Some twenty or so miles across the Little Minch rise the mountains of Harris. I was there once, on some journey years ago. For some reason the Hebridean isles have been on my mind lately. Maybe it’s because I haven’t seen any ocean since last July, the longest period in my life, so the idea of wandering along an empty beach with a cold north wind on some wild and rugged island on the edge of the world is like a dream.
Late September 2003. I was nearly a month into a two month solo trip to Scotland. I found myself sitting in a hostel in Stromness on a cold rainy night listening to tales about the island of Hoy. It was a mere accident that I had arrived at Stromness and only because of tales of this night, would I spend the better part of a week at a place called Rackwick Bay. The thick Scottish accent erased most of my comprehension of the conversation, but I understood one thing; Hoy, and Rackwick are where I must go. The next day I filled my backpack with food and caught the ferry to Hoy just as it was leaving. I stayed in that little stone shelter all by myself until I ran out of food 5 days later and had to return to Stomness. My only warmth from the gales was from the little driftwood I would gather form the beach each day. Maybe an hour or two worth of fire and a little light to read by as the evening carried on. I wish I could have stayed forever, but that journey had different plans for me, as I would find out on Skye.
Stone croft house in northeast Caithness.
The hour was getting late, sometime around 9:30 at night when we crested a hill. The view:
I’d been looking for a good place park the van for the night, but this sight led me to race down the single lane roads at all too fast of a speed to try and somehow get the the coast. The sky was one of the most brilliant colors I think I’ve ever seen. But after nearly 30 minutes of looking for a way to the coast, the light was gone and this was the only shot I could get. Maybe next time…
It was late October 2003 and I was leaving the Isle of Skye after spending nearly three weeks (of a two month trip) in Portree. The week prior had been one of brilliant weather, but the last had night brought fresh snow to the Cuillins, so it was on a cold and misty afternoon that my friend Kylie and I said goodbye to the girls at the hostel (where we had been working) a hopped on an Intercity bus headed towards the magnificent Glen Coe. The sun was getting low in the sky as I looked out the window as we passed Eilean Donan castle and the surrounding mountains with a light dusting of fresh snow. I thought to myself that I’ll have to come back and take a photo one of these days. I passed the castle again in the autumn of 2006, but the day was ugly and gray, not the moment I was looking for…
So finally, back in May and after nearly five years, I managed to get pretty close to the image I’ve had in my head all this time. Now I just need to come back when there is a bit of snow around and all will be perfect. Hopefully I wont have to wait another five years…
I’m a sucker for cool old ruins! Give me old castles, churches, standing stones, walls, brochs, anything, and I’ll be entertained. Old cemeteries also tend to be pretty interesting, especially if they have a bunch of old 13th and 14th century burial slabs like at Kilmory, a small village on the west coast of the Knapdale region. Perhaps I’d be a bit bummed though if I was some cool warrior and paid a bunch on money for a carved grave slab, then someone comes along and takes it so a bunch of tourists can see it. I guess it will happen to us in a few hundred years as well…
Woke up early hoping to get a good sunrise, nope!
I wonder if Scottish cows have accents? I’ve always thought these guys are cool looking. I think they have a mildly ‘cheeky’ look to them and I wonder how they are able to see? The little buggers are really funny looking, like some fuzz ball with long legs that runs around.
The lonely Old Man of Storr against the morning light
Rugged cliffs of the Quiraing concealed by clouds
Red Cuillin hills the with the days last light
Black Cuillin as seen from Glenbrittle
Looking across the Sound of Sleat as the Black Cuillin rise into the setting sun
Tongue Bay, Scotland as viewed from Skullomie.
The empty beach and clear waters at Traigh Allt Chailgeag. Almost looks like it could be some place warm.
