My inner Indiana Jones was stirred on a special seaplane flight - Susan Morrison
For his Christmas, I bought him a seaplane flight. It looked amazing. Takeoff from Loch Lomond, head across the Clyde, up the West coast and back to land on the loch. Naturally, I bought two tickets. Fly me to Dunoon? Yes, please.
The Loch Lomond seaplane has a great departure lounge. Essentially, it's the bonnie, bonnie banks themselves, and on a glorious day, I can think of few better places on the planet to wait. For once, the summit of Ben Lomond was clear of its crown of cloud, and the winds were set fair.
It sits in the shade of the Cameron House Hotel. Mere mortals such as us are allowed through the doors to use the facilities. It’s a lovely view from the front door down to the small jetty where the seaplane sits.
You have no idea how strong the urge was to steal a sacred golden idol from reception and race across the immaculate lawn screaming ‘Start the engines, Jock!’ whilst being chased by angry natives, a la Indiana Jones and Raiders of the Lost Ark. Unfortunately, the only thing to hand was a small vase, and I was pretty sure it wasn’t worshipped by the poised young women behind the reception desk.
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The plane is probably not for the nervy flier. It’s tiny and delicate, like one of those boatmen bugs you see on ponds. The pilot looked terribly young. Everyone does these days. But let's not forget that 19-year-olds threw Spitfires into dogfights with only six-weeks training. Not that we expected to be jumped by the Luftwaffe over Loch Long.
A cheery lad, he announced we’d move up the Loch, turn to starboard then, and I quote, ‘blast off’, and that is exactly what we did.
I promised my husband that I wouldn’t whoop and cheer when we lifted off. I’d like to apologise to my fellow passengers.
By jingo, we do live in a beautiful country and this is an incredible way to see it. It was a great Christmas present to himself. Now, what can I top it with this year, I wonder?