It's calling me

I spent less than a day in the Glen Coe, as part of the long and grueling West Highland Way Race. At times I was the driver, but when Scott arrived at the Glencoe Ski Area, it was clear that my services would be required for other, more important needs. I was to join him on the Way itself.

I didn’t carry my Nikon, so the pictures I have are of the upper part of the valley, not the stunning lower valley that is unique in the world.

Even so, the place has utterly imprinted on my mind. Each and every time I see it on the silver screen, I think to myself “Glencoe. A82.” and my heart yearns to return. Each time I see it, I just know it is Glencoe. I haven’t been mistaken yet—there’s something truly special about that valley and that tiny strip of tarmac at the bottom that bisects it.

My experience was cold and wet, with low hanging clouds sputtering rain and drizzle for many hours. It was 9°C at 3 in the afternoon. And yet, I desperately want to spend more time staring at those hills in awe. I desperately want to again climb the Devils’ staircase and look back to the southeast.

But for now I wait. The next trip will come when it comes. Like all good things, there’s no sense in rushing it.