A Stay at Glenhurich Lodge, a Secluded Home on the Ardnamurchan Peninsula

When inclement weather caused the suspension of most CalMac ferries one weekend in late March, my husband and I were left scrambling to come up with an alternative destination for a much-anticipated getaway without our two small children. My requirements? Remote, with a wildlife-to-people ratio skewed heavily in favour of the animals. My husband’s request? Somewhere near the coast that we hadn’t explored before. We settled on Ardnamurchan, a rugged Highland peninsula that includes the most westerly point on the British mainland. 

In a turn of events that would set the meteorological tone for the weekend, we experienced every weather possible on our drive west. Bruising hail as we passed the peaks of Crianlarich, followed by glorious sunshine in the sweeping valleys of Glencoe. By the time we drove onto the tiny ferry that would take us across Loch Linnhe from Corran to Ardgour, darkness was falling like a cloak across the land, leaving us with only the faintest impression of wild beaches and wooded hills as we disembarked onto the Ardnamurchan Peninsula. 

We were headed for Glenhurich Lodge, a white-harled former hunting lodge turned holiday cottage nestled in a remote glen near the hamlet of Polloch. As we turned north onto the winding hill track from Strontian village, we found ourselves climbing higher into a flurry of snowflakes. Our tyres slipped on the slick tarmac and the only lights were those of our headlights reflected in the eyes of red deer grazing by the roadside. The thrill of adventure thrummed in my veins as I revelled in the anticipation of what lay at journey’s end. 

It was fully dark and freezing cold by the time we pulled up outside the house. My first impression as we pushed open the door was the heady smell of old books and polished wood — a scent that reminded me instantly of visiting my grandparents’ house when I was small. Although their home sat on a Cornish headland while Glenhurich shelters in a protected glen, the sense of nostalgia continued as we flipped on the lights and ventured inside. 

With its Sixties furniture and eclectic decor ranging from framed watercolours to vintage forestry signs, Glenhurich is the kind of place whose spaces have borne witness to decades of family stories. It’s delightfully lived in, with all the charm of an old country home translated in creaking floorboards and vocal plumbing. With space for up to 11 guests, it’s a house built for reunions with family and friends, where grownups can conjure up a feast in the kitchen or relax in front of the fire while children run shrieking through the corridors playing hide and seek. More than anything, it is a house that feels like a home. 

On that first night, I felt myself slipping into relaxation like a well-worn robe. A deep bath filled with steaming, peat-tinted water. A glass of wine and the sound of the rain lashing against the panes. A deliciously comfortable bed. Sleep uninterrupted by children or pets. It was the kind of bliss that’s hard to find anywhere less off the beaten track than Glenhurich Lodge. 

The next day, the world had been washed clean by the storm and the view from our window was dominated by a line of towering Douglas firs standing sentinel on the opposite side of a small burn. Over breakfast, a quick read through the provided history of Glenhurich revealed that the trees were planted in the 1860s at the same time as the earliest part of the house was built. The second wing came some four decades later and was originally intended as separate accommodation for Forestry Commission staff. In the 90s after a period of serving as a schoolhouse (enrollment included 13 children at its peak), the two were renovated and joined to create a single family home. 

The result is two distinct wings on either side of the central kitchen and living room. One section has two upstairs double rooms, a downstairs double room and a box room for children consisting solely of a bed and skylight. My three-year-old son would have loved the novelty of having this cosy, custom-sized nook all to himself. The other wing features the master bedroom where we slept and a second, equally large room with two twin beds. Three bathrooms, a fully equipped kitchen with a family dining table and a generous living room complete the interior layout, while a private garden and outdoor seating beckon in summer.  

With its cowhide rug, mismatched armchairs and wooden shelves laden haphazardly with books and board games, the living room is the heart of the house. It’s a place for sipping coffee in the quiet of early morning, or for planning tomorrow’s adventures in front of the log-burning stove. 

After a planning session of our own, we decided to spend our only full day on Ardnamurchan covering as much ground as possible in the car. The drive back over the hill to Strontian was less nerve-wracking in the sunshine and we were able to appreciate for the first time the grandeur of the forest surrounding the lodge. It’s the kind of forest fairy tales are written about, where the trees grow so densely that light from the canopy is almost entirely shut out within a few feet of the road. Where moss grows thick and green over fallen branches and giant rocks, and water drips incessantly in tiny streams and waterfalls. 

Eventually we emerged above the treeline onto boulder-strewn moorland, where the elevation afforded astonishing views across a landscape dotted with shining lochs and fringed by distant white peaks. Back at sea level on the other side, the road followed along the shores of Loch Sunart until it diverted north across the peninsula’s interior to the coast. We passed peaceful crofts, fields full of sheep and swollen burns rushing beneath stone bridges until we reached land’s end at the edge of Loch Moidart, where the ruins of Castle Tioram stand on their tidal island perch. 

Thought to date back to the 13th or 14th century, the castle is the traditional seat of the Macdonalds of Clanranald. Although the interiors are now too dilapidated to allow safe entry, at low tide you can walk across the expanse of wave-ridged sand and admire the ancient walls up close. I left my husband searching for treasure with his metal detector on the beach while I went to explore the Silver Walk, a rocky ledge path that leads from the beach along the shores of the sea loch and affords stunning views of the castle and the opposite island, Eilean Shona. 

Famously, Eilean Shona served as the inspiration for JM Barrie’s screenplay for the film adaptation of Peter Pan, which he wrote there over the summer of 1920. As I gazed upon its rocky shores and secret inlets, I could easily see how this place of raw beauty could be mistaken for a Scottish version of Neverland, albeit with a few less pirates. That’s not to say that the area hasn’t seen its share of action: during the Second World War the beaches of Loch Moidart were used as a secret training ground for British Special Forces and indeed, when I returned to the beach my husband had unearthed a trove of old bullet casings. 

By the time we walked back to the car, the early sunshine had been chased away by ominous grey clouds and my fingers and nose had started to ache with cold. It was a small price to pay for the ozone filling my lungs and the sense of euphoria induced by time alone in nature, however, and as we detoured back to the tiny village of Acharacle in search of food I felt at peace. We found sustenance at East to West, a tiny takeaway café run by friends Krystie and Ellen. I was impressed with the creativity of the menu in such a remote place and the affordable prices, which Krystie told me are the result of an early decision to cater primarily to local people. 

Bolstered by a delicious curried cauliflower pasty and a cup of steaming minestrone soup, we continued on our way. The rest of the day’s adventures included a stop at Samalaman Beach whose clear waters and white sands were somewhat visible through a sudden, violent downpour; and a drive along the coastal road north of Glenuig. From here, we could see the dusky peaks of the Small Isles on the horizon across a bay studded with bobbing fishing boats. We spent the afternoon watching seals and oystercatchers from the Garbh Eileen Nature Hide, and then wound our way home over the hill and through the forest in a wash of golden light. 

The wildlife-seeker in me was thrilled by a dusk encounter with four red deer stags, who seemed entirely unbothered by our presence as we stopped to photograph them cropping the grass just feet from the car. When we arrived back at Glenhurich, I went for a solo wander beneath the fir trees in the moonlight. I was on the lookout for pine martens which I’d heard could be seen from the lodge, and although I didn’t spot any, that quiet moment set to the sound of a thrush calling over the gurgling burn was almost sacred in its serenity.  

Of course, a car isn’t mandatory for exploring the surrounding area. Glenhurich sits at the centre of a network of forestry tracks that provide hiking and cycling opportunities to suit all abilities, whether you’re up for a five-hour climb to the summit of Ben Resipol or a wander through the woods to Resourie Bothy. On our final morning we opted for a stroll along the burn and up the opposite hill to a viewpoint overlooking Loch Shiel. On the way up, it was an easy springtime saunter punctuated by stops to look at daffodils waving in the breeze and ditches filled with frogspawn. 

A small amount of effort yielded maximum reward in the form of spectacular panoramic views of Loch Shiel stretching endlessly in one direction, and smaller Loch Doilean and the glen in the other. Spears of sunlight filtered through the clouds to silver the surface of the water; and then a squall came rolling in across the loch and we found ourselves running, gasping and giggling, back down the hill with the storm at our backs and the wind roaring in the pines. Sheets of hail strafed the valley behind us and we reached the shelter of the lodge just in time to avoid getting soaked. It was nature at its most visceral and most exciting. 

Reflecting on our stay on the drive home later that day, I thought about the parallels between Glenhurich Lodge and Ardnamurchan as a whole. Both are unpretentious and honest, without superfluous glitz or glamour. Both provide everything you need to live deep and slow, sucking the marrow out of life and reconnecting with a sense of self that’s easy to lose in the clamour of everyday routine. In the car park near Castle Tioram, I had seen a bumper sticker bearing the legend, “Freedom is a Place in Ardnamurchan”. I think I agree. 

Written by Jess Macdonald