This is my highlight from Day 6 of our recent trip to Scotland to drive the NC500 route.
The links for the itinerary and recap of this day are below. I hope one day you experience this magical route for yourself.
Wailing widow falls is 50 foot high and flows off a nearby Loch. Read the linked blog below to find out about our eventful walk to see the waterfall from above and why this part of the day was such a turn in the other direction.
As you will gather, the day so far had been really special. Smoo Cave, pristine beaches and a shoe losing incident that had me nearly peeing my pants. Although I did have to pee behind some heather eventually or actually pee my pants. The whole trip so far had been a test on whether my sciatic nerve would let me walk where and when I wanted to. So far so good. Arthurs Seat. Duncansby Stacks. Big Burn Falls. All amazing days with the stubbornness in me pushing my body to its painful limits.
Wailing Widow falls presented a new idea of waterfalls to this lover of the cascading beauties. It flows directly from Loch na Gainmhich and having seen it partially from above, it was an exciting thought to see it from the riverbed below.
Advertised as being one of the easiest and shortest walks in Scotland, my feet and back were thrilled at the idea. Something that excites me about hiking is how new it still feels to me. Having travelled extensively but never really done the Uk breaks before, I have a newfound love for hiking. It started in August 2021 when we took a short break to Northumberland and fell head over heels for the challenges of hiking the hills to reach the rewards waiting at the end of the trails. This is where my obsession with waterfalls started and in 2 short days we had hiked to 4 complete stunners. We also turned our feet to the trail alongside Hadrian’s wall to Sycamore Gap. As a complete novice, my only real piece of walking attire are my boots. When I slip them on I feel powerful and I trust them to stop me slipping and tripping. Other clothing is simple layers under a thick fleece gilet and beanie hat. I am yet to look into proper waterproofs as shopping while living in a bigger body is fraught with frustrations and feelings of inadequacies. And yet, so far, the odd rain shower has not deterred us from taking on the northern temperatures and changes in weather.
As someone who has and does travel for pleasure, I have questioned myself quite often in the past year as to why this new found enjoyment of walking has become so embedded into who I am. The pleasures I usually find on holidays are wandering around a city or laying on a beach. I sometimes wonder if this new obsession will run its course, as is so often the case for new found hobbies, and yet we are already in the midst of planning two more hiking holidays. I think something I don’t want to face up to a lot of the time is not having the confidence to do these things. I will still catch myself looking at other people on hikes and wonder what they are thinking when they are looking at me. Are they questioning whether I should be on these walks? Hell, on Arthurs seat, I came down from the top scooting on my bum and felt quite embarrassed as it is one of the first hikes we have done where we have been surrounded by hoards of people. The usual places we go to are really quiet. I scooted down the sides of two secluded waterfalls in Northumberland last year, got covered in mud and didn’t care an iota. I hate the part of myself that desperately clings to others’ perceptions of me on the path of loving myself.
I believe the reason I have enjoyed hiking so much is coming to realise that the body I live in and have hated for so long is capable of so much more than I give it credit for. Having spent many vacations walking around cities and the odd day spent trailing across London I know that my walking endurance has always been there. Yet something about the hills, rocky slopes and stumbling pathways of the UK feels different. It feels like an accomplishment to return to the car, coated in grime and sweat, having been out in the elements relying only on my body’s strength to get me through. There have been times when a simple guide on the internet will describe the walk as 2 miles and yet when you are on trail you realise this is most definitely not the case. But by the time your brain catches up with your feet and logic kicks in you are invested and it no longer matters. The journey is just as important as the ending. The legs once so fat in your mind’s eye are pushing on. The only thing that stops them is you.
That is why when planning our trip to Scotland it was less about Edinburgh and the towns and more about hikes and rivers and lochs and everything in between. Both Mr W and I feel such a great need to keep this new love for the outdoors alive that we have approached travelling in this fresh way without too much trepidation.
Maybe that is why when my confidence came crashing down around me I took it so badly.
As I said above, the advice online about the walk to Wailing Widow falls said it was a short and simple walk. We had already noticed that the western side of the Highlands was much soggier than the east and yet armed with our boots we ventured onto the trail heads held high. From only about 10 metres into the walk we noticed just how different this was from other walks we had taken in the UK. Where most trails were signposted. This was not. Where most walks had clear pathways. This did not. Where other walks had rails or even trees to cling to. This DID NOT. In fact the only picture I can paint in your mind is this. Imagine a fast flowing river on your right. It isn’t deep, it’s very clear and it is very cold. Rather than running alongside a well defined river bank, there are rocks and custard thick pools of mud that meet the waters edge. In front of you are a few deeply set footprints in the mud which help you navigate the way. The ‘path’ is not flat and seems to follow a very up and down pattern much like a constant seesawing motion along the riverbank. When the ground levels out there are enormous boulders you have to climb, stretch and pray your way over. You pray that the mud on your boots won’t cause you to slip. The rocks in the ground are not steadfast and they too seesaw in their muddy grottos under your feet.
Now, I am a stubborn person. I will always try before walking away. In fact we made it over 60% along this trail before I realised that my anxiety was taking over and my brain was no longer operating my limbs. For every step I took Mr W was checking the route beforehand. If the mud wasn’t threatening to slide my legs into the river the moving forwards were going to throw me in. After 30 minutes or so, my anxiety exploded out of my body in one of, if not THE, worst panic attacks I have ever had in my life. My whole being sensed the danger and I started shaking and crying. I clung to my husband with actual fear flooding through my veins. He tried to get me to calm down and yet I felt like I was going to die. Looking back, I know if I had fallen in the water, other than being cold and wet, I would not have died and I would have been able to stand quite easily in knee deep water. And yet, on that riverbank, with the unsteady boulders and boulders and thick mud, my brain and the logic it brings with it, shut down.
As I stood in absolute fear and panic, two women walked towards us having completed the trek. I turned quickly to hide my face. It was a response I didn’t question at the time but it is only now I know why I didn’t want them to see me. With my face strewn with tears and my lip quivering I didn’t want to be the fat girl who couldn’t complete the walk. Who am I to think they even cared about me, albeit if you see someone crying, you naturally want to check if they are okay. But who am I to think that they are considering my weight and my ability over their own footfall. My god, I need to get out of this pattern of thinking. At that moment in time, those ladies were watching their feet and the sketchy landscape around us a whole lot more than thinking about my dress size.
The truth of the matter is, and something Mr W and have spoken about at length, is that trail is really dangerous. Upon further investigation online I found a lot of advice about the walk that said how risky it was. With a clear mind upon our return I naturally started thinking about each day and visit and what they entailed. When I thought of this particular visit I started piecing together the images and realised that the slopes of the riverbank had slipped and we had been navigating the aftermath of rock and earth.
I am also now very aware that my confidence in hiking will take a hit now and again because no walk is ever going to be the same. Just because my ability is better than I thought it initially was does not mean I can do everything. When I see other people looking at me in such a mess I naturally think they are seeing my weight and coming to their own conclusions. Fortunately I have given myself a massive figurative slap round the face. My weight does not stop me stepping onto muddy river banks. Nor does it stop me balancing on a rock that is moving under my feet. My fear stops me doing those things. I am afraid because it is a new situation. I am still learning about my abilities in this new hobby.
That day, my confidence took a massive hit. I stood shaking and hysterical amongst those muddy boulders clinging to Mr W with my entire being because fear had finally found me. Why then, have I set out to describe this visit as a highlight to you?
Sitting in the car afterwards, I felt the flooding of anger replace my fear. As we drove to our next stop I watched the mountain ranges and let their calming influence take hold of me. This was one moment in a wonderful day. You have to take the bad with the good. Not two hours before had I been bent double, clenching my legs together, unable to breathe through the laughter. This was not a bad day. It was a bad paragraph in what was a pretty phenomenal chapter.
I still sit here and regret not overcoming my fears that day. I regret that so far I haven’t seen that waterfall and I regret crumbling so much like that riverbank. My fear in the moment engulfed my stubbornness to carry on and I learned that as much as I need to recognise the strengths in my body, I need to acknowledge the weaknesses too. There was a reason for me to be scared that day. I had reached the limits of what I was used to and what I could push myself to do. As someone living in a bigger body and hating that body for my whole life I will always blame my size for my physical limitations and yet that day it was my mind that stopped and said no. As someone who has been bigger than most people my age in every situation I will also put limitations on what I should or should not be doing. Don’t get up and dance at the wedding reception, I tell myself, people will only stare. Don’t wear the dungarees, it’ll show your belly in a way people aren’t used to. Don’t hike that river, your legs can’t carry you.
What a load of bull. Since covid I have danced at parties without the need of an alcoholic drink to stop that voice. I have bought dungarees and am slowly starting to change my wardrobe to reflect the style I think I like. It is hard to say if I do like something for sure or not because I don’t think I’ve ever found a style I am comfortable in, but that is one huge other discussion I will find time to go over at some point. I have believed my legs can carry me over hills, rock faces and treacherous river banks. It is only when my mind shut my body down that I recognised the weaknesses in me deserve a voice. And they have nothing to do with my weight.
Framework Travel 