The softer side of Skye

There's yet another castle -- Dunvegan -- behind where I was standing on the headland, but we actually stopped here to see the seals on the islands offshore. They were too far away to get decent photos of, even with a big lens, but I also took this picture with my point and shoot and promptly forgot all about it.

The Old Man's backside

The Old Man of Storr from the opposite side.

Gateway to the sky

I love how the loch reflects the sky so perfectly it looks as though the ground has opened up a new portal to the sky.

Two views of the Cuillin hills

Local legend has it that the name Cuillin comes from Cuchulain, the legendary Irish hero, about whom Yeats wrote many of his less interesting poems.

Cuchulain stirred,
on the horses of the sea, and heard
The cars of battle and his own name cried;
And fought with the invulnerable tide.

Ireland sent saints and heroes to Scotland, along with her thick and thorny language, which the Scots, God bless them, have made even more incomprehensible.

I think you can tell the morning photo from the one taken in the afternoon without my having to spell it out.

And yet another bridge

I believe -- believe -- this is a bridge over the same stream as the previous post, taken in the afternoon light when we'd circled back around to the Cuillin hills overlook.

Not that it really matters -- Isle of Skye. Scotland. Pretty.

A slightly older bridge on Skye

I don't know the name or history of this little bridge -- it was near an overlook of the Cuillin hills and Glen Sligachan where we stopped in the morning when the peaks were still covered with mist, and again in the afternoon when it was clearer.

Kyleakin

Another picture of the harbor at Kyleakin, on the Skye side of the bridge. Kyle is from the Gaelic word for strait (Kyle of Lochalsh is a romantic-sounding way of saying “the strait by Loch Alsh") and  Kyleakin means the Strait of Haakon, referring to the Norwegian king Haakon IV -- the Norwegians ruled Skye for several centuries a millennium or so ago.

The ruined castle -- because of course you've got to have a ruined castle -- is called Caisteal Maol, and dates from the 15th century, though there may have been much older structures there.

Skye bridge

The design of the bridge was supposedly meant to suggest a seagull in flight, but the history wasn't nearly so poetic.

Until the bridge was built in 1995, ferries were the only transport to and from the island. When the bridge opened, the closest ferry, between Kyleakin on Skye and Kyle of Lochalsh on the mainland, was discontinued, so residents had no choice but to use the bridge. And pay the tolls.

The company that built it had funded the construction themselves, with the agreement that they would also operate the bridge and charge tolls to recoup their costs. But the fare, more than five pounds each way, made it (or so the protesters claimed) the most expensive road in Europe. After years of controversy and protest, the Scottish government bought the bridge in 2004, and there are no more tolls.

Back with the fairies

Remembering the perfect days in the Highlands and on Skye. Here are a few more pictures from the Fairy Glen.

I wonder if any of the fairies are willing to consider a long-term sublet.

Sing me a song of a lass that is gone

That's another version of the Skye Boat Song:

     Sing me a song of a lass that is gone
     Say could that lass be I?
     Merry of soul she sailed on a day
     Over the seas to Skye

This is the view from the ferry as we sailed -- from Skye, sadly, rather than to it. This is far from the most photogenic view of the island, but you can see some of the Outer Hebrides islands in the distance, all of which are now on my Must Visit list. I will have more pictures of some of those other Skye landscapes later, when I'm not running around Scotland taking more pictures than I can look at.

Despite the sun, I lasted maybe ten minutes outside before my fingers turned a patriotic Scottish blue and I retreated to the indoor seating. Once we were back on the mainland, it was warm enough to have our lunch on a nearby beach, but despite the romantic songs, actually sailing over any Scottish seas is apparently not for the faint-hearted. Or underdressed.

And speaking of kilts...

Kilt Rock was an appropriate place for Ewan to demonstrate how to get into a kilt -- not the filleadh bheag, or small kilt, which is basically a skirt with the pleats already sewn in, familiar to generations of Catholic schoolgirls -- but the great kilt, which served as a garment, a blanket, and if necessary, a tent.

The first step is to lay out the kilt. (I'm not sure how you'd manage this if you lived in a tiny croft and it was raining outside, both of which were likely to be the case.)

Then you pleat the fabric by hand -- more pleats in winter, when the trapped air keeps you warm, fewer in summer.

The Scots may not have invented the burrito, but they clearly had the concept. The next step is to lie down on top of the pleated plaid and wrap the bottom around you. (That's George, acting as volunteer tartan wearer.)

Tie a belt around your waist outside the tortilla, um, kilt.

You can stand up now.

Arrange the folds of the top of the kilt to create a series of handy pockets, and pin over one shoulder, creating a natural backpack.

That's all there is to it! You look just like Mel Gibson! Or Liam Neeson! Or Sam Heughan!

Kilt Rock

Named because the stone columns resemble the pleats in a kilt -- it definitely resembles a kilt a lot more than the Old Man of Storr resembles an old man.

The Old Man of Storr

This is one of the most famous geological features on Skye -- a 160-foot tower of basalt that does not in the least resemble an old man unless you have a filthy mind.

More fairy glen

The fairy glen

This may have been the most magical place I've ever seen. Fairy mounds and ancient trees around a wee loch (you do start to talk like the Scots after a couple of days), with the boggy ground collapsing into folds and wrinkles like the skin on a Shar-pei.

It was easy to believe that fairies might actually be watching from deep inside their hills and maybe the cautions against whistling or putting your hands in your pockets might not be so ridiculous after all.

We had our picnic lunch here and though I sat on what seemed like a solid, dry, grassy bank, after ten minutes or so I'd sunk down to the water level and had to go through the rest of the day in wet jeans.

Skye

I'd seen pictures of course, and that's why I was so eager to visit, but nothing can really prepare you for the strange, almost other-worldly beauty of Skye.

We stayed in Plockton, a charming village just on the other side of the bridge to the island, and as we drove over the bridge this morning, our wonderful guide, Ewan, played the Skye Boat Song (the original version about Bonnie Prince Charlie, not the Robert Louis Stevenson version.)

                             Speed, bonnie boat, like a bird on the wing, 
                             Onward! the sailors cry; 
                             Carry the lad that's born to be King 
                             Over the sea to Skye.

A perfect moment in a perfect day.