FAMILY TIES AT THE FORT

Saturday, October 24, 2015
Fort William, Scotland, United Kingdom
Long before I actually bought any tickets for this journey, I knew that Fort William would be part of my trip. Thanks to my mother, I know that my fifth great grandfather, Alexander McNaughton, was born in or around Fort William on August 11th of 1750. The Fort, or An Gearasdan in Gaelic, isn't where the McNaughton clan was originally located (that being around Argyll), but this was close to the only specific location in Scotland that we have in tracing the family tree. Thus, I knew I had to go.

Getting to Fort William from Glasgow is a four-hour train journey - a stunning, gorgeous, splendid climb into the highlands . Even if you don’t stay overnight at the Fort, book the trip just to see the landscape. Oddly enough, I ended up sitting next to a woman that I had befriended in the station. It was odd as it’s a large station, there are six tracks, and each train holds a lot of bodies. The fact that Carol and I had begun talking in the sundries shop and ended up sitting right next to each other (in assigned seats!) was weird. It was meant to be, I guess, and I’m so glad the fates put us together! Carol lives in Prestwick, about two hours south of Glasgow, and she is some sort of medical auditor for blood services, so she makes the trek around the highland hospitals twice a year. She was a wealth of information, and provided a guided tour through the highlands, like pointing out when we were chugging through the estate of Ian Fleming, the author and creator of James Bond. On top of that she was delightful company. It was cheering to have a friend for the journey.

The highlands are as grand as they say - craggy peaks and munros shrouded in mist, expansive moors dotted with bogs and ponds that reflect the stormy skies above, and the occasional shaft of sunlight that pierces through the layers of gray. And when the small, pure cerulean patches of blue sky appear, well then. Breathtaking. I’m starting to sound like a broken record, I know, but it’s true. It’s a wild landscape, and it instills a sense of smallness, the perspective that we truly are just tiny dots in a very big universe . The air is intensely clear, and I gobbled it up in large breaths. It’s cold up here, cleansing. The wind whooshes around the Fort, causing the autumn leaves to create small burnt orange and brown tornados. There’s a river here, and my B&B sat just on it, at the entry to Glen Nevis, one of the most beautiful Glens in Scotland. Its sweet song was a lovely backtrack to my three days in the area.

I had great hosts, a couple named Kevin and Brenda, hence the name Brevins House for the B&B. They served a delicious hot meal every morning complete with nutty, gluten free bread! I had the place all to myself for the first two days, and it was extremely comfortable and nearly new! I was just about 15 minutes outside of city center, though Fort Williams can’t really be called a city. Just like the tiny bodies walking through it, The Fort is a small but strong outpost at the base of Ben Nevis, the tallest peak in the United Kingdom. I walked down to grab some dinner my first night there and it was basically deserted except for the small bands of weary hikers coming off the West Highland Way, a 96-mile trek from Glasgow . I was able to find one of the few open pubs and ate a surprisingly tasty, hot meal before calling it a night. 

The next morning I got up early and took off towards Neptune’s Staircase, a famous series of locks on the Caledonian Canals. From the suggestion of Kevin I headed to the Great Glen Way, another popular trek through the highlands. I’ve officially done seven miles of it now, and boy were they divine. The small sliver that I walked took me with the river Lochy through several landmarks. My favorite was the ruin of Inverlochy Castle. Originally the seat of the clan Comyn, Inverlochy was built in 1280. TWELVE EIGHTY. Clearly, this place has a long history, and a chapter in that history includes the castle’s conquering by Robert the Bruce. I mean, the walls are still standing. The original walls. It hasn’t been altered for centuries. And here it sits, in the middle of a meadow, on the banks of the gorgeous river and I was the only soul inside it for an hour. You can actually shimmy up inside one of the turrets, and I sat there peacefully, soaking in the fact that I was sitting in the turret of a medieval castle by myself in the land of my ancestors. Chills. After scaring the crap out of two German hikers (heh heh) who entered the turret as I was sliding down, I was off to walk through the towns of Caol, Lochyside, and Corpach. The Way takes you around the bay and from Corpach you’re able to have a clear view of the whole of Fort William . The coast was COLD, with foamy white caps crashing into the beach and hungry gulls circling overhead, loudly protesting their state. I sat on a dreary playground swing and watched all of this with a stupid smile on my face, until that face became numb and I hopped on my way to warm up. Though cold, the entire morning was dry, which was an absolute blessing. After walking along the serene canal, with its gentle gurgle, tall trees and bevy of birds, I arrived at my destination, Neptune’s Staircase. I arrived just in time to see a small sailboat coming through the locks. As soon as the boat passed, the steel sponge skies were squeezed and it began to rain. There was no way I was walking back seven miles in that, so I had a cuppa and called my personal cabbie, Nairn, who took me back into town. I met Nairn when he took me to my B&B from the station. He’s an interesting fellow, and was the driver for the many film crews throughout the years for many productions like Braveheart, Harry Potter, Outlander etc… His sons were all extras in Harry Potter! A great tour guide, and very nice man. 

Back on High Street I visited the West Highland Museum, which is a great spot with so much history spanning the centuries old traditions of the clans to the Scot’s more recent involvement in World War II and the use of the highlands as training grounds for their elite Green Berets. One of the docents there suggested I go to the Ben Nevis Book Corner to chat with it’s owner, Ian, about my ancestor, as Ian is a bit of a genealogy nerd and a lifetime resident of The Fort . We had a lively chat, where he showed me his own family tree, on the original scroll, spanning over 200 years, which he also just keeps rolled up under his desk – NBD. He gave me the number of a close friend of his, Dugauld McNaughton, presumably a long lost relative, and someone who has traced the McNaughton clan back for centuries. I have yet to call him, as Ian warned that it would probably be a lengthy conversation, but to have his number is awesome.

For the last day of my time in Fort William, I hopped aboard The Jacobite steam train, more popularly known nowadays as The Hogwarts Express. Pretty freaking cool. I had booked a first class cabin, which look exactly like the cabins in the movie, where Harry discovers chocolate frogs and Bertie Bott’s Every Flavored Beans. I had booked this journey before I knew about the Potter connection, as it’s a gorgeous journey up into the town of Mallaig, a small coastal town in the upper highlands. On the way it stops in Glenfinnan, which has the impressive Viaduct which is also featured in Harry Potter . Not it’s only claim to fame, nearby is where Bonny Prince Charlie raised his banners to begin the Jacobite Uprising of 1745. I was with five other people who were all very nice and taught me some Scottish words, not all of them bad! Our two hour stopover in Mallaig was mostly spent inside, hiding from the fierce sea wind that easily pierced through my layers and chilled to the core. A hard landscape, but beautiful it its own way. 

I am full of gratitude today with the knowledge of the fact that I’ve been here. That I’ve seen it, and not only seen it but loved it. Maybe it’s a bit silly, but I do feel ties here. There’s something that echoes in my heart, deep within. To know that this was once home to my people is a grand thought. Fort William was the birthplace of one of them, yes, but the West Highlands were home to all of my ancestors - both the McNaughtons and the McAllisters. To imagine their life, and to do so standing perhaps where they once stood, once lived. To see the same crags and moors and rivers and to touch stones that have stood for longer than before even they were alive... Grateful. Though that small word can't begin to cover it, and as it's uttered it too is swept away in a gust to swirl through the peaks, perhaps echoing where those ancestors can hear and know. I came home. 

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2025-02-08

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