We hopped on the first steam train that morning, departed at 10:30 from Aviemore through Boat of Garten and terminus at Broomhill. It was a vicarious ride that threaded through rustic towns, displayed moments of nostalgic and a time capsule to the past when the first steam train was invented. The train cabins were distinctly unadorned; rows of face-to-face blue and black small checked seats, undersized sliding windows atop of the fixed window panels running along both sides of the train, outdated metallic heater switch at end of each cabin and for safety precaution the burgundy doors could only be opened from outside of the train and was secured by rusty bolt from the inside (to open one should slide down the window panel and lunged for the door knob mounted outside).

Prior the steam train began its journey, staffs congregated near head of the train, pumping water into a huge tank use for generation of steam. After everything was overseen, the train’s captain would then chime three times as an indication to the train was about to depart. Hordes of dark smoke began to belch from the chimney of Strathspey 17, producing great hisses and boisterous roars of the engines. Sightseers perching at the train platform, especially children were waving their hands effusively as Strathspey 17 gradually picked up its speed.

Unlike contemporary train, Strathspey 17 inched its way without hastiness through mountainous landscaping, luxuriant cultivated fields dotted with cattle and arrays of wooden fences fringed the pastures. In contrast to these, distance fog-shrouded snow-capped mountains were almost invisible, creating a dull and monochromatic vision. In no more than minutes, fat droplets pelted on the window shields, obfuscating the view outside. As Strathspey 17 weaved the track, the ticket officer was responsible to check onboard passengers’ tickets - a small brownish ticket made from cardboard imprinted with current date and destination. Before inspection, the ticket officer would hail the passengers in each cabin, and then requested for the ticket, punched a tiny hole on the ticket that had been examined and returned back to us for mementos. Standing at the end of the cabin, the officer would announce the next stopover station before leaving for his next batch of inspection. The entire procedures were evocative of some old British films. Boat of Garten was a small town. The train would usually stop for couples of minutes to ensure suffice water in the tank. At the same time, it was also a major stopover for local residents, change of the Speyside line and even tourists who demanded a nine-hole golf course amidst the countryside.

Towards the midsection of the steam train was the first-class cabin; an independent cabin could only be accessible from outside and not through any sliding door that link each compartment of the train. Capitalizing on the ten minutes halt, we surveyed this classic cabin. A long narrow hallway ran down several rooms, with each holds a capacity of four adults and privacy was added by a see-through sliding door mainly for mental comfort. In each room, a leather menu was placed neatly across the mahogany table, decorated with a small plain vase and necessary condiments. The window panel was beautified with matching drape to the fabric of couch, which resembles tartan of the Scotsmen.

By the time we arrived at Broomhill, the weather became exceptionally good. Clouds scudded into position and letting shafts of sunlight streamed through the clear sky. The air was crisp and accompanied with stirring breeze. Distant culminant peaks manifested and evergreens poised themselves on the gentle hillside.

It was time heading back to Aviemore. But before that, Strathspey 17 had to disengage the train’s head from its ‘body’. Again, it released massive smoke and ear-splitting roars. Two staffs scrupulously maneuvered the detachment and spun on the bodiless train along an auxiliary track to the other end of the train, exceeding at a certain distant from the end that was sufficient to cover for later reversal. With the help of the instructions from the ground staffs, the detached part painstakingly reversed until it feather-touches its body, which was further secured manually by a powerful metal latch.

Around mid noon, we returned back to Aviemore Station. Once again, it was jam-packed with passengers waiting for the next departing steam train, some of them fervently meeting up their love ones and a few scattered tourists scrutinizing at the train schedule.

After the morning downpour, a full arc rainbow stretched itself across the endless sky, sketching like a long curvy prismatic ladder connecting the other side of Aviemore.

To the northwest of Edinburgh, Fort William is a portal to countless imposing mountain ranges, historical site of the Glencoe Massacre in 1692 and sweeping shoreline of Loch Linnhe curving through the southern part of Great Glen. Further to the west of Fort William, Glenfinnan was a small town cuddled along "The Road to the Isles" that aptly exemplified the Highland landscapes and far-reaching culture.

The very next morning, my husband and I departed from Edinburgh via Citylink, which seems to be our only choice of transportation to west of the Highland. Respite from our five hours bus route, in transit at Glasgow Buchanan Bus Station, it prepared us to another demanding day at Nevis Range; one of the most sought-after ski area and gondola-style cable car in the shadow of Ben Nevis (the highest mountain in Britain towering at 4,406 feet). Be it a skier, snowboarder or ski spectator, gondola was the quintessence to the gateway of Nevis Range. Trekking or other activities may be grueling even in summer, and not to be tackled by ill prepared.

The fifteen minutes precipitous ride on gondola almost took our breath away. The views changed as the gondola ascended. The air through the window was fragrance, cool and was perfumed by pines that teemed the lower elevation, Arctic tundra and shrubs take hold in the barren glacial soil as the gondola escalated above the higher ground. After passing the treeline, the world became monochromatic. Perennial snow pervades the landscape and was occasionally broken by intermittent thick fogs wafted from Ben Nevis and Carn Mor Dearg (the second highest mountain in Nevis Range). At the base of ski area, string of chairlifts threaded its way through the easy and intermediate ski routes, with strenuous route only accessible by ski tow. Aonach Mor peak was a silent challenge to intrepid climbers, where skiers could glide like an eagle along the face of off-course piste and perform astonishing stunts at the same time.

Snowgoose Restaurant provides a refuge to both spectators like us and the skiers. Not only the smelled of hot food and beverages were alluring but the restaurant was the only hideout from the vicious claws of wind at this elevation. The wind was biting at certain point of time. But then, within minutes, the weather could be exceptionally good. Shafts of sunrays streamed through clouds, reflecting the snow-white ground into flaring glare, and sometimes too stupendously bright to look at directly for more than seconds.

Loch Linnhe was situated at the head of Fort William and contoured itself like an hourglass, with one enclosed and the other half runs along Ballachulish and dissolved itself into Firth of Lorn. Hence, far as from Snowgoose, Loch Linnhe appeared to be like two independent lakes.

Abut to Loch Linnhe, Glen Scaddle and Cona Glen were one of the culmination points in Glencoe area. Mile after mile of snowcapped mountains, blanket of evergreens spreading far below and singular landscape punctuated by crystal blue lochs combined to form another unique assemblage of the West Highland.

It was a joyous matter to visit a real movie scene. Glenfinnan became more celebrated after Harry Potter was filmed here. The twenty-one viaduct might be one of the reasons to serving the filming milieu and also the charming Loch Shiel where lake houses graced along the salubrious waterside and towering mountains rose up on both side of the loch. Previous winter had stripped off the verdant colors from the hillsides, leaving behind only brownish withered trees and lingering snow packs, waiting for the next summer to flare them into prominent emerald.

Our train left for Glenfinnan Station around eight in the morning. As Jacobite Steam Train operates between late April to early October, our trip to Glenfinnan was almost eclipsed with this inappropriate schedule. Thanks to First ScotRail that resuscitated our plan. It traversed on the same path as Jacobite Steam Train, threading its way from Fort William, following on "The Road to the Isles" and ending its journey at Mallaig (a town tipped at west Highland where car ferry make possible to Isle of Skye).

Before arriving at Glenfinnan Station, First ScotRail curves itself above the viaduct. Looking far below, twenty-one arches soar majestically. Each pillar was made from mass concrete, constructed during July 1897 to October 1898 at a cost of £18,904 in celebration of the centenary 1897 – 1997. Not far from the viaduct, Jacobite Monument materialized near head of Loch Shiel, standing tall against coldness for hundred years. The air smelled of morning dew. Mist shrouded Loch Shiel, which was trapped between these mountainous regions, casting a soft mantle over the land.

The walk from Glenfinnan Station to the monument consist a few switchbacks. A turn down the main road, a local chapel emerged near the hillside resting itself against the panoramic view of mountain ranges and Loch Shiel dominated the scene. Jacobite Monument was still another fifteen minutes uphill walk away. By the time we reached the monument, the surrounded wind no longer feel piercing, perhaps the arduous walk had increased our body heat or the excitements had drowned out the icy wind.

In order to get to the top of Jacobite Monument, visitors were required to purchase the entrance ticket at the visitor center, each costing £3 and six visitors were limited to access the top each time due to narrow flight of frail staircases and confined space at the top.

Tracing from the main road, a private road led to the base of viaduct. It restricted any cars but not a little walk deeper. To get close to the viaduct, trekking was the only way. It was early April and snow packs had started to defrost. The ground was moist. We tried best to avoid some deep mud-covered trenches and a few runoffs, undergrowth crackling beneath our feet and small branches snapping as we navigated our way through these dense overgrowths.

Moment later, First ScotRail was spotted from far. It careened round the viaduct, and roar of the engines was earsplitting. The sound cut through the still mountain air and bounced off the mass concrete and reverberated around us. Through the sinewy arches, it was like contemplating a life-size fresco, with distant mountains and loch that painted a classical portrait of Scottish Highland.

The night rides on Megabus transported us to a land filled with ancient edifices. It took us almost eight hours to Edinburgh St. Andrew East Square from London Victoria Bus Station. The arrival at Edinburgh was near crack of dawn and the city was still at repose, with the sun hid behind hordes of dark clouds creating a cold and inhospitable atmosphere - a place embroiled with incalculable elusive history and lurking poignant past.

Edinburgh was one of the most beautiful cities in Europe and renowned for its castle. Situated in the center of the city, Edinburgh Castle perched high on a massive volcanic rock like a magic kingdom floating in the air, meanwhile accentuating its height and overlooked the Old and New Town demarcated by Princess Street. New Town was laid out on open ground to the north of the crowded medieval Old Town in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth century, but never failed to lose its elegance.

Abut to St. Margaret’s Chapel (oldest building in the Edinburgh Castle built between Year 1124 and 1153), view from One O’Clock Gun provided a panoramic view of this long-standing city as far as East Lomond Hill across the inlet of North Sea, Inchkeith a recluse island, Sir Walter Scott Monument (1846) bordered the side of Princess Street and the arresting National Monument (1829) to the far east. A short walk from here, Half-Moon Battery (16th century Defence) and Argyle Tower (19th century) could be observed within a quick glance. Great Hall outstands itself from the rest as the finest structure dated from reign of James IV and was built uniquely with hammer-beam roof.

Scottish National Monument, towered majestically adjacent to Scottish Crown Jewels and Historic Apartments, enumerated the genealogy of the royal Scots (The Royal Regiment) as early as James Hepburn’s regimen in 1633 to as late as Lowland Volunteer in 1982.

Our longest wandering was in Regimental Museum not only because it generates too much information on military’s history but the volatile weather in Scotland; changing from sunshine to rain and then to the extreme of hailstone in minutes. Pellets of combined ice and snow began to pelt from the afternoon May’s sky. Tourists were ducking as the smaller form of hailstone darted harder in every direction to every corner of the castle rock. The museum ultimately provided a provisional haven to us for the next twenty minutes till the sun reappeared through the scattered clouds. Then, everywhere was beaming again.

Existing from the main entrance of Edinburgh Castle, High Street (Royal Mile) was a long stretch of shopping district distinctly selling prismatic Scottish tartan garments or kilts with each of them tracing back to their original traditions and families. The street was bejeweled with voices of bagpipes, deeply pierced the hearts of tourists, and never wearies the local.

Our trip drew to a close at Calton Hill. Towering monuments dramatically dominates eastern part of the city. From the top of Nelson Monument (1807), it offered a vantage view to salient structures like Playfair Monument, City Observatory (1818), and Ducald Stewart with Balmord Hotel (formerly known as the North British Hotel in 1902) loomed in the backdrop along Regent Road. Slanted sunrays spilled across the scenery, enliven the entire atmosphere.

Adjoining to Nelson Monument, The National Monument (1829) rises from the ground, exuding its opulence to the surrounding. We clambered surreptitiously to the top without any permissible banister or well-laid steps. The view changed. A clearer vision to North Sea and farther. Houses, verdant knolls and rolling fields appeared to be as insignificant as a gnat with cumulus clouds hovered low above while trees twisted in the blustery wind off the sea.

From the southeast of Calton Hill, Palace of Holyroodhouse transcends itself near Holyrood Park and Salisbury Crags protruding like an outcrop in the direction of the castle. The sun was setting, displaying a golden band stretching away in the west. The scene was serene and enchanting as the band became richer and darker.

The night at Drumnadrochit was exceptionally out of expectations. Most of the guesthouses were located amid gentle rolling hills, where countless cattle grazing on spacious verdant farmlands and as the sun dropped near the edge of the horizon, sunbeam mottled the landscape into variety of tints and tones.

We had dinner at Ben Leva Hotel, recommended by our hostess, served the best food in town; creamy and smooth haddock soup, crunchy fish and chip dribbled with vinegar and peppered with salt, smoked chicken penne with fried onions blended in its own unique sauces cooked to perfection! Ben Leva was warm, inviting and distinctly unadorned. It exemplifies the real country life, a place for mundane talks, game of billiards, inebriate oneself in beer after beer and perhaps board of darts if you were still sober.

The walk back from Ben Leva was cooling and tranquil. Brawny trees grow on both side of the country road. Their branches interlocked high above, creating a long tree tunnel. Through the unblemished sky, cluster of stars and silver march of moon etched against the dark. Birds’ cries dwindle was replaced by raucous of insects droning, indicating the night had fallen deeper.

The overnight stay at Woodlands Guesthouse invigorated us for the next coming day - a laborious one and half mile uphill walk to Urquart Castle. En route to the castle, we passed Borlum Farm where visitors could straddle tall on ponies or horses, gallop or a sweet ride around the farm, and at the same time experience the unshackle in this quaint countryside. A crest the sidewalk of the road, Urquart Castle loomed like an incantation, its ubiquitous obscure the surrounding, humble their existence.

The entrance to the castle required a walk down a flight of stairs to the basement, through a souvenir shop, and on the left was a mini theatre where tourists could seat-in and enjoy the heating system meanwhile watching a ten minutes video show on untold history of Urquart Castle. After the show ended, surprise was on the way; midsection of the red velvet drape slither to both sides, unveiling a panoramic view of Urquart Castle, a vista so familiar to the last image that had appeared in the video.

Urquart Castle was currently a piece of ruin after it had suffered countless warfare and skirmish in the past centuries, swapping different possessors as early as St Columba of Iona (AD 580) to the most recent Sir John Grant (AD 1509) who found the castle in a forlorn condition. Haplessly, the castle was never restored to its original fate. The trebuchet (a medieval siege machine) mounted at the front of Urquart was a bane to the castle. It worked like a gigantic catapult, erratically hurling large stones soaring high and far towards the Townhouse, Nether Bailey, Dovecot and Motte of the castle. As a result, only a diminutive part of the castle was persevered in its original state.

The entrance passage of Urquart was the weakest element. Hence, a few devices were introduced back then to fortify the castle; portcullis to counter front attack, a timber decking for defenders to assail attackers if portcullis was breached and two further iron gates, also the last resort, to defend the castle.

Nevertheless, Urquart was as mighty and opulent as the past. It sat reticently, overlooking Loch Ness and distant mountainous region, views of different seasons, sunset and sunrise, everyday without disappointment.

Three days stay in Fort William provided the most memorable days so far. After we were determined to set our path off the quaint town, our hearts were sunken. On the same transportation line as the second day, Citylink buttressed our courage to leave Fort William. The view along A82 was spartan but tranquil. Sporadically, it revealed a few photographed attractions; Commando Memorial near Spean Bridge scattered with a few awestruck tourists wandering under the cold weather and the unique design of Neptune’s Staircase, which consist of a series of eight linked locks on the Caledonian Canal, constructed to overcome the problem of passing boats along the steep descent between Loch Lochy and Loch Eil, taking the canal down 90 feet (27 m) in less than 2 miles (3 km).

Continued on its way, Citylink meticulously weaved through the Great Glen Way, Loch Cluanie and Five Sisters of Kintail until it reached Dornie, a very small or rather inaccessible town cuddled along A87 (the main road that link Kyle of Lochalsh across to Isle of Skye). Just opposite of the town, Eilean Donan was one of the most renowned castles in Scotland, exuding its loftiness over the land of Dornie.

Eilean Donan Castle not only exemplifies Dornie but also an indication to make a stopover for any sightseer and was dubbed the most romantic castles in Scotland. Instead fortify by a moat, the castle extended itself into Loch Alsh and Loch Duich, connected by a three-arch bridge and graced with rough-hews stone walls on both sides and overlooked the town of Dornie with meager population as well as public accommodation. The land surrounded Eilean Donan was sculpted with surpassing beautiful mountain ranges. Beyond these culminated points, snowy mountains cloaked themselves behind afternoon mists, creating almost no separation between the sky and the ground.

Periodically, raged of cloudburst may interrupt touring of the castle. But as soon as heap of dark clouds scudded across the sky and relinquish to the sun rays, it saved us getting bedraggled again. This pattern could persist for the rest of the day. It works like a routine in late spring and can never be missing out in west coast of Scotland.

In the first half of the 13th century, Eilean Donan Castle was constructed by Alexander II using it as a fortress against the attacks from the Vikings. Subsequently, the castle was handed down to the Mackenzie Family who then installed the MacRae family as its hereditary keepers. In 1719, the castle almost ended up in annihilation during the Jacobite rebellion. It was then used as a garrison and storage for munitions for the Spanish troops. With the attack from the three English frigates, the castle was inundated with cannon fire, setting the munitions ablaze and reduced the castles into an inferno then a piece of ruin.

Eilean Donan was left derelict until the turn of 20th century when the MacRae family reestablished the castle, rebuilding it to stay as close as possible to the original design. In 1934, the castle was then reopened to the public.

Currently, the interior of Eilean Donan Castle stays away from public’s photography. The artifacts in the Great Main Hall were bejeweled with antiquated furnishings, archaic rooms with little windows surveying the lochs and spacious kitchen displaying numbers of waxed figures and divine food waiting to be served to the royalty. Drones of primordial music playing in the background enhanced the actual scene even more.

The history of Eileen Donan Castle may only constitute a small part of the Scottish, like droplets of water in the deepest loch. But once you were here, illustrations of the castle and its architecture were reminiscent of the olden days gone by and can never be eradicated from one’s mind.