At the Pap of Glencoe - a photo on Flickriver

I've always struggled to tell the difference between left and right when I'm pressed. It makes me a poor navigator when I'm asked to provide directions in unfamiliar places and even worse at taking instructions if I'm behind the wheel. Jab me in the ear and I might just about work out that you want me to take the next right, but if you say "right at the next junction," there's still a fifty percent chance I'll turn left. I even failed my driving test the first time because I gave way to a car to the left that was patiently waiting for me to enter the roundabout first. The second time I passed after having written "L" and "R" in the spaces between my thumbs and forefingers - although I had to get someone to check to make sure I'd got them the right way around,

The reason I mention this apparently irrelevant back story is that this inability to distinguish the dexter from the sinister also let me down close to the top of the Pap of Glencoe. It's not the biggest mountain in Scotland by a long chalk; as you can see here it's dwarfed by the peaks of the Aonach Eagach that climb ever higher out of the left (had to think about that) hand side of the frame. It is however achingly steep on the approaches to the summit from the south side out of Glencoe village. By the time you reach the more gentle slopes of its shoulder and gaze up grimly at the seemingly vertical sides of the rocky dome you might be forgiven for turning around and stumbling back down the track behind you. But on that warm and clear July afternoon when I'd stood on top of far higher mountain summits on each of the previous two days I kept on going - I wanted to see that view along Loch Leven.

And so I soldiered on, soon arriving at the last hundred feet of ascent over the rocky slopes, until I reached a point where I realised the path had somehow deserted me. After a brief hesitation I went to the left, when I should have gone to the right, which found me scrambling up uncharted crags over the last few yards before landing in a happy heap near the summit cairn.

Nobody else had come the same way as me, and as I sat on top of the mountain sipping Glenmorangie from a hip flask given to me by Jim from Clydebank at the foot of Ben Nevis the previous day, I gazed at the dreamy landscape far below. I could see the whole of Loch Leven, from where the West Highland Way footpath leaves Kinlochleven to the point at which it flows into the much larger Loch Linnhe under Ballachulish Bridge. Beyond that lay the Ardnamurchan peninsula where the lighthouse marks the most westerly point of mainland Britain (go on admit it - you thought it was Land's End didn't you?). It's moments like this that stay with you forever. It's moments like this that make you want to return and stand on as many summits as possible in the years to come. Would you like to see that view? Oh go on then:

www.flickr.com/photos/126574513@N04/35970044811/in/datepo...

For a pleasingly long period of time I had this lofty Caledonian kingdom all to myself, but as my time here passed, small groups arrived and left, their departures revealing the easiest way back down to safety. At least I wasn't going to have to go back down the mountain the way I'd come.

Seven months later I was back with Dave and Lee on another unforgettable visit to Scotland when we'd come to photograph as much of this impossibly beautiful part of Britain as the time and conditions would allow. There was only a small amount of mountaineering on that occasion, although it did bring the happiest morning with the camera of my entire life:

www.flickr.com/photos/126574513@N04/49753399683/in/album-...

Later we arrived here, close to Kinlochleven on the banks of the loch where I found myself gazing lovingly at the perfectly shaped dome across the icy blue water. "I climbed that last summer." I announced to my very tolerant companions for the umpteenth time. They tutted quietly to themselves as they went about their compositions, while I continued staring at this breathtaking landscape in front of me. Once you've stood on top of a mountain, you feel that unbreakable bond each time you see it again afterwards.

The Scottish Highlands have probably affected me more deeply than any other place I've visited. Some places just do that: they get under your skin and stay there. You keep hearing that distant northern echo on the cold Arctic winds and daydream about the time when you can be there again. It may not be for a while yet, but when we can roam once more I'll be answering that call and setting the compass towards the northern skies.

Taken in: UK / Scotland / Carnach (show map)

Taken on: February 3, 2018

Tags:

Pap

Pap of Glencoe

Scottish Highlands

Loch

Loch Leven

Glencoe

kinlochleven

Water

water_shots

water_captures

long exposure

Mountain

snowy mountains

winter

February

landscape photography

landscape

outdoor

Highland

highlands

West Highland Way « less

Sets appears in: • Mountains • Scotland Trip Winter 2018 more » • Scotland « less

Groups appears in: • Scottish Landscapes • Flickr Social Club more » • Photography Week • On Landscape • Amateur Photographer Magazine • Flickr Social « less

Camera: Canon EOS 70D, f/11.0, 25 sec, 18mm, ISO 100 (more info) (hide info)

Camera:	Canon EOS 70D
Lens:	EF-S18-135mm f/3.5-5.6 IS
Aperture:	f/11.0
Exposure Time:	25
Focal Length:	18mm
ISO:	100
Exposure Bias:	+1/3 EV
Flash:	Off, Did not fire
Exposure Program:	Aperture-priority AE
Exposure Mode:	Auto
Metering Mode:	Multi-segment
White Balance:	Auto
Color Space:	sRGB
Software:	Adobe Photoshop 21.1 (Windows)
Show full info

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