Skye: 23rd - 26th June 2016

After voting and a quick and uneventful trip to the car mechanics, I took the four hour drive from Glasgow to Skye quite early on Thursday morning. I didn't stop en route, most of it I had already seen as part of my Highland Roadtrip. Proudly, I drove the route about a fifth by road atlas and the rest from memory and lack of choice!

It was a beautiful sunny day, and as I drove up to the Skye Bridge, I was shocked by how vividly blue the sea was! I was really excited to arrive in Skye. I drove straight to the backpackers hostel in Broadford, (the first independent hostel I had come across online) and checked in early at one-forty five. In my recurring theme of creepy independent hostels, this one shared the building with a funeral parlour. There were even two hearses parked outside. I spent a lot of time thinking about whether I was sharing my lodgings with dead bodies, but it was otherwise very pleasant, and a good price for Skye at £20 a night.

Does not do it justice...

A woman on a mission, I stopped only to make up my bed before heading back onto the road in the approximate direction of Skye's famous Fairy Pools (from memory, having googled it) There are not many roads in Skye. This is a common feature of the highlands. It makes navigating by map easy, and GPS essentially unecessary (which was fortunate, as I couldn't get enough signal to use Google Maps). After about a twenty minute drive, I came to the first left (westerly) turning, and there was a handy pub on the corner attached to the Sligachan Hotel. So I pulled off and stopped for a 3pm lunch, including some AMAZING cake (I'm considering renaming my blog "Adventures in Cake" - see my adventures in Berwick-Upon-Tweed). At the hotel, I discovered I was not the first person to come this way in search of the fairy pools. There was a handy if grubby map sellotaped to the back of the till, and I attempted to memorise this in between eating my lunch, and drinking in the stunning view of Glamaig Mountain. Glamaig mountain has an interesting history, as it is a popular mountain for hill racing. Locals were stunned in 1899 when Gurkha Harkabir Thapa climbed to the top of the mountain and back in a mere 55 minutes... barefoot! There is an annual race up the mountain and back (sponsored by the Sligachan Hotel) every July now, but even the fastest competitior in todays high-tech footwear have only been able to knock 11 minutes of the Gurkha's time.

I set off as soon as I had finished my cake for the Fairy Pools, and needn't have worried about directions. I knew when I arrived for the immense volume of (previously almost non-existant) cars crowding both sides of the road. I parked up, and within seconds was terrified as a petrol tanker hurtled around the corner, missing my wing mirror by what seemed to me to be millimetres. I pulled in further off the road.

I followed the mass of tourists for the short walk through Glen Brittle to the Fairy Pools. These pools are in fact a small mountain river which (I think due to variations in the softness of rock) form several little waterfalls and deep blue pools beneath them. Yes, blue. The water looked like the dyed-rivers you see on a good crazy-golf course. I did a lot of reading on this, but couldn't get a conclusive answer. Apparently it is a common finding in glacial lakes and mountain streams, to do with the great purity of the water.

even the grey sky overhead couldn't
obscure the blueness!

It was very beautiful and I could see where the magical connotations had come from, especially framed as we were by the brooding Black Cuillin mountains. Evidently, the temptation was too much for some, who couldn't resist throwing themselves into the pool and breaking the magic for all of the rest of us.  

Definitely not Fairies.

I kept walking until I lost the tourists. Then the drizzly rain stopped and the sun began to come out. There was not a human nor evedence of humans in sight, I was in paradise.

On the walk back, the sun stayed out and the majority of the tourists had gone. It was fantastic! However, as I waited for a gentleman to step out of my shot, I began to be bothered by a new pest. Midges were beginning to appear and settle on my exposed wrists, face and throat. I shook them off, and set off at a faster pace towards the car. However they seemed to be increasing in number, soon I was jogging, trying to slap them off my skin where they were already leaving a number of perfectly circular welts from their bites. As I got within ten metres of Astrid, I squinted in confusion. She looked hazy. I realised then that the midges weren't swarming me, they were just EVERYWHERE. I was struggling to see my car because the air was that thick with their bodies. I have never been so glad of remote unlocking, but as soon as I opened the door, they swarmed in like water. IO slammed the door behind me as fast as I could, hastily trying to crush the lining of midges coating the roof of the car, my steering wheel, my leggings, and of course my skin. I started the car and began to drive, convinced that if I could just get some speed up and put the windows down they would be sucked out, but I kept having to pull over for other drivers on the tiny highland roads. I couldn't get above 20mph, at which speed I was just getting more midges joining the party. I was furiously brushing midges out of my face as I drove, no doubt alarming the passing tourists. Eventually I got back to the main road at Sligachan, and with my speed up the midge numbers finally dwindled into single numbers!

Totally worth it, though.

The Hostel had its own fair share of midges but I ran in with my bags and began to properly unpack, meeting my two friendly norwegian roommates before poisining our sleeping space with insect repellant. 

I walked through the village of Broadford in search of dinner, but found that most outlets were charging £15 or more for a main course, which was quite a bit over budget. As the evening drew in I also began to fret as the majority of establishments closed at 8pm. One advertised "late evening" opening, extending its closing time to a mighty 8.30pm. I was comforted however by some beautiful views across Broadford Bay as I wandered up to the next village of Harrapool. There I found a hotel serving food for less than £10, and settled for the only veggie option - an immense macaroni cheese and chips with salad. I nearly drowned in that bowl of macaroni cheese, it was magnificent. I dawdled back to the hostel and settled down in the cosy lounge, consulting maps and consuming the wifi to set out my plan for the next day.

 

Broadford Bay 

Friday had a gloomy start as I woke to the unexpected remeferndum result. I belive that the memory of driving through Skye's winding mountain roads listening to (miraculously) radio 4 as news of resignations and financial hysteria filtered through, will be permanently etched in my brain, like discovering the death of Princess Dianna whilst we were driving in a family holiday in France, and the horror of 9/11, which I discovered on my way home from Primary School. The weather was supportively gloomy, forebodingly ashen clouds lurking over Broadford as I resolutely purchased an OS Map (as advised by my lovely norwegian room-mates) and headed north to climb the Old Man of Storr, and the Quairing. 

Less than promising weather

I soon hit a rainstorm so intense that I had the windscreen wipers on full-pelt. Happily though, it was over in minutes, and by the time I reached the Old Man, the weather was bleak but dry. The forescast had predicted Saturday would be my best day, so I was full of hope. Storr was impressively craggy, the jagged black rocks forming standing stones like rotten teeth jutting out of the hillside. There were few people around but aware of my inexperience, I followed another group up the (clear, well mantained) track until I was able to overtake them and follow the small group ahead. 

Toothy... I was enchanted.

 Climbing up that first path was not easy, but I made it onto the mountain trail, and I was doing okay. The breathtaking view of the Old Man of Storr, against a varying backdrop of silky white cloud and the contrastingly ragged face of the cliff behind. After a while I took off both my fleece and my waterproof jacket, continuing the hike in my thin vest-top. (I really had a lot of faith in this weather forecast!) I caught up presently with the three hikers in front. They seemed to be the first that day, and I made jokes that weren't really jokes that I couldn't afford for them to pose for photos, as without their guidance I'd get lost! At the foot of The Old Man though, they headed right to explore more, whereas I hesitated, drank in the view, took countless photos, and chose to follow what appeared to be a path, between two white posts which I took to be waymarkers. 

The blue speck and two white specks are people,
to give you a sense of scale.

 Here I occasionally had to use my hands to scramble through the rocks, encircling the Old Man of Storr itself. Two thirds of the way around, I found myself on the edge of a rocky basin, in which a single bird was singing, its voice reverberating around the basin so that it was impossible to tell where the sound was coming from. The echoes and the mist utterly spellbinding. I stopped for a moment, and experienced that intense feeling in my chest that I have become used to, that I always get in moments of extreme beauty. 

The moment was ruined the next week, when I shared a story with a friend who told me he'd had exactly the same experience. 

I can't explain how big this picture is.

Moments later, the sun came out, and some ludicrous joy came over me that made me sprint to the top of the nearest peak, relishing the sunshine as I ruined the photos of countless tourists, who were beginning to accumulate at the first plateu below me. I considered striking poses, but didn't have the ego, so I scrambled back down and cheerily greeted everyone I passed as I headed back to my dear Astrid. I chose to take a different route down on the 'easy' path, which was a mistake. I think it used to be scenic, but the vegetation around it had been bulldozed to grow in native species instead, so the effect was just of an unnecessarily onerous long walk downhill for no merit. 

I climbed to the top of the broad one on the left.

 
When I returned to the carpark, it was full. So was the overflow layby, and cars were parked all along the opposite side of the road. I felt pretty smug, and drove off before someone blocked Astrid in. Next stop was the Quairing. 

The sun now shone brightly as Astrid and I wound northwardsthrough Skye's lush green mountains. Quairing was not extremely easy to find and the road was very steep in places, but I didn't get lost, and soon parked up next to the burger van at the start. Confusingly, Quairing is spelt differently in Gaelic, and about half of the signs on Skye are Gaelic only, so I drove past it the first time. Immediately I could see I was in for a treat. The noticeboard compared the landscape to Lord of the Rings. Having recently booked a trip to New Zealand for the next year, I considered this a good primer. 

Not fun to drive.

 I knew that there was an easy and a hard route of The Quairing, and I was being realistic about my skill level, but I was keen to find a circular route rather than going back on myself. I mantained a good pace in order to keep distance between myself and the next person on the route. In Skye I had finally found somewhere where I could turn 360 degrees, and yet see no sign of human intervention as far as the eye could see. Perfect.

Spectacular.

  
 It was a good hike, I can't say much more than the pictures can show you. It is mind boggling for me to look at them even now and think "I was there!" I am not surprised this is the #1 rated Tourist Attraction in Skye on Trip Advisor.

...

Ultimately, I did do the hard route, but only because the alternative seemed to be to turn back on myself, which I hate doing, especially on busy paths about as wide as a rabbit warren. As I got to the top of a relatively steep incline, cloud began to speed in across the mountain. I saw a couple hiking ahead of me, and hurried to catch up with them before I got lost. The cloud swept in on either side of me, but as I was walking along a ridge, it never came over me. I managed to keep the couple in sight, but had to walk slightly faster than I would have preferred. I was also unable to pause for a drink for a while, but these were slight discomforts, offset by the spectacular experience of hiking in and above the clouds. I was back in my vest top but felt no cold. I was mildly disappointed that I was mising out on what were no doubt spectacular views, but happily, as we reached the summit (I caught up with a second couple, who had a mountain guide) the cloud magically parted, and I was treated to a view so spectacular I'm beginning to get fed up with my own superlatives.

From the summit.

Next I drove to Uig for lunch, as the main city in north Skye. However, I drove right past Uig, taking photos of "a quaint harbour" on the way, not realising that this very harbour was what passed for the major conurbation of Uig up here!

Uig Pier, and about a third of its buildings.

  Due to my misjudgement of Uig, I arrived ten minutes too late for lunch, so I ate a mars bar that I had bought to console myself that morning, and drove to the Fairy Glen. I had been hoping to squeeze Old Man of Storr and Quairring into one day, so this was a bonus, and it was a great bonus too! The Fairy Glen is nowhere near the Fairy Pools, but right on top of Uig. It features a large number of bright green hills with a strange rippled texture, all of which are relatively small and round, and sprinkled with groves of miniature trees. The effect is comparible to tellytubby land, or possibly Hobbiton (keeping with the LOTR theme)

The silver car is Astrid

I watched from one of the higher hills as minibuses arrived packed full of tourists who would climb to the top of the rock, take photos, climb back down and get into the van. I could see, like the fairy pools, deep trenches gouged out of the beautiful landscape by our repeated footfalls. It made me sad and ashamed. Our species seem to ruin so much of what we touch.

It just doesn't look real, does it? None of my images are edited, except for
where I've unsubtley blocked out Astrid's registration plate.

I came across a pair of americans re-arranging these stones.
Apparently re-arranging them and pretending to be the fairies is a tradition.
It seemed a bit like bad touristing to me.

 
 I took a walk using my new map to see some waterfalls, aiming to return to the car at about 5 to avoid a repeat of last night's midge onslaught. The waterfalls marked on the map were umipressive, but I did meet a herd of suspicious cows, including some very cute calves with long, long eyelashes! I got back at about 5.30, suffering from very sore feet, but no midges to be seen!

This little guy was curious, the others were more nervous

 Finally I drove back to the hostel. I went for a walk down to Broadford pier to process the days politics, and was treated to a spectacular pink sunset. On top of all the other beauty I had seen that day, I was blown away. I even got a bit emotional. Then I shook myself and dashed back to the hotel for my camera. Unfortunately I missed the best of it, but here's my favourite photo:

One of them, anyway.

The next day dawned much the same as Friday. Gloomy and grey. Out of curiosity I drove south to Sleat, and as I approached Skye's south coast, the cloud parted to more fantastic views of cliffs, sea, mountains and islands. 

A calm morning in Armadale

Armadale is the southern port town from which ferries sail to Mallaig on the mainland. I parked up at about 9am and as I fetched my backpack from Astrid's boot I saw I had parked right in front of a concealed path with a sign to a "Permaculture Garden", and I followed it. Permaculture is something I took an interest in when I strayed across it in my module of green politics in the EU. It is the practice of farming with an absolutely minimal impact on nature - growing crops alongside others which are natural pest deterrants, using organic, home-grown herbal remedies to fix garden problems, and encouraging bees and other pollenators for mutual benefit.

I have never seen so many wildflowers as I did on the Isle of Skye.

This coastal plot was an unexpected location for such a scheme, but it was an excellent find! Everywhere there was excellent signage, indicating what was growing and why. I followed a forest trail, which incorperated aspects of Skye (Buoys hanging from trees for a children's play area, waste sheeps wool on the floor for matting) and featured a number of lodges and an eco-friendly camp site. Occasionally the trail would lead me to a beautiful clifftop view. and I decided I had (for the third day running) discovered paradise on earth.

Great views over the handmade recycled-rope bannister

 As I left the gardens, I met the owner. I purchased some items from her shop while we chatted about permaculture and some terrifying looking ducks she kept in the yard (They had adopted her apparently, and fought between each other constantly, but harmless to guests. It was a great start to my day and I wondered around the little harbour dropping in and out of shops and taking photos of everything. Eventually I made my way to Armadale Castle - the home of Clan MacDonald, and paid the admission fee to explore the castle grounds and museum. The castle was a ruin now, disappointingly because the clan had moved out in the 1920s and let it fall into neglect. Those 100 years had been hard on it, which I guess is a testament to Skye's weather. What was left wasn't particularly interesting or stunning, so I took one of the trails for a walk around the estate. 



It was a hot morning and I was feeling the effects of yesterday's hiking (40,000 steps no less), so I took it easy, stopping often and walking slowly. I was a bit sunburnt from the day before and felt anxious being in the sunlight for so long at midday, and although the walk was quite pretty, I was relieved to reach the end.  

At the entrance to the museum I was greeted by an enormous Peacock, who was too busy preening himself to even watch as I wandered by within feet of him. In the museum I learnt a lot of the clan Macdonald's history, particularly Flora Macdonald who had helped Bonnie Prince Charlie escape. I also read about the Clearances, when masses of crofters were forced out of Skye and emmigrated on ships to North America and Australia. Many didn't survive the journey.

 
 I soon left Armadale and decided to drive north to Portree, the largest town in Skye, from which I was kind of hoping to arrange a wildlife spotting boat trip. Portree was cute, and I wandered around perusing bookshops and then couldn't get on a boat. I had dinner in a pub