Journal: The Scottish Highlands (and my irrelevance)
Ben Nevis Range, The Highlands (Oct 2020)
This chap doesn’t generally do selfies. But that rule now lies in tatters — I just wanted my face in the same shot.
“You look confused to be where you are…” said one comical Instagram comment to this photo. Well, quite.
It would also be fair to say, that the best was kept until the final moments of this trip. But we’ll get to that…
Owing to this shitstorm of a year, a break outside of the UK seemed more trouble than it was worth. Therefore, an autumn trip to Scotland it was.
It was a simple trade-off: sun for sights.
All accounts informed me that the Highlands was impressive, yet still, my expectations were exceeded within about seven minutes after leaving the motorway from Glasgow.
The city was merely a starting point, one born from logic, as we then drove northwest towards Oban, our first stop.
And once you exit said motorway, so it begins.
“Wow”. Quite literally, over, and over and over again.
That one word constantly peppered the car conversation. It accompanied each peek through the golden withering trees, or every oncoming panorama.
Around every corner, along every straight; absent of any motorway dreariness, these journeys were filled with reverence.
Oban is quaint, and a perfect first stop.
Fort William, The Highlands (Oct 2020)
And with Fort William, these were our base, and not wishing to devalue their charm, as they both oozed it, but they were each merely a segue.
Crawling up the Ben Nevis range in the diminutive gondola, your expectations of the peak grows.
Having bumbled across the Nevis Range, along the Meall Beag and Sgurr Finnisg-aig paths, and it was there that the selfie duck was broken.
I don’t know what came over me — well, awe probably.
Ben Nevis Range, Scotland (Oct, 2020)
Then there was Glenfinnan, found only through tapping into Google’s resources. ‘What is worth seeing around these parts?’
Once more, breathtaking.
Glenfinnan, The Highlands (Oct, 2020)
And Mallaig, or the beaches off the Mallaig beaten track, or the hours spent slaloming our way through the many miles of the Highland’s striking vistas.
And then, the best, it was indeed kept until the final moments…
Glencoe appears like a toy-like village, to evoke memories of Postman Pat pottering around Greendale. But it was merely another recommended place to see.
As we left Glencoe behind, and with rain pummelling at our hire car we passed some isolated holiday cottages on our left…
Then, just a few seconds later, there it was: sheer magnificence.
A sight that re-iterated just how small we really are.
Glencoe, The Highlands (Oct, 2020)
We were suddenly engulfed on both sides by a rugged and powerful landscape, as blankets of cloud and fog clung to the razor-sharp edges of Aonach Eagach Ridge.
Such inclement atmospheres usually serve as a hinderance, yet here, it was uncharacteristically welcomed. It helped to carve out a looming, yet bizarrely, glorious visual.
Though it would look glorious in any season.
Stopping at the first available point I embraced the autumn drizzle, and just stood. Stood and looked, looked all around me. Arching my head and body to enable the full three-sixty tilt.
I felt engulfed and dominated, yet in a truly positive way.
Engulfed and dominated by the vast panorama, with its personality that was only enhanced by that melancholic seasonal setting.
This then induced the strangest feeling: one of total irrelevance.
My being seemed insignificant, lost against those wondrously timeless mountains. It was a very humbling experience.
This may all seem like hyperbole for the sake of a blog post, but anyone to drive a similar path along any of this 30-mile stretch of Scottish A-road, would struggle to contest my claims.
Wow.
Sometimes a three lettered word says so much more than a roving sentence teeming with evocative words.
Holidays were usually about sun and balmy evenings, but that pre-requisite is no more.
I want to go back to the Highlands.
I want to see more of this stunning part of the world.
