OBAN has long been known as 'The Gateway to the Isles'; the transport hub from which a multitude of boats have sailed to and from the inner and outer Hebrides, and up and down Scotland's distinctive peninsular western coastline.

But did you know it also has its own airport? Quite possibly Scotland's friendliest air terminal, the 'Oban and the Isles' Airport is a single runway operation at North Connell, just over the Connell Bridge a few miles short of the main town as it is approached on the A85 from the south.

It is from here that Fly Scenic Scotland operates, offering an extensive range of spectacular aerial tours over that coastline and those islands, a service that is already very popular with overseas visitors, who want to see as much of Scotland's beautiful landscape as they can during their relatively short visits to the area.

But for me, the prospect of taking a flight there offered a different experience, as it is a part of the world that I have visited regularly over the years, from raucous mob-handed invasions alongside dozens of urban friends on a variety of unreliable two-wheeled transportation, to equally raucous mob-handed invasions on The Scottish Farmer's time, alongside the Scottish Association of Young Farmers Clubs, or the Highland Cattle Society, or even Scotland's roving rural parliament.

It would be a treat, I thought, to see so many familiar sights and places from a whole new angle. And so it proved...

Turning up at Oban and The Isles airport will be a joy for anyone more familiar with Glasgow, Edinburgh or indeed any of the southern airports. For a start, the parking is free, and it is right next to the terminal building, which itself isn't much bigger than a family house. As we passed through to the runway, at no point were we asked to take off our shoes, unbuckle our belts or indeed surrender to a frisking.

I'd brought along a young lady from Yorkshire as my plus one, on her first ever visit to Scotland, in the expectation that she might provide some outsider's perspective on the experience. She'd never flown in a small plane before, and I felt her onward pace slowing as she caught sight of the plane we'd be flying in.

A famed workhorse of both amateur flyers and remote passenger services, the Cessna 172 (so-called because of the square footage of its wing surface), is a sturdy wee soul with a reputation for bullet-proof reliability – but if your only experience of flight is in the closed-off jet-powered cigar tube of a commercial airliner, the Cessna may give you pause, as you cannot help but properly feel that you are flying, with nothing between you and the atmosphere but a clever origami of aluminium and wire.

Inside, the seats are arranged like a family car, two in front, two behind, and a little bit of boot space for bags and jackets. My companion buckles in with the grim air of someone who has agreed to something they didn't properly understand at the time, but who now does not want to lose face by admitting that to be the case.

Never fear, our pilot, Donald Cameron, is a capable local guy who also holds down the job of fireman. But he has always been a flying enthusiast. So much so that he even built his own personal light aircraft from a kit – there isn't much Donald doesn't understand about the mechanics of flight – and undertook a lengthy sojourn flying in Eastern Europe to build up the hundreds of hours in the air needed to secure a commercial licence.

He quickly and cheerily put us at our ease, instructing us in the use of the ear protector headphones and close-range microphones we would wear during the flight to allow two-way communication over the noise of the engine, then burled the Cessna round onto the runway that runs roughly north to south alongside Ardmucknish Bay, and opened the throttle.

Take off prompted old memories of Hollywood movies, where moustachioed men in goggles and fluttering scarves would talk of their biplanes as 'kites'. A small propellor-driven machine like the Cessna does not bully its way into the air with a surge of kerosene-driven acceleration – rather it politely rolls up to a speed that catches the atmosphere's attention, requesting that it be lifted up and carried along without any great drama. We leave the ground as lightly as a kite released from a child's hand.

Donald – who had obviously done this many times before, but still just as obviously loved every moment of it – finished his take-off communications with the ground staff, and proceeded to add 'tour guide' to his already impressive CV, knowledgeably pointing out the highlights we passed over on our spin through the skies.

No matter what direction you head off from North Connell, the coastal, loch and mountain scenery immediately unfolds below you in all its splendour. There's no dull bit to get past – from the off, glittering sea lochs, islands big and small, enormous hills and secluded glens spread out before us, and even the good old Connell Bridge looked worthy of several hasty snaps before it faded into the distance.

By some atmospheric quirk, probably never to be repeated, the weather for our flight was stunningly good.

We visited on the first day of Fly Scenic Scotland's touring season – April 21, and conditions allowing, the company will continue offering flights until October 31 – but I cannot imagine they will get a better day for a flight than the one we enjoyed.

Bright sunshine and searingly blue skies combined to oddly Caribbean effect, as the sea off Oban took on a turquoise hue, and the little islands dotted down and around the Sound of Kerrera (Donald had taken us southwards), looked more fit for reggae than an eightsome reel. The sea looked swimmable, for heaven's sake, and the pale sandbanks visible through the clear waters a likely spot for sunken treasure and sharks.

"How are you doing?" I asked Miss Yorkshire, who replied with a tight smile, and a comforting press of her nails into the back on my hand, before turning back to her best ever view of 'several hundred feet down onto scenic Scottish rock'.

"There's the only bridge over the Atlantic," ventured Donald, and we squinted to see this grandly named structure, until he took us closer by the Clachan Bridge, which is just a simple hump-backed, masonry affair spanning the Clachan Sound, linking the west coast of the mainland to the island of Seil, over some 22 metres of raging ocean. (Of course the Skye Bridge has since stole this 18th century icon's thunder.)

Warming to his task, Donald then pointed out the nearby Tigh an Truish inn, explaining that it roughly translated from the gaelic as the 'House of Trousers'.

As the story goes, back when the wearing of the kilt was frowned upon in polite English-ruled society, marking a man as a Jacobite rebel, fit for nothing other than enforced deportation to the colonies, possibly even the real Caribbean, this was where mainland-bound islanders would grudgingly shed their tartan and pull on a pair of 18th century slacks borrowed from the innkeeper's personal stash, so that they might proceed over the bridge unoppressed by the fashion police.

And so the commentary continued, as we banked eastwards, describing a gentle smiley-face curve over Gallanach so we could head back up the coast, for a splendid over-fly of Oban itself, gazing right down the barrel of McCaig's Tower, prompting Donald to recall its architect, philanthropic banker John Stuart McCaig, who happily shelled out £5000 sterling as the 19th century closed, to the twin purpose of creating a family monument – and giving local stonemasons some welcome winter employment.

Heading up over Ganavan, where several decades ago I had pitched a tent next to a Vespa still smoking hot from a full-throttle scream up the A85, I spotted a wee strip of pristine yellow sand just off a much-walked road, and resolved to drive straight there once we had landed, and see just how swimmable that sea actually was. (As it turned out, a reckless paddle revealed the sea to be the perfect temperature for making one's ankles ache like a head that has eaten too much ice cream too quickly – but our feet did feel very fresh for hours afterwards.)

Our flight was really just a wee sample of what Fly Scenic Scotland can offer, a 20-minute free jolly down and up the coast, but paying customers can specify their choice of ten different tour routes stretching off in all directions, whether taking in the islands of Mull, Iona, Coll, Tiree, Islay, Jura, Gigha and Colonsay, or heading up to Fort William, or inland down the length of Loch Awe, with packages ranging from £95 per head up to over £200, depending on time taken and fuel burnt.

Given the open skies, the company is also open to private commissions, should visitors have a specific wishlist of sights that they want to tick off their bucket list. Make no mistake though, the operation is a properly registered passenger airline, for that is the standard to which it has to comply to offer the services that it does.

As such, it can also be chartered to fly people from 'A to B', and does its fair share of aerial survey work, particularly picking up a fair bit of business from the various distilleries that dot the islands within its range.

But the company focus is firmly on the scenic tour business, and the plan is for expansion. Now bookable online, to suit the international interest that scenic flights attract, particularly from tourists visiting from the United States, Canada and Germany, Fly Scenic Scotland is keen to let the world know that, when it comes to airlines, small is beautiful.

https://flyscenicscotland.co.uk