On my trip to Scotland, a mistake by the GPS gave me a few minutes of pure ecstasy.

This incident came to me totally out of the blue. Well, actually it was pitch dark. There is no way I could have anticipated it. It instantly changed my mood.

I was frustrated. I was upset. I was angry at a piece of electronic gear. I was blaming some faceless techie for daydreaming when he should have been concentrating on his job. It was costing me an hour and a half in arriving for a much needed appointment with the first part of the next bed and breakfast.

I had taken the ferry back from the Isle of Harris to Uig, on the Isle of Skye. I was on my way to Fort William. It was already getting dark. I entered the address of the next B&B into the GPS.

Here I was, burning into my memory the vistas I had experienced that day and relishing my good fortune in people I had met.

I was trying to make good time on narrow, rural roads in a darkness that is impossible to find anywhere near my home. Constantly checking the GPS, I was estimating my arrival time in Fort William and debating with myself as to when I should call the establishment with an estimate of my arrival time. I was also hoping for a bar or two of signal strength indicated on the cell phone.

This portion of the trip was disappointing for another reason. I knew that I was again in an area of magnificent vistas but the dark of night denied me another look. All I could do was concentrate on the drive and try to find things to worry about.

After a while I had the feeling that I wasn’t going the way I had come. What precipitated this feeling, given the darkness and my lack of familiarity with the area, is impossible to divine. Rationally, I should have lain pretty much my entire trust in the GPS.

The Isle of Skye is connected to the main body of Scotland by a bridge. That is the way I had arrived on the island. That is the way I assumed I would return. That is the way I expected the GPS to route me. The lateness, the darkness, the narrow, rural roads didn’t prepare me for the unexpected.

Feeling my way along a solitary road, barely more than a paved goat path, the almost human voice of the GPS had had no need of speaking to me for several minutes. Then it came alive. “In 100 yards, take the ferry.”

There are several certitudes up in that region. One is that ferries in remote areas are not always sitting there waiting for the odd American that shouldn’t be there anyway. Another is that programmers need to get out more. Ferries should rarely be considered the fastest route when bridges are available.

The real biggy is that ferries don’t operate at night.

Now that nagging feeling was confirmed. I was miles off course. I had to turn around and try to find the bridge while the GPS was insisting I take the ferry. It was necessary to drive back for some distance and, consulting my maps, enter a different destination on the other side of the bridge to get the GPS to allow me to use said bridge.

Retracing my way, on one of the stops to assess the situation, recalculate times and try to fool the GPS, I needed to step out of the car. I needed to stretch my legs, breathe some fresh air and take a break from the stress that I hadn’t noticed had been growing.

Then it happened. I looked up. The sight was overwhelming. There, just a few feet beyond my reach was The Milky Way.

Sure, you don’t believe me. The Milky Way is billions and billions of miles away, not just out of reach. I’m telling you. The night was so dark, so clear that my encounter was intimate. I can guarantee you that I felt almost a part of that scene.

I began college as a math major. I later went to physics, anthropology, history, political science, international relations and economics. But my first stop on abandoning math was astronomy. I had owned a nice telescope since late grammar school and had always been fascinated by the subject.

All these years my interests in astronomy were focused on reading about the latest discoveries and the capacities of the Hubble Space Telescope. They were interesting but they didn’t lead me to actually get to a place where I could just experience the light-unadulterated sky. My loss.

When staring at the sight, I realized I had spent so much time assaulted by city lights that it may have been 45 years or more since I had actually seen the spectacle. Perhaps the time I had been deprived of the sight caused it to make a greater impression but, although I had marveled at it in the long ago, I don’t recall it ever making so dramatic an appearance.

Although it happened in Scotland, a place that was already providing an emotional high, I think the sight could easily stand on its own.

I apologize for lacking the skill with language to convey the beauty, the full impact of what I experienced that night. Some may call it a religious experience but, whatever, it was a tremendous one. After recounting it to my wife, she commented that I seemed to be describing a sexual experience. Whichever, wherever you can leave the lights of civilization behind, see it. Experience it. I commend it to everyone.

In more than one sense, it was heaven.