The Isle of Skye

May 2017

When you mention the Isle of Skye, you'll often hear about the swarms of midges, the lack of public transport, the rain. It's all true, of course. However the friendliness of the people, the stunning landscapes and the picturesque towns all make up for it.
I arrived in the afternoon at the main village, Portree. The bright houses on the water front had me instantly falling in love, though it was such a tiny place I couldn't believe it was the largest settlement on the island!
Apparently Portree was once called Kiltraglen (A much more dramatic sounding name in my opinion) but when James V arrived in 1540 and convinced the islanders to side with him, the name was changed to some unpronounceable Gaelic which meant Kings Port, which eventually become Portree. (I continued calling it poor-tree in my head regardless).















Island life is always different from the mainland, and the isle of Skye was no exception. Search and Rescue sniffer dogs were commonplace, for all the lost hikers (did I mention the entire island aside from Portree had no cellphone reception?) Buses were a nightmare, but ones that did run often did so on request, and would pick up and drop locals to where they wanted to go specifically.
The bus driver that had driven me all the way from Glasgow to Skye had been a friendly middle-aged chap with a broad Scottish accent. I had asked him for recommendations on what to see as he was a Skye local, and after a few hours of chatting he offered to show me a bit of the island the next day, seeing as public transport was so shocking.
This was more like the travelling encounters I had been told of by my parents in the 70s! After talking to the hostel owner, it turned out most travelers still hitchhiked around the island, so I was in good company.
There were two hostels in Portree, Portree independant hostel was meant to be the best (and it's cheerful yellow walls certainly stood out) however this also meant it was unfortunately booked out, so I made do with the YHA instead. The hostel showers were cold, but aside from this it was a nice place, with comfy beds and a nice kitchen.
The next morning I met up with the friendly bus driver (who's name I never did catch) and we headed for the fairy pools, one of Skye's prettiest places, but unreachable by public transport.

These naturally clear pools were just stunning, in the middle of  fields and mountains, the grass lush and green (from all the rain) and surrounded by perpetual fog, I felt like I was in the lonely mountain, and Smaug would emerge at any moment!















 The pools were gorgeous, but far too cold to swim in (or I just wasn't brave enough!)

Heading off to the outter edges of Skye, I thought I would be blown away it was so insanely windy! Neist point was beautifully picturesque, with a lighthouse right at the very edge, before land gave way to endless ocean. It's sort of easy to see how people thought you might fall off the edge of the world if you kept sailing. Sunsets here must be incredible.
















I then stopped off at the old bridge which was lovely and scenic, and apparently had once been the main road into Skye!

















Hearing everything from a local was so unique and ultimately more meaningful than simply travelling alone or looking at guide books. For instance, one of the most common views in Skye is of two flat topped hills against the sky-line; these are known by locals as MacLeod's tables, and harks back to a legend where MacLeod wanted to show the other clans how powerful he was, so feasted with all his men on top of the hill to show his power, and the name stuck.
 I also enjoyed more modern tales of what people get up to in Skye,  including some local lads who get moonshine whiskey sent over by one of their friend's from Ireland, but since its illegal they send it over in petrol cans, and how one fine summer day upon drinking said illegal moonshine, some of them decided to finally do something with the old van that had been sitting in their garden for goodness knows how long, and used their shiny new digger to dig a hole, lift the car into the whole, and bury it, thus destroying it rather soundly. Only to wake up the next morning and realise they'd buried the new work truck instead of the old wreck... yet another reason why people shouldn't play with machinery and alcohol! However my favourite was the same unnamed friend (I get the sense that there's very little to do on Skye if you live there as a middle-aged farmer aside from walk and drink) decided to drunkenly paint their kitchen blue, but accidentally used the blue sheep paint which never dries, thus thoroughly ruining the kitchen. I was amused.
Back at the hostel, I made friends with some people in the kitchen while cooking, Manuel from Spain, and Olly from England, so we ate our respective dinners together and had a good chat.
The next morning Manual was taking part in some crazy running race over the mountains, but Olly and I were both planning to hike to the Old Man of Storr that day so decided to explore together, because company is always fun!

The hike wasn't actually too long or strenuous, and it was absolutely worth the climb. I felt like I was in Middle Earth, headed for the Lonely mountain. The atmospheric mist that always seems to hang out in Scotland certainly helped.

We still had half the day left, so we took the next bus, him heading off for another hike, and me to a museum I had read about. The Skye museum of Island Life was small but informative. I don't think I would bother going again, but it was cool to see the preserved thatched cottages once synonymous with Skye. They had peat fires in the hearth, and it was actually a lovely, soothing smell. It was interesting to read about how people had lived here in the past, plus the views on the bus ride were stunning.
 Interestingly, Flora McDonald was buried behind the museum - the famous heroine who helped bonnie prince Charlie escape the government troops after the Jacobite defeat, by dressing him up as an Irish maid, allowing him to escape to France (sometimes truth is stranger than fiction). Whilst waiting for my bus, a friendly local offered me a lift part of the way there, but as that wouldn't really help me, I declined with many thanks. I love how friendly people were though, and clearly (especially since the public transport was so terrible) getting around by hitchhiking is probably still the best way to see the Scottish isles.
The way back to the hostel on the bus gave stunning views once again though I found myself for the thousandth time wishing I had a car.















I enjoyed a sunset walk around the cliffs by the hostel, ready to depart for the isle of Harris in the morning.