Leaving Skye and Scotland

The next two days we saw a bunch of amazing things on Skye.  The Quirang (above), the cliffs at Kilt Rock, the Fairy Pools, the harbor at Portree, and the McCleod clan castle.  On one drive we stopped into a rebuilt Hebridean village at the north of the island, looking out across to the Isle of Harris.

It was all too much.  Too much to try and talk about everything.  Just to say that it was beautiful and we finally found a McArthur scarf on our very last day on the island and practically in Scotland in a tiny shop in Portree.  Woohoo!

The day we left Skye, we took the long road back toward the east and center of Scotland where we had not been before, making a loop past Loch Ness (you just have to) and down to Pitlochry where we stayed for one last night before driving back to Edinburgh in the morning to catch our plane.

It wasn't until our last night in Pitlochry that we actually. and finally, tried haggis.  And I have to say, I was impressed.

As I was with pretty much all of Scotland.  We'll be back.

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.

The Isle of Skye: Part the First

Hairy Coo Sighting!

A really long time ago (college), I remember perusing a map of Scotland with a friend (because I like maps) and stumbling on a place called The Isle of Skye.  And I thought (and said outloud), "I have to go to there."  Except I didn't say it exactly like that because I wouldn't watch 30 Rock until I was in graduate school four years later, but you get my point.

And Paul was the guy who made it all possible.  It was pretty clear that spending three full days on Skye, the longest stretch of our trip, was all about me and checking off my particular dream.  And Skye is such a barren but also lush but also grey but also bright green but also remote but also homey...it's such a beautiful, strange, gorgeous rugged inspiring place.  We had a chance to maybe spend a day taking a ferry over to the Isle of Harris (because, I mean, come on), but Skye was so amazing, we couldn't justify it.  I passed of the Isle of Harris, people!  Can you imagine the pictures??  But the thing is that we got so many other, better, pictures on Skye.

The day we arrived, we drove up the west coast from Oban and over the small bridge on the island, which was pretty lucky.  It wasn't that long ago you had to take a ferry over.  And on our way, made a quick stop to see Eilean Donan, one of the most filmed/photographed castles in the world.  And it was no freaking joke.  In the middle of sound, surrounded by those highland moors and mountains.  Sheesh.  It was ridiculous.  This picture does not do it justice.  But it does start to capture the grey/green colors that we had been getting used to in the highlands and just explode on Skye.

As a side note, if you read "Skype" instead of "Skye" it's because every time I try to type it, that's what comes out.  The Isle of Skype.  Yep.

We took our time driving through about half of the island on our way to our bed and breakfast, which was essentially just a room in a little family's home (which was pretty cool but also made us introvert types feel super intrusive at the same time).  On the way we got our first up-close Hairy Coo sightings and the Black Cuillin mountain range.  The Black Cuillins are just amazing - razor sharp peaks, black against the sky...of Skye.  Sorry, that just happened.

It was a long day of driving, but we were really excited to be there.  Though, to be fair, it was also a little sad since it was our last big place to visit in Scotland.  But we were going to milk it for whatever we could.

Because it was Scotland.  And because we were on Skye.


(Okay, small addendum.  None of our pictures of Skye really do it justice because we aren't professionals, have a 10+ year old point and shoot camera, and were too busy staring to take pictures all the time.  So I'm just going to leave this link here and you can see what kind of landscape I'm talking about here.)