An Ode' to The Isle of Skye

An early morning arose along Loch Snizort (yes, the actual name) and we rustled down a delicious Scottish breakfast. Today was the north loop of the Isle of Skye. Looking back, we could’ve spent the whole week covering this one day, but much like the isle herself, it was a magical day.

Off we set through Portree to grab supplies for lunch, water, and anything else we might need to toast the day. The picturesque Scottish village butted up against a loch that bleeds into the north Atlantic. Not a frown to be found.

We left Portree in due haste to get to the Old Man Storr as early as possible, to beat the crowd. Not a rush, but early enough so that the truckloads of people that fester in come mid-day hadn’t arrived yet.

I think we saw all 4 season on the short hour hike up to the thumb. One minute it was bright and sunny, the next, a wintery mix of sleet and snow came down only to vanish into a crystal clear blue bird sky. Pretty miraculous what mother nature can throw at you in some of her most unforgiving environments. A spectacular view at every turn on the hike, we were left with our jaws wide open the whole time. The scenery itself is one that’s impossible to describe outside of seeing it for yourself. Well worth the journey. We enjoyed every stop on the way back down and savored the scenery as we knew it would be a long time until we could go back. 

We continued our journey stopping at Lealt Falls and the Kilt Rock, both spectacular in their own right, stopping for a brief lunch along the cliffs the Kilt Rock. Lots of pictures of rock and sheep, and a full belly later, we trekked on to the really unknown part of the day.

The northern part of the Isle, I believe including the Storr, is engulfed in the Quiraing mountain. We drove inwards along a no name road that seemed to head deeper into Celtic mystery until we got to a turnaround and ventured out of the car. The weather had unfortunately kept her grip on the afternoon and the beautiful range was covered by low cloud cover. Still a magnificent sight to behold, we did a small hike and reversed down the long winding road we took in, stopping to help a soaking wet hiker on our endeavor towards the outer road.

Our good deed for the day complete, we ventured to the northerly most point of the isle. Weather cleared and we slowly staggered along the seemingly one lane road stopping to catch our breath from the sheer wonder that is the north Atlantic coast.

At the northerly most tip of the isle is a town dotted with mystery. Seemingly a deserted town with a few houses dotted along the shoreline cliffs, we were taken aback when we stumbled upon a small sign outside a no name house that read “Trotternish Art Gallery”. One of the more abrupt decisions I made was to put the car in reverse and insist that we go inside. Wandering into someone’s house feels off-putting as an American, but the Scottish people are some of the most welcoming and friendly I’ve ever encountered. After knocking a few times with no response, we decided to open the door and test this Scottish welcomeness. We were greeted by a seemingly mute, humble old man with a cane that ushered us into the studio. He pointed out all of the various works of art on the wall and left us to our own interpretation until his wife came in to greet us having been tidying the upstairs. After a sincere conversation, we came to learn the tangential history of Bill Lawrence’s works and his recent battle with Parkinsons. Bill was and even with the entrenched battle still is a phenomenal artist. They were two of the most genuine people we have had the pleasure of meeting and will forever cherish that snap decision to stop and take in the wonders of Skye.

Our only regret is not getting a picture with the two of them before we departed. As we continued along the outskirts of Scotland’s biggest isle, stopping on and off to take in the scenery, I dreamt of the simple life the residents of such a remote, yet not far from societal mainland must live. A pretty incredible back drop of life compared to a suburb in the Midwest. As we trotted down the road, the last spectacular view we came across was the was the switchback that undulated back and forth leading down to the small fishing village of Idrigil. About as picturesque as you can imagine for a small fishing village.

We polished our day of circling the island with one last stop at the Fairy Glen. Stepping back in time to the 1400s when lord only know the mystique and wonder that adorned this glen. Each step felt like we went further and further into a scene from Lord of the Rings. Sharp jagged 30-foot-tall peaks dot the valley and provide a spectacular vantage point to the mysterious landscape. An utterly mysterious site that makes you ponder what life was like here five hundred years ago.

We rounded out what was left of the day with a jaunt over to Dunvegan Castle. Unfortunately, by the time we arrived it had closed for the day, but driving around the are we got a sense of its absolutely beautiful surroundings and a couple good pictures of the castle from a distance.

We slowly meandered our way back to the hotel trying to comprehend all we’d taken in today. All four seasons, a proper welcome from a true Scottish artist, and a step into Celtic history is a well-rounded day. We finished off our evening with a short walk along the murder creek (tell this story) along the hotel that feeds into Loch Snizort and a muted dinner in our hotel room. A very relaxing way to end what would turn out to be the most memorable day of our trip.