There are many places on this green Earth that capture the heart, that inspire adventure and entice travelers…..
Day One: It was a regular morning. Wake up in the Murder House, make some delicious breakfast, and head out. Today, however, I had a new travel companion by my side and a heavier than usual pack. Max dropped Jenny and I off at Bristol Airport where we caught our flight to Glasgow at midday. Being a decrepit and grey city, we were eager to escape into the hills as quickly as possible and so we caught the city bus out of town. Quickly the roads turned from two-way chaos into winding narrow lanes, lined by bushes and cottages. The tall buildings on the horizon shifted to rolling hills, telling hints of the Highlands to come.
We entered into Balloch, a small town at the base of Loch Lomond. Our spirits were high and our feet were fresh, so at the advice of a local we began our trek around the westward side of the Loch. Immediately past town we were greeted with deep mossy forests lining a small lane, waterfalls and springs adding to the chorus of birdsong as we walked, stealing passing glimpses of the beautiful blue Loch Lomond. We exited the lane and walked to A82, where it took less than three minutes for us to hitch a ride! Mark, a firefighter at Glasgow airport, pulled over in in VW camper van and told us to hop on in! He was a wonderful man who was driving to Fort Williams for the West Highland Way Race, a 95 mile foot-race!!! Looking at the results, he finished in the top ten in less than 17 hours! Anyway, that cool cat dropped us off at a campground in Fort Williams after letting us stop and oggle at the Highlands, since I wanted to ease Jenny into the whole ‘camping’ thing, being a city-born Portlander. We set up camp on that drizzling evening under the looming gaze of Ben Nevis, and once the midges descended, settled in to our first cramped night in the wee green tent.
The drive into the Highlands
Day Two: Due to a series of annoyances our morning was less-than-grand, leading to a long two-mile walk into Fort Williams to restock supplies. After a quick pop into good ‘ole Morrisons, we had several days worth of food and set off to the North! We were first picked up by two Indians in a rented Jaguar off to live their Harry Potter dreams, but since they could only take us two miles, we were quickly back onto the road. We walked a ways up a simple separate cycling path, admiring the wild flowers and the highland views. After a few minutes more of thumbing, we were picked up by Kirsten, a native Scots-woman off to climb in the Cairngorms for the weekend. She was an absolutely lovely woman who pointed us towards some cool bothies in Skye, as well as a cool two mile scenic hike nearby. After she dropped us in Stealy, we set off on the beautiful little hiking trail and got our first taste of the land. The trail followed an icy brook, through old trees and marshland’s lit by blooming wildflowers. The road noise died quickly behind a hill and we were only left with birdsong and the bleating of lambs. The hike finished off on a random road, where after receiving incorrect directions from some cyclists, we reconnected with the main A-road and started hitching again! It wasn’t long until a tan Jag came to a screeching halt just passed us, driven by an incredible guy named Ross. Ross had just been released from the hospital after two weeks of confinement for his liver and pancreas failure. As any good ex-head of the Jaguar’s Drivers Club, he was celebrating his freedom by taking a driving holiday through Northern Scotland! Anyway, he picks us up and any initial doubts we have about him are instantly knocked away as he started playing soul reggae music and questioning us Oregonians about our pot knowledge. We enjoyed his company so much that we didn’t notice when he missed his turn, and instead kept going onward to Skye. Ross took us over 30 miles out of his way to drop us on the Isle of Skye. He’s an especially cool cat.
Once we were on Skye a day before planned, and since it was early afternoon, we decided to head into Kyleakin and check out our first Skye village! It was a cute place, Jenny and I stopped for a coffee and wifi before heading over to a badass castle on the bay. The castle was an old lookout, only accessible at low tide by ducking and weaving through a single-track lane past tide pools, abandoned ships, and nettles. From it the whole bay could be seen, the Skye bridge, and back onto the mainland. After a brief lunch were were off, walking past Kyleakin to our next hitching destination. Unexpectedly, our ride was from “Simon” (he’s dutch and no one can say his name…we both tried but resigned ourselves to ‘Simon’ as well…) in his red work van. He was a very nice guy who had a vow to always pick up hitchikers if he could, being a hitchhiker himself. He took us up into Portree, where we walked north along A885 until a German couple stopped and picked us up in their RV! They had the same idea as us; find somewhere to sleep around Old Man of Storr. They dropped us off in the parking lot, and I could already tell it was going to be a wild trip trying to camp here. Below the lot spanned a planted pine forests, 1/3 knocked over from the intense winds that rampage up from the bay below. Above us was the mighty craggy hills of Storr. Every hill got steeper, and was topped by ancient columns of reddish rock spearing the heavens. We hiked for a half hour, before finding a flat patch of Earth moderately sheltered by a ledge to make camp. The tent is thankfully long and aerodynamic, but still we weighted the pegs with rocks and used logs to reduce under-draft of the tent. As the winds were picking up from 20mph to 45mph, the rains started. A brief dinner was had, and we resigned to the tent for a night of 60mph gusts ripping at the tent and slapping us in the face.
Just into Skye, walking around a tidal bay into a castle
Under Old Man of Storr
Day Three: That brief night was worth it, since we woke to the most beautiful sunrise. Opening the tent facing East, we were greeted by a mighty orange sunrise shining over the bay, sending golden rays above us to Old Mann of Storr. The ominous clouds in the distance grumbled in a dark gray, as the morning light softened the hills and made them appear welcoming. We quickly packed the tent while it was still dry, and set up to Old Man of Storr. It was a wonderfully fun hike, up ancient twisting rock staircases into the clouds. That did end up having some consequences… as once we were finally at the base of the stone pillars, gawking in awe…. the heavens opened up on us. And for those of you that know what a Scottish downpour is like…. it was very much like that. The wonderful stairs that were a joy to walk up were now mighty rivers, the wind trying to tear us down the mountainside. As happily as we craned our heads up on the ascent, we were now huddling downward like raingear-clad turtles, off the mountain to the road. We walked for a ways in the miserable rain, and were out for several hours before early-morning traffic picked up enough for a kind soul to stop and pick up two soggy gals. Alex the Australian was in a rented Audi which he hated, thus didn’t mind it getting damp. He took us up a ways, with a quick stop at Kilt rock to marvel the dinosaur footprints in the tidepools, the mighty cliffs, and the coastal waterfalls. He took us up the road a ways, still pouring, and came to a screeching turn as we went by a hostel, and wouldn’t leave us until we had a space (last two beds!). So we said goodbye and got checked in, shedding off our wet layers and settling into a warm cup of coffee. We used the time off to make plans for the following few days, to bask in scalding showers, and to socialise with all the wonderful international travelers there. After a relaxing day with some Big Lez Show and hot cocoa, we settled into nice warms bunks for a great night’s sleep.
Where we had camped that night
Day Four: Up, eat, out! We walked out to a bus stop 10 mins away from the hostel to catch a bus to Uig, since traffic would be low on an early weekend morning. The bus ride was enjoyable, allowing us to catch a glimpse of the northern peninsula we would be exploring the next day. We cruised over rolling green hills, past decrepit stone buildings, bleeting lambs, all while driving on the narrow windy roads of Skye, passing cars with near centimeters to spare. Arriving in Uig, we said farewell to three new friends from Germany and head off up the road. The road looped rightward and sharply up around the blue bay, busy with fishing boats and ferries. We turned inland, walking up the lovely winding farm roads which opened to a panoramic view of rolling highlands, waterfalls, and thatched roof cottages. After finally rounding off the top of the hill, we changed scenery and descended into emerald green hills. These hills were small, no more than 40 ft. tall, but each conical with spiral sheep tracks encompassing them to give a unique look. Dark green ferns and ancient twisted trees surrounded the hill base, lined a small loch, and lined an incising path through an old decrepit stone building. Walking over the rubble we ascended over one final hill and were faced with the full beauty of the Fairy Glen. Stones were placed in spirals, rock towers stacked in plenty, all lined by steep grass slopes, rocky crags, and a sense of calm. It was a beautiful place, truly worthy of being called the Fairy Glen.
After lunching on the side of a small hill and playing around on the rocks, we set off back down the road, catching a bus to the Northern-most tip of Skye, by the Duntulm castle, a suffering skeleton of a castle perched precariously over the blue Tulm Bay. We walked past the castle over mucky peat and stone, working our way North on windy sheep paths to the Overlook Bothy, a spectacular place to relax and lose yourself in the water. The bothy was situated on the tallest sea cliff, a 10 second walk from the edge. From outside it gave 360 views of absolute beauty- the highlands behind forming a wall, ending in the castle overhanging the bay, the blue ocean showed hints of the West hills in the distance, and the bright green seacliffs ended abruptly in the sea. Past entries in the logbook showed the wonder of this spot, telling tales of Narwhals, penguins, deer, and more!
Fairy glen
Views from the lookout
Day Five: Hitchhiking started easy, with Jenny and I being picked up within five minutes. We were collected by an American couple in a rented Jaguar, travelling around Scotland on vacation. They dropped us off at the dinosaur museum, a quirky place with old dinosaur footprints taken from the nearby tidepools. From there we walked over to Kilt Rock, a 60m waterfall to the ocean below, walled on both sides by endless sheer cliffs falling predominantly into the Ocean, walling off that portion of Skye from the rest of the world. From there we were picked up by a wonderful English woman, now living in Skye. We talked happily about Danny Macaskill, and his charitable work for the youth community. After being dropped in Porttree, we grabbed a cup of coffee and utilized their wifi to plan our next few days, ultimately making our decision in a tourist information center later. We were headed South to Culamean bay, where a trail connected us to the peninsula Rubha an Dùnain. Conveniently, a couple was going exactly where we needed to go! We hopped in as they took windy road after windy road, quickly turning what little civilization Skye had into sheep’s territory once more. We hopped off at the campsite and started walking, a slow, upward journey annoyingly delayed by angry cows with calves (who I legit thought would charge us if we got too close…). The slow walk was fine however, because on the left side it took us past crystal clear waterfalls and impressive views of the rocky Cuillin mountains, and on the right side the bay spanned ever wider, taking us farther from the neighboring peninsula. Soon our trail turned to muck, and we sloshed our way through a maze of small, prominent mounds and stone walls (walls that are probably older than the USA). After rounding another corner- there it was! Our first glimpse of the ancient wonders here was a 17th century tackman’s house, still impressive and strong in it’s foundation. It and the surrounding walls provided shelter from the elements, so we set up in a small green courtyard and got to exploring!
The local area is rich in history and adventure. We clambered around a 2nd/3rd millennium BC chambered cairn and passage grave, admired an Iron Age dun, walked the perimeter of a Viking-made canal loch, where many medieval historical artifacts have been found. Having the chance to see all this first-hand was truly incredible, and gave me a sense of awe and respect for these past cultures. We may ‘play’ SCA vikings, but I sat in a burial chamber next to one, next to probably dozens of remains of people who had families, passions, and experiences I could never comprehend. It was a stilling moment.
The most memorable part of the whole peninsula experience, however, was the play. Pack free, armed with nothing but joy, youth, and ankle-supporting Merrels, I was free to run, jump, climb, leap and belly laugh my way across the grounds! It was unlike anything I had experienced in a long time, a total reminder that the bountiful playground of the Earth cannot be replaced by plastic structures or technology. It reminded me that the only sounds I need are the beating of my feet on soft earth, the only sights I need are the natural beauty of the wilds, and how wonderful the smells of an ocean breeze, fresh rain or the peaty ground can be. As I get older and snider, more beaten down by society, education, and the world, I need to make sure I hold onto this feeling of joy, and remember how to find it.
Courtyard (pre-pitching of tent)
Sheer cliffs dropping into the water
Viking built canal into Loch, with Scotland’s best archaeological boat digs
Day Six: After another lovely morning to the song of birds and crying of lambs, we walked out of the peninsula at a slow and crippled pace- Jennifer’s ankles had given out on her. We limped up the road to the nearest hostel, a popular place for hill-walkers with us as the only young people there! Jennifer rested her tendons as I set off into the mountains again, following a winding waterfall-prone river up into the Cuillin’s, following a rocky valley. Trail turned to mud, mud to rock, and rock to scree as I ascended upwards to Sgùrr na Banachdaich. As the sun changed to a thick wall of cloud I was quickly soaked through, happily climbing my way up the boulder field, and soon after the ridge scramble.
Day Seven: With Jennifer rested we set off up the roads, taken aback by the number of stupid tourists cramming their vehicles into non-existent spaces to see the Fairy Pools (waterfalls that are exactly like most other Cuillin waterfalls except these are always photoshopped to seem nicer than they are…). Two Japanese girls picked us up and took us to the Oyster shed, where I ended my Oyster virginity (uck) and we enjoyed some gluten free cookies, chips (fries), and incredible fennel smoked Scottish salmon. From there we decided that we’d split ways for a bit- Jennifer going to another hostel, me heading back into the hills for some long-distance backpacking. We were picked up by a Scottish man just “out for a drive”, who kindly took each of us to our own destinations while giving us incredible facts of the landscape and communities along the way. After being dropped in Sligachen, I was off up the trail!
It wound through, up, and over a valley encompassed by the stony mountains. It followed a winding river fed from numerous waterfalls cascading from the surrounding cliffs and emptied into Loch Coruisk, an impressive blue loch sheltered from the wind. Here, I sat and relaxed for a while, completely ‘switching off’ as I leaned against my pack. I watched the birds, the small blips of feeding fish, and a red deer all enjoy the same calm as me. But, since the trek was long and the daylight dying, I had to move on to the bothy at the end of the trail. Waling around a giant boulder I was faced with a sudden opening of the landscape. Ahead of me stretched a vast grassy field lowering itself gently into the Atlantic ocean broken only by a small river, to the left and right the sea cliffs rose again to block the way. The stone bothy sat to the left side of the bay, barely visible amidst the backdrop of cliffs and tide pools. It was a large bothy- its wooden interior easily sleeping 12, its windows giving an unbeatable view of the bay, and the artwork on the white walls telling tales of many international adventurers. My night there was incredible, exploring sea caves, seeing crystal-white tide pools under clear blue waves, napping in the evening sun on warm rocks a stones-throw from the waves, all concluded with a bonfire that spanned from sunset to watching the crescent moon set behind the hills. There was peace.
View from the Bothy window, and moonset over the highlands
Kevin’s picture of me in front of the Bothy
Day Eight: No rush. I woke up, I ate, I was generously gifted coffee from the angry Scot Kevin (who has a backstory all of his own!), and I stared out the window, hesitant to leave this valley and go back to civilization. After a wonderful nature poo amidst tall ferns overlooking the bay, I set off up the mountain again. It was only a couple hour hike, and I soon found myself sadly standing on the side of the road longing to be in my bothy again. However, as a single female backpacker I was soon picked up and on my way to Broadford where I would rendezvous with Jennifer to make plans. He dropped me at a cafe where Jennifer and I discussed future plans. We decided to leave Skye, sadly, and go North to see Loch Ness and Inverness. After cooking lunch on a park bench overlooking the sea, and after peeing in a tree, we set off up the road. We were picked up by a couple in a camper van, who took us off Skye and into Invergarry. Unfortunately for us, it was absolutely pissing rain, and no one wanted wet hitchhikers in their car, so after more than an hour of waiting, we caught a bus up to Inverness. After a veeeery sketchy hostel encounter, we found a lovely (and cheeeaaap!!) hostel right next to Inverness Castle. There we laughed with other occupants, made incredible mac’n’cheese, and generally relaxed by their fire under fuzzy blankets.
Day Nine: A bit of sleeping in for my backpacking-worn body, then up and out! We walked a ways out of town, this time heading to Edinburgh to get Jennifer to a minor injuries unit to look at her painful ankles. Conveniently, we were picked up from just outside Inverness by a man going all the way to Edinburgh! He was an odd guy, very quiet and reluctant to talk for the journey, but he dropped Jenny right at minor injuries! She was fine, just over-use of her ankles, since she did not train properly for long-duration backpacking, but she was such a trooper about her hurting feet! We found a hostel in the prime of downtown Edinburgh, for less than 15 a night! It was a lovely place on the top floor of an old apartment building, with incredible psychedelic wall artwork and homely public areas. We checked in, and set off to the town!
Edinburgh is a lovely town, a mix of ancient stone carved buildings and new swazzy cafes, split in two by a lovely long park. We wandered around a while, taking in the bustling crowds and working or way around the cobbled streets. We found ourselves at my happy place – a whisky shop! We headed in, oggling at the £16,000 bottles and admiring the stuff I knew was good, then we went to the downstairs bar. Jennifer… well… we learned she wasn’t a whisky gal. Bless her heart, she tried, sipping a whisky liqueur sweetly hinting of honey and lavender and fighting away grimaces. Meanwhile, I was gladly tasting the peaty expanses of Scotland, and trying several from places like Talisker and Lagavulin. After leaving there we wandered across the downtown area while being serenaded by bagpipes, we strolled through an incredible old cathedral similar to Notre Dame, and generally enjoyed all of downtown Edinburgh. Tired, happy, and hungry we retired at sunset, watching Austin Powers and the Labyrinth while playing Call of Duty before falling once more into a deep sleep.
Left: Cathedral, Right: Whiiiiiiisky~
Day Ten: Wake, eat a huuuuuge breakfast of all the leftover oats, and go out to see the castle and a few more points. Walked through a cemetery with graves from the 1700’s, listened to an incredible Scottish guitar/drum/bagpipe band, ate our fill of gluten free goods from an incredible bakery, and then munched happily on £1 chicken thighs from the reduced section of Tesco. Then, with much sadness, Jennifer and I said our farewells, and she was off to Ireland.
Gluten free goodies from Sugar Daddies
View of city from lookout 
View of Edinburgh castle
There really is nothing quite like Scotland. Pictures make it look like Oregon, and the unpredictable weather backs up such a claim. However, the ‘feel’ of the land is very different… and hard to explain. Oregon is inviting, it calls you to adventure (responsibly), to go out and see what she has to offer. Scotland stands proud, wanting to challenge you, make you work for every inch of progress, but rewards you gladly when you work for it. Scotland balances midges (which I left out our battles for the sake of time),torrential rainstorms and mud pits with amazing people, history, and scenery. I loved having Jennifer by my side, teaching her the ways of the wild and of being a traveler. She was always cheerful and ready to face the adventure ahead, no matter how miserable the weather!
