This is late and overdue. I sincerely apologise. Life took over it seems. Summer madness, eh? Maybe I’ll do a life update as well, like my first post. Hmmm… Anyway, hope you enjoy this belated post and as ever, please feel free to comment anything, big or small!
Day 1 | Duntulm to Quiraing | 18km
We got up early at the campsite in Portree, midges attacking us mercilessly already. We had two tents, mine which I was sleeping in, and Flora and Aimee’s. Rushing, we packed and left the campground, saying goodbye to Flora the ginger geologist student we met. Forget breakfast, we can have that later. The bus didn’t run very frequently (there are probably only four in the whole fleet to cover the entire north of the island) and we needed to hustle to catch it in time.
Indeed, as we were walking towards the bus stop, the bus came up behind us and we hopped on. However, turns out, it didn’t take us all the way but only to Flodigarry, a couple of kilometres from the start at Duntulm. Frustrating. We jumped off as it turned around at the hotel and headed back towards Portree.
We had our breakfast at the bus stop before I suggested a wacky idea. We could try hitching to the start point. The next bus was still an hour away after all. Flora and Aimee had never hitch hiked, but I mean, it can’t be that different from New Zealand and the TA, right? Sure enough, the next campervan stopped for us after I stuck the thumb out and we hopped in. There were two dogs and a couple and they were doing van life around Skye for a wee holiday. Aimee and I sat in the front with Dan the doctor whilst Flora petted the dogs with Jess in the back of the van. Off to a great start!
They dropped us at the red telephone box that marked the start of the trail and we were soon off after a cheeky photo. Strangely enough, the trail leads north straight away, towards the very northerly tip of the island before we loop down the coast and start south.
We got to the northerly tip, Rubha Hunish (OK, good luck with all these Gaelic names) which was cool. Steep cliffs plunged down into the sea, columns of basalt holding us up and white turquoise waves crashing down below. There was actually a bothy here, The Lookout (not Gaelic), which wasn’t on the map which annoyed me, I would have suggested we sleep there the previous evening if I knew about it! Grrrr
Still, no harm no foul. We started again and got the rhythm going. Let’s get some hours under our belts. We followed the cliffs along, the landscape speckled with small yellow and white flowers, hidden amongst the fresh greenness. Flora scampered about like the excited geologist she is, making noises at funny rocks and cliffs, hefting her camera and pointing it in all directions at once. Yeah, this section was actually really quite impressive. It was like the island was tilted out of the ocean. Crazy cool. The path lead right along the edge of the cliffs – just remember not to look down, it was vertigo inducing after all!
After a while, we descended into the hamlet called Balmaqueen which we breezed through, continuing along the coast. There were white washed houses everywhere, standing squat and silent against the persistent wind and rain over the centuries. Yeah, these houses had the look of being old man. There was additionally a ruined church in the hamlet, only one wall remained standing, looming over the crowded graveyard.
We had lunch after we had climbed to the top of the cliffs again, in the shelter of an old cow shed thing. The wind was vicious, howling in over the Trotternish Ridge (to the south west of us) and sweeping us clean. Oh, also, at the cow shed was the beginning of some weird food, Flora inspired. Today, banana in a wrap. Yep. It worked as well, which was the worrying thing! Surging with fresh energy, we got going before long, descending down and to the bottom of the cliffs again, sheltered from the wind. We passed some identical Polish twins here who worked at the Flodigarry hostel. I kid you not, not only were the identical, but they were dressed identically as well, but, like, in black shoes and shirts and braces. Hiking clothes, clearly… It was hilarious, is this the Matrix?? We also heard heaps of cuckoos which is the first time Aimee had heard them consciously I believe. I really associate their sound, the cooing call, to the sound of the glens of Scotland. That as well as the rucking call of red stags.
Speaking of Flodigarry, we actually arrived there soon after passing the twins, and we sat down by the hotel, the first twelve kilometres completed, a sense of satisfaction. We sat in the shade of the hotel, drinking some fizzy drinks and eagerly loving that hit of sugar. The inside of the hotel was cool as well, like… Sorta got the driftwood, coastal, washed up classy pirate ship feel to it. Does that make sense? It does to me. Anyways.
Walking past the front of the hotel, we emerged onto the road and we passed the bus stop we were dropped at earlier in the morning where we had had breakfast. Good times. A short tromp up the road later and we turned off and started heading up hill and directly towards the Trotternish Ridge, passing by Loch Langaig where there were people wild swimming, shrieking from the cold. The backdrop was stunning, towering cliffs with pointy pinnacles and outcrops. The end of the Trotternish Ridge and part of the rock formations known as the Quiraing.
I pushed ahead of Flora and Aimee, charging uphill, using my poles. They were newly fixed after all! When Flora and Aimee caught up, we continued on, beneath the shadowy cliffs above us, dodging past highland cows and tourists both before rounding the corner and getting a stunning view of the Trotternish Ridge in all its splendour. Wow. This is what we would be hiking across over the next couple days! Wow! It was mystical. Magical. Majestical. The ridge rose up abruptly from the green pastures surrounding it, jutting up on to a sharp edge. We were standing at the end and so we were looking along it, seeing it undulating up and down. Far out! Not a bad sight at all.
We passed a Dutch hiker going NoBo called Jessica who told us that the food cart at the car park just down the hill (where all the tourists had come from no doubt) was closed and that she had camped on the ridge the night before and that she’d met people who’s tents had collapsed from the strength of the wind.
Keeping that in mind, we walked down to where the car park was before scouting about for a place to pitch up for the night since we didn’t want to camp on the ridge just from what Jessica had told us. We found a place by some lochs and pitched up. Nice spot, with a beautiful view on the dramatic Quiraing. I had carried a cake this entire way, so we ate it, chatting, before starting with dinner. Part two of Flora’s food ideas, she ate noodles in a wrap. What an animal!.. But I will admit, they tasted really really good! Haha
Day 2 | Quiraing to Portree (via Uig) | 15km
We woke and I packed up and ate breakfast before those two were nearly ready. TA speed for you, honed over four months of hiking. The weather wasn’t looking good, with low clouds and speckles of rain and heckin’ gusty wind. Oh no… I went and collected some water for all of us whilst Flora and Aimee finished up packing and then we got ourselves up onto the ridge.
Sure enough, from the car park, we climbed up to the first hump along the ridge labelled Biodha Buidhe and the weather was not good. We were walking, leaning into the wind which blew across us from our right. Not fun for the back. We were sheltered where we were pitched up and even down there it was strong! Getting to the top of the first hump, we started down the steep grassy slope on the other side. The cliff was just to our left and the trodden down grass which was called a path was only a metre or two from the edge. Nerve wracking! Especially with the wind being as strong as it was and blowing us towards the edge. We did see a guy with a pack just ahead of us, disappearing up the next hump.
We made our way across a brief reprieve (also called ‘flat ground’) before we started up the next hump, Beinn Edra. Up ahead of us, maybe half a kilometre a way, the guy we had spied out in his red jacket was climbing up the slope, towards the flat bottom of the clouds, smothering the top of Beinn Edra. Yeah, this looked sketchy. The clouds swallowed him up and we followed behind him, five minutes back. Sure enough, as soon as we entered the cloud, the temperature plummeted and the visibility diminished severely which, when walking beside a 200m cliff, is never the greatest idea…
Slowly, carefully, we made our way up to the top of Beinn Edra. We stayed within sight of each other so as not to get lost in the cloud and had our hoods pulled up and our gloves on. Fun. Eventually, after a gruelling uphill, battling gravity and the weather, we got to the trig point at the top of Beinn Edra. From here, we had a wee deliberation. We could keep on, knowing that the rest of the ridge, being higher in altitude, was going to be smothered in cloud with no let up from the weather forecast, ending the day exhausted under the Storr. Or, we could bail into the town of Uig and catch the bus back to Portree.
Since we were not all comfortable with walking beside a two hundred metre cliff in cloud for the rest of the day, we decided to bail. Taking the farmer track off the top of Beinn Edra, we headed west and away from the trail, following the ruined drystone wall. The Trotternish Ridge remains unconquered for me. Another time.
We headed down, emerging back into weak, pale sunlight and we marched down into Uig, stopping for lunch half way down. We passed farms, rivers and a Faerie Glen before we arrived at the bus stop in Uig where we hopped on the bus back to Portree to arrive back in the early evening. At the bus stop were several other hikers who had also bailed from the ridge evidently, including (we think) the guy in red who had been just ahead of us.
We arrived into Portree, resupplied at the Co-op in town, and then headed to the campsite, ready for the next day. I bought some needle and thread as well, ready to sew my shoes back together. A stitch in time saves nine, after all.
Day 3 | Portree to Glen Sligachan | 25km
OK, let’s get walking again. We broke camp, a lot more relaxed than the last time we left this campsite, saying goodbye to Flora the ginger geologist student once again, and we walked back into Portree and then through it. Beautiful town, completely remote, detached from the rest of the world by sea lochs and pebbled mountains.
We walked out of town before jumping off the main road and heading down to the banks of Loch Portree, making our way alongside it south. That was fun, a lot of spongy, mossy ground and tidal mud that got you going in the early morning, hopping and jumping and carefully navigating your way along. We passed people fishing as well, lots of that about in this area of the world. We battled our way through gorse until we made it to a back road at the end of the loch and the going got suddenly easier.
We marched down this road, the first bit of extended road walking really. It was funny, Flora and Aimee started off by saying that they enjoyed the road for walking, but as the day crept by and your feet chewed up the tarmac kilometres, they start aching and you start dreaming of the soft grass once more!
Sure enough, we spent the entire morning walking down this road, dodging aside on the occasion to let by a car or two or three. We passed many houses along the way, tucked away. Clearly all used as Airbnbs or summer homes, with their beautiful views over the south of Skye and Torridon on the mainland. Some houses had pets in their yards, whether that was a dog (which Flora and Aimee petted) or baby goats (which Flora and Aimee petted) or lambs (which Flora and Aimee petted). High above the official hamlet of Peinachorrain was a bench planted on the steep side of the hill and we climbed up it for lunch. I sat on that bench and for the first time in a long time, my legs swung, not touching the ground. There was also a red telephone box which was the community library and hospital it seems. Heart stopping novels coupled with a defibrillator make for a great combination.
After lunch (which, by the way, was weird as ever), we reached the end of the paved road and our feet let out a sigh of relief as they headed back onto dirt tracks. Feeling good. There was a steep drop all the way down into Loch Sligachan on our left and the watery sun was high above us, directly ahead. A beautiful walk. The deep blue loch glittered and the salty air smelt fresh. Gulls ached above us and mountains made channels in the landscape, beckoning us on.
Charging along the side of Loch Sligachan, we arrived at the campsite at Sligachan (quick check if there were any Hilleberg tents… Nope not this time). Skipping through it, we arrived at the hotel to find it closed. No refreshments for now it seems. Therefore, after a twenty minute snooze in the hotel garden in the shade, we climbed back to our unsteady feet, put on our heavy packs and got going once more, heading down Glen Sligachan, looking for a place for the night.
We followed the dusty path into Glen Sligachan. Heather and tussock grass covered the glen floor so that there didn’t look like much flat, dry land for pitching up on! Mountains towered up on both sides of us, but we followed the flat glen floor along. We finally got to the Allt na Measarroch river where there were (thankfully) some actual flat grass spots and we decided to pitch up there. I pitched up on one side of the river, my tent set up as a Hilleberg promo shot pretty much, whilst Flora pitched on the other side of the river.
We spent that evening chatting and cooking our food. I had to continuously rock hop across the river, barefoot (as I like it), to and fro from my tent. Aimee and Flora also discovered how dirty my tent inner was and I felt thoroughly embarrassed about it! Also, like, all my gear is just, like, a little broken you know? Hole in my pack, fixed poles but they don’t telescopically collapse anymore, shoes are ripped, air mattress has blown up, my sleeping bag is thin on down, my dry bags aren’t really dry bags anymore… The list goes on. Everything I own (except maybe my cooker?) is at least a little broken! Haha, shows how much it is loved though!
Day 4 | Glen Sligachan to Kirkibost | 24km
Onwards, into the breach dear friends. Or something like that. The vampiric midges, which were absent the previous evening, were making up for their absence when we got up the next morning and emerged into the day. Clouds, literally. Rushing, we ate food, doing the Scottish trick of always moving and never stopping so they can’t land on you as easily. Walking in random directions, I ate my porridge and packed up my tent and pack. Brownian Motion in action folks.
Soon we were all ready and we eagerly got moving. Glen Sligachan in the morning was just delicious. A sumptuous view. Wow! The Black Cuillins were on our right (because their rock was black) and the Red Cuillins were on our immediate left (because their rocks were red!). We walked in the bright sunlight and I may have had to get my sunblock out! Before long, we saw someone just ahead of us, just in the process of finishing packing up. As we got closer, we saw that it was someone that we recognised! Jessica, the Dutch lady who had been heading north when we met her at the Quiraing. As it turns out, she was flip flopping, walking from Portree north before catching the bus back to Portree and heading south again. Wow! We actually ended walking with her from that point on, chatting and getting to know someone along the way!
We passed the junction that could have taken us to Loch Coruisk and the Bad Step (notorious) and ignoring the turn off, we pushed on, passing beneath Bla Bheinn. There was an option to go up and over that Munro but, well… None of us were fancying it, especially since there is a graded scramble at the top, or so I hear. Instead, we continued on, past Loch na Crèitheach and to Camasunary where there was another bothy that I didn’t know about! Wasn’t so impressed with the almighty Harvey Maps at this point in time.
We stopped at the bothy and had a look inside it. Very nice bothy, very clean and a working roof. Both of these bothies on the Skye Trail have been top notch. If I did it again (watch this space) I would definitely plan to take these into my itinerary (as much as I adore my tent)! There was a laid out sleeping bag in the sleeping room and… well… It looked like someone was in it but we couldn’t tell and this was nearing lunchtime and we were like “Is… someone still asleep? Wow” haha
From Camasunary Bothy, we continued along the coast (instead of over Bla Bheinn) and I will tell you, this coastal path got extreme quickly! It climbed up and then into a woodland before the path led to the literal cliff edge and we were walking within a metre of a sheer drop down into the sea for a good several hundred metres… Which doesn’t sound like very far until you are the one, battling past trees and thick undergrowth on the edge of a cliff!
OK, a little dramatic, but it was sketchy for sure. We slowly made our way along though, the four of us, before we descended to the beach at Cladach a’ Ghlinne, the mouth of Glen Scaladal, where we sat on the pebbled sand and ate our (weird) lunch. Jessica went scouting for pebbles (much to Flora’s delight) for trying to spin some yarn I believe. There was also a group of four other hikers on the beach that seemed to have just sprung up out of nowhere. They were ahead of us and just finishing lunch evidently.
Once we were happy and full from our midday meal, we got going once more. Up and along some (less sketchy) clifftops once more before we headed into the town of Elgol. Here, we came across the village shop and we feasted. Crisps, cake, tea, fruit… A full feast for sure! We sat at that pink bench in the sun, sitting contentedly and chatting amongst ourselves. Those four other hikers were also at the shop, sitting out in the sun and we soon engaged with them and chatted to them. Turns out they were actually a group of three and they had adopted an extra person along the way. The three guys were from London called Jude, Andrew and Dan whilst the girl they had adopted along the way was from Germany called Michelle. She was actually off to do the Cape Wrath Trail after this, possibly.
We walked out of Elgol as a big group of eight, chatting amongst ourselves, sharing stories. The best. Hiking a trail is only a third of the story, I find it is also the people you meet and the internal realisations you come across as you spend time with yourself.
The group of four broke off from us since they were off to go explore a cave on the coast and we were left with us and Jessica. Aimee and I surged on ahead of Flora and Jessica, talking and chatting. I think we accidentally set quite a quick pace when we weren’t paying attention since we soon left Flora and Jessica far behind us. Aimee and I eventually realised they were quite far behind us and we waited for them at the cemetery of Kilmarie. When they caught up with us, we had a quick chat and came to the conclusion that we were all a little tired and it might be best if we started looking for a spot to camp for the night, especially since it was evening time by now.
We settled for a spot just off the road close by Kirkibost. Kirkibost was a village, by the way, that had been cleared during the tragic highland clearances. Small history lesson for you. The highland clearances occurred over a hundred years, from about 1750, where land in the highlands of Scotland was taken away from people and turned over to farming. The people they kicked off the land ended up being shipped off to America and Canada (who would later travel to other colonies, for instance, New Zealand). So yeah, in the highlands, you come across tonnes of abandoned villages and the remains of ruined crofts. Sad, really.
We pitched up and ate our dinner but were ultimately driven into our tents prematurely by the swarms of midges, clouding around us. Like, it is not funny how many there were. Probably didn’t help ourselves by pitching in a place with absolutely no wind! Ah well. Flora and Aimee did a proper orchestrated event to be able to get into their tent as unscathed as possible, before spending the next several hours killing all the midges that had gotten in with them. Eek!
Day 5 | Kirkibost to Broadford | 28km
I awoke early in the morning from Jessica, whispering to me. She was distraught, unsure what to do since she had thrown up and was feeling horrific. Uncertain what to do, I gave her the rest of my water and my med kit, before settling down for the rest of an unsettled sleep.
When I did wake up, 06:30 in the morning, after I had packed up (but no breakfast, midges were unbelievable, worst I had ever seen them ever in twenty odd years!), Jessica wasn’t feeling any better at all. I helped her pack up her stuff, taking down her MSR Hubba and packing it into her twenty year old pack, before carrying it to the road for her with the hope that she could get a hitch out to Broadford and the hospital that was there.
Without anything much else to do, we wished her luck and continued on. Sure enough, within five minutes, a car passed us with Jessica in the front seat, pale but smiling and waving as the car drove past (we found out later she was fine and off to the Cairngorms that same afternoon. Just a case of food poisoning from a dodgy sandwich. Not salami though). Glad that she had gotten help, we found ourselves following the trail up a hill, off the road until we reached a point where there was a faithful breeze and no midges. Settling into the plush heather, we had ourselves some breakfast, midge free. Pffff, not much to ask for! I reckon living on the west coast of Scotland is a really romantic and beautiful idea until you move there and get driven mad by the relentless, tenacious midges that will feast on any exposed piece of skin. If you see any advertisements for being a caretaker of remote Scottish islands (these exist!), remember this fact!
After breakfast, we descended down, back onto the road to the banks of Loch Slapin and we followed that road round, under the looming Red Cuillins. We arrived at Torrin where we met three other hikers at a burger cart on the side of the road. Two of them had met whilst hiking the Cape Wrath Trail and they had also adopted an Italian guy as their third companion. We didn’t see them much after that, but it was fun to know how busy this trail was!
From that roadside cart, we continued on for about a hundred metres where we came across Amy’s Tearoom where Flora and Aimee dashed to make use of the facilities and then subsequently got distracted by the bakery goods in the place. They may have bought a treat for us later! Finally, after standing waiting for them for a solid, like, twenty minutes, they emerged and we got going again, walking out of Torrin, into Kilbride and then out the other side of it again.
We walked down past the quarry and followed the coast around, finding a nice bench half down it for lunch. Mmmmmm, finding a good lunchspot is always so satisfying! Another weird lunch (Quorn ham, crisps and peanut butter in a wrap… Yeah that was one step too far, I agree, but we had food to use up) and we got going. The rain was on and off at this point, sprinkles coming down on us occasionally. We walked and descended until we were walking along a rocky beach beneath steep cliffs. There were waterfalls about us and there were green, mossy islands out in the sea Loch Eishort. The rock was white on the other side of this loch… I have made this island sound really multicoloured right? I guess it is… But get ready for an overwhelming amount of tan green though, just to temper expectations.
I waited for Flora and Aimee at the cleared desolate village of Boreraig before heading up and over and into the next glen which would lead us alllll the way into Broadford and the end of the trail. This last slog was exactly that, a slog. Flora and Aimee were suffering at this point I think from walking nonstop for the last five days, heaving their packs up and down. Plus, Flora’s trail shoes were not the best and she had some nasty blisters forming… Oops!
We followed the farm track all the way into Broadford and we made our way past the hotel with a sense of slow achievement. Here at last, wow! What a place, Skye is spectacular. Stunning scenery. I cannot recommend it enough for anyone wanting a rugged, wild place on the edge of the civilised world. We celebrated with a Chinese takeaway before we headed to the campsite at Broadford.
We collapsed that evening before we had dinner together, showered and cleaned ourselves and then slept. The following day, we caught the bus from Broadford back to the mainland and back to our lives.
I am not done with Skye. The Trotternish Ridge remains unconquered and I want to do it some time. So all I have left in Scotland on my to-do list is the Hebridean Way (bikepacking adventure I think) and the Trotternish Ridge, though I might do the entire Skye Trail again it was simply that good.
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