Hobbit homes and singing Scots

After the drenching we got in Glen Coe, I was anxious to have a nice dry easy day so Ellie wouldn't bite my head off. She was quite close to it too, I had been so impressed by the Glen that we steered off the road just far enough to clearly see our bus-ride to shelter and warmth rush its way away from the two drenched unhappy explorers.

So Kinlochleven came into play. A little nest of houses huddled away in a wee valley surrounded by imposing peaks, it was just the place to shake the mud (and there was a lot of it) off our shoes and sip a pint of well earned ale. No lack of pubs either.

The campsite was a strip of very well-tended grass near a stream that gurgled its way down a glen, trees lining it. Perfect for those who believe in sleeping under a tarp. The cool thing though, were the mini-cabins to be had if one had the mind to rent one. Perfect little Hobbit-holes, barrel shaped and small, Ellie spied inside one and they even had a fridge! We were tempted, but camping was the plan, so we did.

The West Highland Way passes thoughts village, and with good cause. As the 4pm evening light started turning to sunset, the surrounding peaks were lit up gloriously with a golden glow, and on the shadow-shrouded river snaking its way down to the Kin Loch you could catch the occasional glimmer of reflected light.

People here were uncommonly nice, and showed us a proper folky ceilidh. We were swept into a private gathering of musicians and given drinks enough for a weeks partying, surrounded by music, laughter and friendly words. The sort of encounter, as Ellie puts it, that you always hope happens and and never seems to. As for me,surrounded by harps, drums, banjoes, guitars, melodic voices, face masks, fake tattoos and dancing, I felt I was part of a National Geographic article on the Highland tribes.

Cheers!