The Black Cuillins

For our second hike in Skye, we ventured into the black Cuillins, a rugged range on the north side of Skye.









We picnicked in the shadows of the mountains, squinting to see climbers on the rocky peaks around us.



On the way back, we came across a true Highlands celebrity:

Benn Eighe

En route from Gairloch to Skye, we hiked at Benn Eighe. It was a very very steep, rocky climb up to lovely views--west to even greater, rockier heights, east to a beautiful blue lake and more peaks to climb. Here I am at the summit:



After all Eliza and I had imagined about the Highlands, we still just didn't appreciate how High and Rugged they really are:





Here's the group, before we head back down:



Shortly after this photo, Eliza took a spectacular fall on the trail--tripped and flew and rolled in the heather. On flat ground. Classic.

Sweeping up

A fellow hiker from the Scotland trip shared some photos with me that relate to some earlier posts. With many thanks to our group's Uber Photographer, I share them with you:

From day 1, the hike in the rain (reminder: the only rainy day we had in Scotland!), here's the group outside the bothy to which we retreated for lunch:



The lovely inn at Gairloch had a wee, wicked guard dog named Bos. You'll see how vicious he could be:



And here's a great photo of Stuart in action with his dogs, and the group thoroughly enthralled by the spectacle:

The weather in Scotland defied reason and explanation--after the one misty day, we had nothing but sunshine. It brought out the colors of the sea, the sky, the heather, the grasses, the rocks. In short: just beautiful.

We found the bothy in the previous post on a trek across a headland near Gairloch.



The peat is a veritable sponge:



We hiked off-trail across the peat...





...to get to this reward:



The hike back from the beach was pretty scary, actually, so we don't have photos of that bit--we were focused on staying on the cliff...

Near Gairloch, we stayed in an old lodge in Shieldaig, built as a hunting and fishing destination in the late 1800s. The only thing it lacked was a murder--it felt like an English movie. With a fantastic view:



Here's the view from my room:



The lodge had two grand sitting rooms for guests, one of which had a "boom box" and a collection of CDs (mostly classical with some other random bits here and there). I found the following:



...(with apologies for the poor resolution). It says, "Whip my Towdies." We of course asked Angela, our Scottish authority, what that meant, assuming it was some Scottish folk CD or something. She didn't even recognize the word. We're somewhat alarmed...

Hiking on the peat

Our first proper hiking day in Scotland was gray and misty--extremely appropriate as we walked off-trail across the peat.





The peat, the geology, the flora--incredible. While the heather unfortunately was not in bloom (we walked amidst 3 varieties that bloom progressively throughout the summer, but were too early for any of them), we walked amidst it constantly. And gingerly amongst the gorse (I now know why it features prominently in so many English novels--those lovely yellow flowers mask some wicked wicked thorns). The peat is a virtual sponge, absorbing and holding onto water. Walking off-trail, we became skilled at reading the plants in the effort to preserve some degree of dry socks--step on that kind of green moss and you'll sink in 6" of water; step on that reddish moss and you'll have time enough to get to the next foothold before you sink; step on that tussock of grass and you'll be ok...





The highlands apparently have a longstanding tradition of bothies (plural of bothy?), little huts/shelters scattered here and there for the use of hikers/backpackers. We took shelter from the rain for our lunch. Here we've been joined by another hiker (center) who was out walking the dogs while her husband fishes.



A room with a view...



We encountered the bothy below on another day. This was designed and constructed by a very resourceful and hearty man (because it is NOT easy to get to, particularly schlepping building materials...). Here, the entrance...





Here the fireplace and mantle, complete with photos and icons:



Here the sitting area:



And here, the kitchen:



featuring rice, courtesy of...Glenmorangie? Well-aged, no doubt.

the community of Scoraig

Scoraig is a small, idyllic community on a point in the western Highlands, facing the Minch and west to the Outer Hebrides. It's accessible by walking path (about 4 miles one way?) or by boat/ferry. Here are scenes along the way:





Fairly self-sufficient, the residents rely on wind and solar power (and now cell phones); many have gardens, some raise sheep, some spin their own wool. We chose a picturesque picnic site for lunch:





Scoraig oddly has a little "faux" lighthouse set well inland and serving no lighthouse function.



Instead, they've converted it to a little interpretive center, providing background on the community, the lifestyle and, in particular, the local knitting scene. Bear with me--the following photos were taken in difficult lighting conditions through glass...









Eliza particularly liked the two, erm, sweaters on the right:



Here Jerry and I take in the sunshine on a bench tiled with designs by the local schoolkids.

Shopping for Yarn in the Highlands

Knittah having a one-track mind and all (I should be careful--most of you reading this do too), a pressing task for this trip was to buy some locally spun yarn. Arriving in Ullapool, we went to the LYS and were directed around the corner to the Saturday market...



One of the local residents, Hilda, has a flock of sheep and hand-spins yarn (including cheviot, hebridean, and shetland). Hilda's neighbor occasionally represents her at the Saturday market, offering her knit goods and yarns. We were in luck.

The catch was that all of the skeins were represented in terms of grams. Eliza doesn't think in terms of grams. Eliza thinks in terms of yards. Eliza thinks that with about 1500-2000 yards of some sort of yarn, you can probably make some kind of sweater. Thus, Eliza had a problem. Hilda's neighbor (I wish Eliza had gotten his name) doesn't knit, so he called over the couple from the neighboring stall (again, sadly no names). I'll call the wife Mrs. Scot (she's in the green jacket in the photos that follow). Mrs. Scot knits. She also thinks about yarn in a different way altogether: by volume. She bunched up one of Hilda's scarves and then mushed up some skeins of Hilda's yarn to show that that's how she would guesstimate how many skeins she needs to make something.

Mrs. Scot's solution: since the yarn is in grams, weigh one of Hilda's sweaters and then buy that much yarn. Having nothing else to go on...

Mr. Scot (of the potatoes, above) contributed the digital scale from his stall.



Mrs. Scot folded up one of Hilda's sweaters.



Hilda's neighbor carefully balanced the sweater on the scale.



And with that, Eliza had a number to go on. Knittah, we really tried... I can't post the photo of the yarn here because that would spoil the surprise. We hope it's enough to make something good, anyway.

Thanks to all the Ullapoolians for their valiant assistance in this endeavor!!!