Wandering Around Talking To Rainbows

Crianlarich station is an odd place. Crianlarich is a place where for long stretches of history many roads through the Highlands meet, a hub, a stopping point on the road to many places. I’m reading a book at the moment on the Britons of Southern Scotland, and the chapter I’ve just read talked about a battle between the Scots of Dalriada and the Britons of Strathclyde having a battle near Stirling (Strathcarron to be precise) and the likelihood of the route from Argyll taking them through Crianlarich. Long and weary has that place been a stopping place along the way. It’s a place that causes me great frustration but I’ve come to hold a certain strange affection for it.

Crianlarich is the place where the northbound trains from Glasgow split off towards Oban or Fort William and Mallaig. (I know some of you are Capercaillie fans so I’ll note that this is the place where the train divides upon Lomand-side in Heart of the Highland.) Pre-Beeching there used to be a rail line that ran from Stirling across to Oban via Crianlarich (its not a large station by any standards, but far too big for somewhere that only sees three of four trains a day) and apparently there’s still a replacement bus service – albeit one I’ve never seen and which runs approximately twice a day in each direction. So when I go to Skye I get on the train at quarter to 7, change at Glasgow for the 8.20 service to Mallaig and we stop at Crianlarich about half 9 for the train to divide (half to Oban and half to Fort William and Mallaig). Crianlarich being all of a 45 minute drive from where I live, but completely unreachable that way by public transport. The first time I made that journey I was not entirely impressed to be that close to home 3 hours after I’d left the house. When we went to climb Ben Nevis, we left Stirling just after 7 in the car and were at the mountain for about quarter to 9. When I go by train I tend to arrive in Fort William about 12. Public transport outside the central belt is a farce.

The West Highland line is one of those famous ‘classic’ railway journeys. Though if you’ve ever taken it in bleak mid-winter, when the train is only two rather rundown drafty carriages long, and most of the route is shrouded in mist, you’d really wonder how it got that reputation. In summer though it lives up to its reputation, and even in winter, a nice crisp clear day shows it off the snow capped mountains, and icy pools to good affect. However, even in summer, its not really a route where you can look out the window, think ‘ooh that looks interesting’, get off the train, go and explore for a bit and then get back on the train. Everyone’s going somewhere particular, whether tourists or locals, even going for a wee jaunt needs a strict timetable, because if you miss the train its a wait of either 3 hours or tomorrow for the next service. Due to the train dividing at Crianlarich the train lingers there for a bit longer than normal, and there’s always a certain amount of movement from passengers, whether its diving out for a quick stretch of the legs or a sly fag, or the panic-filled dash of laden passengers who’ve just realised that they’re on the wrong half of the train. Lots of long-distance trains have ‘if you’re not intending to travel’ announcements to shed themselves of relatives settling in or tearfully farewelling passengers, but Crianlarich is the only place I’ve ever heard ‘if you’re not actually alighting here please get back on the train!’ Personally I’ve only got off the train once at Crianlarich, the last time I took the train that way, we stopped for considerably longer than usual. It was March, the train was in short form, and the lock on one of the toilets had jammed. I’m not sure whether the stop was more so someone could fix the lock or just because Crianlarich station has a toilet (its an unstaffed station, so no ticket office, but it does have a café, therefore a toilet), either way we sat there for ages a whole bunch of us on the platform with cameras or just admiring the view. It was a crisp spring morning, the sun was shining and it was easy to imagine how the place had been in another time when the station was busier, much more of a transport hub, to imagine a time when it might be again.