I’ll never forget the drive up to Loch Ness – or rather, the outskirts near Muir of Ord – last month. We’d piled into the car in Inverness after a hearty breakfast, buzzing with excitement about our group getaway. But about 20 minutes in, disaster struck: a flat tyre on a narrow Highland road, right as the mist started rolling in. There I was, in my wellies, fumbling with the jack while my mates laughed and snapped photos. Took us an hour to sort, but by the time we arrived, the anticipation had only built – and boy, were we rewarded.

Pulling up to this lovingly-renovated holiday home, with its welcoming tartan carpets in the hallway, felt like stepping into a proper Scottish hug. It’s the sort of place perfect for a special occasion with friends or family, where you can arrange thoughtful touches like a private whisky tasting masterclass brought right to your door. Spacious, cosy, and steeped in family history, it’s ideal for a Highlands getaway, especially if you’re into shooting, fishing by the nearby River Conon, or a round at Muir of Ord golf course. But for us, it was all about the walking – those epic hikes that make Loch Ness legendary.

First morning, the weather gods smiled: clear skies, crisp air. We set off from the house on a gentle riverside stroll along the Conon, chatting and spotting herons. It built up to a cracking hike towards the loch’s edge, maybe three miles out, winding through birch woods and open moorland. The views! Loch Ness shimmering like a mirror, with Ben Wyvis peeking in the distance. We picnicked on cheese rolls and flasks of tea, feeling like proper adventurers. Light humour ensued when I slipped on a muddy patch – “Graceful as a Highland cow,” my pal quipped. Laughed it off, but it got me reflecting: how often do we rush through life without these simple joys?

Day two, classic British weather flipped the script. Lashing rain turned our planned longer trek into a soggy scramble. We’d aimed for the trails around the quieter north end of the loch, but visibility dropped to nil. Improvising, we stuck closer to home – a loop through local fields and woodland paths, umbrellas up, hoods down for the giggles. Waterproofs tested to the limit, we splashed through puddles, the rain drumming a rhythm that somehow made it magical. Paused under a tree for hot chocolate from the flask, sharing stories. Bad weather forced us to slow down, appreciate the wildness up close – the scent of wet earth, the rush of burns swelling nearby.

By the third day, a mix of sun and showers kept us on our toes. Another hike, this time a cheeky uphill path with loch glimpses through the clouds. We adapted, cutting short when hail threatened, but it was brilliant – the weather’s unpredictability became the star, turning potential washouts into intimate, memorable wanders. Back at the house each evening, drying off by the fire, whisky in hand (that masterclass was a highlight), we’d relive the day’s triumphs and tumbles.

Looking back, those walks – rain or shine – were the heart of it. They reminded me that the best holidays aren’t perfect plans, but bending with the wind. If you fancy tailor-made Highland magic, this spot’s your ticket.