14: Dinner at the King's (Inveroran to Glencoe mountain resort)

The Gaelic poet Duncan Ban Macintyre was born and raised on the southern side of Loch Tulla in Druim Liaghart.  When he was young he courted the daughter of the Landlord of the Inveroran Hotel, Màiri bhàn òg. In his poems he observed the busy lives of the villagers; farming, hunting, fishing and weaving; the social life of the village, of fairs, music and song. His works captured the essence of a living vibrant community.

Coming down to Inveroran Inn

On a bright sunny day such as today it would be easy to image that this place could be busy with people going about their business, more difficult to understand how they would cope in the depths of winter. But people did subsist, although admittedly the living was difficult. The Highlands was thronged with crofters.

For the land owners there were better ways to make money than rely on the meagre rents of their tenants and (especially after the '45 Jacobite rebellion) ridding the land of the quarrelsome Jacobites and farming sheep instead was a way to not merely pacify the Highlands but also quickly increase their profits. So Druim Liaghart is but a faded memory beside Loch Tulla and there are no signs of the bustling past, just the old granite built hotel and a nearby shooting lodge.

Inveroran in Gaelic can be translated as; 'confluence of the streamlet' or alternatively 'river mouth by the wood'. (I have two sources that say two different things but for a really in-depth dive into Gaelic place names along the West Highland Way look here.) In the mid to late eighteenth century, much of the valley would have been either farmland or woodland and there is a stand of Scots pine around the hotel so maybe the second interpretation of the Gaelic place name is more accurate.

There’s a sharp wind that rustled the pines and cut into us which meant that the beer garden, where we were sitting enjoying a beer and sandwich, though a beautiful restful place, was not somewhere we would be likely to linger long. Beer finished and facilities used, we headed off to cross the nearby rivers that feed Loch Tulla. After which was a climb of about a thousand feet over seven miles, a slow steady ascent. 

Coming towards us from Glencoe we met an American couple who were heading to Bridge of Orchy and very excited about the route they’d taken. We tell them they are about three miles from their destination and there’s still a lot more to enjoy.

Looking back to Benn Dorain 

 

The path is exposed here, the woodland is mainly in the valleys and as we climbed the view broadened. The main road was a couple of miles to the east and had disappeared out of earshot and view. Ahead was Black Mount and Rannoch Moor, as wild and woolly a place as you can imagine. Both Jerome and I had independently driven the road that skirts round the western edge of the moor, on days when the windscreen wipers were pushing rivers of water from the windshield. I never saw any hikers on the moor and always considered this part of Scotland to be for heroes only, not for ordinary walkers like ourselves but here we were in brilliant sunshine.

On Rannoch moor

The way was busy with a variety of walkers, in particular there was a Belgian guy hiking with his shepherd dog, called Stoemp after the famous Belgian dish of mashed potatoes (traditionally this is potato with mashed carrot and leeks, although other veg can be added). Stoemp is extremely well-behaved and for every step his master took, he friskily ran four more.

First sight of Glencoe

The weather was perfect as we crossed Ba Bridge and headed up to the crest. Looking westward from the top was the entrance to Glencoe, to the east was the flat expanse of the barren Rannoch Moor. Our path arced round and contoured across to the Glencoe mountain resort, which was hidden from sight in a dip. 

We've made good time, completing the nineteen miles at four in the afternoon.  Here the booking service had reserved a family lodge and we headed to reception to collect the key. Now both Chris and I had been looking forward to this evening. Back on the Pennine Way the hobbit hole that we used on the second to last night was, we felt, a great experience. And maybe in context of that walk it was, because we considered it a step up from using our tents in what had been unseasonably cold weather.  But I could tell that Jerome was holding a different opinion. 

On the plus side the family lodge had three sleeping beds with mattresses. There was power.  It was warm and (fortunately) we were the nearest hut to the facilities.

On the other hand, two of the beds were for people of smaller stature than us three. The room was barely bigger than the bed-space so moving about and sorting out clothing was difficult.  

After the coin toss both Jerome and myself were sleeping on the shorter beds. My first action was to remove my boots and place them as far downwind as possible outside the hut. Later while showering, I noticed that there was a drying cupboard available, so I decided I would do something about my increasingly smelly socks that unfortunately were taking on the same characteristics as my boots. I took all my dirty washing to the shower block, washed and rinsed them out thoroughly before heading to the drying cupboard.  

En-route I came across our American photographer from the first day. She was struggling to work out how to open the door of her lodge. I helped her figure out what the problem was while she revealed that she had given up carrying her pack and decided to use one of the luggage transfer services instead, making the walk much less of an ordeal. She was extremely pleased with the price of the service, which did seem remarkably good value. Problem solved and pleasantries exchanged I headed on to the drying cupboard.

Jerome meanwhile was wrestling with the conundrum of the venue of this evening's meal.  Let’s say that the offering at the Glencoe mountain resort, while convenient, was not something that we would regard as immediately attractive. Some weeks earlier I had spotted that the Kingshouse Inn was promoting its pies on the website and Jerome was scrolling through the options. Also at Kingshouse, in the hotel, was a restaurant which did look much more attractive. However they weren’t taking bookings from non-residents. So we looked into the cost of a room (excessive) or the cost of the bunkhouse (extraordinary for a bunkhouse). After a period of silence, Jerome stated that he’d secured a table, although the method by which he’d arranged it was ‘a bit dodge’ but our back up plan should we be rumbled was to have a pie in the public house.

It is 1.7 miles from the Glencoe mountain resort to Kingshouse. I think that one fact tells you how keen we were to try out other meal options for the evening. Since it was nearing dusk when we set out, we covered ourselves in midge repellent and brought our midge hats and torches for the return journey. 

Glen Etive

Walking across the moor, the setting sun was punching streams of light through the obscuring clouds along the magnificent Glen Etive, at the same time the temperature was taking a massive dip and we all wondered just how cold it would be later in the evening.

After just over half an hour we made it to the hotel, walked past the bunkhouse and headed inside the Inn. It's the oldest part of Kingshouse and had recently been refurbished when the hotel was extended. For some indecipherable reason the atmosphere was a little sour. Nevertheless we sat down and ordered some drinks. Meanwhile Jerome headed into the much more modern surroundings of the hotel, recced the restaurant and made contact with the maître d'hôtel.  We finished our pints and Jerome ushered us into the hotel bar, a large modern, comfortable space. We did look a little out of place as most of the other bar dwellers were in smart casual clothing but our money’s as good anyone else, so we took it in our stride. At the reserved time we were led to our table and had a fine meal. 

The staff knew we weren’t staying at the hotel but they seemed to enjoy the fact that we’d gamed the system. We learnt the next day from those who stayed in the bunkhouse that even they were not allowed to use the restaurant, which might explain the unusual atmosphere in the Inn. I had better not tell you how Jerome got us into the restaurant - he’s just a very resourceful chap when it comes to this kind of thing. I will only say it is possible and we didn’t need major hacking skills or bribery to pull it off.

Meal enjoyed - and it wasn’t as expensive as you’re thinking - we headed back to the Glencoe mountain resort. By now it was dark and several tents that we’d spotted earlier beside the path were shut up for the night. In the light of my head torch the midges spun furiously around and they were only thwarted by our mesh head nets. Somehow the air temperature had warmed making the return journey not too uncomfortable. 

Unlike the bed in the lodge.