The Closest I’ve Ever Come to Sacred: Hiking the Lost Valley of Glencoe
Some hikes are beautiful, some are challenging, and some change you. Hiking the Lost Valley in Glencoe, deep in the Scottish Highlands, was the closest I’ve ever come to sacred—a place where awe waits in the silence, the cliffs, and the fog.
Quick Summary
- Location
- Coire Gabhai (Lost Valley), Glencoe, Scottish Highlands
- Trailhead
- Three Sisters Car Park (A82, near Glencoe)
- Length
- ~2.5 miles (4 km) round trip to the valley floor; ~3.5–4 miles (5.5–6.5 km) if you continue up the trail into the upper corrie
- Difficulty
- Moderate–hard; stream crossing, steep climb, some scrambling
- Family-friendliness
- Not for small children, but adventurous older kids will love it
- Special notes
- Waterproof boots and rain gear essential; can be dangerous in heavy rain or high water
The Climb
From the very first steps, the Lost Valley hike had a rugged, almost otherworldly beauty. The path winds along a tumbling stream framed by moss, ferns, and wildflowers, the kind of green that only exists in the Highlands.
The weather was pure Glencoe—raining off and on, but never really pouring. Just that heavy Highland damp that soaks you through even when it doesn’t feel like rain. In the past, I might have been annoyed by it. But here, it only added to the magic.
This is not an easy trail. There’s scrambling over rocks, a stream crossing (we had to give our son a little toss to the next rock, laughing as we went), and steady climbing. But it’s manageable as long as the weather holds out—and for our adventurous seven-year-old, it was exciting every step of the way.
The Hidden Valley
Legend says the MacDonald clan once drove stolen cattle here to hide them from rivals. Standing in the valley, I could believe it. The cliffs rise so sharply on all sides that it feels cut off from the rest of the world.
Most hikers stop at the lip of the valley, where the trail flattens and the view opens. But curiosity tugged us further. We found a path dipping down into the valley itself, and suddenly it was just us. No one else in sight—only cliffs, waterfalls, and fog drifting across the glacial moraine.
Tiny waterfalls trickled down rock faces, and mountain goats grazed on impossible ledges. The silence was almost palpable.
For me, the Lost Valley came as close to sacred as I’ve ever experienced. Everywhere I looked there was awe—the silence stretching across the cliffs, the vastness of the valley, the fog closing in like a veil. It was humbling and profound, the kind of moment that somehow fills you up and empties you out all at once.
From the valley floor, the scale was overwhelming. Standing there, my husband looked impossibly small against the steep green walls and the low clouds that swallowed the peaks. It was the kind of place that demanded silence — not because it was peaceful, but because words felt too small for the immensity of it all.
A Family Memory Etched in Rain
The wind picked up as we climbed further, and eventually our son decided he was too cold. My mother-in-law offered to take him back so my husband and I could continue. But I declined. This was an adventure I wanted to savor with my son.
We turned back, still laughing and joking, marveling at odd little details like a strange black snail with a hole in the side of its face that fascinated and repulsed us both—and lead to some serious followup research about snail biology. By then the rain had thickened, and small streams began running down the trail itself. It felt wild, alive, and unforgettable.
Back at the car, we peeled off soaked clothes, ate snacks, and sat together warming up. It’s one of those rare moments I’ll treasure forever—not just the hike itself, but the bond forged in the middle of it.
More Than a Photo Op
From the car park, I watched groups of people step out, snap a few quick photos, record TikTok dances, and drive away. Many never even looked at what surrounded them.
They’ll never know what they missed—the hush of the valley, the thrill of the scramble, the feeling of being so small in a place so vast. Pictures could never do it justice anyway, not with the fog shifting and settling in ways a camera can’t capture.
I’ve hiked all over the world, but the Lost Valley was the best hike I’ve ever done. It wasn’t just the scenery, but the experience of being fully immersed in it. To walk it with your own two feet, sharing it with no one else in the world.
Practical Details
Getting There: Start from the Three Sisters of Glencoe car park off the A82 (between Glencoe village and Bridge of Orchy). Arrive early in peak season, as parking is limited.
Trail Stats:
~2.5 miles (4 km) round trip, ~1,200 ft (365 m) elevation gain to the Lost Valley floor.
A continuation trail crosses the rocky basin and climbs up the far side into the upper corrie, adding about a mile and more elevation (total ~3.5–4 miles). Beyond this, the trail becomes a mountaineering route toward Bidean nam Bian.
Trail Conditions: Expect scrambling, loose rocks, and a stream crossing. Waterproof boots, pants, and rain jacket are essential. Avoid in heavy rain when the stream can be impassable.
Best for: Experienced hikers and adventurous families with older kids.
Join the Journey
Thanks for coming along for the journey. If this story sparked something in you — wanderlust, reflection, or maybe just the reminder that slowing down matters — I’d love for you to stick around.
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About Christal
I’m a clinical psychologist, professor, and writer who believes in resisting hustle culture and finding awe through slow, meaningful travel with my family.
I’ve explored four continents, often blending work and play through teaching abroad and cultural immersion.
I created We Went Anyway as a space to share stories about choosing presence over perfection and finding joy in a full, connected life through adventure — big and small.
When I’m not writing or hiking, you’ll find me sipping peppermint tea on the porch with friends, building Legos with my son, watching design videos to guide the slow remodel of our 118-year-old home, or planning the next family trip from our home base in Kentucky.