ENJOY!
dance with the fairy folk
talk to the flowers
Let your imagination run wild!!
Finding the Fairy Bridge of Glen Creran - Traveling Savage
Scotland’s west highlands present some of the best hiking opportunities in the country. Trails snake amongst the deep glens, sea lochs, and forested hills, and who knows what you’ll find on any given day out hiking. There’s boundless serendipity to be had out in the highlands, and indeed Scotland possesses a trove of hidden treasures. I spent much of my recent time in Appin out in the natural splendor seeking these treasures, and I found more than a few, like Castle Tioram. I missed many more, but it’s the endless nature of this quest that keeps me in thrall to Scotland. There was one place, however, that I found and wished not to leave. I wanted time to stop when I looked upon the Fairy Bridge of Glen Creran.
As with any fae place, it was not easy to find, so I hope this post will help — so long as you do not despoil it! Read on gentle reader and tread carefully. You may not be the same person after you have crossed Glen Creran’s Fairy Bridge.
As you read this post, consider listening to Max Richter’s Path 5 (Delta).
There are countless hikes you can make in the west highlands, and I always use Walk Highlands to get a list of my options. Since I’m no munro-bagger, I generally look for the hikes with a single ‘boot,’ and the hike to Fas na Cloiche and the Fairy Bridge caught my eye since Glen Creran was quite near to my base at the Eco Pods. Glen Creran is tucked deep in the hills at the head of Loch Creran, which is essentially the backside of Glencoe. This is not by any means on the main tourist drag, so you need to do a little planning to fit this into a trip. Trust me, it’s worth it.
Sarah and I, and our friends Michael and Katherine, piled into our car and took the A828 to Creagan where we followed signs to Glasdrum Wood on small, overhung roads. We followed the River Creran until we reached a car park where the road split to Glen Ure and Glen Etive. After parking the car, we quickly found the sign board for the Pine Marten Trail. Curiously, as if a tricksy sprite had commissioned the placard, there’s little mention of the Fairy Bridge — only an inconspicuous “FB” well off the dotted path.
The Pine Marten Trail is a pleasant walking path that crosses a bridge by a small waterfall and climbs the emerald slopes of Glen Creran, periodically offering a view across the glen to Beinn Sgulaird. The terrain climbs up as the path turns back on itself. Everywhere is lush vegetation: Mossy rocks, brilliant ferns, bracken, and cold water spilling from the hill tops.
To find the Fairy Bridge, you must leave the Pine Marten Trail where it bends back upon itself. There you’ll find the shadow of a trail that leads into dense, muddy woodland. We missed it on our first pass and had to backtrack. The path was treacherous, and more than once I slid on the mud and nearly capsized (I was the only one with footing problems, which is normally not an issue with me, and I swear I had not enjoyed a single dram yet that day).
Eventually the muddy tract petered out as we entered the far reaches of what I came to view as a fae realm, a place that should not exist in our world though we wish it might. Old trees, barded in yellowed moss, rose from the forest floor the purest color of green. Wild garlic bloomed everywhere, the little white flowers vying with newly bloomed indigo bluebells. A small stream cut through the vision with the elegance only nature provides.
Moss covered everything, swallowing lone stones and fallen trees, carrying them back into the earth. We studied each footfall, careful not to crush the flowers beneath us. The quiet, lush atmosphere was a pocket of otherworldliness. Magic. We took our time savoring the landscape.
And then we saw it: The Fairy Bridge.
I still get chills when I look at these photos and think back on that excursion. There is no imagination required. The bridge bears an alien quality, slightly off-center of humanity. It is a small thing, the stones forming a quick arch over a narrow but eager river. Along the bridge’s edges stand a series of upthrust stones like tines in the crown of some nature spirit. None of us spoke for a long time, we just listened to the water run beneath the arch. I think we felt like we had stumbled upon something we were not supposed to see, that we had found something meant to remain hidden. What dwelt in these woods?
Reluctantly and against a magnetic pull, we said goodbye to the Fairy Bridge of Glen Creran. The wild garlic escorted us from that place of fantasy and old truth as I flicked off ticks from my legs. The forest opened up and the hills of Glen Creran ran up to the brooding clouds. The path dropped us on the road a good twenty minutes walk up from the car park. We chatted in awed tones.
Never, in all my travels, have I found a place that spoke so loudly to a distant, relict part of me.
