1. Arriving in Fort William: First Impressions
Stepping off the train in Fort William in early August felt like stepping into a painting—one that constantly changes its palette with the shifting light, cloud cover, and sudden bursts of sunshine. The fresh scent of damp earth and heather lingered in the air. Rainclouds hung low on the horizon, their edges tinged with light, and every surface shimmered with moisture.
I’d read enough about Scottish weather to come prepared, but nothing really captures the experience of being surrounded by towering hills cloaked in mist, their peaks occasionally piercing the clouds. The town itself is charming, small enough to feel intimate but surrounded by vast, untamed beauty. It immediately made me realize how important it is to pack with precision.
2. The Reality of August Weather in Fort William
I had this romantic idea that August would be warmer, maybe even mild enough for T-shirts and light cardigans. The reality was more nuanced. On paper, Fort William’s average August temperature hovers between 11°C to 18°C (roughly 52°F to 64°F). That might sound reasonable, but the truth lies in the layers—of both weather and clothing.
Over the course of the first few days, I experienced bright sunshine, gusty winds, short but heavy rain showers, mist, and even moments where the temperature dropped enough that I wished I’d packed a pair of gloves. What stood out the most was how quickly conditions changed. One moment, I was peeling off a jacket under a burst of sunlight; the next, I was ducking under a pine tree to shield myself from a sudden downpour.
Humidity is constant. It doesn’t feel tropical or oppressive, but the dampness seeps into everything. My hiking boots stayed slightly wet for most of the trip, despite drying them carefully every night.
3. What I Packed: The Basics
I spent a fair bit of time researching what to bring, and still made a few missteps. Here’s what turned out to be essential:
- Waterproof jacket with a hood: This was the single most useful item in my suitcase. I wore it almost every day, whether hiking Glen Nevis or just walking along the High Street. Mine is a Gore-Tex shell—breathable, lightweight, but completely impermeable to rain.
- Mid-layer fleece: Temperatures fluctuated a lot, especially in the evenings. A zip-up fleece was perfect for layering under my rain jacket and light enough to stuff into my backpack when not needed.
- Moisture-wicking base layers: Cotton is a mistake here. I brought a couple of Merino wool tops, and they were lifesavers. Warm, breathable, and still functional even when damp.
- Quick-dry hiking trousers: Jeans stayed in my bag. I wore synthetic hiking trousers nearly every day. When they got wet, they dried fast, and they were flexible enough for scrambling over rocks or navigating muddy paths.
- Waterproof hiking boots: Trails around Fort William can be slippery, boggy, or just straight-up flooded. I slipped once in a pair of trail runners and switched back to boots with ankle support and deep treads.
- Wool socks: A few pairs go a long way. Wet feet are unavoidable, but thick socks helped me avoid blisters and stayed warm when damp.
- Hat and gloves: Not for fashion. On a morning ascent up Ben Nevis, the wind cut right through me. My beanie and thin gloves saved the experience from turning miserable.
- Daypack with rain cover: I kept essentials—map, snacks, first aid, camera, and extra layers—in a small backpack. The rain cover was used daily.
4. Layering Strategy: Day-to-Day Outfit Examples
Day 1: Exploring the Town and Loch Linnhe
My first full day was a relaxed one. I wore lightweight hiking trousers, a Merino base layer, and my rain jacket. The wind by the loch was brisk, and seagulls coasted on it like paper kites. The rain came suddenly in the early afternoon, catching a few unlucky tourists in shorts and T-shirts off guard.
Underneath my jacket, the Merino top stayed warm even as it got a little damp from the inside—no breathable material is perfect when you’re walking several kilometers in a constant mist. I’d brought an umbrella but didn’t use it. Between the wind and the uneven terrain, it felt impractical.
Day 3: Glen Nevis Hike
This was the day my boots earned their place. Glen Nevis, just a short drive away, offered a glorious mix of grassy trails, rocky inclines, and forest paths. I layered up with base layer, fleece, waterproof shell, and quick-dry trousers. It was foggy most of the way, but the air was so fresh it felt like breathing inside a cloud.
I sweated climbing uphill, then froze at the top—so the fleece layer came off and on a few times. I noticed other hikers doing the same. At one point, I was sitting by a stream, eating a granola bar, and saw the clouds part just enough to catch a beam of sun. It didn’t last, but it made the chilly descent feel lighter.
Day 5: Train Ride on the Jacobite Steam Train
On less strenuous days, I dressed for comfort more than utility. Still, I stuck with layers. A long-sleeve shirt, fleece cardigan, and a waxed cotton jacket worked well for the nostalgic ride through misty valleys and across the Glenfinnan Viaduct. It wasn’t raining, but the carriage windows fogged up with condensation, and the air outside was crisp.
Many passengers wore casual clothes, but most still had light jackets or sweaters. Fort William fashion seems to favor function: walking shoes, waterproof layers, warm fabrics. I saw very little denim, almost no dresses or skirts, and definitely no sandals.
5. Unexpected Items I Was Glad to Have
- Buff/Neck gaiter: Useful for wind protection, sun shielding, and even as a light hat when it got cold.
- Microfiber towel: Perfect for drying off after a sudden rain, especially if you’re not near shelter.
- Compact umbrella: Not for the hills, but handy in town when the wind wasn’t too strong.
- Laundry soap sheets: With unpredictable weather, I needed to wash a few base layers and socks. Quick hand-washing in the sink and drying by the radiator worked well.
- Insulated travel mug: Nothing beats hot tea while overlooking a loch.
6. Evening Outfits and Town Strolling
Evenings in Fort William were cooler. I usually changed into dry clothes—jeans, ankle boots, and a thick sweater. Dining out felt casual, even in nicer spots. No need for heels or dress shirts. A lot of people were in flannel or knitwear, and puffer jackets were the unofficial uniform of evening pub-goers.
One night, walking back from dinner, I passed a couple in full hiking gear despite the late hour. The headlamps strapped around their beanies cast small halos of light as they headed toward the trailhead, and I felt a little underdressed in my sweater and jeans.
7. Weather Tips from Locals
Chatting with locals gave me more insight than any guidebook. One shop owner told me, “If you wait five minutes, the weather changes.” That became a mantra of sorts—especially when I was tempted to skip an outing due to drizzle.
I was also advised never to trust the weather app fully. It might say “light rain,” but the reality could swing anywhere from misty drizzle to sideways sheets of water. Visual cues became more important: watching how fast clouds moved, noticing the wind pattern on the loch, or simply asking someone who’d just come down from the trail.
8. Clothing to Avoid
I saw a few people struggling in clothes that just didn’t suit the Highlands in August. Denim was a common offender—it soaks through quickly and takes forever to dry. Lightweight sneakers didn’t fare well either. One hiker in canvas slip-ons looked completely miserable after trudging through a muddy trail.
Even fashion-forward items like long trench coats or suede anything were a liability. Once wet, they weighed people down or got stained by the constant exposure to moisture.
9. Small Town, Big Weather: Living With the Elements
Weather isn’t just a condition here; it’s part of the personality of the place. Every gust of wind, patch of sunlight, or curtain of fog reshaped the scenery. I found myself looking up at the sky constantly, recalibrating plans, adjusting hoods, pulling off layers.
That unpredictability became part of the rhythm of travel. One day, the sun burst out just as I reached the banks of River Lochy, painting everything gold. Another afternoon, mist covered the hills so thickly I could barely see ten feet ahead—but the eerie quiet and the slow drip of rain off moss-covered rocks made it oddly serene.
