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The Beautiful Glen Croe

The beautiful Glen Croe the point where everything changes …

I have made this journey so many times over the years yet it still holds an element of excitement for me.

I wrote this post a couple of years ago in January after the West Coast had faced some particularly violent storms. Shemaron was in Campbeltown at the time. At the moment Shemaron is in Tarbert and my husband and I are preparing to make our first visit together this year.  2017.

Fiona Malkin, @ringnetter
Flowing river


River Croe

With the hours of daylight lasting longer each day, it feels like the year is slowly getting underway.

In Newcastle we have missed the worst of the weather but the west coast has faced some violent storms, it was necessary to check on Shemaron and see how she had managed through the adverse conditions, so I made my first trip of the year to Campbeltown.

The journey was the easiest yet I have had the pleasure of making, setting off at eight on Sunday morning there was nothing on the road, a situation that stayed the same over the miles to Glasgow, and once passed there, through the remainder of the miles down into Kintyre.

Glen Croe

I can lament long and lovingly about the beauty of this particular journey. It struck me during this trip that there is a point during the drive where everything changes, it happens in the same place every time. After we leave Loch Lomond and turn westward we skirt the top of Loch Long, the road then climbs over Rest and be Thankful before running down into Glen Croe.

In this beautiful valley beneath Beinn Luibhean, Beinn Ime and Ben Donich something changes, I feel as though I am truly in a different place.

The very soul of the earth rests in these
Retiring hollows and harsh ridges, now cradled in mist.”  

Sometimes the glen hides in wreaths of mist, sometimes when the sun is high it dances, last weekend it was in flux. Water poured from the mountaintops, I could see the deluge from miles away, streaming white against the grey, tawny backdrop. Behind us the mountains glistened wet and ran in torrents, ahead the lochs jumped and the streams ran violently through the landscape. I thought to myself, Scotland is moving, under the forces of the wind and rain, the hills and valleys are still altering their shape.

Somewhere along that valley I always feel connected again, plugged in, part of the bigger picture.

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