Believe it or not, tackling the Skye Trail was as much my idea as Stu’s. It was a compromise; Stu had first suggested we do the Cape Wrath Trail, a two-week trek to Scotland’s northwesternmost point. I argued for only 128km over seven days of walking and camping, followed by a week of rest and B&Bs. And so we found ourselves taking the two day drive from Reigate to the Isle of Skye, prepared-ish for another dose of fresh air and self-imposed hardship in the name of adventure.
We stopped off at a campsite near Loch Lomond on the drive up. The lovely, eccentric host there warned us about how Scotland was full to the brim and that our drive to Skye would take much longer than planned due to recent flooding and landslides. He said they were turning people away at the Skye Bridge and that we’d better leave as early as we could to give ourselves a good chance of making it over. From how he told it, there would be a 6am scramble from the campsite as everyone tried to get ahead of the inevitable queues. We thanked him profusely, sighed with relief that we had been warned and set a 5.30am alarm to pack up our tent in the dark. When we woke up however, not a single other group had started stirring. We grabbed the breakfast pastries that were included in our booking and set off onto empty roads, waiting for a traffic jam to build that never did and passing easily onto the Isle of Skye hours before we needed to. It is possible that we are gullible mugs and that the host was merely trying to space out the breakfast rush. Ah well.
We used our extra time for a lunch stop in Portree before driving to the ferry terminal at Uig where we were planning to park the car for the week. We then got a bus to Broadford, which is the start of the trail if doing it from South to North. The standard seems to be to go in the other direction, but it made sense to us to build up to the more remote landscape at the end. We enjoyed a huge three course meal in Broadford at the Claymore Restaurant (with a delicious Cullen skink starter) and then tackled the first few easy-going kilometres of the trail. These would take us to Swordale House B&B and our final bed before starting the walk in earnest. Unfortunately, signal dropped out way before we reached the area on the map where we knew the B&B was located, so we had to wander around and eye up the three potential buildings that it could have been, before trying our luck and thankfully knocking at the right door. “Didn’t you follow my instructions?”, said Vanessa before we let her know that we hadn’t thought to check them before it was too late to get signal to access emails. We didn’t exactly exude competence for two actuaries about to fend for themselves out in the open for a week.
Day 1
After a hearty breakfast, we set off into the wind. Our packs were as light as we could make them, but we carried enough food for the full seven days and so it took a little while to settle into walking with the weight, not helped by the fact that our legs weren’t used to walking after months of sedentary lockdown broken by the occasional run. The first feature we passed as we headed to the coastline was the deserted settlement of Boreraig and then Suishnish. We learned in our reading before the trip that these were townships that were forcibly evicted to make way for farming in the 1800s. It’s a beautiful spot and the ruins are sad – not really sure why it was thought there wasn’t enough room for people and sheep there.
After a couscous lunch stop, we followed the coast around and up to Torrin. We thought we might be able to get a cup of tea here, but no such luck; it’s a tiny village and the one café was closed. We did however manage to knock on the door of a bunkhouse and get our water bottles refilled. The weather started to roll in at this point and we agreed to start looking for a place to camp. The stretch of coastline north of Torrin was getting battered by howling wind, so the plan was to walk around the inlet and find somewhere on the opposite shore. While on the road we bumped into Analisa, a girl from Italy studying at Dundee Uni. She had tried in vain to get her tent up in the wind, so joined us in our attempt to find somewhere a bit further along. On the way, we passed a mountain biker with a Red Bull helmet who Stu got really excited about when he realised it was Danny MacAskill with a film crew, trying out some tricks on his home island.
It was marginally better around the coast and we eventually landed on a spot near where some sheep were huddled and we trusted that they knew best. It was so grim outside that after a quick dinner, a shot of whiskey and some chocolate, we climbed into our tents at around 6.30pm to read and to survive the storm until the morning.
The Bleak Day
There are no words to truly describe how grim our second day was. The wind and rain battered the tent throughout the night and we awoke to discover that our pitch had turned into a large puddle. We packed up and went to a nearby parking area which blissfully had a sheltered bench, a compost loo and a rainwater butt. We huddled here and made some porridge and tea with our JetBoil. Analisa made the probably wise decision to wait for a few hours for a bus back to Broadford to sit the day out – she wasn’t on any particular schedule for the trail. Geared up with new gaiters and poles, we reluctantly set off, thinking that at least the first section passed through a forest and we would have some shelter. Not so. It was so miserable.
When the trail rejoined a road, we considered taking a shortcut across to Elgol, but decided that the trail looked more sheltered and plus, that would have felt like cheating. There was a beautiful woodland section for a while which did give us a bit of respite, but when we emerged for the exposed last few kilometres to Elgol, we were met with horizontal rain and the kind of wind which makes it difficult to stand up. Once again our hopes of a cup of tea were dashed when we reached the town. There was one small shop that was allowing one person in at a time, but that was it. Stu genuinely argued that we should cook lunch in the public loo, but instead we found a rock covered in sheep poo to huddle behind.
We had invested in some jazzy new raincoats before this trip, and while they mostly stood up to the weather, water did get through when compressed at the shoulders by the drenched bag straps. Stu had started shaking but was refusing to put on an extra layer, I think because he was trying to hold back a dry jumper. We got some water boiling and the 800kcal freeze dried mac n’ cheese lunch packets we had went some way to spurring us on.
We left the town and pushed north into the signposted ‘remote mountain country’, with the aim to reach a bothy we had spotted on the map. The wind died down slightly which we very grateful for as there were some hairy sections on the cliffside path. We had to cross a fast flowing river at a beach and decided the easiest route would be to wade through at the river mouth into the sea. We spotted a couple of cute seals here who stuck their heads out to watch our crossing.
We reached the bothy to find two groups already there and that it was technically closed. I’m not proud of it, but after a bit of deliberation we decided to try our best to social distance inside for the night rather than attempt to survive the storm by finding somewhere in the surrounding bog to put up our wet tent in the fading light. The bothy was bigger than we thought it would be and was blissfully warm. We chatted with the other groups who were from London and the Isle of Wight and were there to explore the Cuillin mountain range. This was where I accidentally put couscous into Stu’s whiskey. That’s the trouble with having one enamel cup each for all food and drink. It was also sadly the last of the whiskey from Stu’s hipflask; it was nice while it lasted. I actually strongly dislike whiskey, but it tastes different after a bleak day of walking.
Sligachan
The morning brought a wonderfully unexpected turn in the weather and we had a beautiful day of sunshine. We headed north into a valley alongside a loch and then into the Sligachan Glen. There were a few midges about and Stu’s back was a bit sore, but overall it was much better and we enjoyed the scenery. There were lots of mountain streams here and we used one for a chilly hair wash and to collect some water. The number of sheep on Skye meant that filter tablets were a must, but the water here was lovely and clear. After around 12km of being in the middle of nowhere, we reached the Sligachan hotel and micro-brewery. We missed the food serving window by about 10 minutes, but did have a pint and a rest in the sun. We met a few girls here who were doing the trail in the other direction. They had had to deal with dangerous weather on the Trotternish Ridge, so we counted ourselves lucky that the weather forecast had improved for when we were due to reach it.
We continued along the north shore of Loch Sligachan and found a lovely spot to camp next to a stream. We managed a proper wash here, hoping that the scattering of houses on the opposite shore didn’t have binoculars.
Pizza and porpoises
The next morning saw a lovely dewy sunrise. It was a beautiful day, but our optimistic attempt to hang out some wet things to dry had failed miserably. Our boots didn’t stand a chance and we pretty much had webbed feet for the remainder of the week. The first few hours of walking followed the longest road stint of the trail and were a bit of a plod. We passed an honesty box with packets of fudge in it, but the smallest change we had was a £10 note and Stu was having none of it. I still reckon it would have been worth it.
The last few kilometres to Portree followed the loch shore and the ground was a boggy sponge. I fell on my bum in the mud and hurt my wrist, dignity and humour. Thankfully there was an artisan pizza takeaway in the town and we had a good long break in the sun there. Stu ordered a pizza slice to eat while we waited for our full pizzas to be made, and on the way out of town we picked up ice cream cones; it was a good afternoon.
We faced a bugger of a climb onto the coastal ridge, but were rewarded with stunning views over the sea and the rest of Skye. It was from here that we saw a pod of dolphins heading into Loch Portree (or porpoises, it was hard to tell). We found a great camping spot in a little sheltered dip and settled in for the night, shattered. A long day but a good day.
The Trotternish Ridge
Our fifth day on the trail took us down off the coastal ridge and up to the Old Man of Storr, a cool rocky pinnacle in front of the cliffs. We joined the throng of day-tripping tourists up to the rocks, looking wholly overprepared compared to some visitors in sparkly trainers and leather jackets. The wind started picking up and it was tough going from then on. Beyond the main path, we were on our own again and didn’t see other people on the ridge until one couple the following day. Navigating around the Storr and up onto the 600m high ridge was tricky and there was a scrambley bit that was at the very edge of my comfort zone. The strong winds were joined by a delightful hail shower when we stopped for lunch, although thankfully short-lived. When looking over the route, I had boiled the instructions down to ‘follow the ridge’, without really appreciating that the ridge is a series of steep ups and downs and that we would be climbing over 2000m in total. It was exhausting. The views were pretty epic though. We saw sea eagles and plenty of suicidal sheep. Honestly, they are scared of people but absolutely fine with running down tiny ledges along the cliff face.
There was no shelter to be found at all, so we set up camp in the most sensible place we could find, next to some rocks just beyond Sgurr a Mhadaidh Ruaidh (no idea how you pronounce that, but apparently it is Gaelic for ‘peak of the red fox’). It was freezing and the wind was scary, resulting in a terrible attempt at sleep; even with earplugs I was convinced the wind was going to throw us off the cliff, and when half asleep in the dark there is no room for rational thoughts to tell you otherwise. It was sunny the following day at least and I know it could have been a lot worse up there.
It was a gruelling long walk across the ridge towards the Quiraing the next day, Stu’s knee was not happy and we were running low on water. We had managed to collect some at a river near the Storr, but didn’t pass any more on the ridge. We rationed ourselves: no tea at breakfast and honey on rye bread for lunch instead of soup. We found some awful looking stuff near the car park at the Quiraing and filled up a couple of bottles as a last resort in case we ran out. The Quiraing is another area where rocky bits have slipped away from the ridge; it’s as beautiful as the Storr and it was less busy.
The walk beyond it to Flodigarry was a bit trickier than expected and involved a bit of sliding along the floor while gripping onto the surrounding heather for support. We decided to see if we could fill up our water at the hostel (one of the only buildings in this tiny village), but we arrived to a big ‘closed’ sign. Luckily, there were a couple of people outside, so we told them about our predicament. The man was not at all pleased that we had asked and refused to touch our water bottles, but nevertheless he did very kindly bring us out a 2 litre water bottle. We definitely should have filled up at a small loch we had passed on the way down, but we’d only collected from fast flowing streams so far and weren’t sure about the more stagnant options. In the end we used the awful car park water for cooking and made the bottled water last until the end of the walk.
The North
We realised a little further down the road that we had taken a wrong turn, but couldn’t bring ourselves to walk back past the hostel man onto the right track. We therefore slogged out a couple of kilometres on the road before rejoining the route and finding our final camping spot on the north coast near Balmaqueen. We set about our usual routine of clearing the sheep poo for a camping spot, enjoying the relative warmth of the autumn air compared to the ridge. There were loads of buzzards here and they made a right racket as we set up camp and prepared dinner. We were out of our snazzy freeze-dried meals, so had a tomato pasta ‘n sauce which technically required 5 minutes of simmering on a stove. Pouring boiling water over it in our enamel cups didn’t quite do the trick, so we ended up with a truly awful combination of yellow river water, crunchy pasta and un-thickened sauce granules, with a side of stale wrap. I wouldn’t recommend it to anyone. We got into our tent asap after that, poking our heads out once a bit later to look at the huge full moon, but totally oblivious to the northern lights which were apparently on show (we found out a few days later).
After a much better sleep than the previous night, we started our final day on the trail. We were both feeling pretty broken at this point, with Stu’s knee frustrating him the most. We watched the sunrise over the sea while having our porridge, before slowly hobbling along the sea cliffs toward the northernmost point of the island. We passed one hiker who had just started the trail in the other direction, looking a lot fresher and spritelier than us. I may have come around to the idea of traipsing across the countryside with Stu, but I can’t fathom ever braving this kind of trail alone – good on those who do.
We reached a bothy at Rhuba Hunish (headland of the bear cub) and popped in to check it out. It is a beautiful hut with a little bedroom and a lookout room complete with binoculars and loads of information on whales and sea life. The guy who set it up was man-after-our-own-hearts Dave Brown, a ‘high flying city actuary’ who gave it up to be an ‘anti-materialist and wilderness lover’. As run-of-the-mill Surrey actuaries who enjoy the outdoors, this is our kind of guy.
We carried on through a very boggy section to the edge of the cliff overlooking the last bit of headland jutting out below us. We left our bags here and took the scramble down to reach the lower point, grateful that the rocks weren’t too slippery and feeling elated as we remembered how much easier it is to balance without over 15kg of kit on your back. Once down, we trotted to the northernmost point, joining another couple on a day walk to look out to the sea where it was all kicking off. We saw seals, porpoises, cormorants and then a minke whale (we wouldn’t have known what kind of whale, but the other couple shouted it with certainty, and when we looked it up after we agreed). It was a pretty cool reward for our travels.
We spent a while here before making our way back up the cliff path and to the official end of the Skye trail: a tiny car park near Duntulm. We once again made our way to the point on the map which promised a café or a pint with no such luck; if one of the few buildings there was a pub then it certainly wasn’t open. We then had a decision to make. The car was parked in Uig, an extra 13km down an undulating road. We had been aiming for a couple of extra kilometres a day throughout the week in order to give us the option of walking the additional bit to the car, so on this day we had only walked around 10km to reach the official end of the trail. You guessed it: Stu and I commenced a heated debate over whether to get a taxi or not. It was already well into the afternoon, we were broken and I wanted to get to the Uig B&B with time to shower before dinner. The problem was that the one taxi available, whose number we got from a phone box, would have to drive across from Portree to pick us up, meaning that it would be more expensive than a 2am taxi between a nightclub in Reigate and central London. Nevertheless, I am delighted to report that I won this argument, and so we perched next to the road near some castle ruins to wait for the driver to arrive. We must have looked a very sorry sight, because after a few minutes, a kindly couple got out of their car to offer us some tea. We refused, but did gratefully accept a couple of fruit cake slices – heavenly.
Rest and recovery
And that was that really. Brian, the taxi driver, delivered us to our car at the ferry port. We had a cup of tea and a pie before driving just around the bay to Cuil Lodge B&B, which is honestly the best B&B we have ever stayed in, and not just because we hadn’t seen a bed for a week. Sandy greeted us and showed us around before releasing us to shower. I don’t want to know how badly we smelled and I hadn’t removed my beanie for at least three days, so this was much needed. Feeling like new people, we made our way down for some tea and homemade lemon cake from Margaret in one of the sitting areas overlooking the sea loch, before having a delicious and beautifully presented meal full of fresh ingredients.
Breakfast the next day was just as good; smoked haddock and poached egg for me and full veggie breakfast for Stu. Margaret and Sandy had wonderful chat and their hospitality was just what we needed after our week outdoors. We said our farewells and went to catch the ferry to Lochmaddy to start a more relaxed week in the Uists and Barra (islands in the Outer Hebrides). We explored the ridiculously beautiful sandy beaches, played some links golf at Askernish, watched a plane land on the tidal beach runway on Barra, ate fish and chips and Scottish tablet (fudge), and generally enjoyed being able to warm up in our B&B. We did have one final night of camping on a beach on Vatersay, just to make the dash to the early morning ferry a little bit more exciting.
On this trip, we learnt that the simplicity of being on a trail is as much the purpose as the ‘adventure’ of it. Not having to think about anything other than walk, eat, sleep, repeat for a week is blissful, especially this year when a short reset before letting the world back in felt long overdue. ‘Blissful’ might not be the word I would have used if we had spent the whole week in a raincloud; the weather does make a huge difference.
I have also realised that I am steadily accumulating as much outdoor gear as my mother, and that maybe she was right to get me a walking jacket for my 18th birthday after all.
Well done guys. What an achievment and certainly an epic trip in iffy wind and weather.
Well done Heather! What an adventure you both had – wow! Lovely memories to treasure. Sorry you missed the Northern lights, but so much else you got to experience. Hope Stu’s knee has recovered. Take care and keep having fun. ??
Beautifully written and stunning shots. Thanks for sharing. Xx