So Gillian and I are odd. Rain? Just go with the flow. As I write, storms are forecast, and Glasgow has cancelled its New Years Eve celebrations.
“You can’t put that on,” she said, eyeing the oversize yellow souwester I’d picked out from under the stairs, to counter the wet and the wind. “You look like a road mender.”
“Glen Etive?” said the road mender from inside the souwester.
“Let’s” she said.
The rain hit the windscreen with the velocity of AK 47 bullets as we drove down the narrow single track road beside the River Etive. She was in full spate. What a sight! Huge white waterfalls were cascading down, under our road, racing to join the main river.
The snow was on the upper cliffs of the Blackmount to the east of us. The colours started off with black and white on the tops, then down to a dark maroon of tree branches up the riverside, the hillside of greens, browns and even some orange. It is the day before January, yet the Autumn colours have still not gone completely from the Highlands.
The river winds in and out down close beside the road for miles. The water whacks into rocks, over the tops, round the sides and races on down. It is the finest riverside road you can imagine. The road itself goes nowhere. That is its joy. At the end you turn round and come back the same way.
“Look,” she said. Across the water were the deer. We counted twelve of them from the lay-by. Static, looking like the carved models you get in gift shops.
Above them, the perfect sentinel, stood the stag. Motionless. Looking at us. His harem looked content enough in the pouring rain.
Then we spotted the kayaks. Wow! They hardly needed paddles, just a touch here and there, canoes gliding over the boiling waters, sometimes straight, sometimes at right angles.
“The Etive falls are a mile further down, they’ll never get over those”
They were canoeing at 10 knots, 12 miles an hour, so we had to get a crack on ourselves to see what would happen.
We’ve seen people get into difficulty at these falls when the river is flowing at half the rate, but they knew what they were doing, these three lads. They stopped before the falls, hoisted up their canoes and walked. If only everyone were as professional as this.
The leader told me that the River Etive was becoming better known because of its two long stretches of white water.
Back home we stopped at the KingsHouse hotel for tea. This is a strange place. It was built as an inn on the remote Rannoch Moor before the Glencoe Massacre. Not much has changed inside.
It holds a special place in history for climbers and walkers. All you need for tragedy in the mountains is a twisted ankle and night coming down in Winter. If you got stuck on the Rannoch Moor, or on the Crowberry ridge of the Buchaille Etive Mhor and you needed help, then you headed for the Kings House, night or day, for the rescue attempt. Now you have mobile phones.
The Kings House marketing strategy is 50 years old and is based upon a technique known as customer prevention. Look at these signs, just inside the porch on the way through the front door! The toilets for campers are ten miles away in Glencoe!
But the staff are lovely and warm and welcoming. Once inside you are surrounded by friendliness. Gillian and I are terrified of one day meeting the owner.
But there is a more terrifying prospect.
One day, the owner might sell out this wonderful place to one of the modern hotel groups, who specialise in three star filing-cabinets-for tourists.
Now, that is the nightmare scenario.
You can still book a winter break in January or February. www.bayviewkentallen.co.uk/shortbreakscotland.html.