Fairy Pools, Glencoe and Hagrid

We planned an early launch from our AirBnb to beat the crowds to the famed Fairy Pools of Instagram, our last official stop on our Skye Grand Tour. We arrived at the car park around the sweet spot of 8:00, finding official flourescent-vested guys already directing folks where to park. We crossed the road and hit the trail, walking along a clear glass river with multiple waterfalls and translucent pools, surrounded, as ever, by mountains.

Apparently during summer months, the trail is very crowded with nary an unpopulated pool. On our way up, a single naked couple was taking a tentative dip in one of them. In full view of the trail, but sure. Also brr chilly. Other than this nudie tourist sighting, we had the place to ourselves.

We at last came to the most popular spot of the journey – for good reason.

On our return, many people were venturing up the trail clad in all manner of clothing and footwear, bringing along dogs, kids and so on. It’s hard not be feel concerned about the beating this magical place takes every single day.

Honestly the struggle against going full misanthrope is real.

To add grist to the argument in favor, our next stop was Eilean Donan Castle, another star of stage, screen and Instagram. I had thought it was a ruin. I had never seen shots of the inside of the castle, and generally exterior photos are entirely bereft of people, incredibly romantic, secluded and mysterious. Well. It’s a beautiful castle to be sure, but it has the honor of being the only thing in Scotland that hasn’t entirely exceeded my expectations.

The original castle was built in the thirteenth century. A founding legend tells us that the son of a chief of the Mathesons had the ability to communicate with birds, and as a result, after many adventures overseas, he gained wealth, power, and the respect of Alexander II, who asked him to build the castle to defend his realm. The castle later ended up in the hands of the MacKenzie and McRae clans. The MacKenzies claim that Robert the Bruce sought shelter there. Even though there is zero evidence of this, I’ll allow it.

At last, after hundreds of years of defending the realm, Eilean Donan’s story came to a close. In response to the MacKenzies’ involvement in the early Jacobite risings, government ships destroyed the castle in 1719. It was gone.

Or was it. Incredibly, the castle was rebuilt in the early 1900s. While the Edinburgh-based architect followed the extant ground plan, the details are different, as many of the original plans weren’t discovered until after the reconstruction. It looks cool, no doubt, and as such is one of the most visited castles in Scotland. It has also been a shooting location for a bunch of movies, including a stint as the Scottish headquarters of the MI6 in The World is Not Enough, filmed during James Bond’s unfortunate Pierce Brosnan period.

You guys. It’s like Disneyland and I mean that in the worst possible way. Besides the fact that the castle was recently entirely reconstructed, and so is pretty much fake, it’s flanked to the south by a giant car park. Giant. Packed to the gills with cars and buses. Directly in front of it is a visitor center campus, including a cafe and gift shop. Yuck.

Even so, since we were there and all, we toured the castle. Yet another lock of the Bonnie Prince’s hair is on display, even though Charles could not have had any connection to the castle since it didn’t exist during his lifetime. Unlike Flora MacDonald’s specimen, this one is substantial enough that I wondered whether someone had to hold the Prince down to get it. I suspected that it could be a prop for the tourists. Finally, in all fairness to me for my very mistaken impression of this place, the reason I’ve never seen photos of the inside of the castle is that you are strictly speaking NOT ALLOWED to take inside photos. This is the first such warning I’ve seen in laissez-faire Scotland.

So at last, after all the build-up, here are my pics. Note the absence of people. These photos might accurately reflect a brief moment in time, but they are, in their overall essence, a lie.

A side note: my apologies for complaining about tourists. After all, I am one. And don’t get me wrong, the vast (seriously, vast) majority of our time in Scotland has been a marvel of existence in a remote, wild and magical place with very few people. All of my other photos are accurate representations of the solitude we experienced. It is this sense that you are the only person in the world which makes it so jarring and mellow-harshing to encounter other humans. The fact that there are tourists at tourist spots should be a surprise to nobody, including me. But it’s fun to rant.

We bailed from Eilean Disney Donan and fled toward Glencoe, our next destination. We drove down the stunning, impossibly green valley surrounded by towering mountains, completely in awe. And I would be remiss if I didn’t give a shout-out to the “Three Sisters” which I love because we have mountains by the same name in the Central Oregon Cascades.

The glen holds eight of Scotland’s munros and thus is a haven for mountain-baggers. As you can see, the terrain is incredibly steep and the trails are vertical, none of this switchback nonsense.

Glencoe is beautiful, unreal and unspoiled even with tourists. It’s a wonder how so many of them pull over into the car park, snap a photo, and bounce. They can easily be ditched simply by taking a few steps down a trail. We hiked along one that borders the River Coupall (thanks for the recommendation Paul and Melisse!) which was otherworldly. I honestly don’t even know what to say about it.

After a couple of miles I continued on alone and Scotland was giving me all the magic. I kept thinking if I kept going I’d reach the notch of the valley, but the longer I walked, the more it retreated into the distance. Metaphor alert. Some things you can never reach because the journey is the thing.

Which brings to mind – and I haven’t yet mentioned this – my dad died in January of this year a few days after I lost a dear friend and it has all been extremely difficult. Sometimes I wonder whether I have fully processed their departures or what that even means really. Anyway, my dad has taken to showing up at random times, and he joined me as I finally abandoned my quest to reach the end of the valley, turned and headed back. Dad never expressed an interest in Scotland, but I think he would have loved it and I did miss telling him about Dougal and driving on the wrong side of the road. The loss hit me anew right there in the middle of one of the most beautiful spots on the planet. I know this will continue to happen forever and that’s okay. I have graduated from nearly debilitating grief to a sadness that dances near the edge of being comforting. The odd thing is that I’m still so surprised that he left. I knew he wouldn’t live forever but I also thought he would somehow.

Being in this place I love has brought me a lot of peace and maybe a smidge of healing. My patronus charm is easily cast here. I have no idea why, but I feel stronger, more connected and more fulfilled moving through these hills. And completely happy. When I see myself in photos the difference in my face is remarkable. A reminder to stop making life about moving from one thing to the next, errand after errand, accomplishment after accomplishment, dealing with thing after thing after yet another thing. It takes a toll to live like that. Much better to move through the hills and accept the solace they offer.

And so. Speaking of the patronus charm, here is your segue alert.

The next day we walked an embellished version of the Glencoe Orbital Track, which launches from the charming town itself and features fabulous stops and points of interest, including (spoiler alert) Hagrid’s Hut. You heard me. The track is billed as an hour-long walk but of course somehow we extended it to about eight miles. YES.

Along our way, we stopped to pay our respects at the Glencoe Massacre Memorial. At this point I wonder whether you have grown weary of history. Too bad, it’s not your blog. Glencoe is perhaps most well-known, from a historical perspective, as the site of the infamous Glencoe Massacre of 1692. The story, stripped to its bones, is that the MacDonald clan, settled within the glen, was delayed in affirming its allegiance to the crown of William and Mary, demanded in the face of rising Jacobite sentiment around the Highlands. There was actually a massive misunderstanding about whether the clan had timely made the oath. The crown, nevertheless affronted, decided to make an example and ordered the 128 Scottish government forces who had been quartering there for 12 days – taking advantage of the legendary Highland hospitality – to kill everyone. While some soldiers refused, and others tried to warn the MacDonalds in preceding days, enough remained to do the job. The soldiers turned on their hosts in the early morning hours and butchered them, men, women and children up and down the glen. Many of those who made their escape froze to death. The leader of the massacre was one Archibald Campbell, 10th Earl of Argyll. The Campbells and the MacDonalds had been feuding since the days of Robert the Bruce, but the massacre was a bridge too far and the Campbells have not been forgiven to this very day.

Our trail passed the legendary 300 year-old Clachaig Inn, a favorite lodge for hikers and climbers. We enjoyed a lovely lunch after snapping a photo of the notorious “No Camerons” sign posted at check-in, much to the annoyance of the woman behind the desk who I fear would liked to have massacred me in the wee hours.

Next we walked to one of the iconic white houses in the glen, much photographed for obvious reasons, and then up to a waterfall.

One more parting shot (I swear) re: tourists on buses. Here they are piled up on the bridge leading to the house. Which, by the way, is privately owned and occupied.

And shall we end with Hogwarts? As you probably know, many of the later Harry Potter movies were filmed in Scotland. Because obviously that is where Hogwarts would be. Along the trail we swung by the very spot where the set of Hagrid’s Hut was constructed. Most notably the location where Buckbeak almost lost his head in Prisoner of Azkaban. What I love the most is that “Hagrid’s Hut” is literally marked on Gaia, my hiking app.

That evening we had dinner at my favorite restaurant since the Michelins, Lochleven Seafood Cafe. The company started as supplier of shellfish to restaurants and gradually morphed into a fabulous restaurant in its own right. They mostly offer shellfish with some sides. It’s brilliant. The fresh langoustines were out of this world.

Looking ahead to the final days of our trip, I’m excited about my Inverness birthday plans but a little leery about having to test negative for COVID to return to the states. It’s actually the Binax home antigen test that we all have stockpiled in a bathroom drawer, but it’s five times more expensive and you take it on video with a medtech person verifying results. There’s a bar code so you can’t cheat. If you test positive you have to quarantine in your location for ten days, which wouldn’t be bad if there were any hotels rooms to be had and if you weren’t entirely sick of your clothes. This is out of whack with current science so is mostly performative, and we’re the only country that retains this requirement, but the CDC is standing firm. Even if that hurdle is cleared, my only-an-hour layover in Amsterdam is looming around the edges of my travel anxiety as well. But no time for that. It’s time to head back to Inverness.