I’ll never forget the drive up to Ben Luna Lodge – a proper Scottish adventure that started with me taking a wrong turn just outside Drumnadrochit and ending up in a muddy layby, swearing at my satnav like it was plotting against me. It was one of those daft mishaps that had me laughing at myself by the time I backtracked, phone in one hand and a soggy map in the other. But honestly, it set the tone for the whole three days: unpredictable, a bit chaotic, and utterly brilliant. Pulling up to the lodge that first afternoon, with Loch Ness shimmering just a stone’s throw away, I felt like I’d stumbled into a postcard.

Ben Luna Lodge is this cosy wee gem tucked into the hillside, all wood-beamed charm and those massive windows framing the loch like a living painting. First impressions? Spot on. It’s the sort of place that wraps you up in tartan blankets and whispers “relax” from the moment you step inside. I dumped my bags, brewed a massive cuppa, and just stood there gawping at the view – grey skies threatening rain, but the water so still it could’ve been glass. The lodge itself is compact but perfect for solo wanderers like me: a snug living area with a wood burner (not lit yet, but tempting), a kitchen stocked with all the essentials, and a bedroom upstairs that smells faintly of pine. Outside, there’s a deck that practically begs you to sit with a dram and watch for Nessie.

Day one was all about easing in with a gentle hike along the South Lochness Trail, right from the lodge door. It’s one of those paths that hugs the lochside, winding through bracken and birch trees, with the water lapping just below. I set off in high spirits, boots laced tight, thinking I’d bag a few miles before tea. The weather was playing nice at first – a crisp breeze, clouds scudding overhead, proper Highland fresh air that makes your lungs sing. I spotted a heron stabbing at the shallows and even waved at a couple of fellow walkers who looked like they’d stepped out of an Outlander episode. Light humour in the air, too; I nearly tripped over a sheep that eyed me like I was the intruder.

But oh, the British weather – it’s got a wicked sense of timing. Halfway round, the sky turned from moody to menacing, and the heavens opened. Not a drizzle, mind, but a full-on deluge that had me sheltering under a gnarled oak, hood up, giggling at how sodden I was. Plans for a longer loop to Foyers? Scrubbed. Instead, I squelched back to the lodge, peeled off my dripping layers, and lit that wood burner. Cosied up with a book and the patter of rain on the roof, it felt like the best pivot ever. There’s something meditative about it, isn’t there? That moment when the weather forces you to pause, and you realise you’ve been rushing about like a headless chicken back home. Here, drenched and daft, I reflected on how rarely I let the world dictate the pace – and how bloody refreshing it was.

Next morning, the sun peeked out like it was apologising, so I was off again, this time tackling the steeper path up to the viewpoint near the lodge. It’s a cracker – proper leg-burner through heather and rowan, rewarding you with panoramas of the loch stretching towards Urquhart Castle ruins in the distance. Weather held for an hour, birdsong everywhere, that golden light making everything glow. I picnicked on a rock (cheese butties never tasted so good), feeling like king of the hill. Then, cue the mist rolling in thick as porridge, turning the trail into a ghostly wander. Visibility down to nil, I retraced steps carefully, compass out, chuckling at my amateur hour. Back at Ben Luna, steaming mug in hand, gazing out at the fog-shrouded loch, it hit me: these weather-whipped walks were the real magic. No grand itineraries, just me, the path, and whatever the skies threw next.

By the third day’s dawn hike – a misty amble along the quieter shore path – I was hooked. Sun broke through eventually, painting rainbows over the water, but even the squalls felt like part of the fun. Ben Luna Lodge didn’t just host my stay; it launched these brilliant, battered adventures. If you’re after a spot where the weather’s your cheeky co-pilot and the loch’s your constant companion, this is it. I left with muddy boots, a full heart, and plans to return – next time, I’m packing extra socks.