12 October 2010

from Holy Island to the Isle of Iona

12 October 2010

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Tuesday 12 October 2010--Fog has crept across the bay overnight, and shyly retreats as we look out over our morning coffee. I probably shouldn't eat the full Scottish breakfast every day--eggs, bacon or sausage or both, tomato, mushrooms, sometimes haggis or black pudding. I've paid for it, though, haven't I? It certainly sets you up for the day. My rationale has always been that I will skip lunch, but lately I seem less inclined to do that. If I were indeed going to back off now and then, it wouldn't be here in Plockton. Teresa's breakfast is tops.

Our intent today is to take a walk on Skye, and I have several options in mind. After some discussion, we agree on Ben Tianavaig, a modest peak with which I am familiar. Its 413-meter summit (1355 feet) is an easy enough climb, but I know very well that the views will be well worthwhile. It turns out to be an unusually warm day, and we ascend in t-shirts, our jackets tied around our waists. As in Orkney a few years ago, I would very gladly trade a good deal of warmth for some atmospheric clarity--it's quite hazy, and I really wish the lads could see the crystal-sharp ranges of mountains receding into the infinite distance. There is an allure to the haze, however, a misty ambience that has an undeniable magic to it. We are admiring the view over Portree from the summit when a large bank of fog rolls over the town and threatens to envelop Ben Tianavaig as well. We take that as our cue to head down, not wishing to descend in really poor visibility. Fortunately the fog never does overtake us.

We arrive in Portree just in time for a very late lunch--Cullen skink all around. Portree is the largest town in, and the nominal capital of, Skye. I can't tell you how much I want to like it...I keep trying. I'm afraid its charm eludes me. It does have a pretty harbor, though, and that bank of fog seems to have vanished.

We drive up past the Storr to the Quiraing. A walk here is definitely on my radar. Just a look around at the weird landscape today. Back in Plockton, we dine at the Inn, and take in the evening's session. It's not the polished presentation the Thursday night session usually is, nor the charming homespun affair we saw at the Anderson, but it's enjoyable enough.

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