Early the morning after my restful day in Inverness I made my way to the train platform to catch the train to the Isle of Skye. Remember when I said public transport around Scotland was shaky at best? Well there are only two trains that run from Inverness to Skye. In fact, they don't even run to Skye; they stop in Kyle of Lochalsh, which is a small town right across the bay from Skye. From there you can proceed on foot across the Skye Bridge into Kyleakin where, fortunately, there is a youth hostel.
Since there were only two trains, it was imperative that I make it so I left probably 30 minutes before I really needed to and then spent those minutes standing around in the station (which was almost completely devoid of people) looking like a creeper. But to the relief of those few in the station, I did eventually board my train and once I did I was rewarded with a veritable browbeating of natural beauty. The whole ride was breathtaking but it got increasingly more so as we approached Skye.
When the train reached its terminus in Kyle of Lochalsh, I threw on my pack an made my way toward the bridge. Not surprisingly I was the only one walking. I briefly considered testing out my newly discovered hitchhiking skills, however, I really wanted to scale the bridge so I could get some pictures of the surrounding area.
The whole walk to Kyleakin only took about 40 minutes. When I arrived at the hostel around noon I was greeted by a sign at the reception informing me that check in would become available at 5pm and that I was welcome to leave my stuff, help myself to fee tea or coffee, and more or less bugger off. Ok then- so I did just that.
In the kitchen was plastered a plethora of useful information including local bus times and things to do in the immediate area. The latter proved extremely useful as after consulting the former I came to realize there was no way I could get a bus up to anywhere in northern Skye and then make a return bus back. If I went, I'd be making a one way trip. Hm, pass. Luckily there was plenty of stuff to do and see in the immediate vicinity. First I took a stroll through the lovely little town of Kyleakin which has about 30 total buildings.
Next I made my way to the ruins of Castle Moil, which at first I worried I would be unable to find. That is until I exited the hostel and realized I could see it from the front door. But the proximity of these ruins doesn't in any way diminish their appeal. On the contrary the remains are really interesting and you can wade through the bog and past the signs reading "beware of tides" and scale every inch of the castle to your heart's content.
The story behind the castle is also a good one. Apparently around 900, a Norse princess married into the MacKinnon clan who owned the castle. She went by Saucy Mary, yes really, and her and her husband set up a heavy chain that was tethered to the other side of the sound. When boats came along they would tighten the ropes making the river impassable until the boat paid their toll. Warren Buffett would be jealous of Saucy Mary running the what he deems the "world's best business." From the ruins of the castle you can contemplate life or existentialism or dinner while gazing out over Kyle of Lochalsh.
By now it was probably around 2pm so I still I had several hours of good daylight to spare. One of the other things the hostel wall recommended was to "climb a mountain." Now that's more like it! I began following the hostel's prescribed directions: walk from hostel to roundabout, go straight, walk 15 minutes to old road on the left, follow it to the end, then take the trails to the left. So I did all that and I ended up in the middle of a valley that had been deforested probably 5 or so years ago. The "trail" just ended there, no signs or anything.
I began to doubt the validity of this "trail." But I'd be damned if I let that stop me from climbing some sort of mountain. So I picked out the highest hill in my reasonable vicinity and started following the 1 foot deep imbedded truck ruts (still there after all those years) up the hill. Since it had been a while, thick grass, ferns, and moss had blanketed everything underfoot making progress slow. Summoning my inner Lewis and Clark, I forged ahead undaunted until I finally reached the top. Victory!
Afterward I made my way back to the hostel, checked in, and cooked myself a well earned dinner of tomato soup and toast. Ok, that's not really what I wanted to eat but the UK was killing my budget. I had a can of soup I had been carrying around for a few days and the hostel had free bread. Sometimes simple and free is the way to be. Before planning the next day, I noticed the sun setting over Kyleakin and rushed out to take a few photos of the iridescent Skye Bridge and lighthouse in the last rays of the evening.
I was planning to pay to join a tour of Skye the following day because looking at the bus times it seemed logistically improbable to see much of anything via public transport, especially the two things I wanted to see most: Storr and the Faerie Glen, which are on opposite sides of the northernmost peninsula. However, I was flummoxed to discover that the tour was only done on Wednesdays and Saturdays and the next day was a Friday.
So I considered renting a bike but then I checked the weather and it was slated to rain on and off all day. Biking over 100km in rain up and down hills along the highway seemed completely unreasonable. So I checked the bus schedules again and came to discover that if I timed it perfectly there was actually a combination whereby I could see the things I really wanted to check out, however, accomplishing this feat was going to require a change in traveling tactics. Specifically, the return of Mike Steele Master of Logistics! So far on this grand journey I've tried to go with the flow and not over-plan anything, but this was going to have to be an exception. Here is the exact schedule as I had it worked out.
10:40 bus broadford to 11:20 portree
12:10 bus portree to 12:31 storr
14:39 bus storr to 15:00 portree
15:25 bus portree to 16:05 Uig
17:14 bus Uig to 17:40 portree
18:20 bus portree to 18:58 broadford
Hitchhike broadford to kylealin?
Just like traveling in the old days. Notably, there was no last bus back from Broadford to Kyleakin. I was going to have to wing the last leg. But I'd worry about that later. First I had to catch the bus to Broadford and make my 3 min connection to Portree. From there I could catch a bus that would take me up to the parking area for the Old Man of Storr where I'd have about 2 hours to hike around before I needed to be back at the bus stop to go back to Portree. The first two buses went off without a hitch and I arrived in Portree right on time- in an absolute downpour. I had smartly decided to wear my waterproof boots so I pressed on exploring the moist little town.
Emphasis on little. It took me about 30 of my 50 free minutes to stroll all around town and down by the port. The bus to Storr was on time as well and by 12:30 I was standing at the foot of the hills of Storr. If you are unaware, as I was prior to investigating Skye, the Storr is a protruding rock formation on the island, part of the Trotternish landslip, which is the largest in Britain. The landslip produces a number of fascinating spires of rock, the most famous being the Old Man of Storr. Also, if you have seen Prometheus, the place where they find the cave drawing in the beginning is shot at the Storr. Back at the base, I started climbing. About 20 minutes in I got my first glimpse of the Old Man peeking out through the fog.
Hiking through the trees for a few more minutes and you've come to the end of the tree line. From here, the only thing in between you and that elusive old curmudgeon is about a half a kilometer's worth of slippery grass and loose rocks comprising a 30-45 degree grade. Piece of cake. As I climbed the views got better and better and the rain stopped. It wasn't until I had climbed a little further that I realized it had stopped because I was now IN the cloud.
When you get within a stone's throw of the old man the grass pretty much disappears and you're looking at a 45 degree grade of really loose rocks and dirt. Not a problem if you're careful with where you step and grab. Finally, I made it up and slapped that old guy on the foot. From here I could see out over what felt like the entire world.
And as the clouds receeded and I stood there in complete silence, the only sound the slight fluttering of my jacket in the wind, I felt an electric buzz flowing through my entire body. Starting at my ears and trickling down to my fingertips and toes. I was perfectly calm, my core felt cool and my skin was warm and I could sense the moisture in the air gently settling on my cheeks. And my thoughts at this moment were of nothing. A complete blank slate of white, in sheer perfect clarity.
I stood there for what felt like hours staring out at he expanse of earth below until finally my thoughts returned to me. And the first and only thought in my head was "I need to climb this." so I made my way around the back, deposited my coat, looked for some good foot and handholds and started up. I wasn't thinking about anything except getting to the top.
Finally about 15-20 feet up my right foot slipped a little and I snapped to my senses. "what the hell am I doing!?" I thought, "I don't know how to rock climb!" and I looked up at the 80 or 100 or whatever feet that was left and then down at how far I came and immediately started descending. All I could think was "oh no, I'm going to be one of those idiots who tries to climb something and gets stuck and the national guard has to come and chopper them out." Much to my great fortune, I made it down quickly with no problems and then scaled my way back to the front of the old guy before starting my descent. I'm prone to do stupid things from time to time but rarely really stupid things. This was nearly an exception. Crisis averted, I still felt a bit proud of my singular focus and gusto.
As I went down, the mist began to roll back in, swallowing up the incredible rock formations, almost as if I arrived just in time for the start of a play which now ended sees the curtains closing.
I highly encourage you to check out the pictures of Skye on flickr as there are a ton of incredible shots that sadly don't do the actual beauty anywhere near the justice it deserves. I made it back down to the car park with about 20 minutes to spare and immediately regretted my decision to descend early as I was swarmed by midgies.
Midgies are little gnats the same as back home in the Stats with one notable exception: they freaking bite! And they just keep biting until you swat them. To top it off the bus was 10 minutes late so I spent the better part of 30 minutes pacing the parking lot and swinging my arms wildly in the air looking convincingly like a lunatic. I considered trying to hitch a ride but only families were coming down from the hills at this point, and they avoided the mad man swatting the air like the plague. Finally my 8 wheeled salvation arrived and I was back in Portree in short order.
I had about 25 minutes until my next bus so I proceeded with all possible haste to the bakery across the square to acquire a mobile lunch. They had two specialties: a bacon pastry and a chicken tikka sandwich on a roll. Uh.. Huh? I guess when in Portree eat local. So I got both. The bacon pastry was kind of greasy and bleh but the chicken tikka roll was really good- so if you're ever in the main square in Portree go to MacKenzie's Bakery and get a tikka roll. That has to be the most random and likely near impossible food recommendation I've ever given.
The next stop on my itinerary was the Faerie Glen near Uig. When I was waiting for my bus I noticed that there were two buses leaving Portree at exactly 3:25 and arriving back at the exact same time and then it hit me: they are going opposite directions on the loop around the northern peninsula. So the tactic I had plotted out was to take the last bus going west, get off 1/4 through the loop, run to the Glen and get back to the stop before the other bus going the opposite direction got to the 3/4 mark. Now that's serious logistics. When I got off at my stop the rain had resumed and as I walked down the windy road to the Glen the nearby sheep lazily took notice of me.
The landscape was typically beautiful- large rolling hills, farms, houses, and then all of a sudden things started changing dramatically. A ton of tiny hills began springing up, their sides wavy, cascading almost like icing on a cake. And then, right around a corner I was there.
The first thing that struck me was the massive hill and rock outcropping in the middle of the Glen. Keeping with the theme of the day, I had to climb it. At the top, the pathways are extremely narrow and if you tip too far you're in for a very fast roll down either side of the hill.
On the rock side, if you scramble up between a crevice you can summit the outcropping. From there you're likely to meet another tourist or two who will undoubtedly want their picture taken. And conversely, they will be obliged to return the favor.
From atop the outcropping you'll notice the entire area peppered with geological wonders: waterfalls, hills covered in ferns, more outcroppings, and groves of little tress resembling the canopy of mangroves. Those little trees were my next destination and I made my way gingerly back down. As you walk through the trees the name Faerie Glen becomes strikingly apt. Dust and water particles drift in the air, illuminated by the rays of sun beaming through the foliage. It really felt as if you sat still waiting for dusk, you could just catch a glimpse of a faerie or two emerging from their daytime slumber and fluttering off into the twilight.
But I was there during the day so I saw none of that. Moreover, I had a counter clockwise deadline chugging along the coast that I had to rendezvous with. So off I sped back past the hills, by the pond, around the sheep, next to the farm, across from the old Scottish graveyard and finally to the road leading to the bus stop. At this point the rain had broke and I got some nice photos of the church on the hill overlooking Uig.
The bus was right on schedule and the driver looked stunned to see me as he must have noticed me waiting for the clockwise bus in Portree. I offered him no explanation but a smile and happily took my seat knowing I had made the crucial bus and that I'd have plenty of time to make my last connection. In Portree I strategized how I would make my way the final leg back to Kyleakin. Hitching seemed he obvious answer but if that failed the only other option appeared walking. I glanced at the sky- it stared back menacingly, threateningly, almost daring me to try walking. "How can I increase my chances of getting a lift?" I thought.
Then it hit me like a bicycle seat blow to the scrotum, I'd acquire some groceries, which I needed something to cook/eat anyway, and then I'd just appear as a non-threatening guy who had gone to the store and needed a lift. Genius. Less menacing via prop acquisition. The trick was buying enough stuff so it looked like a legitimate shopping run but not so much that it would make walking back unbearable. The solution I came up with was some pasta, sauce, beans, cheese, a roll, and a couple ciders. I figured if the hitching didn't go, I could make a cheese sandwich and drink the ciders to lighten the load and the rest I could take with me to Glasgow. If it did, they would accompany my pasta meal nicely. This is Mike Steele Master of Logistics in full on planning mode, down to even optimizing weight/bulk of groceries with the appropriate sides of the meal while factoring in long-term portability.
Then it hit me like a bicycle seat blow to the scrotum, I'd acquire some groceries, which I needed something to cook/eat anyway, and then I'd just appear as a non-threatening guy who had gone to the store and needed a lift. Genius. Less menacing via prop acquisition. The trick was buying enough stuff so it looked like a legitimate shopping run but not so much that it would make walking back unbearable. The solution I came up with was some pasta, sauce, beans, cheese, a roll, and a couple ciders. I figured if the hitching didn't go, I could make a cheese sandwich and drink the ciders to lighten the load and the rest I could take with me to Glasgow. If it did, they would accompany my pasta meal nicely. This is Mike Steele Master of Logistics in full on planning mode, down to even optimizing weight/bulk of groceries with the appropriate sides of the meal while factoring in long-term portability.
I took my groceries and caught the last bus from Portree to Broadford. This is where it gets really interesting. I was the only one on the bus and I went all the way to the back because those seats had more legroom. No one else got on and the driver completely forgot I was on the bus. Eager to get home and start his weekend, he was absolutely hauling ass down and around the mountains, I'm getting tossed around like a rag doll in the back, and meanwhile the sky has cleared and we are blasting past some of the most incredible things I've ever seen. It looks like stuff out of a fantasy painting.
So I'm frantically trying to hold the camera level, focus, and capture some of this and meanwhile his driving is working me over like a new inmate. I'm smashing my face into the glass, flying back an forth across the seats... I have no idea how he didn't hear me back there.
Finally once we got out of the mountains and down to the water the ride smoothed out a bit, but the scenery stayed incredible.
When we finally reach Broadford he doesn't even go to the bus stop. He pulls straight into the bus depot and parks it. Then when he sees me stand up in the back he goes, "oh! I completely forgot you were back there!" You think?! Haha. I just laughed and said, "that was without doubt the best most thrilling bus ride of my life. Thank you sir." Outside the depot I started making my way down the street and, remembering what the guys at the hostel said about hitching in Scotland, I tried to find an area where a friendly car could pull off. It just so happens that a it was a scenic pull off.
Well I tried for about 10-15 minutes with no luck so a bit downtrodden I started walking. But in hindsight I'm glad I did because the day was really turning around- the clouds had parted and the setting sun was casting a beautiful spray of colors across the water.
As I walked I kept my thumb out there even despite my resignation that I'd be walking that last five miles back. Just before I was about to crack into the first cider, someone actually pulled over! A nice couple from Scotland who were cycling around Skye for the past week who had been picked up by a car the day before and decided, to my great fortune, to pay it forward. 3 for 3 hitchhiking! Next time I have a car and see hitchers, I have a few debts to repay for sure.
That might in Kyleakin the folks at the hostel persuaded me to come down to the local pub with them. As you can guess they really had to twist my arm. There is actually only one pub in Kyelakin, obviously named Saucy Mary's, so when I say "the pub" I mean THE pub. On this night they had live music which was one guy somehow playing all instruments in each song via synthesizer. A bit cheesy but he was surprisingly good. Plus he was really working at it, just pouring sweat, so it was hard to find fault with his effort.
Later I got to talking with some of the staff girls about the hostel's policy of 4 hours of work per day getting you free room and 35 pounds of "food money." Sounded like a great deal and most of the staff were short-termers availing themselves of it. Single malt and Tennants were the drinks of the evening. Eventually I ended up talking to some guys at the bar who were celebrating a pal's 30th bday. They bought me a jagerbomb (the universal drink) and then a shot of some liquor that was made with the coca leaf. I'm not sure if it gave me the extra "pep" they said it would but it certainly provided the extra alcohol. What was supposed to be a quiet night on Skye before a wild night in Glasgow turned out completely the opposite (which ironically so did the night in Glasgow).
Later I got to talking with some of the staff girls about the hostel's policy of 4 hours of work per day getting you free room and 35 pounds of "food money." Sounded like a great deal and most of the staff were short-termers availing themselves of it. Single malt and Tennants were the drinks of the evening. Eventually I ended up talking to some guys at the bar who were celebrating a pal's 30th bday. They bought me a jagerbomb (the universal drink) and then a shot of some liquor that was made with the coca leaf. I'm not sure if it gave me the extra "pep" they said it would but it certainly provided the extra alcohol. What was supposed to be a quiet night on Skye before a wild night in Glasgow turned out completely the opposite (which ironically so did the night in Glasgow).
Back in the hostel around 4am I'm sound asleep in my top bunk when I awaken and realize I need to pee. Damn you Tennants! So I threw off the sheet and put one foot on the ladder and started to leap down. That's when, a moment too late, I remembered the sheets at this hostel were like a sleeping bag- the bottom three feet of the top sheet is sewed into the bottom sheet making a sort of sleepy-time human taco. As you've likely already foreseen, foot number two didn't clear the sheet or the bed and what should have been me stepping confidently and quietly to the floor with both feet was instead me performing an aerial somersault and crashing to the floor on my knee and side. I must have woken up everyone in that side of the hostel- I mean I'm a large man, if fall, even if it's in a forest, I'm making a noise. Extremely embarrassed I mumbled something unintelligible and ran out the door.
After peeing and composing myself I slinked back into the room and went back to bed. I was so embarrassed by all this I didn't bother to check for damages. Apparently when I hit the carpet I slid on my knee which took off just about every layer of skin. So when I woke up in the morning and looked at my sheets I thought I was in that scene from the Godfather and started looking for the horse head.
Well, ok no, it wasn't really that bad but it did make for an alarming wake up. A momentary wave of panic. Did I kill someone? Do I have malaria? Is it that time of the month? Oh, no I'm just an idiot and fell out of the bed. But, running late and having to catch the only train out of Skye before that night (and a connecting train to Glasgow) I quickly showered and got out of there. So the wound basically patched itself up the old school way- sticking to my jeans until the bleeding stopped. Just like being 8 all over again. Long story longer, I did make that train and despite my best intentions the prior day, I was making my way to Glasgow hungover, bleeding, and dreading the possibility of a night out.
Well, ok no, it wasn't really that bad but it did make for an alarming wake up. A momentary wave of panic. Did I kill someone? Do I have malaria? Is it that time of the month? Oh, no I'm just an idiot and fell out of the bed. But, running late and having to catch the only train out of Skye before that night (and a connecting train to Glasgow) I quickly showered and got out of there. So the wound basically patched itself up the old school way- sticking to my jeans until the bleeding stopped. Just like being 8 all over again. Long story longer, I did make that train and despite my best intentions the prior day, I was making my way to Glasgow hungover, bleeding, and dreading the possibility of a night out.
Also, while that story is really great, I hope what you take from this post are the great images and descriptions of the beauty of Skye and not of me making an ass of myself falling from a bunk bed. Nah- just kidding, remember the buffoonery.
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