Day Sixty-Three - 12/11/2012 - Fort William, Scottish Highlands

     We took a very early train from Edinburgh Waverly to Glasgow Queen Street to catch the train to Mallaig through the West Highlands.  The rail ride through the Highlands is viewed as one of the most scenic in the world, and during our trip, we got complimentary postcards to that effect delivered to us by the nice lady who comes by every fifteen minutes to tempt you with hot drinks and snacks for sale.  Despite the fog and general cloud cover, the trip presented some fantastic sights.  Mountains rose out of the sea of fog.  Countless lochs (or lakes) whizzed by.  A dense forest obscured the right side of the train while a huge peak towered over its reflection in the still waters of the loch on the left.  All over, the dull brown groundcover of the Scottish heath coloured the landscape.  At times lush and green, expansive fields and bogs, other times a woody thicket.  On this four-hour train ride, I became acutely aware of the recorded voice that directs passengers at every stop.  Please mind the gap while alighting from this train.  Ultimately, we arrived despite repeated naps and a separation of trains.
     Fort William was chosen as a destination as it was the biggest city nearby the Clan Cameron lands.  If it hasn't become obvious already, I've been informed that I have ties with the Clan.  Cameron occupies two areas of the Western Highlands, Torcastle and Achnacarry, both of which lie just northeast of Fort William.  Fort William, named for William of Orange and later for Prince William, Duke of Cumberland, was established near Inverlochy, the major Cameron settlement first to control the population after Cromwell's invasion, and then later to surpress the bloody Jacobite Risings of the 18th century.  The town remained unpopular amongst the Highlanders given the ruthless battles fought by forces from the town against the Highlanders, particularly during the Jacobite Rising.  All that remains of the original fort is one wall, the fort having been demolished to make way for the rail station.  Today, the town is mostly a tourist town that attracts mountain climbers and backpackers during the summer months and skiers during the winter months.
     Arriving in November, the town was between seasons, and mostly deserted.  We wandered from the train station, thankfully finding a pub with free WiFi, which we availed of to make sense of our journey.  The pub, called Cobb's, is a chain in the Highlands, but had decent prices and of course, the elusive free WiFi.  The hostel I had booked was in Roy Bridge, which had not seemed far on the map, but was in fact over 7 km away, at least a two hour walk in unfamiliar areas.  As we had travelled so far north, it was already beginning to get dark around three in the afternoon.  There was only one bus which served Roy Bridge, and it was due in three hours.  There was nothing to do but drink.  I sampled some of the local brews from the Cairngorm Brewing Company, trying first the Red MacGregor ale.  This caused a bit of a stir amongst the locals who said I looked like ole MacGregor himself.  Unfortunately, I had no idea who they were talking about, which caused an uproar of laughter, but all in good fun.  I would later learn that Red MacGregor was something of a Scottish Robin Hood, which leads me to believe I was paid a compliment.
     As I was enjoying my beer, about to make a trip to the ATM, I received a call from the owner of the hostel, informing me that there are no supermarkets or restaurants near the hostel, and thus we must bring our own food.  This was very, very distressing news for Meng, but after much despair, we made our way to the local Tesco and stocked up for two days.  The hostel owner agreed to meet us where the Roy Bridge bus lets off to drive us the remaining 2 km to the hostel.  We took the Stagecoach bus, which was also the local school bus, and rode through more sweeping countryside.  We eventually arrived at the terminus and waited in the car park.
     A blue van pulled up with the hostel's logo imprinted on it, and the owner came out to meet us.  He promptly informed us that we arrived in the middle of off-season.  He wasn't too sure if we would be able to make it to the Isle of Skye, one of the attractions we were looking to see, but he figured we could make it to the Loch Ness, only that there were few buses serving it for the time being.  He also figured that the Clan Cameron museum would be closed, as they had a rather limited season.  To top it all off, as we were pulling into the hostel, which was a little alpine cottage tucked away in the middle of nowhere, he informed us that we were the only guests at the hostel for the next two nights.  Multiple red flags had gone off at this point, but we were 7 km from the town, and it was rapidly becoming dark.  I thanked him for the lift, and we were shown our room.  The hostel was situated near a waterfall and a forest, and I'm sure that given some light and other human presence, it would have been quite lovely.  As it was, it was becoming more and more worrisome.  It was now half four, and completely dark.  There were no streetlights or other lights in any direction save for that of our room in the hostel.  The true horror had not set in until we realized that the hostel had no WiFi.
     The hostel had some guidebooks on Ireland and the rest of the Highlands, which we spent some time reading.  I found an ad for the Clan Cameron museum  but to my dismay, I confirmed that it was closed for the season.  The night seemed to be taking a turn for the worse, and I began to wonder if it was a good idea to head to the Highlands in the first place.
     We made the best of it though, and spent the night playing Chinese Checkers and chess, before settling in for the long, sixteen-hour night.