Gathering again in Glencoe.

Here at Snail Towers we have mixed feelings about Glencoe.

It is, as anyone who has hiked, cycled or driven through it (or seen Skyfall) will know, breathtakingly, jaw droppingly, heart breakingly beautiful. It doesn't matter what time of year you go there, there is always something to delight the eye and thrill the senses. It's a magical location - indeed I've gone on about how brilliant it is at some length in the past.

So why the mixed feelings?

Well, Glencoe is a few miles south of the Caravan Club site at Bunree, and Bunree is our usual stop-over spot on the way south after a visit to Strathnaver. On our way north we tend not to hang around, which means that leisurely visits to Glencoe almost always mean we're on our way home and they can sometimes be tinged with a touch of "end of holiday blues".

So it was on this occasion. We were heading hoime from our blissful break at Grummore in the far north, and had paused for two nights at Bunree, figuring a day off from driving might make us less zombified on our return, as well as giving us a chance to spend some time taking in the aforementioned magnificence of Glencoe.

So, our one full day at Bunree began with a lazy start, a full "caravan breakfast" of bacon, eggs, fried bread and coffee, before we set out to take in the beauty of the glen. The cloud was low on this late spring day, and there was more than a hint of drizzle in the air. It didn't matter.

The heads of the hills on either side of the glen were visible, and they towered over us as we made our way from the sea level northern end of the glen, along the A82, climbing up towards the southern exit of the glen on Rannoch Moor.

If you're coming from the north, the first thing you see as you enter the glen is Loch Achtriochtan. As lochs go it's pretty tiny - you'd lose it a thousand times over in Loch Naver or Loch Shin, but as I've been insisting for most of my life, size isn't everything. This roundish sheet of water often acts as a perfect mirror, and it offers any number of perfect photo opportunities on a bright clear day as the hills and the sky are reflected in its surface. It can be heartbreakingly lovely.

This day, however, was not such a day.

The sky was grey. The clouds were low, the sky was grey and the loch was rippled by a steady breeze, so reflections were out of the question. Glencoe, like so many other stunning locations in Scotland is in no way dependent on the weather for its beauty. We drove on, up the glen, the mountains on either side of us brooding beneath leaden skies, the grey asphalt ribbon of the A82 led us up and on to the northern edge of Rannoch Moor.

Where we promptly turned around and headed back down through the glen.

You see, Glencoe is always a spectacle, but it's far more spectacular when approached from the south. Approaching from the heights of Rannoch Moor, suddenly deep grey craggy rocks rise up on either side of you as the road sweeps you around to the right, over a gorge cut by one of the branches of the rive coe with a huge waterfall on your left.

In the heat of the summer this waterfall, which drops the river coe about forty feet into the gorge, is little more than a plucky trickle. But in the spring, when the rain that Scotland is so famous for joins forces with the snow melting on the peaks of the mountains it transforms into an angry, roaring, frothing cascade. It can be truly breathtaking. The road then carries you on, through a gap cut through a towering wall of (I think) granite to form a door like entrance into the glen itself. 

And then, there you are. Coming from the south the road snakes you to the right and along the right hand side of the glen. But now, instead of climbing up a hill, you're starting high and the whole glen (one of the best exposed examples of what my geologist friends refer to as "cauldron subsidence" - I have no idea what that means, but it sure sounds impressive) is laid out before you, and it's astounding.

This view is widely acknowledged to be one of the most spectacular in Scotland, which to our way of thinking makes it one of the most spectacular in the world. There are two main parking areasto the left of the A82 where you can stop and soak it all in, or start any kind of walk from a gentle amble along the valley floor to a more ambitious attempt on the peaks.

Whatever you do though, DON'T stop in either of the main parking spots if you want to sit in your car and gaze at the view in peace, because the chances are you won't get any. It's inevitable that a place of such beauty will attract people who want to enjoy that beauty - we can hardly complain, we're tourists too! However, if you stay with your car you will be permenantly surrounded by scores of people who have been given five minutes to get off their tour coach, get a picture and get back back on the bus. Let's just say they don't add to the air of tranquility and leave it at that.

And then there's the piper. There's almost always a bloody piper.

Now. I love the pipes. I've always loved them. As a kid my Grandma brought me back a "scottish piper" doll from a trip to Edinburgh, and for a very long time I was determined to learn to play the bagpipes like the kilted military men I saw on the White Heather Club at New Years*. Looking bakcm this was a desire my family paid keen lipservice to, but somehow they never managed to find me a set of pipes to play.**

I have to be honest, I can't say I blame them.

But I do love the pipes. Both the traditional styles of the Massed Pipes and Drums and folk hero stalwarts such as Norman MacLean, and the more modern high octane "BagRock" offerings of the likes of the excellent Red Hot Chilli Pipers. There is something ethereal about a well played set of pipes, and you'd imagine that to hear the strains of traditional bagpipes in the heart of Glencoe would be a truly soulful experience.

Sorry. You'd be wrong.

I should be clear. At no point have we ever stopped in Glencoe and been afflicted by the sound of a bad piper. (Which is a mercy, because bad pipe playing is even more offensive to the ear than the wail of a badly played violin.) It's just that there, in the heart of the most spectacular landscape feature Lochaber has to offer***, I want to listen to the wind, to the rain, to the birdsong. Not to another rendition of "Scotland the Brave" or "Highland Cathedral".

It's really intrusive too. You can escape the crowds by getting out of the car and walking for a bit. The drone of the pipes can be heard from one end of the glen to the other if the wind is right.

Anyway.

The grey snake of the A82 drags you northwards around the side of the glen, back past Loch Achtriochtan, out of the glen and on to the village of Glencoe, a couple of miles to the north, nestling on the shores of Loch Leven.

Glencoe isn't a big place, but it's the biggest place within an hour's drive that isn't Fort William and it boasts all the amenities that you might need. There's a garage, a couple of gorcery stores - including a new and rather well appointed Co-op - a couple of hotels, the local Mountain Rescue Station and a fair number of BnBs. And attached to one of the hotels by the side of the A82 is the duck egg blue brilliance of The Glencoe Gathering.

We've eaten here a few times, but I've only written about it once before, on our first visit when the place was pretty new. On that visit we had an unfortunate incident with a garlicky chicken skewer. The fact that on one occasion we were served under-done chicken and yet we still went back tells you how good this place is.

And it really is that good. And I should stress that the bad chicken skewer incident was a true one off that was dealt with at the time and we've never ever had a problem like that since.

We pulled into the gravelled car park and made our way around the side of the wooden building to the front "Muddy Boots" entrance which leads you into the bar area. The rear door, labeled "fancy shoes" takes you into the restairant area - but both parts of the establishment serve the same menu and the view from the bar is better.

We took our seats, ordered drinks, and settled down to admire the view with menus in hand. Mrs Snail immediately went for the garlicky chicken skewers, while I eschewed the regular menu and ordered the Montreal Steak from the specials board. Then we sat back and took in our surroundings.

The bar area is a relaxed and informal space with wooden floors and either white painted or bare brick walls which are decorated with photographs of people climbing in the ice and snow of the winter Nevis Range. There's an acoustic guitar on a guitar stand in one corner bearing many signatures I didn't recognise, and the bar itself in another little niche.

The waitress who served us was clearly new to the job, and monumentally nervous (she eventually confided that it was her first day), but she was charming and, given it was her first day, rather good at it. The softly spoken bearded gentleman behind the bar who was clearly in charge provided her with gentle and relaxed instruction and all was well.

All was ever weller**** when the food arrived.

Those garlic skewers.. ooooooooh

Mrs Snail opted to give the Garlicky Chicken Skewers another try, and they were very, very good indeed. I mean, obviously if you don't like garlic you'd want to steer clear, but everyone else? Oh, you are just going to want to dig in. The garlic isn't overpowering, but it's strong enough that you're getting that hard alium hit. Married up with the onions and peppers with the slightly bitter earthy background from the chargrill the whole thing balances to create perfect harmony in your mouth.

Not the biggest steak in the world, but oh myyyyyyy, the FLAVOUR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I'd raided the specials board and plumped for the Montreal Steak. Now, I claim to be a foodie, and I love a good steak, but I'd never heard of a Montreal Steak until I visited the Gathering. Wikipedia however tells me that this is, in face, a thing. Whatever, it was a taste explosion on my tongue with the heat of Cayenne, the flavours of garlic and pepper and I know not what else. Even better, beneath the seasoning was the flavour of really good meaty char-grilled beef. It was juicy. It was tender. It was sublime.

Both meals came with fairly chunky chips (and they were listed as chips on the menu - none of your "fries" nonsense here) that were pale gold, crispy on the outside nad fluffy on the inside, and packed full of potato flavour and the speciality of the house - the salt and pepper salad.

This was something that impressed us on our first visit to The Gathering, and it continues to do so. It's one of those things - now I know about it? It seems like the most obvious thing in the world, but I'd never have thought of it in a million years.

Rocket is a famously peppery salad leaf. Samphire is a famously salty coastal vegetable. Salt and pepper is perhaps the most basic of flavour combinations, so Rocket and Samphire salad is a no-brainer - but have you ever seen it before? Because I haven't.

In short, lunch was amazing!

Everyone should visit Glencoe at least once in thier lives. That means you should visit Glencoe, if you haven't already had that privillage. While you're there, you're going to need to eat. You should eat at the Glencoe Gathering. To do anything else would be a wasted opportunity!





*And yes. I am aware that this dates me.

**Although I noticed with some amusement recently that they were selling them in Lidl, of all places. I was sorely tempted, but resisited becasue I like being married...

***No small claim for a district that also boasts Ben Nevis.

****What? It's a word. I just wrote it!