Long Memories

The day began with  me busing back to the airport to meet JP. All went well and we were off to pick up our car from the rental lot. Our car turned out to be the size of a fisher-price walking car that you see in elementary school playgrounds, but we made it work. After almost hitting five different things on the way out of the lot, we found ourselves on the way to Glencoe.

If you know what the road signs mean here in Scotland, drop me a note. Signs like ‘heavy plant crossing’ still have me scratching my head. I’m waiting to see the fern on the side of the road grow legs, jump the 500 year-old wall and run across the road in front of the car. The majority of Scottish roads (or those we’ve been on so far) are two lanes and are lined by stone walls or hedges, with rolling green farmland on either side. That doesn’t stop the 18-wheelers rolling through at about 60 mph, with a 2-foot gap between us and them. Adrenaline on tap.

We stopped in a small town – Callander – for lunch. It was our first glimpse of rural Scotland not from behind a pane of glass, and it was great. Everyone was very friendly. I was very aware of my accent, and it seemed like everyone around me was as well. JP and I definitely got some looks. Yes, we’re American and yes, we threw your tea on the harbor. Lunch was a delicious mince and tatties (I’ll let you figure that one out) and we were on our way.

We rolled into the Glencoe valley and were instantly blown away. The formations are unlike anything I’ve ever seen. First off, there are essentially no trees. The mountains curve into a bowl-like valley and then go back up again on the other side, forming an epic panorama. Without any trees it’s very hard to gain perspective on how big these mountains are.

We found our inn, right smack in the middle of the valley and more than you could ask for. Scottish hospitality at its finest with three pubs on the premises. We decided to drop everything and go for a run, and we found ourselves running down a dirt road that was probably there since 1250. We headed up the canyon at one point, not really knowing where we were going, and popped up into an expansive valley high up in the mountains. It was invisible from down below – we found out later that we happened to wander into the Lost Valley. Apparently a local clan hid all their stolen cattle up there, which makes perfect sense. On our way back we ran passed two guys having a Guinness in a parking lot in front of a camper, with one of the guys playing a bagpipe. Can it get any more authentic? We figured in the US it would be PBR and Tim McGraw blasting from the speakers.

This stolen-cattle family has something of a violent history. In the entrance to the inn there is a sign that says, “no huskers or campbells”. Glencoe is known in Scottish history for the Glencoe Massacre of 1692. Long story short a member of the Campbell family betrayed the local clan, the MacDonald’s (the very same that hid all the stolen cattle up in the Lost Valley). So here we are in the US with 250 year-old ideas about government and justice. Here in Scotland they have 350 year-old grudges. Lesson of the day: don’t piss off a Scot.

Dinner was a steak n ale pie washed down with a Scottish casked stout (phenomenal), followed by a whisky tasting event. They essentially had six shots lined up on the table for drinking within the hour – that would basically be considered binge drinking in the US. And here we were watching some guys at the table next to us clean up the place. Talk about getting drank under the table. We tried many different types – the 30-year-old whisky was great (of course). Two tips: never put ice in your whisky, and adding a drop or two of water is fine and almost expected. It changes the taste (whether for the better or not is up to you).

Day 2 in Glencoe saw us go on an 8-hour scramble up on one of the ridges bordering the valley. The highlight was walking a 3000-ft ridge for several hours. Midway along the ridge is a series of pinnacles that you are forced to scramble over to keep going. In the winter, people ice climb it with ropes and ice picks. The ranger at the visitor center said ‘ah you’ll be fine laddies!’ (alright I added the laddies, but he could have said it). We were scrambling up (and down) these pinnacles of rock with about a 1000-ft drop on either side. The ridge at times was about 3 feet across with similar drops – I tested my knowledge of the French language several times, and made up new words of my own. The views, though, from the top were absolutely incredible. Long valleys, lochs in every direction and waterfalls that made the valley look like Milford Sound dominated the landscape. We had the pleasure of having the company of the Scottish Royal Airforce a few times throughout the day – a fighter would occasionally buzz the valley. It will probably be the only time I will ever say that I was standing higher than a flying fighter jet. Bring it! I have the high ground!

We worked our way along the ridge, watched some mountain goats bang their heads together and then lost the trail as we tried to head down the mountain. We eventually found it after some creative trailblazing, and worked our way back to ‘the best pub in the world…probably’ that was our inn for a deserved pint.

Off to the Isle of Skye tomorrow – hopefully the heavy plants will cross the road quickly.