Hiking Skye

Do you see me?  I'm tiny and juuuuust to the left of center in my purple coat.

Perhaps the best memory I have of our trip to Scotland would be the morning we spent hiking The Storr on the Isle of Sky(p)e.

We almost didn't even try as we pulled into the muddy parking lot and looked at the thick fog rolling in.  We could see the Old Man of Storr volcanic formations appear suddenly every now and then as the clouds moved by.  We couldn't even see the mountain range behind it.

But, being the young bucks we were, we decided to give it a go.  At least get up to the Old Man of Storr and check it out, figuring we'd gauge the weather after that point.  It probably took a good 40 minutes just to get to the formation at the base of the mountain since a lot of the area had been clear-cut in the early stages of an invasive tree species eradication program - I guess the area around the parking lot used to be a man-made forest, but when we were there it was just gnarly mud and rocks.  It was rough goin'.

BUT!  BUT!!  When we got to the Storr, everything changed.  Sure the clouds were still moving in and out, but suddenly everything became beautiful and mysterious and adventurous (and not as muddy).  So we decided to just keep going up.

The further we went, the fewer hikers we saw and the more beautiful and quiet things got.  At one point it was just Paul and I hiking around the edge of what was clearly a glacial cirque and the fog was so thick around us we could only see maybe fifty feet up and down the slope around us.

We had no idea what was above or below or ahead, when suddenly a picture-window hole just appeared in the fog (it was so, so strange) and gave us a crystal clear, fog-framed view of the channel islands and sea, all bright green and gray and shimmering.  I really can't do the moment justice.  Both of our jaws just dropped and we stood there staring in silence until, just as quickly, the window closed and we were all in gray again.  It felt like magic, like the gray fog had become a crystal ball, showing us some mystical world for a second.  That's exactly what it was like - it wasn't a view from where we were, because we had been so disoriented in the fog for so long, we had no concept of our altitude or surroundings - it was just a floating vision.  I'll never forget it.

I don't know, I'm sure everyone will just skip right over that long paragraph there.  I just had to try and write down the memory at least.  For us, if anything.

We kept hiking up and up.  At one point the trail completely disappeared and we came across some Canadians who had turned around at that point, disappointed.  Well...we weren't going to turn around.  So we just off-roaded it straight up the mountainside until we reached a wide open flat.  It was us, some sheep, and more volcanic formations.  And now that we were on the ridge, we could sometimes see down the cut-steep valley on the other side.

And we kept going!

No trail, thick fog, we just kept going.  It was a grand adventure.

Finally, and a bit sadly, we found the summit marker at the edge of one final ridge slope and celebrated with some more sheep who kindly took our picture before we ate a little snack and began our hike back down.

Summiting the Storr has become one of my Life Memories.  You know the ones - those memories that rank way up there.  The ones that kind of feel like they defined an era for you?  That was Skye and the Storr for me - just Paul and I, wandering the wilds of the Scottish highlands together and completely on our own, colorful visions appearing in the sky, and just the sound of silence and sheep bells around us.  Heidi and Paul in Europe - the memory makers.