Taking a train through the Scottish Highlands. An artist’s dream!

Five and a half hours on a train through rugged mountains, thick pine forest and uninhabited moors. When I read about the West Highland Railway Line from Glasgow to Mallaig, I knew I wanted to do it right away. I booked an onward journey with an overnight stay and a return for the very next day. Eleven hours on a train within 24 hours: my idea of a detox, a detour. I convinced my reluctant and long-suffering partner to come with me, thrilled when he grunted out an affirmative. 

And so here we are, at Glasgow Queen Street, where the train awaits us in its blue and yellow livery. I am satisfied to find that it looks slightly worn inside, like it has accomplished some long and rough journeys. Backpackers and hikers sit scattered around, leaving plenty of seats empty. We sit by the enormous windows, prepared to drink in the views.  It doesn’t take long to leave the buildings and telegraph poles of Glasgow behind. Gulls follow us for a while, gliding above River Clyde. We go past the Singer railway station, which was built over a hundred years ago to serve the sewing machine factory there. A familiar name to many of us who grew up in India in the 90s: my mum’s machine produced clothes for both me and my various dolls.  

A window seat on a train offers a special kind of theatrical experience: images spring to life, frame by frame. The first snow-capped mountain appears at Dumbarton, after which every scene starts to look like a frameable painting worthy of an art gallery. Steep hills ease into blue waters. As we make our way to Helensburgh Upper, the automated train announcement says unhelpfully: “We are now approaching Dumbarton.” I am delighted by the lag: there’s something about imperfection that makes everything charming. 

It’s May, and the snow is melting in large streaks of liquid white, leaking down the slopes like a vanilla ice-cream cone on a hot day. We travel beside several lochs big and small: Loch Lomond’s undisturbed waters offer a clear, opaque mirror, while Loch Long shimmers in the distance, sunshine dancing on its ripples. It takes a while for the eye to adjust to this unusual colour palette of greys and greens and browns: the Highland’s own Oil Colour Palette. 

Loch Lomond from the train 

Still Loch Lomond from the train — but the colours change quickly! 

 

In this in-between season — no longer winter but not quite summer — the land seems to still be undecided whether to burst immediately into bloom or hold back with caution. Stations pass us by: Arrochar and Tarbet. Ardlui. Crianlarich, a small village with a bright green Londis clearly visible from the train, is where the train splits into two, with some coaches taking a diversion to Oban via Lower Tyndrum, while mine continues on via Upper Tyndrum. Tyndrum is one of the smallest villages in the UK that is served by two stations. (According to the 2011 census, less than 200 people lived there!). Before we reach Upper Tyndrum, it’s as if the land has made up its mind — the scenery shifts, and leafless trees give way to a lush sweep of green. As we move on, the single-ridge mountain of Beinn Bhreac-liath stands towering over the land like an imposing plateau, the snow on top spilling over like the edges of a tablecloth.

Between Upper Tyndrum and the Bridge of Orchy lies the famous horseshoe curve, which loops around three mountains. It is quite thrilling to be able to see the tracks wind themselves around the foot of the massive hills – a clever workaround by engineers who didn’t have the money to build a viaduct across the valley. The Bridge of Orchy station is quiet and unassuming but, to my surprise, some of my co-passengers get off here. I find out that the old station building now serves as a bunkhouse for hikers and walkers in the area: I make a mental note to go back and stay there one day!

We start to approach Rannoch, a vast expanse of moorland. Here, I spot a group of deer running across the plain. It’s a sight that will stay with me forever, these animals bounding with wild abandon across a land still protected in its remoteness. Rannoch Moor is barren and boggy, unlike anything I’ve seen before. Little rivulets split the dark earth, and light sparkles in the water-filled cracks. Clumps of pine huddle together, as though seeking safety in numbers in this desolate landscape. In a stream, I see the bottle-green heads of two mallards — the colour adding a surprising pop to the otherwise muted palette. 

The world seems eerie here, silent and still.  

Rannoch Moor

The peculiar landscape of Rannoch

We head to Corrour, Britain’s highest railway station and one of the remotest parts of the country. Earthy tones here: swathes of burnt umber, sienna and beige cover the canvas. For a little relief, the blue of Lake Ossian peaks out from between thick conifers. For miles around, there doesn’t seem to be a soul. 

The bit from Corrour to Tulloch is what I would later recount as my favourite part of the journey. Loch Treig mirrors the mountains above, hugging the shore quietly. The view from the train overlooks the valley. Beside the lake, a mud path leads up to a grey building. The painter’s afterthought, a finishing touch. It looks slightly out of place, this man-made construction, in the otherwise natural, naked setting. 

Loch Treig

As we work our way towards Roy Bridge and Spean Bridge, comforting shades of green start to reappear, easy on the eyes after the almost Gothic theme of Rannoch Moor. The land grows fertile. Waterfalls tumble down hills, grassy meadows carpet the valleys. River Spean rushes over the rocks: potentially a great spot for white water rafting. At Fort William, the train almost empties out: this town is the starting point to climb Ben Nevis, the UK’s highest mountain.

In Loch Eilt, I spot a small islet (Eilean Na Mòine,) sporting a group of Scots pines, apparently a widely-photographed scene. Light strokes of branches lead to broccoli-like tufts. Hmmm… a dry brush, perhaps.

Suddenly, there is frenzied activity. Everyone crowds at the windows on the left with their cameras. We’re approaching the Glennfinnan viaduct, of Harry Potter fame. You can see the engine make its slow turn on the viaduct, over the tall, graceful arches. The train stops for a bit to allow everyone to capture their Insta-worthy shots. Trees in different stages of leaf-burst in the foreground introduce a lake (Loch Shiel), which sits in between lilac-blue mountains. To the left lies a patch of football ground in velvet green, beside a meadow that seems ready to produce wildflowers. Ah yes, some brighter colours to add to our Highland Railways Artist Palette.

Glenfinnan viaduct

The journey onwards visually softens, as the mountains become fewer and smaller. Browns become blues, and the sea and sky seem to merge in places, the horizon invisible. At Arisaig, the view is forgiving and welcoming: a wide, calm sea. It’s almost like the topography is now tired of the ups and downs and wants something level, peaceful. Yachts dot the waters, and the silvery beaches of Morar shine. The sea takes on more and more colour as we get closer to our final stop. Mallaig is as picturesque as it had sounded: a charming little fishing village with a sky full of gulls. The train comes to a halt.

It’s now time to bring out the Scottish Seaside Watercolour Set.

The fishing village of Mallaig

 

 

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More pictures

Corrour station

 

The horseshoe curve with the Auch viaduct below

The very impressive Beinn Bhreac-liath

The train approaches Mallaig station

Inside the train

Excellent collection of railway books at the second-hand bookshop in Mallaig

If you’re interested in exploring the Highlands, Walk Highlands is a great place for resources.

Also read: Train journey of a lifetime: 42 hours on the Konkan Railway