Castle Urquhart on the banks of Loch Ness

It was a moonless night, but the Scottish air was so clear that the umbrella of stars overhead cast an eerie blue tint over the entire scene. The sound I had heard was the breeze moaning though the battlements and parapets of the ruined castle looming nearly overhead, and I half expected to see legions of ghostly Highlanders moving about on guard duty in the predawn hours. We were moored at Urquhart castle on Loch ness, deep in the Great Glen that slashes across the width of Scotland, separating the fabled Highlands from the rest of the country. This was the charter cruise of a lifetime … one that I’d been preparing for from the day I first read an account of the Loch Ness Monster.

The often sighted but never captured creature was the focus of my interest, but the highlands and islands had always called to me, and I’d returned a number of times, but never by water. As charter sailors, we’d grown blasé, having done most of the well-travelled paths: Caribbean and Bahamas, South Pacific, Pacific northwest, Mediterranean. So the idea of chartering a powerboat on Scotland’s Caledonian Canal, the manmade chain of canals that connect the lochs of the Great Glen, was heaven-sent. Pottering through little Scottish villages and exploring the castles and coves of the Highlands sounded like the perfect cruise, and I’d invited my parents to join us for a family vacation.

Though the wind had shifted enough to put us on a lee shore, I wriggled back into my sleeping bag comfortable in the knowledge that it wasn’t blowing hard enough to pose a problem. Besides, Loch Ness is so narrow that there’s no room for waves to build up, and I turned my attention to finding the last few warm spots in my bunk.

The locks of Fort Augustus with Loch Ness in the background.

Later that morning, having forsaken a warm sleeping bag for a less warm parka that scraped roughly against the stubble on my face, my father and I stood in the cockpit and surveyed the world. It was, as the Scottish say, a fine soft morning. Translated, that means that if you stand outside for very long, you’ll either freeze solid, be soaked through, or both. It wasn’t exactly raining, but the air was full of Highland mist drifting down off the hillsides. It was our second day in Scotland, but I was still feeling the drag of being eight time-zones and thousands of miles from home. While the rest of the crew sorted out the cabin and tidied up after breakfast, I lurched back into my bunk for a little more sleep. After all, I was the captain.

We had departed from Los Angeles just a couple of days before, but we had decided to fly straight through rather than sleeping over in London. The long polar haul was nearly eleven hours, followed by five hours waiting on hard seats in Heathrow Airport for our shuttle to Inverness. By the time we stumbled into our hotel, we’d been up for more than 24 hours straight, and it was showing.

Our first night in Scotland was spent at the Glen Mhor Hotel on the banks of the River Ness in Inverness. It was wonderful, and that wasn’t just because the huge bed was covered by an eiderdown under which we sank into oblivion. After a cheery breakfast the next day, we ventured out for a quick stroll in the sunshine along the riverbank and into Inverness. Spying a burly man striding along in a brilliant red kilt, we knew we were in the Highlands!

With a taxi to carry our duffels, we arrived at Caley Marina in nearby Muirtown, home of Caley Cruisers. Caley Cruisers was the first company to establish boating holidays on the Caledonian Canal and has been in operation since 1970. Owned and managed by the Hogan family, over the past 38 years the business has introduced thousands of families to the pleasure of boating in the splendours of the Scottish Highlands. They operate ten different classes of cruisers, all of which are fully equipped and with their wealth of experience, they have everything well-organised.

The charter base includes covered servicing and dry dock areas, showers for charterers, and storage areas for hard suitcases. Our Eriskay class cruiser was waiting for us, moored stern-to, and we piled our gear aboard. One of the Caley crew showed us how everything operated, from the single Volvo diesel to the galley stove. The layout was fairly predictable: double cabin forward and twin side cabin allowing a family of four to sleep comfortably without having to convert the table into a berth, inside steering, electrical hook-up, bow thrusters. The boats are fully equipped with hot and cold water, shower, refrigerator, freshly laundered bed linen, duvets for all fixed berths and sleeping bags for the convertible berths, large fridge, full size gas cooker, hairdryer, toaster, flat screen TV and DVD/CD player for the sounds of mournful Highland bagpipers. You bring books, sense of humour, and perhaps a willingness to relax and savour life for a few days.

Provisioning was handled by pointing us up the road where we found a grocery with a long line of schoolchildren waiting outside. Every few moments, one child, laden with sweets, would exit from the store and another would be admitted. We considered standing in the queue for our food, but decided that it was only for youngsters and the stern proprietor, guarding the door, gladly let us in. It didn’t take long to fill our shopping carts and the clerk, used to charterers, let us take the trolleys downhill to the marina, promising to send a lad to pick them up later.

Anxious to be off for Loch Ness, we stowed our gear and prepared to leave. We were told to wait until a tour boat passed along the canal, and to follow it through the first set of locks and a swing bridge. Moments later, a 1900s vintage double-decker appeared around the corner, chuffing smoke. We were off on our Highland fling. The first section of the canal wound through lush countryside, the swing bridge opened at the very sight of the steamer, and we slid through in their wake. At the lock, we rafted up alongside the tour boat, where the engineer leaned down to regale us in a deep Scots burr with tales of the Loch Ness monster even though we weren’t paying for his spiel. Out the other side, we dawdled along on a spring-like day, passing immense country homes with crisply trimmed hedges and Edward Gorey-style urns on the lawns.

The Caledonian Canal was built in the early 1800s as a method of connecting the Atlantic Ocean and the North Sea for both military and commercial shipping. In its day, it was big enough to take sea-going vessels, those trading with the Baltic and America as well as the Royal Navy, and save them from the often fearsome weather off the Hebrides or in the Pentland Firth at the tip of Scotland. The canal is 60 miles long, of which 38 miles are lochs and, in recent years, its use has been for yachts, charter cruising, and the occasional fishing vessel passing through. The lochs are now all electrically operated from dawn until dusk.

A grey misty dawn on Loch Ness. In the distance are the hills towards the south end of the loch with the distinctive dome of Meall Fuar-mhonaidh on the west side of the loch.

Caley Cruisers had provided us with a chart of the canal that was fully annotated, including such suggestions as where to watch for red deer or eagles, where not to anchor, and even the names of the lockkeepers (we had just waved goodbye to Mr S. Murray). The end of Loch Ness is marked by, of all things, a lighthouse, although it has to be seen to be believed. It’s simply a large white house, and the light shines up the loch from one of the upper bay windows! Passing the lighthouse, we were officially on the loch, which stretched 23 miles long and a mile wide into the afternoon haze. Moments later, we encountered our first castle, the empty, but not ruined Aldourie Castle, which pokes its witch’s peaks and turrets through a grove of trees.

Our plan was to run the few miles up to Urquhart Bay and explore the ruined Castle Urquhart before mooring for the night. With hot peanut butter sandwiches, the senior and junior Caswells toasted their voyage and discussed what lay ahead.

A small pier serves the tour boat at Urquhart, and we moored alongside. To enter the castle, we had to cross a hillside through a flock of large sheep that looked like they might attack. Nervously staring them down, we marched uphill, paid our admission, and wandered through the ruined castle until daylight waned. Originally built to dominate the natural shipping route through the Highlands in the 1100s, it was ruined twice and rebuilt in stone during the Wars of Independence in the 1300s. It was finally blown up by government soldiers to keep it from Jacobite use during the Highland revolution in the 1700s, and the ruined castle keep is one of the most recognisable landmarks in Great Britain. It also overlooks Urquhart Bay, where Nessie has often been seen.

Highland sheep – watch those horns!

Fascinated by the castle, my father and I reexplored it at sunset, and it was easy to imagine the world as it had been hundreds of years ago, centuries before Columbus had even been born. This was a land of hardy men and women, of pirates and of princes, shepherds and kings. The lake was mirror-smooth as we climbed down off the battlements and went aboard our cruiser for dinner. As the blue hour settled over the loch, I found it hard not to keep looking up at the castle. After all, how often can you moor in such a setting?

By the next morning, however, I wasn’t quite so excited about castles and quaint moorings. After our dawn retreat from the pier, we had decided to head up the loch, but the weather was unlike the day before. The wind was, mercifully, behind us but the cloud hung low on the crags and the windshield wipers were needed to erase the rain. Outside, the cold nipped at any unprotected flesh but inside the cabin it was quiet and pleasant. The heater was on, we were in shirtsleeves, and spirits were high in spite of the damp. The Eriskay is flat out at about six knots, probably as a defence against inept charterers, so the trip to Fort Augustus at the end of Loch Ness took nearly three hours. Along the way, the mountainsides towered high on either side, with tall waterfalls spilling their white ribbons only to be frayed and whipped by the wind into a mist. But even the grey day couldn’t fade the brilliant yellow-gold blooms of the gorse, of which huge patches coloured the otherwise monochrome day. It was in this area that racer John Cobb was killed while attempting to break the world water speed record. At more than 200 mph, his boat appeared to hit something, disintegrated, and Cobb was never found. Was it Nessie or just another legend for the Highlands?

Fort Augustus was heralded by the bulk of a Benedictine abbey hunched in the trees with only the tower visible, but the Caley chart showed the jetty entrance clearly and we were soon moored on the Ness side of the locks. Fort Augustus is notable for having a flight of five locks that carry everything from yachts to naval ships right through the centre of the village. It was still drizzling and, after our previous evening, we decided to spend the night ashore. We found the Braes Hotel, where charming owner and her golden labrador Monty (who runs the hotel) welcomed us to a view, lace curtains, Victorian furnishings and afternoon tea. It was here that we heard the weather slogan that was to prove true: “If you can’t see across Fort Augustus, it’s raining. If you can see across Fort Augustus, it’s about to rain.”

The following day, we enjoyed a leisurely breakfast, and then wandered down to explore the town before returning to our Eriskay. Bisected by the locks the town is the epitome of the small Scottish village, where everyone knows everyone and even strangers dressed in bright parkas are greeted cheerfully. In the village store, which also served as the post office, my parents overhead this bit of conversation between a villager and the postmistress: Villager: “I got a letter from the Queen yesterday.” Postmistress: “Yes, dear, I saw the Buckingham Palace envelope.”

At that point, my parents moved on, not wanting to intrude on a personal conversation, but it was a pleasant morsel for us to consider later on the boat. Does the Queen use stamps? What was in the letter? Was she being invited to high tea, a family celebration, or simply being asked to contribute to the Lifeboat Fund? Passing through the locks at Fort Augustus (which is no quick matter), boats slide along a manmade canal before emerging on Loch Oich. The view is dominated by Mealfourvornie, a towering mountain that looms nearby. Halfway down the Loch are the ruins of Invergarry Castle, one-time home to the McDonnel clan and straight out of an old movie, at least when we saw it. The sky was still grey; rain showers had darkened the castle walls so that it blended with the high trees surrounding it, and it sat brooding as if awaiting the return of the clans. A well-protected cove below the castle has moorings and a pier, with a pleasant area for picnics and barbecues. When we were there, several other boats were also using the area, including a big offshore ketch on it’s way to the North Sea.

A calm, clear day at Loch Ness.

Departing Invergarry Castle, it’s only a short cruise to the “Well of the Seven Heads,” which also has a protected cove, picnic sites, water and a nearby grocery for restocking. The name refers to the scene where seven clansmen were killed during the purges after the battle of Culloden. Loch Oich, the highest point on the canal at 106 feet above sea level, leads into the manmade area called Laggan Ave, a peaceful tree-lined waterway with walking paths along the bank. It’s pleasantly quiet, and reminiscent of European waterways.

Loch Lochy is the last natural waterway, with the mighty peaks of Sean Mheall and Ben Iaruinn glowering nearby. The flight of eight locks, called Neptune’s Staircase at the western end of Loch Lochy, also mark the end of the charter cruising area. The stretch of the Caledonian Canal from Fort Augustus to Loch Lochy is called the secret stretch, because there are no highways or tourist areas nearby, and the scenery is literally untouched in most areas. It is much the same as it was when Bonnie Prince Charlie fled for his life through the area on his way to the Isle of Skye.

Our return was uneventful, although the breeze had swung again to give us a downwind slide along Loch Ness, and the charter boats headed upwind were getting wet in the wind-driven chop. The lighthouse with its beacon burning brightly in the upstairs window appeared in the distance and we were soon nestled up at the Caley Marina dock as a work crew descended to prepare our boat for its next guests. Unlike charters we’ve had in other areas, our boat had been spotlessly clean, everything operated flawlessly and the entire week went by too rapidly. We celebrated our last night in the Highlands with, of all things, a wonderful Italian dinner at the marvellous Glen Moriston Hotel, where we had Nessie-dreams in a four-poster bed before flying to London the next day.

Do we have any regrets other than not seeing Nessie? Only one. I wish my parents had found out if the Queen uses stamps on her letters.

Notes for Charterers
Summer is, obviously, the best time to cruise the Caledonian Canal, but come prepared for rain and cold even in July. Scotland’s weather is highly changeable, so a blustery day is often followed by a warm sunny one. Book as early as possible, since preferred weeks fill early. For more information, visit the Yachtworldcharters.com UK page.

This story first appeared in the October 2008 issue of Yachtworld.com Magazine. View the latest issue

Now fully restored and fitted with state of the art equipment, the eighty year old Halcyon is truly in her prime.

A welcoming committee of dolphins turn playful somersaults beside Halcyon’s svelte copper-clad hull as I board this elegant vessel moored in Oban harbour. Captain Rob Hickman greets me with a glass of chilled champagne and introduces me to my fellow passengers and his crew, purser Annette, first mate Olly and resident chef Kerri, before showing me to my cosy cabin. Like the rest of Halcyon’s interior, it is traditional in style with acres of gleaming brass and golden varnished Burma teak and comes equipped with every modern luxury and convenience.

The original launching in 1929, in Southampton.

It’s easy to see why Halcyon has been described as the Orient Express of the Seas. Built in oak and teak for Sir Samuel Turner, a Lancashire industrialist, she was designed with luxury and comfort in mind. When she was launched in 1929 Halcyon was considered a thoroughbred; since then she has sailed the four corners of the world in various incarnations.

As minesweeper, private yacht, and naval training ship, Halcyon has always been sailed hard.

It was rumoured that, during the Second World War, she was the flagship of a flotilla of minesweepers in Greece before becoming the private yacht of Madame Renault. Between 1957 and 1988, Halcyon’s interior was altered dramatically when she became a training ship for Merchant navy cadets at Warsash. She came unscathed through the notorious 1979 Fastnet race which saw one of the worst storms ever to hit an ocean yacht race. She also raced in the Hamilton, Bermuda to Halifax, Nova Scotia leg of the 1984 Tall Ships race in which the Marques was tragically lost during a squall. From 1988 and 2004 she was used as a private yacht, cruising a number of areas including the Caribbean, Florida, the Canaries and the UK.

Not surprisingly, all these experiences had taken their toll and when Halcyon was discovered four years ago by her current owner, Andrew Armour, she was in dire need of love and attention.

These have since been lavished upon her and, now fully restored, renovated and fitted with state of the art equipment, she represents a perfect marriage between the golden age of sail and twenty-first-century living. She may be celebrating her eightieth birthday but this grand dame of the ocean is currently in her prime.

Outlining our itinerary, Rob suggests we cruise up the Sound of Mull to Tobermory. As Halcyon’s deck layout and fittings are almost as the original design with virtually no winches, all five sails must be hoisted and trimmed manually. Before weighing anchor, Olly takes us through the safety features and invites guests to lend a hand on deck should the fancy take them or simply enjoy the ravishing views. With only a whisper of wind to fill her sails, we motor gently through water-colour landscapes and an ethereal Scotch mist descends as we pass the forbidding outline of Duart Castle. Olly tells the chilling tale of Lachlan Maclean who, angry that his wife did not produce a son, left her to drown on nearby Lady Rock. Fortunately, she was rescued by a fisherman and taken to her brother who took revenge many years later and “dirked in bed” his rogue brother-in-law.

Gleaming brass and golden varnished Burma teak give guests a warm welcome.

Tobermory, established as a fishing port during the late eighteenth century, is the main village on the Isle of Mull. A painter’s paradise, the brightly coloured houses clustered around a busy harbour create a carnival atmosphere. After a tour of the Ledaig Whisky Distillery, we set sail for Loch Aline where we anchor for the night and enjoy yet another of Kerri’s first-class creations. How this talented chef manages to produce consistently exquisite cuisine – everything from Cullen Skink (a traditional haddock soup) to red onion Tarte Tatin and even home-baked chocolate biscuits – in the most compact of galleys is a topic for discussion over port served with locally sourced cheese.

The following morning we wake to Caribbean blue skies, shimmering sunshine and a fair wind. With all five sails glamorously hoisted we tack down the Sound of Mull attracting admiring glances from passing yachtsmen and hillside ramblers. Even a seal, surfacing from the placid water, seems to follow our stately passage with interest. Ghosting silently past the dramatic scenery, I draw crisp, clean air into my lungs and relish a serene sense of well being. The sun sharpens the tapestry of greens and cobalt blues comprising the surrounding landscape. It is perfect sailing weather and even I join in, heaving on lines and marvelling as the sails balloon satisfyingly above us.

Even with state of the art electronics, there is still room for a few classic pieces.

Mooring up for lunch in a secluded cove, the crew break out Halcyon’s water toys. Although the weather is glorious, this is still Scotland and the water is bone chillingly cold. Although some brave guests swim, snorkel and cling to a ringo drawn behind a speeding rigid inflatable dinghy, I choose to play “Swallows and Amazons” in Halcyon’s pretty clinker gaff rigged row boat. Rowing sedately to a deserted shore clothed in wild flowers, I watch a bustling family of ducklings and seals lounging on rocks whilst oystercatchers squabble overhead.

That evening as we head out towards the evening’s anchorage, Rob invites me to take the helm. Standing at Halcyon’s wheel and sensing her considerate response to my touch, I reflect on her long career and the pleasure she continues to bring to those privileged to sail with her. Few people know that halcyon was the name given by ancient Greeks to the iridescent kingfisher and that the phrase “Halcyon Days”, evoking periods of peace and calm, derives from a Greek legend. As I guide this perfectly named, legendary yacht into a fuchsia sunset, I realise I’ve fallen completely under her spell. I may be a fair-weather sailor, but believe me days don’t come much more Halcyon than this.

For more information about chartering in Scotland, visit our Scotland info page.