SOME LIKE IT HUT
Two near-death experiences.. lost in the middle of nowhere? Luxury lodge turned out to be the perfect Highland break
Q: How many near-death experiences can you pack into a relaxing weekend getaway to a luxurious log cabin in the Highlands?
A: Two. But probably only in the unlikely event that you have to stay there with an idiot. Like me.
It’s a long story but let’s start at the beginning – the stunning, hand-crafted hideaway that is Eagle Brae. It’s a purpose-built retreat in splendid isolation at the head of a picture-book glen.
Eagle Brae is one of a bespoke collection of seven truly spectacular, five-star holiday homes crafted from Canadian Red Cedar which was shipped from British Columbia.
This is luxury living all right. From the stylish bathrooms and showers to the flat-screen TVs and state-of-the-art kitchen, it feels more like you’ve just checked into a boutique hotel than a grass-roofed hut on the side of some hill in the middle of nowhere.
Because that’s exactly what it is. And precisely where it is, too.
Just follow the signs for the end of the earth. When you get there, hang a left and carry on for another half-an-hour.
Alternatively, head up the A9 as far as Inverness, then keep on going until you reach the village of Beauly. Then it’s just another 13 miles of twists and turns through field and forests and into a kind of wilderness that feels like it belongs to a different time and place.
Forget the fact that, without a single street light for miles, you’ll need to throw a double six to find the slip road entrance.
This is the deepest, darkest Highlands, the land that time forgot.
During the winter months, the place is pitch black from around 4pm. Five o’clock feels like the dead of night. So there we were, at half-past five, missing the turn-off for the umpteenth time, being talked in over the phone by our unrelentingly patient hostess Pawana – whose family members carved some of the decorative parts of these cabins by hand in the Himalayas. True story.
Finally, we meet in person at the check-in. Pawana shows us around our jaw-dropping open-plan accommodation and gives a crash course in how to work the log burning stove.
She can spot us for the soft southern city types that we are a mile off – at which point she confirms that the complimentary wifi and Netflix are in full working order. We’re not savages after all.
Next question. Where’s the pub? For Pawana, it’s a short walk down the hill and 10-minute hop, skip and jump back along the road we came in on.
For us? That’s an eerie expedition into an icy, black oblivion. Or, in other words, if we take the car there, can we call a taxi back? Sweet.
Two minutes later, the rear wheel drive slips out from underneath us on the sheet ice that has coated the mountain track and we skid hopelessly towards the edge of a 30ft ravine.
As we come to rest with our front end teetering over the drop, suddenly the pub doesn’t sound like such a great idea.
Consensus is quickly reached
that simply avoiding death is probably good enough for our first night. The car is abandoned and Pawana comes to our rescue, hurtling down the same hill in a 4x4 before depositing us back at our own front door.
It’s still only 6pm. Time to hunker down for the night.
A hot bubble bath is poured. Wine is opened. My inner manliness – which had been whimpering moments earlier – is restored by the successful building of a roaring fire.
It’s around about this point when you feel the full force of nature hit you for the first time. The body clock begins to synchronise with these other-worldly surroundings and the need for the pace of the city begins to ebb away. Walk outside on to the decking and breathe it in. The wonderful nothingness.
Not a car in sight. In fact, no lights for as far as the eye can see. There is nothing out there – just silence, darkness and absolute serenity.
By day two, even the familiar sound of an email dropping into the inbox of your mobile phone feels like an unwelcome annoyance. An intruder from the future.
Our assimilation now complete, we drive to the local butcher 20 miles away and treat ourselves to a huge slice of fillet, which had been unsuspectingly munching grass in a nearby field about 15 minutes earlier.
That’s tonight’s dinner sorted. Now time to explore. Eagle Brae sits at the very heart of the Highlands. It’s the perfect base to explore this scenic region in all directions, which is probably why it has become such a hugely popular destination since it first opened in 2013.
When we were there in November, advance bookings were being taken for Christmas and New Year 2018 and many of them from returning guests.
It’s the sort of place you’re unlikely to visit just the once, although, in my case, Pawana may well insist on it.
Which brings us to near-death experience No2. Back at base camp, with the steaks resting at room temperature, the fire blazing and my better half in the bath, I’m having trouble getting the hob to switch on.
It’s back across to reception once more to ask for Pawana’s assistance. She comes over to our cabin only to notice a nasty burning smell which, on reflection, inside a log cabin is almost definitely never a good thing.
Turns out some idiot had left the fire-retardant glove on top of the log burner stove for the last half-an-hour. This was testing its fire-retardant integrity to the absolute maximum.
Pawana picked the smouldering, melting object up with iron forceps before flinging it out the patio doors – but not before the Highland tranquillity was pierced by the sound of a cabin’s smoke alarm.
The next morning, a beaming Pawana waved us off. She may not be so pleased to learn we fully intend to come back.