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Isle of Skye - Elgol Looking at these images and remembering our two days and three nights on Skye, I am struck by how dark they are. Breakfasting this gray rainy morning in Fort William I overheard a man with a thick British accent ask the waitress, "Is the weather always this bad?" ... to which she offered no response. In a word, Yes.

We set out by train from Inverness minutes after Chad headed south by train for St Anne's and the Open. The train ride to Skye is widely regarded as one of the most scenic train rides in Britain ...and, except for the lowering weather, it was lovely, lochs, dry-rock walls, complex coastline.

the road to Cnoc-Ban	Upon arrival at Kyle, across the new bridge from Skye, we discovered that the bus we had planned to take was cunningly scheduled to leave 10 minutes before the train's arrival. So it was a long, informative taxi ride with Alistair Ross, a native of Skye. He was the first of several remarkable people we met here. Our second memorable character was Mairi MacIntosh, the Dragon Lady innkeeper of Cnoc-Ban, a fine 1920s era -- you can tell by the standardized three-gabled house plan, says Alistair -- house converted into a B&B. In business for 25 years now, Mrs MacIntosh has some unusual ideas about what constitutes a B&B.
Since the weather was relatively good -- there were occasional small patches of blue sky and correspondingly small spotlights of sun reaching the ground -- we took a walk toward the center of town. Skye is a very old volcanic island, but in this northern climate, the process of soil building has not progressed very far -- except for in the bogs, where evidence suggests this was tree-covered land as recently as 10,000 years ago (!) the incredible green of grass and heather clings to a thin layer of soil over rock.	Elgol Heath
Two species of heather	Everything that survives here is low growing and hardy. Later we saw tree farms, but on the headland of Elgol, there are few trees, and the houses huddle in little pockets under the wind. Cnoc-Ban's screen of trees is unusual. Two heathers, one with pin-point blossoms and the other with more generous bells, are the dominant plant, possibly because the sheep, of which there are many, won't eat heather. We walked to the top of the village and looked down a thousand feet to the jetty below -- strong people used to live here; now they drive everywhere. Elgol is, according to Alistair, one of the most prosperous villages on the Isle, due to its snug little harbor and abundant seafood, not to mention B&Bs.

Dinner was half a mile toward town at a place called Coruisk House -- that would be the place to stay: welcoming hosts and great food. When we called for reservations we were surprised that they were very tightly booked, but were willing to "squeeze us in." We ended up sharing a table with a young couple, apparently locals, who hadn't made early reservations either. As the meal progressed, we discovered that Andrew, sitting beside me, had spent a couple of years in Mendocino, and that beyond that, we had plenty to talk about. Karen and I struck sparks on the subject of the effects of tourism on nature. They told us about their boatride to and walk back from Loch Coruisk, and urged us to do the trip. We shared desserts. And then, out of the blue, they enthusiastically invited us to dine with them the next evening at their cottage across the road. With some misgivings we sacrificed our hard-won reservations for the next evening.

It was our good fortune, the next morning, to find a Canadian couple with a car who were planning to ride the boat to Loch Coruisk, and so we got a ride down to the jetty and back. The boatride across the bay was lovely -- surrounded by barren hills and jagged peaks, with no more than a dozen houses visible as nothing more than specks, this is a spectacular, inhospitable place.	Seal colony at Coruisk
	Unless, of course, you're a seal. There were several seal pups in the colony, but everybody was interested in watching the boatload of tourists go by. The sea looks dark and cold, but there's a surprising abundance of seaweed, suggesting richness below.

This is the heart of Skye's best walks, both coastal and overland, which was the reason we came here. Our captain gently nestled the boat against the sharp rocks and we climbed up and set off around the point toward the valley beyond.

Landing and shelter for Loch Coruisk

Rochelle finds a better bed at Coruisk

The other day-trippers weren't out of the blocks as quickly as we, daunted perhaps by the grandeur and silence of the place. We left them far behind and got to a high spot where we settled down in a fleeting patch of sun and enjoyed the broad vista and the squabbling of the terns on the island in the middle of the loch. This is one of those unspoiled places where silence pervades. The loudest noises are the wind and the sound of the streamlet across the loch ... and the blood rushing in your ears. It is so exceedingly rare to get to such a place, that it must be especially enjoyed, basked in, and absorbed.

Of course this is also a tourist destination, withstanding the onslaught of a hundred or so every day from April until October, and some of the natives have figured out how to benefit. The sea gull in this picture made the rounds from group to group sampling the snacks. He liked my sultanas.

Michael tossing a raisin to a gull

the stream below Loch Coruisk	On our way back, we clambered high up over the rocky point separating Coruisk from the sea, and got a spectacular view of the stream below the loch and the inlet beyond. But it was SO dark, even at midday! After an hour of peaceful recharging, we headed back to find the rest of our shipmates milling about the landing, ready to be returned to civilization.
the "Bad Step" on the coastal trail

We could have kept walking from Coruisk back along the coastal path to Elgol, an ambitious eight-mile hike. It starts out by crossing the BIG rock shown above. This is a serious rock, a hundred feet from shoreline to the top of the picture. The photo was taken at middle tide, and the tidal variation is 28 feet, so the distance between the sea level and high tide is about 14 feet. The proper path crosses along the large cracks about twenty feet up. The rock is vertical, and folks who try to climb over the top, about a hundred feet straight above the rocks at the shoreline, are most likely to fall. We were warned about the Bad Step, and also about the cliffs near Elgol ... and those we walked the next day.

Great Food in Elgol! Like the food in England, the food in Scotland has been adequate and expensive. In Elgol, we had the good fortune to be staying just down the road from Coruisk House, a superb seafood restaurant, but far and away the best food we had in Elgol was served by our friends Andrew and Karen. They served us a four course meal, starting with scotch broth, then squaties -- bite-size local lobster tails. The surprising secret of the meal was that it wasn't served all at once. After the squaties, we sipped our wine and talked for an hour before Andrew cooked the next course, fresh cod fillets with vegetables (the first crisp cooked vegetables we've had!) Then another break before a dessert of yoghurt, mango, and raspberries. Who says that dinner has to be served all-at-once? Thank you, Andrew, for the inspiration!

the Coastal Path along the Elgol Cliffs

Saturday's weather treated us as gently as possible -- it rained until it was time to walk; we walked for a couple of hours along the Coastal Path, enjoying the delicate flora and broad views. Back for lunch at Coruisk house, it rained heavily until we were ready to walk out again. This time we walked the opposite direction, back along the road to Broadford, then down to the hamlet of Drinan past sheep and peat cuttings. The rain began, and we headed back to our cold room, and, later, a warm and delightful dinner beside the coal fire at Coruisk House.

Nothing much moves on Sunday, but we did. Alistair our guide fetched us and showed us what sights were visible below the low clouds. By this time we were ready to see a little blue sky and sunshine, but we managed not to let the grey weather get us down.	a typical view of the Misty Isle
A fine Skye salmon stream	Our researches determined beyond a shadow of a doubt that Skye is a great place to be a fish. Alistair tells us this is the island's best salmon stream. There are man-made dams across the stream; during the high flow, fish make their way upstream to shed their sea-lice, then are trapped when the flow decreases.
Here's a typical old-style Skye house, complete with thatch roof growing grass. This one's being used as a barn, so it's not plastered. Such houses are usually built on crofts, patches of land granted by the landlords -- there are only a few on Skye, with very large holdings. Once granted, these crofts are passed along from generation to generation.

a village showing the typical croft pattern
	After the Clearances in the 19th Century, when 7,000 were evicted and left Skye, crofters recieved more rights, and are now in control. In this village, the crofts are swaths of arable land, with the house at top or bottom. (Sorry it's so dark, but on Skye, what can you do?

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