Beginnings in Mud and Midges
Every good story needs a setting; ours has reeds, salt on the air, and the soft thud of boots on a canal path. We’re a small Inverness-based crew who like our nature real: a little scruffy, occasionally surprising, and always worth the detour. One of us once reversed half the length of a single-track whilst a swan acted like a traffic warden. Character-building, that.
Why We Built This Corner of the Web
Merkinch doesn’t shout; it murmurs. Between tide and towpath, you’ll find the kind of wild that sneaks up on you. We wanted a place that told its story without the brochure gloss, a place for locals, Sunday wanderers, and curious visitors who’d rather trade a filter for a flask.
So we mapped, photographed, asked questions, and listened. The site is the result; a living guide, part field notes, part love letter to the urban edge.
What We Actually Do (Besides Getting Our Socks Wet)
We write feature-style guides to the landscapes and wildlife, share practical touring tips, and highlight the people who keep the reserve ticking. We’re not an official authority, just keen observers with notebooks and mud on the lens cap. If there’s a path closed or an otter sighting, we’ll try to point you the right way, minus the faff.
- Based: Inverness, Scotland
- Focus: Landscapes, wildlife, culture, and thoughtful travel
- Style: Conversation over jargon, boots over buzzwords
The People Behind the Camera
We’re teachers, freelancers, and a retired shipyard welder who knows more about the canal than most guidebooks. On chilly mornings we argue - lovingly, about whether that speck is a curlew or a very optimistic pebble. We get things wrong, fix them fast, and keep walking. That’s the rhythm.
If you see us out there, we’re the ones sharing a packet of oatcakes with gulls who definitely haven’t earned them.
Why Bother? Because Places Like This Matter
Merkinch is an everyday miracle - a wetland tucked behind houses, stubbornly alive. It’s not dramatic in the postcard sense, but it sticks to you. People care because it’s theirs; visitors care because it feels borrowed, delicate. And in a noisy, scroll-happy world, quiet places still win hearts. Even if their paths do occasionally try to eat your boots.
Today, Tomorrow, and the Next High Tide
We’ll keep reporting the small changes: first swallows, late frosts, the sudden hush before rain. We’ll also nudge for responsible travel; walk when you can, respect the wildlife, and if you’re driving, arrive prepared. (Insurance, tyres, a map that doesn’t panic at single-tracks: the unglamorous heroes of a good day out.)
Say Hello, Nicely, Preferably
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Walk With Us (Metaphorically)
Read a guide, pack a flask, choose the path that looks slightly questionable, then tell us what you found. We’ll update the site, share your story, and probably ask what footwear survived. If you bring biscuits, we’re yours forever.