camasunary

Today I decided I wouldn't leave the hotel too early like I did the day before.  I decided to have breakfast with the other hikers and holiday makers in the beautifully Victorian dining room of the hotel.  At first I was very glad that I did because it was delicious, and by far the best meal I had on Skye.  My experience of food here has been ... meh.  Mostly, everything is extremely expensive and very average.  Frankly, folks around here really ought to spend at least as much time making stuff taste good as they spend making it look good.  And FYI, I don't approve of serving food straight out on a slab of wood.  I couldn't help but wonder how many other people's wedges of deep fried Brie melted all over it before mine.  Unhygienic.  Ick.

So, after my very nice breakfast off I went to the Fairy Pools, getting there about 9:30.

Gorgeous, right?

Well, you and I will both have to take Google's word for it because I couldn't get anywhere near it.  The car park was absolutely rammed.   Huh.  It seems I shoulda ordered the packed breakfast and got there at 7:30am.

So I moseyed on down the hill to the river Brittle for a couple of photos, waiting

a few minutes for someone to leave the car park and make some space.

When I got back there it was even worse.  So I got in the queue of cars waiting for people to leave and make some space.  But then more cars came, bypassed the queue and jammed everything up so no one could get in or out.  Utter madness.  I managed to turn around and get out of there.  I did find another place to park about a half a kilometer up the road, but I saw a poor lame lamb there who broke my heart so I couldn't stay.

That's the Fairy Pools struck off my list.  Maybe next time.

Onward south I went, headed for what was described as a "single track road between Broadford and Elgol" and the beginning of a hike to a remote beach tucked down below the Cuillin Hills.  Hills!?  Sheesh, what does it take to get mountain status around here?

As the road wends its way through the Cuillin, the scenery was predictably spectacular the whole way.  I was the crazy person who kept slowing down to stick the camera out the window of the car to capture what I could see through the windscreen.  Some attempts were more successful than others.

 

When I got to the start of the hike, the weather wasn't promising.  Or rather, it was promising - promising rain.   And it got progressively worse as I made my way up the hill.

About 10 minutes in I was hobbling and wishing I had taken my old, beat up, super-comfy hiking boots with me on this trip instead of the super-stiff ankle-supportive pair that I thought would be useful on the uneven ground I expected to meet on Skye hikes.  They were super-supportive all right, all over my bruised ankle.   I had a couple of carrier bags in my rucksack for my muddy boots in case I ended up somewhere my boots would be too disreputable for.  I twisted one into a rope and poked it down into my boot around my ankle to try and relieve some of the pressure on the bruise.  It worked surprisingly well.  That and a couple of ibruprofen and I was off again. 

Eventually I reached the summit, from which my guide notes promised increasingly impressive views of the Black Cuillin Hills.  Hmmm.

I battled on, determined to get to the beach down the other side, even if I did get soaked in the process.  The one couple I met on the way warned me that there were no views and that the rain was coming into the beach horizontally.  It's true my first views over the Camasunary weren't ideal, but they were pretty dramatic anyway with the clouds down over the hills.

But here's the thing about weather and these magical places.  If you acknowledge the spirits of the place, treat them with respect, maybe make an offering, then they just might bring out the sun for you.  Or at least stop the rain. 

On this beach I actually broke the hiker's code of take nothing and leave nothing.  The guide notes spoke of a bothy on the far side of the beach.  I was looking forward to seeing my very first one.  This one was supposed to be quite old and with two open fires.  As I made my way down the beach I gathered some driftwood for the bothy fire.  When I got there, however, I found it had been shut up after being damaged by a storm a couple of years ago.  There was a little pile of driftwood by the door that I guess other people had brought and then left behind when they found it closed.

So I gathered up all the driftwood and carried it over to the new bothy at the other end of the beach.  I got to look inside and I sat outside to have my lunch.  It didn't have an open fire inside, but it was still really lovely with one common room and one bunk room.  It was in terrific condition and so well cared for by the hikers who passed through. 

Lunch with a view

Driftwood wasn't the only thing I took away from that beach.  I dug out my other carrier bag, filled it with plastic rubbish I found on the beach and stuffed it into my rucksack and lugged it out with me.  Sadly it was merely a drop in the bucket of plastic trash on that beautiful beach.

I was damp through and pretty soon I started to get a chill, so I retraced my steps back over the hill to the car.  I was very pleased that the really hard rain only started as I climbed behind the wheel to head back to Portree and the hotel. 

the quiraing

Next time I would leave a bit later.  I would eschew the temptation of climbing into a mountain all by myself  at 7:30am and instead I would wait around the start until a few other hikers started up and then I would follow them.  If I figured they knew where they were going, I'd keep them in my sights.  While I was at it, I wouldn't ask for a packed breakfast from the hotel.  Nice as it was, I wouldn't lug my breakfast up to the top of the Quiraing before eating it, I would have a delicious, leisurely hot breakfast at the hotel before starting out.  My cooked breakfast on the second morning was the best meal I had in Skye.

Next time I would try to have a set of instructions I knew how to follow.  I would ask if they're up-to-date and whether it was a typo where it said "the path looks steep, slippery and precarious.  But it's much worse than it looks."  I would try to find out whether the "easier to navigate" option has a path that has been swept away down the cliff face.  I would try to find this out before finding myself stuck on my butt on a slippery near-vertical drop, unable to go forward and too scared to go back, as it would require moving.  (I did eventually crawl back up on my hands and knees, grabbing rocks and heather and roots and anything I could reach to stop myself tumbling down the face of the mountain.)  Sound scary?  Oh, indeed it was.  In fact, I've rarely had quite such a fright.

Next time I would try to avoid doing whatever it was I did to cause this bruise

and these

Next time I would definitely take the 3-ish-hour circular hike from and back to a car park like everyone else.  I would not go for a 6-hour point-to-point walk leaving me far from my car with a busted up ankle.

Next time I would figure out how many layers I needed to take and then I would not take the extra one, just in case.  I would leave a a little space in my ruck sack so that I didn't have to carry unnecessary things for 20 km.

Next time I would probably go a little easier on the bug spray.  Or a lot easier.  Until I had figured out whether I needed it, at least.   And next time I would advise the Scandanavian guy I passed on his way up to do the same, because he smelled exactly like me.  Poor sod.

 

Next time I doubt I will enjoy the shower back at the hotel quite so much.  It's just not possible.  Next time I probably also wouldn't enjoy the cup of instant coffee as much either, because that was the very best one ever.

Next time I won't hesitate a few kilometres before sticking out my thumb to hitchhike back to Uig and my car because I was picked up by the very first car that came along and after he dropped me off, the third next one picked me up and took me all the way back.  Big thanks to the local guy on his way to catch a fish for his dinner and the (?)Spanish couple who spoke very little English but were so generous.  Oh, and next time I see a hitchhiking hiker lugging a rucksack, I will definitely pick them up. 

Next time I will know that Uig is pronounced Ooo-weeg.  Not Weeg, like the woman at the service station said.  And definitely not Ugg, which I'm pretty sure is the way it sounded in my head before I arrived.

Next time I will appreciate every minute of the warm, sunny day.  And be grateful I chose this day for the Quiraing.  And for the long slog up the hill to pick up the car where I left it when one of the great guys at Skye Wilderness Safaris drove me the 20+ km to the start of the hike.  

Next time I wouldn't talk all over the cuckoo hooting in the background.  Having said that, there were cuckoos hooting the whole time.  And other birds of the chirping variety.  I didn't get to see an eagle, though, alas.  At least, not on this hike because I didn't make it over to the north side of the Quiraing where, apparently, they hang out. 

Next time is tomorrow.  If I can walk on that ankle.

meanwhile in the far north

I was ready for an adventure so I planned a long weekend away with some hiking and some visiting on the agenda.  Jay isn't really one for clambering around mountains, so he stayed home to take care of the puppies.

In the small hours of Thursday morning I hopped on a plane in Exeter, touched down not long after in Manchester and flew from there to Aberdeen.  Flying in those tiny planes when it's really rather windy was an experience.  Twice.  Kudos to both the pilots of those Flybe planes for landing them like feathers after getting chucked around like dice while trying to land.

And how sorry did I feel for the woman who was vomiting the whole way a few rows from me?  Frankly, not quite as sorry as I felt for the man sitting next to her.  Just glad it wasn't me.

First stop was the car rental office where I was expecting to collect a Peugeot 306, load my gear and my own satnav and then head for a nearby wood for a walk.  Apparently they were in desperate need to get a BMW 5 Series to Glasgow by Monday because that's what they gave me.  I declined their extra insurance (£120 for the duration) but I also declined their £1,000 excess and got Jay to call my own insurance company to cover me with £150 excess for £38.  That's more like it.  I wasn't impressed with the hard-upselling of extra unnecessary stuff, but I did really like the guy working at Sixt.  He was a real gem. 

It was so great to see Anna and Infindigo Mailat Koru, who is so much like Ulla and looks like his dad, Salo.  I hadn't seen him since he moved to Aberdeenshire at the age of 8 weeks.  I had heard he was BIG, and so I was prepared for him to be another stonker like his brothers Siinto and Jake.  However, he wasn't a stonker at all.  More the size of Loki, but with quite a sizeable coat.  I took lots of photos of him, but sadly most of them were over-exposed.  There are only a couple of usable shots.  That lovely coat in that sunshine, I guess. 

 

  

Massive thank you to Anna for clearing her day and driving all the way down so that we could meet and have that fantastic walk.  I must say that Aberdeen was an eye-opener.  I didn't know what to expect weather-wise or how cold it would be.  The forecast said chilly, but we were shedding layers hand-over-fist as the sun came out and the waterproof jackets disappeared.

Then I jumped into the rental car and headed west, destination the Isle of Skye.  The drive from Aberdeen to Inverness was nice enough, if somewhat unremarkable.  I did pass through a few pretty towns, the star of which was Elgin, and I did see more than a few beautiful rivers, my favorite of which was the Lossie.  I think.

In Inverness I found the huge Tiso Outdoor Experience shop and managed (somehow) to limit my purchase to some OS maps of Skye.  Then it was back into the car for the second half of the journey.

I had intended to go via Loch Ness, but the satnav took me a different way.  I challenge anyone to find a more beautiful drive than the Lochcarron route to Skye.  If you can manage to find a day with some sunshine and blue between the clouds, as I did, so much the better.  The scenery was breathtaking in every direction for the entire drive.  It should have taken me about 2.5 hours to get from Inverness to Skye, but in the end it took rather longer because I kept stopping to take photos.  Most of which don't do the views one iota of justice.  And there were plenty of amazing sights that I missed because I passed them before I was able to get the camera out.  If you go to northern Scotland, do yourself a favour and take this trip.

The closer I got to Skye, the better the views.  And sometimes I got a pretty good shot just by sticking the camera out the car window.

Finally at about 7pm I reached my hotel - the Viewfield House hotel in Portree.  To be honest, the only reason I chose this place was because, apart from one or two hostels offering 20-to-a-room, this was absolutely the only accommodation I could find available when I booked my trip 6 months ago.  You need to plan in advance for Skye.  Anyway, it's a lovely hotel, a gorgeous Victorian country house with friendly people and very comfortable rooms.  I could do without the dead animals adorning the walls, but even some of those are impressive.

 

The landing outside my room smelled alarmingly like mothballs, but fortunately the room did not.  As for the location of the hotel, full marks for views.  Just for a change.

Being the summer solstice, the nights way up here in the north come late.  Really late.  It didn't get properly dark until sometime around 3am and then the sky started to lighten up again.  Dusk at 10:30pm.  

I didn't sleep really well.  Perhaps it was nerves because the next day was my planned trip up the Quiraing.  And that turned out to be an entirely different adventure than I was planning on.