A Trip to a Hiking Paradise in the Scottish Highlands
The Pap of Glencoe, with its iconic 360° views of lochs and stunning peaks, delivered both challenges and joys
When my husband and I became empty-nesters, I was mindful about placing special focus on making bold, surprising memories together. Try new things, take wild adventures, dabble in stuff we hadn't thought to try before when kids tagged along. One thing we united around was doing more hiking, specifically stepping into long-distance "thru-hiking" with everything we needed in backpacks with overnights at cozy inns — something that is common in the UK where our young adult kids live.
Though we've been fortunate to hike a couple of long trails in the UK, last year we only had time for a one day-hike. We decided to disappear for a quick getaway in the iconic area of Glencoe, a hiker's paradise tucked in the Scottish Highlands near Fort William.
The magical area begs you to slow down, linger and explore on foot.
Popularized by its unspoiled powerful landscape scenes in the James Bond movie "Skyfall," the area is majestic and can be appreciated while driving the popular A82, the bucket-list highway known for dramatic scenery. Despite its bloody historic past, the serene natural beauty is one of Scotland's most photographed regions and is populated today by hikers, cyclists and outdoor enthusiasts. In short, the setting is like dropping into a painting.
The magical area begs you to slow down, linger and explore on foot. But with limited time, we had to choose just one hike and selected the Pap of Glencoe (Sgòrr na Cìche). Translated "Breast" of Glencoe, it's named for its perky voluptuous shape. Truly shaped like a big breast, it's an area landmark and well-known as a fantastic hike for the iconic 360° views of lochs and stunning peaks, surrounded as you are by a handful of Scotland's 282 Munros (Scottish mountains surpassing 3,000 feet).
Mid-afternoon the day before our hike, we arrived at our cozy Airbnb "pod," The Fox's Den in North Ballachulish on Loch Leven (South Ballachulish sits on the other side of the lake), a town in the storied valley of Glencoe (a "glen") which also a sleepy village of the same name. Our base offered a collection of pubs and restaurants to enjoy, convenient to the Pap's base.
We tucked into good fare at Onich Hotel's Lochside Bar & Restaurant overlooking Loch Linnhe to fortify ourselves for the morning's hike. The sunset glittered over the water, but our conversation centered on the hike. We anxiously kept checking the forecast, hoping bad weather wouldn't quash our hiking plans. Scottish weather is reliably unreliable — especially in the mountains — and rain or low visibility would make this hike unwise.
Prepared for the Elements
To prepare for about 4-5 hours in the elements, we packed waterproof hiking boots and layers, including a sweat-wicking wool base layer and a hooded waterproof outer shell. A buff (neckwear) and gloves would help guard against Scotland's cold, wet and windy weather, possible even in the temperate months.
Carrying a lightweight REI backpack with water, energy bars and hats — ballcaps and stocking caps— we arrived at the free parking area just off Old Glencoe Road. Early morning fog had delayed us just a bit and it was 10:30 a.m. The trailhead was easy to spot, clearly marked "Pap of Glencoe." Starting our Strava app to record our hike, we began winding through a woodsy area.
The woods abruptly stopped, revealing the Pap's massive treeless mound, intense at 2,434 feet. In Scotland's classification of hills, it's considered a Graham (also known as Fionas) which includes peaks between 2,000 and 2,500 feet. Though described as a moderate climb, our research promised it would be a satisfying challenge, with a deceptively steep ascent in parts and no marked paths, occasional scrambling, navigating boggy patches and crossing narrow streams.
Along the Path
Continuing along a forged path made by fellow hillwalkers, the path soon vanished. Like others scattered across the mountain, we started making it up, feeling our way forward. Without trees, it would be impossible to get lost on the mountain, not to mention that we could always see hikers in the distance. Without trees, we also enjoyed unrestricted lush views of surrounding peaks and lakes the entire duration of the hike and felt fully ensconced in the natural world.
Thick clouds danced across the sky and rain spit on and off, and then, suddenly came bursts of sunlight, before repeating the cycle. Scottish bluebells and thistles — which would be in full bloom soon — brought variation to the land. The ground was soggy, and at various points, I'd unexpectedly step into a shallow bog. Often what looked like solid ground was not. Narrow streams of clear water running downhill trickled like music, breaking the silence. We didn't rush and stopped frequently to take photos and simply marvel at the unspoiled beauty.
As we got closer to the summit the wind picked up and the terrain grew steeper and rocky, forcing us to pay close attention to where we stepped. The scrambling was tricky here and there, but easy enough to navigate around unstable areas or large boulders. When I was finally able to look up, we'd arrived at the summit, an enormous stone cone with boulders scattered about.
The Trip Back Down
The effort to make it to the top was more than rewarded. With staggering views in every direction taking in Loch Leven, the Mamores range, and towering Munros including Scotland's tallest, Ben Nevis, the rise and fall of Scotland's otherworldly landscape presented a vivid canvas. The rich stretch of peaks and lochs connected me to the wild mysterious beauty of Scotland, a rare experience I'll never forget.
Catching our breath, we started snapping pictures to carry the memory forward. A decidedly Texan drawl cut through the silence: "Well, this view isn't s*****!" and suddenly we were in conversation with a couple from Austin, Texas who spotted our trademark Longhorn ballcaps (we used to live in Austin). Feeling an instant connection, we chatted and then proceeded to take photos of each other.
We're told that being in nature buoys wellbeing and silence promotes brain health.
Reluctant to leave the view but motivated by the wind, we started our descent, choosing a different though equally challenging route. The mountain face was at first a bit slippery and at times I had to drop to a sitting position to lower myself. As we got lower, the mushiness set in. Water was flowing downhill, creating hidden water pockets. Once, I slipped and lost my balance, finding myself unceremoniously seated flat on the soft but soggy ground, leaving my backside muddy.
By 2:30 p.m., we were back in the car. I felt a wash of pleasant exhaustion and grateful elation. We are told that being in nature buoys wellbeing and that silence promotes brain health. How simply lifting our eyes to reflectively gaze upwards at the sky boosts happiness. That the rush of modern life dampens creativity and we need to slow down, something the sheer act of walking does well. Instinctively, I've known this all along. Through hiking, without fail I experience these things firsthand, and my current state of serenity was no surprise.
At the charming Clachaig Inn just down the road, we stopped for some celebratory food and drink. Though the kitchen was closed, the bar was open and we headed to the outdoor picnic tables with drinks. In the shadow of the Pap and surrounded by a host of other mountains, the recovery part of our day couldn't have been better.
