I’ll never forget the drive up to our holiday spot near Fort William – a proper Scottish adventure that started with a comedy of errors. We’d piled into the car in Glasgow, full of excitement for the Highlands, but about halfway there, just past the edge of town, I took a wrong turn onto some winding B-road. Sat-nav went haywire, barking orders at a sheep in the middle of nowhere, and we ended up looping around for a good half-hour. “Classic me,” I chuckled to my partner, secretly relieved it wasn’t pouring rain. But as we finally spotted the sign for the private drive off the main road, hearts lifted – there it was, this cracking three-bedroom property over two floors, right on the banks of Loch Lochy, nestled between Fort William and Fort Augustus in the rolling Highlands.

Pulling up, the first impressions were spot on. The place felt like a hug from the landscape – surrounded by over 45 acres of lush woodland, with the loch lapping just beyond. We stepped into the bright, airy open-plan living space, dumped the bags, and flopped on the sofa with cups of tea, gazing out at the scenery. No chain hotels for us; this was proper escapism, with forest walks and a private road to the water on the doorstep. I could already picture picnics by that gushing waterfall they mentioned.

The real magic kicked off the next morning when we decided to wander. No maps, just a vague plan to stretch the legs. We followed a faint path from the property into the woods, and blimey, what a hidden gem we stumbled on – a tiny, crystal-clear cascade tumbling into a peaty pool, completely off the tourist trail. Not a soul around, just us, the roar of water, and midges having a party (note to self: pack more repellent next time). We picnicked there on cheese rolls, feeling like explorers. That gentle self-reflection hit me then – how often do we charge around ticking off big sights like Ben Nevis, missing these quiet pockets? Life’s too short for that.

Emboldened, we kept getting “lost” on purpose. One afternoon, veering off down the private lochside track, we found a secluded shingle beach where the water was so still it mirrored the hills perfectly. Skipped stones, watched an otter pop up (or was it a log? Who cares), and it felt like our own secret cove. Another day, bushwhacking through the trees – okay, more like tripping over roots – led to an old, overgrown ruin half-buried in ferns. No plaques or crowds, just whispers of history and birdsong. We laughed about how Fort William’s bustle was only a few miles away, yet here we were in another world.

Evenings were for chef duties at the breakfast bar, rustling up pasta with local venison from the Spean Bridge shop, while the sun dipped behind the peaks. Those accidental detours turned a good holiday into a brilliant one – proof that the best bits hide where you least expect. If you’re after off-the-beaten-path Highland bliss, this is your spot. We’re already plotting a return.