Lynne embarked on her first cruise on Monday, travelling to Madeira, Lanzarote and Lisbon amongst others, so I decided that, as I was going to be home alone, it would be an ideal opportunity to return to Scotland for some serious photography time. Long story short, at 5.45 this morning I set out to drive back to the Isle of Skye. It’s a distance of 505 miles and I expected it to take roughly ten hours. The first part of the journey was the usual war of attrition with slow traffic and a mix of a steady filthy drizzle and the occasional torrential downpour. Couple this with what seems like the entire European continent’s articulated lorry population and quite often you find yourself pointing the car in what you hope is the right direction without actually being able to see very much. This particular version of man made hell was compounded by the ubiquitous 50 mile an hour average speed cameras which run for about 20 miles from just before junction 13, past junction 15 on the M6 which may not sound like much but at 50 mph with uncomfortably narrow lanes and masses of blinding spray from the hundreds of lorries it seems to go on for ever. This set the tone for the duration of the English part of the journey, crazy slow traffic passing every major conurbation, ie, Stafford, Crewe, Manchester, Liverpool, Preston, Lancaster, etc, etc, and contraflow systems everywhere! Can anyone please tell me why our roads have to be so shit?
Thankfully, having left the parts of the motorway that feed into the large towns and city’s the traffic thinned out and the driving became less of an ordeal. Strangely having driven most of the way in that steady fine drizzle which is neither one thing or the other, almost the moment I passed the welcome to Scotland sign where the M6 becomes the A74 the sun broke through and lit up the already impressive Scottish countryside. That definitely sounds like a case of the other mans grass being greener but in this instance it actually was! The journey actually took 11 hours with a couple of stops, once for coffee and another for diesel. Arriving at the Feochan B&B in Portree I was greeted at the door by the host, Nora. She was really nice and extremely helpful. She guessed immediately that I was there for photography and offered to ask her husband, who it turns out is a tour guide on the island, to come see me and offer some pointers for where to go. I’d actually already worked out exactly where I wanted to go for the next two days but he did pop in and showed me some amazing photos on his phone. After a gruelling 11 hour drive, all I wanted to do was to chill out in my small but comfortable room. Nora assured me that there is a beautiful view from the window but it was pitch dark and the the only thing visible were a few twinkling lights in the distance so I’ll have to take her word for it.
Next morning I left the B&B at 7.15 in absolute darkness to drive the 40 miles to Elgol Beach in the south of the island. By the time I reached Elgol it was getting light. I had made the mistake of putting a post code in the satnav and as seems often to be the case it tried to take me the wrong way. Not far from the destination it instructed me to turn left towards a village called Drinan. Thinking instinctively that this was wrong I carried on without turning. A couple of hundred yards up the road I came upon an older man walking toward me. I wound down the window and having exchanged cordial good mornings, I asked if I was on the right road to Elgol? Strangely, he replied that if I wasn’t I was going to be in trouble. I don’t know what he meant by that but it was said with a big beaming smile. He was quite old but with a healthy looking ruddy complexion and twinkly eyes that suggested someone completely happy with his lot. Anyway, he eventually agreed that I was heading in the correct direction and just to carry on to the end of the road. Then he added, just for good measure, “next stop America”. I thanked him and drove on laughing to myself at his good humour. When you consider the traditional Scotland/England rivalry it never ceases to amaze me how really friendly the people are!
Arriving in Elgol I found there was plenty of parking right next to the beach and it was obvious I was going to have the place all to myself. The following photographs are the result of my spending almost two hours wondering up and down the beach looking for different compositions all featuring the same group of mountains across the water. The sun was just coming up and casting it’s first light of the day on the distant mountains.
Leaving Elgol, I then made my way back three miles to a car park I’d seen along the way which was the start of the walk to a place called Camasunary. The sign at the start of the walk said Camasunary was 2.5 miles. I set off on foot at about 10.20 am. The walk started off easy but soon became an uphill slog. I was mindful that at some point I was going to be going downhill to get to Camasunary at sea level. What I hadn’t anticipated was that for long stretches the path was made up of millions of fist sized rocks which weren’t kind on the feet. The walk back to the car proved to be pretty strenuous and I wasn’t completely convinced it had been worth the effort. The following two images were taken on the downhill stretch into Camasunary. As you can see it’s a happening place with the tiny white building at the far end of the beach, one only of two dwellings. Unsurprisingly neither one of them looked inhabited as there doesn’t appear to be any vehicular access to the area. Having said that, I’m sure the track I walked along would be fun to drive in an off-roader.
The whole hike took over three hours including the obvious stops for photographs. I only saw one other person the whole time. A young guy, maybe mid 30s passed me twice, in and out, running! His dog, a beautiful Irish Wolfhound trotted dutifully behind him. By the time I got back to the car I was well and truly knackered and more than happy to see the car. After a brief rest and drink I set off in search of Talisker Bay. This is a huge beach with a large sea stack at one side. After parking the car I set off on what would turn out to be another 30 minute walk to get to the beach. Thankfully it was flat most of the way as my feet and knees were beginning to send painful little signals to my brain that they’d had enough. The path passed through a farm yard with a barn on one side and the farmhouse on the other. They both looked extremely run down and I couldn’t see any signs of habitation. It did occur to me that maybe the owners might not be too friendly, judging by the sign at the beginning of the driveway stating that ‘Dogs may be shot due to livestock!’ Due to livestock what? Livestock suffering from dogrophobia? Who knows? On a serious note, I know all about dogs and sheep and I suppose the farmer has every right to protect his livestock but the sign just seemed to set a slightly unnecessarily unfriendly tone. On the way back to the car, I walked through the farm again but by now it was getting dark and I couldn’t help looking at the farmhouse a little nervously as it seemed quite spooky. I half expected to see a pale ghostly face at one of the upstairs windows. The second this thought had flitted through my tiny mind, a car pulled up at the gate about 50 yards ahead and the driver, who I can only assume must be the owner of the farm, got out to open the gate. As he pulled his car through the gate and got out again to close it, he asked me if I’d got any decent shots. We had a short conversation about the beach and how beautiful it was and I have to say, he didn’t seem like a character from the Adams Family at all. In fact he was very well spoken and quite polite which just goes to show, you really can’t judge a man by the house he lives in!
I drove back to Portree in total darkness and couldn’t help noticing how polite all the other drivers are. Most of the route consists of single track roads with passing places. Whenever I stopped to let another car past they would respond by giving one blink of an indicator. I don’t know how they manage that one blink, I’ve tried it and can’t get anything less than a full turn indication. On that full-blown waffle, I think it’s time to conclude this blog before I lose my (tiny) audience. My first full day on Skye and it was a full day of photography and hiking which left me exhausted and I couldn’t wait to get back to the B&B for a shower and a much anticipated Pot Noodle! Yes, I’m living on Pot Noodles. Probably just as well I’ll only be here for a few days!
Wandering Wildman 