A fitting day in Glen Coe

We took a hike out to Glen Coe on Sunday, which is the site of one of the most tragic highland massacres in the history of Scotland. The place is stunningly beautiful and I've always wanted to go back and hike the mountains. This weekend I had my chance.

Unfortunately, the weekend was filled with mini-disasters and poor luck, which kept it from being a perfect weekend, but despite all of that, it was still fun. On Saturday, I spent the entire day reading a PhD dissertation of a friend of mine for corrections and comments. It was a bit more arduous than I expected and I only got through 70 of the 110 pages. She was very appreciative of the feedback and we had a great discussion over coffee about Scottish identity, which is the focus of her thesis. That, however, accounts for the entirety of Saturday.

In order to make the hike for Glen Coe, we (five of the students- Laura, Teirnan, Laura, Margaret, Brittany, and I) had to wake up at 4:30am to catch a cab to the Edinburgh Bus Station. We drug ourselves out of the residence halls and called the cab. While waiting, a fox came up to us from the bushes, obviously used to the presence of humans and used to being fed. In the spirit of the Festival, I'd like to think of this as his equivalent of busking for handouts and tips. I was shocked, he actually licked my hand, though I wasn't really asking him too.

We all arrived at the bus station and cued up for the bus, when I realized I didn't have my camera with me. This upset me a great deal because I was sure I brought it with me in the cab. I remembered wanting to take a picture of the fox, but deciding not to since getting it out of the bag might scare it off. I quickly realized that I must have left the camera in the cabbie, or on the ground at the residence halls. I called the cab company and the front desk to no avail. It took a few hours on the bus to calm myself down, furious with myself, and knowing that I wasn't going to find the camera again. An hour later I got a phone call from both, confirming what I already knew - they didn't have the camera. After four hours on the bus, sleeping fitfully, we arrived in Glen Coe.

I was disappointed and frustrated, but on the upside, I didn't miss any glorious picture opportunities because the day was rainy and grey. To the human eye it was still stunning, but the camera lens would not have done the mist justice. Accidentally, I had us disembark on the wrong stop, and as a result, we had to walk a mile and a half to get to the trail head. The walk was along the highway with cars speeding by, but the scenery was still impressive in the morning air, and the slugs, some black, some brown, were crawling across the grass at our feet, testing the air with fleshy antennae, which I found fascinating. It was all I could do, however, as we rushed along, not to flatten them with my boot as we trod past.

We finally arrived at the trail head, and at this point those who have been on a hike with me before will be shaking heads. The instructions on my guidebook said drop down the grassy knoll, which we did, down to the path below. What it failed to say was there was a path down the grassy knoll, and instead I took us through a marshy bit that appeared solid at first glance, but was not. My compatriots should have turned around at that moment.

We found the path, and started walking up through a beautiful valley filled with boulders and rock walls. The River Coe beneath us was stunningly clear and we made our way up through two of the three sisters (three peaks that are iconic to the Glen Coe area) much as the Macdonalds did when they attempted to escape from the Cambells during the Glen Coe Massacre. We found ourselves in The Lost Valley, aptly named because we were soon lost.

In my defense, trails often just disappear in Scotland and are rarely marked well. What I needed was some elevation to figure out where the path was, and more importantly the guide told us to keep right (when in fact it should have told us to cross the burn). We started picking our way up what we thought was the valley's headwall, a slope covered with scree and loose rocks that amounted to a scramble. We were bolstered by the fact that a very able looking hiker took the path in front of us, and we followed. Instead, it was a one hour scramble up a boulder feild. Halfway up, I realized we never should have come this way, but it was too dangerous to descend where we were, and so we decided to forge ahead, hoping the path would appear below us. It did, but was on the other side of the valley. Up, up, we climbed, hands working in unison with legs, up and over, picking the most stable rocks, carefully navigating the field, back bent parallel to the grade of the slope. I was proud of us all, however, both in our caution and in our spirits. No one complained, we all just enjoyed what we could (though it was a bit nerve-wracking at times). At the top, we realized our error to its full extent, and proceeded to descend down the grassy slope (far more stable than the scree we had crossed before, and make our way across the valley's dried up stream bed to pick up the trail again. Unfortunatly, it began to rain, making the grass slick and dangerous. Greg, the the Polish guy we followed up the rocks, admitted that he was lost, and we all helped one another down to safety.

When we got to the bottom, we cracked open some refreshments that I had intended to save when we reached the top of the peaks, but it seemed fitting considering the spot we had just gotten ourselves out of.

We took stock of our situation and realized that we no longer had enough time to make the rest of the hike before the last bus arrived in Glen Coe, so we decided to pack it in and go to a pub for some hot food and a chance to dry off.

Cold, wet, and grinning like idiots, we made our way back, this time down the path. We called a cab and were taken to a place called Boots (Jen, did we go here!?!?!? I had a huge moment of deja vu). The food was great, the drink was great, everything was great. We laughed, and made the most of a cold, rainy day.

We left the pub at around 4:40pm to catch our bus at 5:40pm. the barkeep had informed us that it was 1.5 miles away, and we decided to trot it. What he meant by 1.5 miles, however, was 2.5 miles, and we BARELY made the last bus back with only five minutes to spare.

All said and done, however, thought tired and exhausted, we all agreed that it was a series of mistakes and bad luck that helped make a truly memorable day, and I think we are all glad we did it. (In short, it was a classic Justin-bad-decision moment).

When I got back to the residence hall, I confirmed that the camera was not there. I'm a bit upset about it, but I know there is nothing I can do. I won't be taking any more hikes while I'm here, so I won't be missing out on an opportunity or anything. It is just very disappointing.

Fitting for Glen Coe - the valley of weeping.

I still love it here. :)