Leaving the east side of the Corran Ferry, the route traces the shoreline of Loch Linnhe, with water never far from view. At first the road feels open and unassuming, but gradually the space begins to tighten. Hills rise closer to the carriageway, the horizon shortens, and the sense of exposure gives way to something more contained.

As the route turns inland, the change is unmistakable. The landscape gathers around you rather than sitting at a distance. Slopes steepen, light dims and the road feels absorbed by its surroundings. This is the threshold of Glencoe — a place where the scale of the land feels deliberate rather than accidental.

Glencoe’s power lies as much in what is felt as what is seen. Its beauty is inseparable from its past, most notably the Massacre of 1692, an event that still casts a long shadow over the glen. Even without knowing the history in detail, many travellers sense it instinctively — the quiet, the gravity, the way the mountains seem to enclose rather than reveal.

This is not a drive to rush. It invites slower movement, pulled-over pauses and moments of stillness. By the time you reach the heart of the glen, the road no longer leads — the landscape does.