Scotland - Skye, Rum, Canna

Against our better judgement, we flew Ryan Air from Memmingen to Edinburgh. Yes, Memmingen, the well-known 'Munich West' base of Ryan Air, situated around 100km west of the city, a lengthy train then bus ride away.

The flight and Ryan Air experience were as expected - efficient, on-time, but completely arsey. The angst and aggro of queuing to try and get a seat with your travelling partner is something quite special.

We arrived in Edinburgh to rain. No surprise really. After dropping off our luggage and having a shower, we headed to the pub for a spot of local ale. The ale was the only thing local, as we mixed with Americans, Germans and French people at the bar. There were Scots there when we arrived, but as a tour group rolled in, the locals rolled out. It was still a treat to get a cask ale and a bowl of chips with vinegar.

The following morning we headed north on the bus, heading via Inverness to Portree on the Isle of Skye. We arrived into the town square as a highland band played some classic bagpipe and drum number. There was quite a crowd; it was evidently quite an event as the whole town was booked out. We walked the couple of miles to a campsite and quickly erected our tent as the midges arrived.

 

We were prepared for the midges, with two types of deet, some citronella wipes, antihistamine tabs and mosquito face nets. While our preparations were valuable, the omnipresent midge was not quite as bad as we'd imagined. They are tiny, slow little fellas, and not particularly sneaky, but they swarm on you and could give you hundreds of bites in minutes if you were unprotected. They were a constant, er, irritation around the small isles.

We went back into the town to get dinner. With all the restaurants full with the exciting piping event, and with the fish and chip shop's 'open' sign being an ill-conceived permanent fixture (i.e. it was closed), we made do with hummus and oatcakes from the mini-market. The meagre fare was offset by eating it overlooking the beautiful harbour at dusk.

The following morning we started a tramp that forms part of the Skye Trail. The route took us along a quiet road for several kilometres (hardly tramping), then down a steep ridge along an attractive inlet to Sligarchan, a tiny village most notable for its pub/restaurant stocking around 370 Scottish single-malt whiskies. After pitching our tent in the midge paddock, we found time to head to the hotel for a small sampler before bed.

Then it rained. All through the night it rained, then well into the morning. The forecast was also not so promising, so we skipped the next leg and got a bus to Elgol in the south of Skye. The second half of the bus trip was enlivened by a local 'character' named PJ MacKinnon, who the bus picked up from outside a pub. He was a chatty fellow who didn't much like the English. Born and bred in Elgol, he said. He even offered us a bed in his front room if we wanted.

Instead we free-camped in the pouring rain in a beautiful spot overlooking the bay and out to the Misty Isles. The midges were too wet to be any trouble. Our tent was too wet to be much good.

The next morning the forecast was much better, and the rain cleared quite early. With the weather set to turn again the day after, we walked two days of the walk in one day, from Elgol to Broadford, via Torrin. We needed a bit of a short cut to achieve it, but as the weather turned nasty again that night, it was well worth it.

The scenery along the walk was beautiful. I think we were expecting it to be a little more remote than it actually was, but that didn't detract from the views.

After another wet night, we headed to the ferry town at Armadale, where we spent the next night. What an experience that was! We found the campground, conveniently located near the ferry terminal, but it was some weird eco/permaculture site, run by a lovely older woman and her serial-killer son. The camping pitches were located in the bush along the woodland walk, damp, muddy and dark. Best not to pitch near a willow tree though, as these were designated 'willow wees' for gents.

With a wet tent and a fear of decomposing human waste, we were offered a single bed space adjacent to the 'social area'. We took it, but soon found that 'socialising' at such a 'strictly alcohol-free' campsite meant loud drunken guitar playing and yelling at each other exclusively using expletives until around 3am. We didn't sleep much.

The ferry carried us on our escape to Mallaig on the mainland. We secured the last room in town (perhaps another highland pipe-band event?) and finally got clean again.

After dinner we headed to a nice local pub where a Scottish duo were playing some Scottish favourites with their accordion and guitar and Proclaimers accents. The crowd loved it, with several traditional dances getting an airing. It was fun to watch.

The next morning we took the ferry to Rum, where we stayed in a little cabin by the sea. In our short time there, we went on a couple of walks into the hills and to an otter hide (no otters, sadly), visited the community tea-rooms, cooked our mini disposable barbecue, and hired a bike to ride over the island to a small settlement (2 houses and a mausoleum) where there were highland cattle, wild goats and wild Rum ponies. With a population of only 40, it is a pretty small place. It was therefore a bit surprising when the rusty old phone in the red public phone box rang when I was nearby. Of course I answered - I thought maybe someone used it to contact someone from one of the nearby houses. An older lady asked 'Is that you John?' I explained that she had called a public phone box on the Isle of Rum, and I had just answered as I was nearby. She thought she might have the wrong number, she said.

The midges were very active and numerous on Rum, so it was a bit of a relief to board the ferry to the smallest of the Small Isles, Canna. Canna was beautiful, with bright green farmland, spectacular mountain scenery, and cute old churches and farm buildings.

We had arrived with nowhere to stay, which is a little inadvisable given that there are only four or five B&Bs on the island. The timing of our visit also coincided with the Canna festival, which included a visiting theatre group, so everything was fully booked. The island manager told me there was no accommodation, none at all... unless we wanted to 'rough it' in the old green workers' caravan. It turned out that roughing it meant staying in a fully equipped, comfortable caravan with gas, electricity, two double bedrooms, a large lounge and fully functioning shower and toilet. And it was free to us because a friend spent the first three years of her life on Canna and still has relatives there (among the 20 or so locals). We made a donation to the community trust instead.

The theatre group performed that night in one of the old churches on the adjoining island of Sanday (a short walk across a bridge). The venue was tiny - as you'd expect - with barely enough room to squeeze maybe 25 people onto the makeshift stalls. It made for a great atmosphere to explore the theme of the play - death. The play was brilliantly acted and so unexpected on such a small island. While the playwright was far too earnest for her own good, the actors really enjoyed the novelty of performing in such a location, and took time to explore the island the next day.

We also did a lot of walking, mostly with the hope of seeing puffins. After about a four hour walk exploring every likely looking cove on the headlands, we had to admit defeat. Then, by chance, we found a brochure in the community shop about birds on Canna, which showed us where the puffins lived, and said that dusk was the best time to go. It was nearing dusk, so we rushed off again, in spite of the weather closing in. Half an hour into our return walk, it began to rain steadily, with an accompanying strong cold wind. My poncho tore in half as the wind caught hold of it. Still half an hour from the puffins across boggy land, with the rain coming down, in a completely isolated and uninhabited part of the island, it would have been foolish to push on. So we pushed on.

We reached the cliffs opposite the puffins' rock with the rain literally blowing sideways into our faces. But it was worth it:

So, after the wonderful puffin sightings and the most relaxing and spectacular days on Canna, we headed back to Mallaig and through to Edinburgh where we met my cousin and aunt for dinner at an amazing vegetarian restaurant. It was festival time in Edinburgh, so we were lucky to have a hotel room and to get into a really nice, central restaurant. It was very fortuitous and fun to catch up with family, and a lovely way to end the Scotland leg of the trip. Switzerland next.