1. Arrival in Fort William: Mist, Mountains, and a Hint of Magic
The early afternoon light filtered weakly through thick clouds as the train I boarded in Glasgow pulled into Fort William. Even before stepping off, I could see the faint outline of towering Ben Nevis looming in the distance. The air felt different here—cooler, wilder, cleaner. There was a quiet energy in the landscape, something ancient and alive.
Stepping out into the small station, I could hear gulls echoing above and the shuffle of fellow passengers pulling their luggage across gravel and pavement. The town center was only a short walk away, and with a small rucksack slung over my shoulder, I took my time. Passing by stone cottages, climbing vines, and the occasional hiker geared up for the Great Glen Way, I reached my guesthouse—a whitewashed building with flower boxes under every window and a view of Loch Linnhe just across the road.
After checking in and dropping off my bag, I wandered into town. Fort William has a quiet charm, not overly polished but full of character. Shops lined the High Street, some selling tartan scarves, others offering warm scones and coffee. I ducked into a small café, ordered a cup of strong black tea and a slice of Victoria sponge, and sat by the window watching the street. It was easy to feel time slow down.
2. The Jacobite Steam Train: Tickets, Anticipation, and Childhood Memories
I had booked my ticket months in advance. The Jacobite Steam Train is popular, and for good reason. It runs along a stretch of railway between Fort William and Mallaig, crossing the famous Glenfinnan Viaduct—the very bridge the Hogwarts Express travels in the Harry Potter films. The idea of sitting in one of those vintage carriages, hearing the whistle, seeing the plume of steam trailing behind, had lodged in my imagination long before the trip began.
The day before the ride, I walked to the West Coast Railways office to confirm my booking. The staff there were helpful, and even though they must answer the same questions a hundred times a day, they did it with patience and a touch of humor. I left clutching a small printed ticket and an itinerary, grinning like a child.
That evening, back at the guesthouse, I laid out my camera gear, charged batteries, and packed a small day bag. Rain was always a possibility, so I made sure to include a light waterproof jacket. Sleep was slow to come that night. I lay in bed listening to the distant hum of wind across the loch, thinking about the train and the landscapes ahead.
3. Departure Day: Smoke, Steam, and a Step Into the Past
The platform was already buzzing when I arrived the next morning. Passengers milled about, taking photos of the waiting steam engine—black and red, gleaming with polish, its number plate shining like a medal of honor. The scent of coal and steam hung thick in the air. It was intoxicating, nostalgic even for those who never lived in the era of steam travel.
I boarded Coach G, near the back, and found my seat by the window. The interior was everything I hoped for: dark wooden panels, old-fashioned lamps, deep seats upholstered in warm, faded fabric. Across from me sat a couple from Manchester, both equally excited and clutching takeaway coffees. We exchanged a few words, bonded by mutual excitement and the shared anticipation of a unique journey.
At precisely 10:15, the whistle blew. A deep, echoing call. Then came the slow jerk forward, the creaking of the carriages, and finally the rhythmic chugging that would accompany us for the next few hours. The train pulled out of Fort William, smoke curling past the window, and we were off.
4. The First Miles: Lochs, Forests, and Open Skies
The journey began by hugging the edge of Loch Eil, the water flat and shimmering under the uncertain sky. Sprays of sunlight broke through now and then, lighting patches of forest or the distant snow-streaked hills. Every few moments, I found myself reaching for the camera, then putting it down, choosing to simply look instead.
The terrain outside shifted constantly. Sometimes we plunged into pine forests, branches brushing close. Then we emerged into open moorland, tufts of heather and gorse flashing past in a blur of green and gold. Sheep grazed in the distance, seemingly undisturbed by the steam train’s passage.
A service trolley came down the aisle, clinking with cups and cutlery. I ordered a tea and a shortbread, the biscuit warm from the packet, the tea served in a paper cup but tasting somehow more flavorful against the scenery outside.
5. Crossing the Glenfinnan Viaduct: That Iconic Moment
And then, not long past Arisaig, the train slowed. Everyone leaned slightly toward the windows. A buzz passed through the carriages. Cameras were lifted, eyes widened.
The Glenfinnan Viaduct approached with a cinematic sense of timing. Its long, graceful arc of concrete pillars seemed to rise from the hillside like something summoned. Built in 1901, it stretches 1,000 feet across and stands 100 feet above the valley floor. Below, Loch Shiel glinted in the light, with the Glenfinnan Monument standing sentinel at its shore.
As the train moved onto the viaduct, it slowed even more, giving passengers time to soak it in. The car tilted ever so slightly outward, and those on the left side leaned toward the windows for the best view. The couple across from me held hands, their eyes glued to the unfolding landscape.
It was hard not to feel moved. Whether you grew up reading Harry Potter or not, there was something undeniably magical about the moment. The curve of the train, the trail of white steam, the lush green valley beneath—it all combined into a living postcard.
6. Rolling Into Mallaig: Sea Breeze and Fresh Fish
After the viaduct, the landscape opened up even more. We passed through small villages, saw glimpses of the coast, and watched the forests thin out as the Atlantic drew near. The scent of salt began to mingle with the smell of steam. A shift in atmosphere marked our approach to Mallaig.
We arrived just after noon. The little port town was buzzing with day-trippers and locals. Fishing boats bobbed in the harbor, and seagulls wheeled overhead. I had about an hour and a half before the return journey, so I wandered down to the waterfront.
Lunch was fish and chips from a small shop near the docks. The haddock was golden, the batter crisp, the chips thick and soft in the middle. I ate on a bench overlooking the water, watching ferries shuttle passengers to the Isles of Skye and Eigg. The sea air felt bracing, clearing away any lingering fatigue from the early morning.
After eating, I walked through the town, stopping at a bookstore and picking up a map of the Highlands. Then back to the platform, where the train was being turned around for the return trip. It felt like stepping back into a familiar dream.
7. The Return Ride: Reflection, Quiet, and the Golden Hour
On the way back, the energy in the train was quieter. Maybe it was the fullness of lunch, or the way the clouds had parted just enough to let warm light spill onto the landscape. People spoke more softly, and the rhythm of the engine felt more soothing than before.
I spent part of the ride just watching out the window, not thinking much, just absorbing. The same landscapes, now seen in reverse, seemed somehow different. Shadows stretched longer, colors deepened. A stag appeared briefly in a clearing, then disappeared into the woods. It was a fleeting moment but burned into memory.
The Glenfinnan Viaduct passed once more beneath us, this time bathed in a soft gold light. Cameras rose again, but I let mine sit beside me. Some things felt better kept as internal souvenirs.
As the train neared Fort William, the familiar sights of loch and forest returned. The engine hissed and sighed as it slowed. Then, with a final pull into the station, the journey ended. I stepped down onto the platform, the warmth of the carriage still on my skin.
8. Evening in Fort William: Fireside Ale and the Glow of Memory
That evening, I found a small pub with a fire burning in the hearth and ordered a pint of ale. I sat near the flames, reviewing a few photos, writing down thoughts in a small notebook. Around me, locals chatted over whisky and travelers recounted their own adventures.
I stayed until the fire burned low and the last train whistle of the day echoed across the hills. Walking back to the guesthouse under a sky full of stars, I felt something subtle shift inside. Something stirred by the landscapes, the rhythm of old wheels on track, the arc of a viaduct, and the quiet company of strangers all chasing a trace of magic through the Highlands.
