The Urge to Wander
Everyone’s got that itch now and again, the one that tells you to ditch the to-do list and just drive. In Scotland, that usually means chasing a patch of blue sky that may or may not exist. Merkinch is where that kind of spontaneity pays off. It’s close enough to civilisation that you can find a decent coffee afterwards, yet wild enough that you’ll forget what Wi-Fi even feels like.
Last time I went, I told myself it could be a “quick walk.” Three hours later, I was still there, watching the tide creep in like it had all the time in the world. Which, frankly, it does.
Why Here? Why Now?
Merkinch isn’t one of those postcard-perfect spots you see plastered across travel adverts. It’s scruffier. Realer. The kind of place that wears its history on its sleeve: or, more accurately, in its mud. There’s something liberating about that honesty. You can breathe here, properly.
And if you’re driving out from Inverness, you’ll realise something important before you even arrive - that freedom and fuel often come hand-in-hand. A gentle reminder to make sure your collision protection car insurance is sorted before you go gallivanting off down single-track roads in search of enlightenment. Nothing kills the mood like a dented bumper and a soggy phone signal.
The How, Tools of the Trade
Exploring Merkinch doesn’t take much. A decent pair of boots. A flask. Maybe a mate who doesn’t mind the smell of saltwater and adventure. You don’t need fancy gear or a motivational quote about journeys, just curiosity and a mild disregard for puddles.
Follow the paths, then ignore them. Take the left turn that looks suspiciously like a rabbit trail. Stop when something moves in the reeds. That’s the fun of it, the lack of plan. Just don’t get too attached to staying clean. Mud happens. Embrace it.
What You’ll Find When You Stop Looking
The irony of exploring is that the best bits turn up when you stop trying. A flash of wings. The ripple of an otter slipping into the canal. Or, if you’re unlucky, the sudden realisation that the “solid ground” beneath you isn’t. (Ask my boots. They still haven’t forgiven me.)
There’s beauty in the unpredictability here: the mix of urban and wild, gulls squabbling above the hum of passing trains. It’s a soundtrack that somehow makes sense, once you’ve stood still long enough to listen.
When People and Place Collide
Every explorer leaves a trace, even if it’s just footprints and a few muttered swear words about the midges. But Merkinch gives more than it takes. Locals wander here on Sunday mornings, dog leads in one hand, takeaway coffee in the other. It’s not dramatic wilderness, it’s everyday magic. And maybe that’s the point.
There’s something humbling about knowing this place has outlasted factories, tides, and fads. It’s changed, sure, but so have we. Exploring it isn’t just about finding nature; it’s about finding a little bit of quiet inside yourself. Even if it’s occasionally interrupted by the sound of your car alarm echoing across the Firth.
What It All Means Now
In a world obsessed with far-flung adventures and curated Instagram feeds, Merkinch is gloriously unfiltered. It doesn’t pose, doesn’t preen. It just exists, tidal, wild, patient. A reminder that exploring isn’t about the distance you travel, but the attention you pay.
Next time you’ve got an afternoon and a tank half full, point the bonnet north and see where you end up. Worst case? You get muddy. Best case? You find a little wildness that feels like home.