by Sam Heughan
I snort and try to stifle a giggle from behind the camera.
I admit, I have a childish obsession with tormenting Graham. The moment he feels uncomfortable, the hard-man, all-action, brutish exterior crumbles and he sounds like a caricature. Blustering and cautious, this hardened warrior metamorphoses into Lady McTavish, whose catchphrase is, ‘No, I’m not doing it!’ when asked to ride a horse, kayak or do anything remotely exciting (‘dangerous’). It is a great source of amusement to me.
During the fight that led up to this moment, I proposed putting some knees into his groin. I’d been recently training in Muay Thai (kick-boxing) and knew how to use the knobbly part of my knee. Graham wasn’t happy and I could see the distrust in his eyes. It spurred me on. You can even see in the close-up on Caitriona’s (Claire’s) face as we begin to kill him, she tries to hide her face and look away. Being a notorious corpser, this is the first sign she’s about to go. Graham moaned and increased his protestation, which set us off again . . .
The knife slams into Graham’s chest and Dougal MacKenzie takes his last breath on Outlander. I fall by his side and apologise to my uncle in Gaelic, our first language. It’s the first time I’ve killed him but won’t be the last time I try to put him in danger . . . I know, I know, I’m meant to go easy on him but it’s like an addiction, I just can’t stop myself.
GRAHAM
My death was actually my favourite scene because it placed the characters in a fascinating dilemma. On the one hand Claire and Jamie believed killing the Bonnie Prince would save Scotland (because Claire from the future knows what happens to the Highlanders after Culloden). On the other hand, Dougal, a faithful Jacobite, saw only treachery, as he had no understanding of Claire’s secret origins. For me, playing that scene was heartbreaking as it represented the collapse of Dougal’s world and his nephew, whom he loved, was revealed to him as a viper. So here were two people, neither wanting to kill the other but feeling that they had to.
The fight was great. Originally it culminated in Jamie killing me on his own, with Claire standing and watching. We even filmed that version but I argued it was unrealistic that Claire wouldn’t get involved, being a strong woman who wanted to protect and help the man she loved. Having her involved also, importantly, made her complicit and active in the killing. Thankfully, that’s the one they went with. It also gives me the bragging rights of being able to say it took both of them to kill me! I have a photo, taken as I was lying on my back ready to be stabbed by these two latter-day Lord and Lady Macbeths, looking into their grinning faces.
But I think before Sam gets carried away with his charming view of my relationship with danger, we should put this into some sort of context. Sam and Cait’s murder of me is only one of the many, many times I’ve been killed during my career. I’ve been stabbed (loads), shot, burned alive, had a fire poker driven through my chest with my throat cut (Kiefer Sutherland on 24), drowned, strangled, poisoned, speared, bayoneted, beaten with sticks, and had a stake driven through my heart. It’s not surprising, given such a large and varied number of encounters with death, that quite a few have resulted in actual injury. Stabbed twice (once by a stuntman), speared in the ribs, punched in the face (four stitches), hit with a camera (another four stitches), kicked in the balls, and nearly set on fire (during my first job, a horror movie called Lifeforce with Tobe Hooper).
AND, THAT’S WHY I DO NOT WANT TO GO BLOODY KAYAKING!!
[Sam: Never been hurt, just saying.]
I’ve been told by the producers that on my arrival at our next location, kayaking is what I’m expected to do, but I have already told Sam I’m not doing it. As if getting Michelle to tell me is going to change my mind. I’m fine with kayaks. I’ve been in many kayaks before: on my own, with my kids, with friends, on rivers and on the ocean. I even used to train by capsizing in my school swimming pool at Kayak Club. Kayaks are not the problem, Sam Heughan is the problem.
Why, I hear you ask?
It’s the same as saying you love to swim but draw the line at swimming with a tiger shark. I have known Sam for a while now. I love him as a dear friend. I admire his work ethic, his passion for charity work, climbing, his enthusiasm, and his ability at lifting heavy things, but the key thing you have to understand about Sam is that he is a nine-year-old masquerading in adult clothes. I have no doubt whatsoever that if I had agreed to climb into a kayak with him he would have done his very best to tip me out of the kayak. Probably more than once. He wouldn’t have been able to help himself. He would have seen it as his duty.
‘Don’t fire that catapult at that window, Samwise,’ I can hear his mother saying.
But guess what? He’d have fired it just to see what would happen.
As adults we learn about actions and consequences. For Sam ‘consequences’ are just fun things that haven’t happened yet.
I manage to dodge a bullet with the kayak but there are only so many bullets you can dodge from ‘He of the Russet locks’. Sooner or later, his catapult will find its mark . . .
SAM
Speaking of tiger sharks, I need to take you surfing, my follically challenged friend. Scotland boasts some of the best surf in the world because of the Atlantic and North swells. Come on, Big Man – imagine the sand in your beard, the seawater in your eyes and up your nose, trying to stand up on a board for the twentieth time in freezing water . . . We’d win an Emmy for all the drama you’d create! I am yet to surf Thurso East, Tiree and Pease Bay (all epic surfing spots in Scotland) because I only got my first taste of the action when I was in lockdown in Hawaii in March 2020. It was my 40th birthday so I decided to book a lesson with a pro-surfer as restrictions began to ease. While he was teaching me the basics I casually asked my instructor if he had ever seen a shark. ‘Two,’ he replied. ‘One a long time ago and the other was the biggest tiger shark I’ve ever seen.’
‘Where was that?’ I asked, trying not to let my imagination run away with me.
‘Right outside your house [a rental on the ocean],’ he said nonchalantly.
‘When?!’
‘Yesterday,’ he smiled, pulling up the YouTube video to prove it.
Let’s just say the first surfing lesson was a lot harder with the Jaws theme tune on repeat in my head!
I think this is the moment I should tell you about the time Graham ‘saved’ my life. Being hyper-cautious has its merits, he would say. We were on our second night-shoot, filming a battle sequence for Season One of Outlander. The rain was coming down hard on our side of a mountain, overlooking a small town called Muthill (pronounced ‘Mew-thill’ by the locals). I sheltered in the green ‘easy-up’ – a small tent offering minimal protection from the wildest of Scottish weather. We were shooting the second half of a battle, with the local Grant Clan attacking our travelling company of MacKenzies.
The day before, the small hilltop and glen had been verdant and covered in fresh grass; however, after two nights of constant rain and a horde of grips, assistant directors, actors, props, horses, extras, stuntmen and a single reluctant coffee man, it now resembled a muddy bog. Our boots sank deep into the clag and we slipped and fell owing to the leather soles of our boots, left without grips for historical accuracy. Having no grip on your boots during a fight scene in the dark in a bog is far from ideal.
Curled up in a foldaway chair in our grimy tent, Dougal MacKenzie, Clan War Chief, tried to stay warm, with only the occasional grumble or heavy sigh to show me he was still awake. We had both been involved in filming the fight sequence over two nights, a night-time raid and battle, and were fitted into camera rigs which we could operate ourselves, capturing our reactions as we cut and thrust our way through a throng of enemy clansmen. The rain started to fall harder as the crew set up and lit the next shot. Night shoots are notoriously hard to light – a large fire had been made and was kept alight by a hidden gas canister – another hazard we had to remember as we slid and sank in the mud. The other light source was an enormous fluorescent globe, hoisted high above our heads
on a crane that acted as the moon, flooding the entire muddy swamp with a cold, natural light.
By now silence had fallen upon the easy-up and Graham’s latte had no doubt grown cold. We had been making light conversation for some time, peppered with occasional outbursts of ‘What the f**k is taking them so long?’, but now all mutterings had ceased. I pushed my chin deeper into the woollen folds of my coat and folded my arms and, as my eyes started to close . . . I noticed Graham’s large figure shifting around in his chair. I closed my eyes again.
‘Oh! OH! OH!’
I opened them and saw Graham leaning forward in his chair, tense and staring over my shoulder. ‘What?’ I asked. His head bobbed from side to side, as he tried to look over my shoulder through a clear plastic side of the tent.
‘Is that bloody great thing coming towards us?’
I turned to look and made out the vague silhouette of the moon-crane, a tractor-like machine, travelling in our direction.
Graham was now on high alert. I’d seen him like this before (in the presence of a shaggy Highland cow) and knew his propensity for personal safety. ‘It’ll be fine,’ I yawned and dug deeper into the folds of my kilt.
However, I couldn’t help but watch with some amusement as the Great War chief, fearsome warrior of the MacKenzie clan, gripped his chair tighter, straining ever further forward . . .
‘Uh . . . uuuuuh . . . uhhhhhhhh . . . RUN!’ yelled Graham, off like a flash through the canvas and into the night. As I turned the crane was suddenly upon us, a large piece of steel pipe from the scaffolding perilously close to my head. I ducked and hurled myself out, crashing into Graham as we watched the entire tent, apparatus and chairs mown down by the runaway tractor.
The machine stopped and the driver – yes, it had a driver – looked out. Not uttering a single word he merely shrugged his shoulders.
‘You see,’ whispered Graham in my ear. ‘I saved your life.’
***
Kayaks, however, are much safer than tractor-cranes, but this time Graham has firmly dug his size eleven heels in, also adding camper vans to his ‘banned list’! After five days ‘off’ from the trip (so I could keep doing the Outlander day job and Graham could swan around on holiday) the Old Duchess has decided to travel by car, citing my ‘terrible driving’ and his ‘serious back problem’ as reasons. I honestly don’t know what mode of transport to expect when he arrives – a Bentley, a Bugatti Royale, a Limo? But certainly a cavalcade of chiropractors in procession . . .
Meanwhile, I am alone behind the wheel of the fecking Fiat negotiating narrow country lanes and a potholed track to our new lodgings. The Taychreggan Hotel is a remote seventeenth-century cattle drovers’ inn on the shores of Loch Awe not far from Oban in Argyllshire and, to be honest, I’m loath to tell anyone about this place because it is so special. Converted into a superb hotel, I know the high-maintenance history buff will be in his element . . .
I arrive at the inn as the day is drawing to a close. There’s no sign of Graham and, even as the sun begins to set, he still hasn’t materialised, undoubtedly lost between here and Inverness, his poor driver bombarded by his helpful ‘directions’. Michelle and the team are eager to capture the sunset and an evening kayak across Loch Awe but as time continues to pass I realise my compadre won’t be here any time soon because he is being late on purpose.
We need to crack on with the kayaking so I quickly get changed in my hotel room. The view from the window is stunning, the blood-orange hues of the setting sun illuminating the appropriately named Loch Awe. The inn, situated on the narrowest part of the loch, was where cattle drovers would persuade their cows to swim the stretch of water to Portsonachan on the other side. It’s a fair distance, so would have been quite a swim.
I pull on my wetsuit. Part of me wants to kayak but most of me can’t be arsed – I’m dog-tired tonight. I take a breath and march through the bar in neoprene as some of the camera boys are ordering stiff drinks. Oh, for a libation of whisky! But we have work to do. John, the director of photography and drone operator, always ready to shoot, whips out his remote control and we head out.
Wendy is hanging out of her window clutching the free bottle of sherry supplied by the hotel as a ‘welcome’ treat. ‘Go oan, an gies it a whirl, big man!’ she waves and disappears from sight, no doubt falling back onto her four-poster bed. It has been quite a journey so far for all of us and, with many of the team having a full week’s work on the set of Outlander every week, we are ready to crash.
I push the red kayak out into the still waters and begin to paddle across the golden lake. Then I see the headlights of Graham’s car enter the car park. Nice timing, McTavish.
GRAHAM
I was actually parked around the corner with a pair of high-powered binoculars. As soon as I saw Sam zipped into his Action-Man scuba outfit (you know the one? The one you used to put in the bath and have your other Action Man drown on purpose), we waited, lights off until he put the kayak in the water and pushed off. Then I knew it was safe to drive in and make my way to the restaurant for a chilled Chablis and a delicious dinner of poached fish and steamed vegetables. [Sam: Or the bread basket and two desserts.]
I begin with a little heart-starter – a crisp Sancerre and a selection of olives and half a dozen Loch Fyne oysters on the side. Then I tuck into the venison terrine appetiser and ask the waiter to keep the wine chilled. My dinner is accompanied by the gentle turning of the pages of my book (Sam is somewhat of a stranger to literature. His idea of a cracking read is a book showing pictures of mountains, or perhaps a collection of dumb-bells), and the ticking of the clock. He makes it there and back from his Willard Price Kayaking Adventure without incident; I’m glad to report my meal passed in similar fashion. [Sam: Until the waiter presented the bill?] [Graham: I forge Sam’s signature having made a point of checking on his room number when I arrived.]
SAM
As I look back towards the drover’s inn I can see Graham’s driver slowly pulling in. Knowing he is now safe, he booms at me across the loch. ‘See you at dinner!’ I shout back that he is missing out. And he really is. As I start to paddle I truly am sad he’s not sharing this sunset with me. The peace on the loch, the distant chatter of the crew ‘getting on it’ in the bar and the lights from the hotel, a warm inviting glow in the falling darkness. The longest freshwater loch in Scotland, many clans lived near to these shores, in particular the MacGregors, Stewarts and Campbells. Tomorrow we will visit Kilchurn Castle, home of the Campbells of Glenorchy, just north of here. There are actually four castles on the loch: Kilchurn, Fraoch Eilean, Innisconnel and Fincharn. They were once served by galley ships. The island near Innisconnel is called Innis-Sea-Rhamach – the island of the six-oared galleys. My kayak is not quite the fearsome galley, but it certainly will do.
As I round the headland the current picks up; a wind is driving from the northern end. I can make out Ben Lui, one of Scotland’s most striking peaks, in the distance. I’d taken the cast of Outlander up there some months before, whilst preparing to shoot the beginning of Season Five. Duncan Lacroix was with us, surprisingly sober, at least until we got back down!
I make my way westward, the waves and splash of water are exhilarating. St Conan’s Kirk is hidden from view, complete with Gothic flying buttress, Celtic cross and Saxon tower, but we will pass it tomorrow on our way to Kilchurn. I paddle onwards. It is getting dark; the drone hovers overhead, its green and red lights blinking through the enveloping veil of night. I turn the kayak around and power back towards the inn. Graham will be doing a turn for the locals in the bar by now and Wendy will be fast asleep throwing out some zeds.
GRAHAM
I feel it’s only fair to mention that I have rowed a Viking longboat out of a fjord in Norway, 250 miles north of the Arctic Circle, and navigated a barrel down a white-water river in New Zealand filming The Hobbit. But I’m sure paddling a kayak on Loch Awe is very impressive, too.
Sam: I’ve swum in the water north of the Arctic Circle!<
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Graham: Note to editor: cut line above.
GRAHAM
The next morning after a proper breakfast and a latte grande, Sam finally lets me into the surprise he has in store for me today. We shall be taking a tandem to Kilchurn.
No one has mentioned a tandem. Not a hint or a whisper of this ridiculous contraption in the contract or anecdotally.
In the tradition of our filming for Clanlands, the equipment was sourced with maximum discomfort and danger in mind. If the bikes we cycled up to Cawdor Castle were reminiscent of rusting farm machinery, the tandem which they present to me outside the inn looks like it was buried, perhaps at sea, in the late nineteenth century and then resurrected for the sole purpose of wreaking havoc with my arse.
To say it had a saddle is like saying I have a full head of hair. The Spanish Inquisition had lost a valuable asset. I once visited the Museum of Torture in Prague (yes, there really is one) – I was there playing a torturer in a TV show, just to be clear. It wasn’t a casual drop-in on a rainy day. [Sam: Dressed in a full-length flasher’s mac.] I’m pretty sure I saw the saddle of our tandem there on display. In fact I’m doubly certain Samwise Heughan spent many an hour there researching what he’d do to me on Clanlands.
I give it a once-over. The bike has wheels, check, and primitive versions of brakes. I believe Sam has some false memory of our soundman riding the tandem to reassure me the brakes work. Rather like the belief the Earth is flat, or that Elvis lives [Sam: he does], this is a figment of Sam’s imagination. [Sam: I have a photo.] Now I’m not saying the brake cables had been cut but they had a tenuous relationship with the brake pads. I might as well have used my feet to slow down. In fact, I did. The tandem bike may have actually weighed more than the camper van. If not, it certainly was made of a metal hitherto unknown to man. Think lead, with added lead. ‘Okay,’ says Michelle, ‘we’re going to drive in front with the camera. You guys pedal behind, keeping a safe distance.’
The key words in this sentence are ‘guys’ (plural) and ‘safe’. Needless to say, neither word is acted upon. It’s time to decide who should be in which position on the bike and there are advantages and disadvantages to both. The individual at the front obviously has access to the brakes (however in this case this was like having access to prayer). The other advantage is that you aren’t inches from the arse of the man in front of you. Now, I like Sam, I really do, but I’ve seen enough of Episode Sixteen of Season One of Outlander not to need a view of his arse ever again. The disadvantage is that the one at the front can’t see what the one at the back is doing (or not doing). I choose the front. We climb aboard and I swear I can hear Sam grinning like a schoolboy.