up and down once again; a last hoorah before the bidding the Loch farewell.

By lunch time, Loch Lomond receded. Much of the trees had too. The munros grew taller and more snowy. Leaving behind Loch Lomond and the woodlands in exchange for montane esque landscapes was a worthy trade off, but I missed our old friend the Loch. For almost two days, it’s presence felt like a reliable friend.

Per usual I awoke first and began my walk. Out of the forestry plantation I hiked out and down to a farm. I watched a sheep herder instruct his dog in Gaelic, while hundreds of sheep eyed their master. Past the farm I was thrust into an ancient history. St Fillan’s Priory, built in the 1300’s at the instruction of Robert the Bruce, stood like a ghost amongst the trees. Opposite of the remains was an old cemetary, with some graves from the 7th or 8th century.

There’s a saying in hiking culture that goes like this - “Don’t quit on a rainy day”. It’s true. I also say, don’t quit on a poopy day. Kat and I were spent and it was time to find a spot for camp. I was tired and my feelings weren’t as in check as they should have been. I was sweaty, stinky, wet, and very tired. I tried for a hotel room up the road, and it was full. The only place I saw that was flat for a camp, was…I kid you not…covered in used toilet paper. Denial, anger, depression, bargaining, and finally acceptance. If you’ve never went though the stages of grief because you were worn to bits and knowing you’ll have to sleep by some less-than-respectful person’s deification detritus, I don’t recommend it. There’s no glory or lesson. Sometimes, you just chalk up a situation to be “what it is”, and you move on. I suppose if anything, the lesson lies there. Don’t quit on a cold, rainy, stinky day, and especially don’t quit because a person of poor ethics was too lazy to pack out their TP. Just keep going, and let yourself laugh about it later.

Naturally I woke up to the same scene from the night before and quickly packed my gear. I can’t say staring at used mounds of toilet paper, let alone filtering water near it all, was something I was interested in. I’d find water elsewhere. I power hiked away from the fecal fiasco and was almost immediately distracted by some of the most incredible scenery I had yet to see. In the rapturous splendor of Rannoch Moor, I found much needed perspective. Wild red deer grazed under rare Scots Pines. A Eurasian Otter slinked across the trail, intent to reach the marshy waters that snaked through the treeless lands.

Kat caught up and we enjoyed a coffee and breakfast on an old bridge. The Trail always teaches us a lesson in perspective; situations will not always be good, but how you handle them matters. That’s the good stuff, the stuff you use in your day to day life. A new day, a new turn in the trail, or a new landscape, can bring a new feeling. The one constant is change - embrace it.

Soon we found ourselves in Glen Coe, at the feet of the mighty Buachaille Etive Mòr, The Great Herdsman. The further north we walked, the more the landscape shamelessly exuded drama in the form of great, rocky muros teeming with icy springs and delicate flora, with kisses of snow and ice still clinging to the summits.

From a night of poopy despair to landscapes that plant a perma-smile on your face, change and the unknown are reliable friends on these journeys. That night Kat and I found ourselves up and out of the Montane and back into forested hillsides above the sleepy village of Kinlochleven, where we pitched our tents above the warm glow of the town. Tomorrow, day 6, would be our last day of the West Highland Way.

I awoke and packed swiftly, and headed down into the village. I walked into a hotel and treated myself to a tasty Scottish Breakfast. As a vegetarian, I was quite happy to try vegan haggis. Yes, it was amazing even as a vegan option! This day would require a remote 16 mile walk to Ft William. While I enjoyed the nights of wild camping, I was looking forward to a nice bed and a hot meal and pint.

After so much thinking about it, there it was - Ben Nevis. I stared in awe of the UK’s tallest mountain, and I anxiously anticipated my own trek up the opposite side of the munro.

All good things come to an end, and the dirt path ended to meet a sidewalk.

And so, it was over. 96 miles and 5 nights of wild camping in one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever seen. Tonight, we’d eat pizza and drink beer, and finally get a hot shower in. Tomorrow, Ben Nevis would await us.

Kat and I were dropped off at day break by cab, and began our trek to the north face of the mountain. With Scarpa boots, crampons, and an ice axe, this was certainly one of the more technical and consequential routes I’d ever done.

To be up there, was a different world. Scree, ice, and snow guided the way to the summit.

I had my share of nerves on this route, but admittedly I felt confident in my abilities. Besides, the weather was perfect. It took me a long time, but I finally made it to the summit - a route that occasionally had me on all fours.

The CMD route up Ben Nevis was a lesson in patience and humility. Not once did I stop respecting the mountain. You get the deep, primal feeling that you’re the peasant and it, the king. Listen, and don’t get cocky. You don’t have conquest over a mountain, it’s just that sometimes they let you climb them. Exhausted from 6 days of walking and one of the more intense mountain routes I’d ever done, I looked onto the horizon - the Atlantic Ocean. Someone would tell me that it’s only a few days a year you can see it from the summit. What a gift this day was. I’ll forever be proud of myself for climbing this mountain.

The next day brought rain and cold. I was worn to pieces. I had plans to walk about 20 miles, but my body had other plans. I found a hostel called Chase the Wild Goose about 5 miles up the road, and took a Nero (Noun: slang for “nearly zero miles walked).

From the window at my bunk bed, I saw Ben Nevis enshrouded in clouds, the summit entirely blocked from view. That night, I slept like a rock. No amount of snoring in the dorms could have awakened me.

The next few days I’d have to push hard to make it to Inverness. The Great Glen Way follows a major fault line that divides the Highlands. It features three lochs (including Loch Ness), all of which are connected via a man-made canal called the Caledonian Canal.

The Canal was finished 201 years ago, and unlike yesteryear when it served as safe passage for cargo ships avoiding angry seas, it now serves largely as a recreation source for canal boats and kayakers. The Great Glen Way leisurely follows the water route, and the walker can expect flat and easy-going canal side walks, and loch-side trails and roads. This route absolutely felt less traveled. It took me mostly through countryside and small villages.

I can’t quite pinpoint it, but what the West Highland Way offered in rugged wild views, the Great Glen Way offered in an incredible window into Scottish country life. Whereas the WHW was mostly full of thru and section walkers, the GGW felt more like a quiet path that served as an artery leading to someone’s sheep field, home, forestry track, path into the munros, and so on. It felt like the epitome of what John Denver sang about in Country Roads, Take Me Home. Watching a farmer on his tractor bringing hundreds of sheep into another field, or watching a canal lock keeper man the locks for boats, having a beer inside a barge, and getting buzzed with local people my age, I felt at home.

The end of the day came with rain. SNAP. My chest strap broke. I had to laugh a little. Maybe it was the camera bag, maybe it was inevitable wear and tear after a year of heavy use on my backpack. A little paracord did the trick and on I went a few hundred feet until I realized I was staring at a barge that was converted into a pub. That settled it. After food and a pint canal-side, I hitched a ride to Saddle Mountain Hostel. So much for camping, now I was having a good time hosteling!

The next morning I had to book it. I was running out of time to finish the GGW. I’d need to walk about 25-30 miles per day to make it in time. Things were starting to feel rushed and even pointless. I felt anxious and kind of down, feelings I hadn’t felt at all until now. I started to consider my options: Push hard, feel miserable, finish the GGW, have your bragging rights. Or, enjoy this walk, take it in, do what you can within reason to make it to a good stopping point, and make your train back to Glasgow on time.

Eventually, I made it to Fort Augustus. I ate my feelings at a cafe and decided I wanted to prioritize experience over conquest. I could finish the GGW, but I chose not to, and I wouldn’t know what the last 40 miles would be like. But what I did know, was that those 40 miles I had done were beautiful, and I would end by standing on the hills overlooking the famous Loch Ness. There, after descending, would mark the end. 

After a number of woodland miles, I stood atop the high hills with a full view of Loch Ness. I was all alone. Cherishing it, I took a self-portrait and a handful of photographs, and put the camera away. I sat in silence, grateful for such a precious trip. Grateful to my camera for being a fine companion and means to photograph, grateful to Kat for her incredible friendship on the WHW and Ben Nevis, grateful to my fiance Alec for his unending support, and grateful to my body for carrying me. I didn’t have to complete this thru-hike. As it turned out, I had been voraciously extracting the marrow out of life every day this entire time. I wanted for nothing.