Fort Augustus

Standing on the sixth tee at Fort Augustus, looking at a very narrow fairway, a smell like sage in the air, and with brush and bracken and gorse virtually encircling me, a boat suddenly sailed past me, very close at hand.  Now, I have been golfing a long time and I have been golfing a long time on inland courses. I have never had a boat sail past me while golfing an inland course.  I heard music—carnival music—coming from the direction of the boat. Boat?  Carnival music? Had I become a bit barmy from all the travel?

I climbed the small mound to my left and there was a canal, set deep among the mountains. I would soon learn, thanks to a considerable piece of luck, how the Caledonian Canal tied to the history of the Fort Augustus course and, in fact, to world history.

I had awakened that day to the east of Inverness, in an old farmhouse, now a bed and breakfast. My host had made breakfast and, as I knew from being in Scotland years before, it was a right proper Scottish breakfast. For my…