I’ll never forget the drive up to Beauly Lodge, that cheeky little mishap right at the start of our three-day jaunt to Loch Ness. We’d piled into the car in Inverness, buzzing with excitement for our cosy cottage escape, only for the sat-nav to chuck us onto a narrow, twisting single-track road that felt like it hadn’t seen tarmac since the Highland Clearances. Halfway there, I managed to nudge the wing mirror into a passing sheep—honestly, it was more of a polite bump, but the woolly beast gave me a look of pure disdain before trotting off. “Welcome to Scotland,” laughed my mate Dave, as we finally spotted the lodge peeking out from the trees, just a stone’s throw from the glassy expanse of Loch Ness.

Pulling up to Beauly Lodge that first afternoon, I was smitten straight away. It’s one of those classic Scottish cottages—whitewashed stone walls, a pitched slate roof, and a sturdy wooden door that creaked open to reveal a snug living room with a wood-burning stove begging to be lit. The views from the garden? Pure magic. Loch Ness stretched out below, misty and mysterious, with the rugged hills of the Great Glen framing it like a postcard. We dumped our bags, brewed a pot of tea, and stepped out for our first wander, kitted out in wellies and waterproofs because, let’s face it, British weather waits for no one.

Day one kicked off with a gentle hike along the South Loch Ness Trail, right from the lodge’s doorstep. The path hugs the lochside, winding through ancient Caledonian pinewoods where the air smells of damp earth and wild garlic. We’d planned a solid four-miler to Dores Beach, dreaming of spotting Nessie’s fin cutting the water. But oh, the weather—classic Highland trickery. We set off under a hopeful blue sky, jackets tied round our waists, only for the clouds to roll in like uninvited guests. By the time we reached the pebbly shore, fat raindrops were drumming on the hoods we’d hastily yanked up. “This is why they invented the bothy bag,” I grumbled, sheltering under a gnarled oak as the heavens opened. Dave, ever the optimist, pulled out a pack of Hobnobs, and we munched away, watching the loch churn into a frothy grey beast. It was miserable in the best way—proper Scottish adventure.

The next morning, undeterred, we laced up for the Alturlies Point loop, a cracking two-mile stroll through birchwoods and bracken, with killer views back over the lodge and the loch. Sunlight pierced the mist at first, turning the water to molten silver, and we fancied ourselves proper Munro-baggers, striding out with flasks of coffee. But wouldn’t you know it, halfway up the gentle incline, the wind whipped up from the west, bringing horizontal rain that stung like needles. Our grand plan to picnic at the viewpoint? Scrubbed. Instead, we legged it back to Beauly Lodge, dripping puddles in the kitchen, where we cranked the stove and rustled up mugs of hot chocolate laced with whisky. Laughing about it later, I couldn’t help a bit of gentle reflection—how often do we bulldoze through life’s plans, only for the weather (or a sheep) to remind us to slow down? There’s beauty in the soggy chaos, in adapting to the wild whims of Loch Ness.

By our third afternoon, the skies had cleared just enough for one last saunter—a short path skirting the lodge’s garden down to a hidden cove. No epic treks this time, just the joy of squelching through mud, spotting herons and the odd otter slip, all while the loch whispered secrets. Beauly Lodge felt like home already, its warmth chasing away the chill. Those first impressions? Rain-soaked hikes, impromptu shelters, and a profound appreciation for a dry hearth. If you’re after a Loch Ness getaway where the weather writes the script, this is your spot. Just mind the sheep.