I’ll never forget the drive up to Moorhen Lodge last October – the Scottish Highlands in autumn are a sight to behold, but my sat-nav decided to play silly buggers right at the crucial moment. We’d left Inverness in a drizzle that turned the A82 into a shimmering ribbon of wet tarmac, the leaves on the birch trees glowing like fire against the slate-grey sky. About five miles from Loch Ness, just past Drumnadrochit, the bloody thing announced we’d “arrived” at a layby overlooking the loch. Cue me swearing under my breath while my mate Dave laughed so hard he nearly drove into a ditch. Classic me, always one minor mishap away from a story.

A quick U-turn and ten minutes later, there she was: Moorhen Lodge, tucked into a peaceful spot overlooking the glassy expanse of Loch Ness. It’s one of those cosy Highland cottages you dream about – stone-built with a pitched roof, wood-beamed ceilings, and a wood-burning stove that promised salvation from the crisp autumn chill. Arriving mid-afternoon, the October light was already fading fast, that golden-hour glow bouncing off the water like it was auditioning for a postcard. We hauled our bags up the gravel path, leaves crunching underfoot in shades of copper and rust, the air thick with that earthy, damp scent of decaying bracken. First impressions? Pure magic. The loch stretched out below, mist curling up from its surface like the breath of some ancient beast – fitting, given the Nessie legends – and the hills opposite were carpeted in heather turning from purple to bronze.

Stepping inside was like slipping into a warm hug. The open-plan living area smelled faintly of pine from the logs stacked by the hearth, and the big sash windows framed the view perfectly. We lit the stove straight away; outside, the temperature had plummeted to about 8°C, with a biting wind whipping off the water that made your cheeks sting. October’s no time for alfresco lounging here – it’s all about that indoor glow. Dave cracked open a couple of Irn-Bru (because why not embrace the cliché?), and we settled into the squishy sofas, mesmerised by the loch’s moody transformation. By dusk, fog had rolled in thick as porridge, swallowing the far shore and turning the world into a soft, ethereal blur. It felt like we’d stumbled into a Brontë novel, only with better whisky options.

That first evening shaped everything. We wandered down to the loch’s edge – a mere stone’s throw from the lodge – wrapped in coats and scarves, the ground spongy with moss and fallen leaves. The water lapped gently, cold enough to numb your fingers if you dipped them in, and every now and then a trout would leap, sending ripples that caught the last light. No Nessie sighting (sorry, lads), but the seasonal drama was enough: a lone heron stabbing at the shallows, the sky streaked with pink and orange before night clamped down proper. Back inside, we rustled up a stew with tatties from the local shop in Drumnadrochit – nothing fancy, but it hit the spot as rain pattered on the roof. Cosy doesn’t even cover it; with the stove crackling and the windows steaming up, it was pure bliss against the wild weather outside.

Looking back on those first impressions, there was a quiet moment of self-reflection as I sat by the window, mug of tea in hand, watching the loch vanish into the dark. Autumn at Loch Ness strips everything bare – no summer crowds, just you, the elements, and a nudge to slow down. In the rush of daily life, I’d forgotten how restorative that can be. The mishap with the sat-nav? Best thing that happened; it made the arrival feel earned. If you’re chasing that perfect Highland escape, book Moorhen Lodge for October. Just double-check your GPS.