Bunree Caravan Club Site, Onich, Fort William

27 August 2017:- We woke late and after an excellent night’s sleep, something I normally don't remark on, but after the last few poor nights, much appreciated. The skies were grey and I regretted that the sunshine had been wasted yesterday; The Chauffeur mesmerised by the sport on television and me slaving over a hot stove.

I quickly packed up lunch and hustled us out the door onto the tourist route, keen to make the most of the dry weather. We headed south east along the A82, that route we will take in a few more days as we head toward Glasgow. Today we stopped at Ballachulish on the southern side of Loch Leven and shopped at the Co-op for a few necessities and others items not quite so necessary. Then on we went, soon arriving at the National Trust for Scotland visitor centre all about Glen Coe. 

Glen Coe, which literally translates to “Valley of Weeping” is a spectacular mountain valley between conical peaks, mostly obscured in cloud today, with their flanks streaked by cascades of rock, scree and the ever flowing water. 

In 1935 the National Trust for Scotland purchased Glencoe to ensure that the area would remain unspoiled for everyone to enjoy. In the 1970s and 1990s additional land was purchased, and today this area covers 5,600 hectares.

Visitors to the area include tourists such as ourselves, naturalists and climbers, this latter  relatively a more recent interest. Way back, people were more concerned with survival than challenging the elements unnessessarily. In 1868, a local shepherd named Neil Marquis, stepped outside the norm by climbing Ossin’s Cave on the north face of Aonach Dubh. This was the first recorded climb in Glencoe and Marquis was to be the first of many pioneers who helped to make Glencoe the home of Scottish mountaineering. 

In 1890 when Sir High Munro compiled his list of “Munros”, mountains over 3,000 feet (914 metres) high, he could have little idea of what he would set in motion. The same year the Scottish Mountaineering Club published the list and Munro-bagging began, however the take up of the challenge was slow with access into the area far from easy for many years to come. 

It was Percy Unna, President of the Scottish Mountaineering Club, who was instrumental in organising an appeal to raise funds to buy the Glen when Lord Strathcona put the property up for sale in 1935. Two years later, in 1937, he again helped the Trust to acquire neighbouring Dalness Forest. For the next fifteen years, until his death in 1950, Unna, listed only ever as an “anonomous donor”,  gave generous bequests to the Trust, enabling it to safeguard some of Scotland’s most important heritage. It also was he who established a set of guidelines to allow public access to the hills while protecting the area’s wild and natural landscape. These rules, known as the Unna Principles, still guide the work of the Trust today. So today we gave thanks to the late Percy Unna.

The Visitor Centre has the normal café, shop, information and conveniences, along with an excellent exhibition explaining the geology, biology and history of the area, communicated by means of interpretative panels, films, audio and interactive displays, the latter more directed toward younger visitors. It was here we learned about the Glencoe Massacre, this the government sanctioned annihilation of the McDonald clan where thirty eight members of the large family group were hacked to death, and many more died as they escaped through the mountains in the depths of winter. Dalrymple, William III’s henchman, missed his mark; history suggests that some of the soldiers had no stomach for what they were to carry out and gave warning to their would-be victims. Either way, it has gone down in history as a shameful action.

We spent a couple of hours in the centre, including doing a walk up and around the immediate area, before setting off south up through the glen, stopping at the first of many walks available as one travels up between the magnificent Munros. The walks range from short to long, easy to strenuous; we did the more gentle short walk to Signal Rock, along a muddy path through forest, returning the same way.

Further south along the road we paused at various parking bays to enjoy the views, the mountains and waterfalls, the valley or glen itself and the moor that stretched out south toward Glasgow. At the pass, or summit of the route, we turned and headed back toward Glencoe, then turned eastward up to the end of Loch Leven.

Today Kinlochleven survives on the tourists trade it attracts with the stream of hikers who pass through while walking the West Highland Way, a seven day trek for the one girl I spoke to today. This 96 mile long great-walk, starting six miles north of Glasgow at a place called Milngavie and ending at Fort William, was opened in 1980 and is apparently the most popular such trek in Scotland. Today we noted many camps and hostels open to cater for the weary wanderers, but were disappointed  to find the tourist information centre which doubles as The Aluminium Story closed. In fact this rather charming township, created for industrial purposes, exhibited the old fashioned “closed for Sunday” atmosphere.

In 1898 the River Leven and surrounding hill lochs were chosen as the site of a hydro-electric power station and associated aluminium smelter. Large areas of land (and some crofts) were flooded to create Blackwater Reservoir. The smelter was completed by the British Aluminium Company in 1909 and employed over eight hundred workers at the peak of its operation. After many years it was closed down, and in 2001 the Alcan Smelting and Power UK transferred the land to the Kinlochleven community.

We parked in the town and walked the loop up one side of the River Leven from the town, across the river and back down on the other side passing the old industrial buildings, reading the few signs that told some of the story of the town. We left with more questions than answers and were further frustrated by the fact that we are unable to consult our old mate Google to fill in the gaps.

Our return to Onich was along the northern side of the loch, a lovely drive, although by now the clouds were rolling in from the coast and it was just a matter of time before the rain would arrive. We had one last destination; a walk at Inchree just up the hill from our camp at Bunree.

The Abhainn Righ cascades down the hill in a series of steps, forming eight mighty waterfalls, quite spectacular in full flow as they were today. As we approached the viewing platform, we could hear youthful cries of exuberance, and when we did arrive, we learned from our fellow viewers that a team of abseilers had all just leapt the last fall; the woman showed us the series of photos she had managed to capture of their madness. I was pleased to learn that this had been an organised activity with a couple of supervisors; I had been imagining this to be a pack of insane dare-devil teenagers.

Back adjacent to the car park, there is a red squirrel feeding station, and a screen with peep holes for the squirrel  appreciator. Unfortunately there had been several parties of noisy and exuberant young children ahead of us, and had the squirrels been planning to show themselves to us, they would surely have decided against such an opportune moment. I was most disappointed.

Within hours of returning home, the rain arrived albeit of the more misty variety. We will be juggling our plans with windows of dry weather.