The Middle of Literally Nowhere

In fall, I was fortunate enough to get to visit the highlands of Scotland – well, the lowest part of the highlands, anyway. There is so much about that region that lives up to its reputation. The sweeping hills, the low mists, the constant threat of rain – all of these features do indeed make one feel as though she is the newly-anointed protagonist of a yet unreleased Lord of the Rings sequel.

They also make one feel as though if she gets lost, she really, seriously, is never going to get home.

I chose Loch Ness as my highlands destination this semester thinking that if there really was one notable location in the region most wanting of a visit, that would be it. I also assumed that this notoriety would lead to countless visitors like myself in pursuit of a photo of its dinosaur-esque mascot monster and that such traffic would, in turn, render Loch Ness a sort of tourist hub.

I was wrong.

There was a single small town on the side of Loch Ness where I stayed called Drumnadrochit. (Drum-nuh-drock-it.) There was one (one) restaurant in this town. There was a Loch Ness information center. There was a post office. And those, my friends, were all of the buildings in the town of Drumnadrochit.

Drumnadrochit was about ten miles down a narrow, twisting, unlit road from the hostel where I stayed. There was one bus that passed by every hour and a half that could take a person to and from the small town. Every tourist within fifty miles of Loch Ness wanted to eat at the single overpriced restaurant. I got the last table on the night I arrived. I am genuinely not sure what I would’ve eaten had that table been otherwise occupied.

The journey home alongside the loch taught me what true and utter pitch black darkness looks like. It’s the kind of darkness that is uncorrupted by streetlights, by city lights – and five miles down the road, even the six or seven lights of Drumnadrochit did not interrupt the vast blackness of the night. The stars there are impeccable.

The hostel where I stayed was nestled on the densely forested shore of Loch Ness. The view there, too, was worth being in the middle of very literally nowhere. A few long hiking trails stretched from the hostel to another pint-sized town ten more miles down the road, so extensive that they disappeared and reappeared in places, overtaken by the mossy undergrowth of the forest. I’ve included a few pictures from the trails, likely the loveliest part of the trip, but certainly not a place you would ever want to get lost.

I did make it back home from Loch Ness, certain that I’d experienced both the majesty and the wildness of the highlands in full. I have a newfound appreciation for the highlands and their sweeping wilderness, and I would be quite happy to go back – especially now that I know exactly where I’m going.