By Kevin Unitt

Tucked away on the very south-western fringes of Loch Lomond & Trossachs National Park, in an area I rarely get to tread during my day job with the National Park, sits the mystical wonderland of Puck’s Glen. While it becomes an increasingly un-hidden gem now, as word spreads of its magical Instagram-ready vistas, it still has the power to spell-bind, enchant and entertain.

I first visited nearly a decade ago, and as frequently as circumstances have allowed ever since, it always retains the ability to leave me awe-struck at the potency and power of the natural world. In a remarkable kaleidoscope of colour, the most vivid of which is the greenest green you’ve ever seen, moss and lichen climb the crags and rock face walls of this gorge-ous trail! Often the paths cut are into the rock face, or climbing alongside — a true feat of Victorian-era engineering . Winding a way through the landscape, water careers off the mountainside carving paths of least resistance down towards lower reaches.

Occasionally wooden bridges flip you over to the other side of the gorge to carry on the ascent or descent. Enclosed in the crevices – but never claustrophobic – the landscape locks you into something akin to a new realm, where only the trickle of water, the hue of Scots Pine or the taste and feeling of fresh Scottish air resides. At each waterfall you can only wonder if there is a better display of natural, intimate beauty in the entire country.

This netherworld is perhaps hinted at in the name, ‘Puck’, believed to refer to mischievous demon of Scottish folklore, which gained wider recognition in Shakespeare’s ‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream’.

The potent experience of being in this place is such that I explored, and reluctantly had to rule out, the possibility of getting married on the route itself.

It remains infused with so much personal meaning. Our first big walk as a couple, her making BLTs beforehand in a true sign she was a ‘keeper’. Our dog Toby, now since passed, spending many long and happy afternoons swimming for sticks in the lagoons. Our young daughter, nearly 2, will walk its winding paths for the first time soon, passing down a tradition. My mother has been encouraged to visit from England to see for herself just how and why Scotland, in all its special nooks and crannies, had captured me so.

The late, great Scottish landscape writer Nan Shepherd once wrote of her love for visiting mountains: “The mind cannot carry away all that it has to give, nor does it always believe possible what it has carried away.”

I feel the same for Puck’s Glen so have to revisit repeatedly just to check I didn’t imagine it all.