Macleod's Maidens

Yesterdays disaster ended in the pub musing over '50 Great Scottish Sea Kayaking Voyages' with a pint of Black Cullin.  The forecast promised a southerly force 3.  A circumnavigation of Rassay was discussed over a few pints with a couple of local sea men but I decided on a shorter trip from Portree to Staffin.

After a very cold night we woke to a cold, wet and windy morning.  The motivation to get out in the boat instantly gone.  Something I've struggled with this year so far.  We discussed a coastal walk to Macleods Maidens, three sea stack on the south west coast.    

It is a 5 mile walk to the end of the headland from the nearest road through forestry and moorland.  As we set of it continued to rain.  The waters around Loch Bracadle looked gusty and uninviting, I think I made the right decision.

The showers quickly passed but the coat remained on, anticipating another down pour.  We made our way along a forestry road beneath Macleods table south, one of two flat topped mountains.

Flora and fauna was in abundance.  Willow catkins blowing on the wind. 

Tadpoles in the puddles.

And a cheeky highland cattle.

White Tailed Eagles soured high above.

A Smooth Newt.

The path climbed and fell through wild landscape with great sea views over the islands of Loch Bracadle.

Along the path is a memorial plaque to Joe Strummer, front man of the legendary band The Clash.  Strummer was a keen environmentalist and helped set up the Future Forests Charity.  He decided he would have his own forest planted to offset the carbon emissions from his CD's and became the first carbon neutral artist.

Remains of old croft buildings.

Mid walk there was a welcoming bench with a fantastic view over the islands of Wiay, Harlosh and Tarner.

Harlosh and Tarner Islands.  The path seemed to go on forever but finally we arrived at Idrigill Point which fell steeply toward the sea and there they were...

Macleods Maidens are impressive sea stacks, the taller rising over 200ft out of the sea.  Legend has it that the three stacks were so named when the wife and two daughters of the fourth chief of the Macleod Clan were shipwrecked and drowned at the stacks on their return to Dunvegan from Harris, where the chief had been mortally wounded in battle.

We sat at the edge of the cliff for our lunch taking in the views of the Maidens and the Outer Hebrides on the horizon.

Views to the east.

Macleods Maidens.

We retraced our steps back along the path avoiding troding on the local wildlife.  My dad randomly pointed out to sea, apparently spotting whales, dolphins and seals, which more often than not turned out to be rocks. BUT on one occasion he was finally right.  Sure enough a Mink whale was spotted on numerous occasions seeming to be hunting up and down the sea loch.  Unfortunately we failed to get any decent shots. 

As late afternoon dawned the weather became settled and warm.  Clear views of the Cullins we seen over now calm seas.  It was too late in the day but I finally had the urge to get out on the water.  Our final treat of the 10 mile walk was a seal wrestling with a huge fish or eel near the shore of the bay as we returned to the van.

We had a quick shower at the camp site and walked into Portree for the first time without the umbrella.  

The waters within the harbour were tempting me to go back up and get my boat as they reflected the coloured houses on the waterfront.  The town was busy and everyone seemed happy to be out enjoying the afternoon sun.

We sat alongside the harbour risking loosing our fish and chips to the gathering gulls.

Moods were on a high, yesterday I wanted to go home, today I wanted to stay forever.  What a difference the sun makes.  We spent the night chatting to a friendly chap from Glasgow until the barmaid finally hurried us out of the door just after last orders.  

Tomorrows forecast promised a hot sunny day but strong winds once more.  This would be my last day on Skye and I was going to make the most of it... 

The Old Man Of Storr

After my early morning ride I set about fixing my van and drying my kit.  Good old duck tape to the rescue for my roof and luckily the camp site had a tumble drier for my wet kit.  Rather than risk the van again I pitch my tent only to snap one of my poles, the van it is then.  Could anything else go wrong.

For the rest of the day it was a slight improvement on the weather front, W/NW force 4-5 gusting 8.  My dad has wanted to get up on the Storr the last few times we've been up here but never got around to it.  With all the calamities last night I wasn't in the mood to plan anything on the water so decide to join him.

For now the sun was out and this is the first time the tops have been clear, and what a view.  It wouldn't last long so we head straight for the car park and make our way up the muddy path.  

The path leading up under the Old Man was full of tourists, most in jeans and trainers, some in trousers and shoes...unbelievable!  

Up until this point the path followed a gentle meandering slope but from here on it got a little tricky.

We follow a group of Japanese youngsters just ahead of us in trainers jeans and what my wife would call 'uggs', essentially slippers.  The path ends and turns into steep scree and slippery volcanic rock.  I overtake them as they slide and fall in their unsuitable footwear as it starts to rain making footing treacherous.

Needle Rock

Thankfully they turned back along with many others and the path ahead is somewhat quieter.  I reach the Old Man of Storr just as it starts to snow, that's right snow.  

 My dad climbing the assent to the Old Man of Storr.

My Dad under the Old Man of Storr and Needle Rock in the background

From the Old Man the only way down seemed to be this steep scree slope or back the way we came, and that would be silly.

Safely down and we join the path again.  The Storr and the entire Trotternish ridge is the result of a series of huge landslides unrivalled in Britain.  Heavy basalt lavas rest on relatively weak sedimentary rock, which with the march of time gave way under the heavier volcanic rock sliding seaward. 

Taking in the view of Raasay and Rona beyond the Storr.

From this small summit the views were great but the weather soon moved in and put off any ideas of climbing to the summit of the Storr, now hidden in a vale of black cloud.

We take shelter in a hollow next to a small lake for some lunch.  I'm sure my dad will thank me for this picture.  We follow the path back to the van as the heavens open again.

Once back in the van we follow the road north and stop off at Kilt Rock, long enough for a quick photo before running back into the dry.  The sea state looked easily do-able if you had the wind at your back but not not much fun.

We carry on up to Staffin but remain in the van, the weather starting to get the better of us.  We notice three kayaks hauled up on the grass and the owners came to collect them shortly afterwards.  They were one half of a group circumnavigating the island.  They had remained here stormbound yesterday and pulled out due to an injury and conditions.  The other half had continued on today northwards, I don't envy them.  We call it a day and head back to camp to wash and dry off and head into Portree for dinner. 

Where Eagles Dare

The forecast for the beginning of the week had never promised nice weather.  South westerly force 5 gusting gale force 9 with wintry showers.  I had no plans to get out in the boat until conditions improved.  

We woke to a chilly morning, a fresh covering of snow capped the distant Cullin mountains.  Hail stones clanged off the corrugated tin roof sheltering the wash basins as we scrubbed  at the burnt porridge at the bottom of the cooking pans in vain.  After forking out £100 for a new tyre we decided on an easy climb up the local 'hill' Ben Tianavaig....  

Ben Tianavaig, a mixture of Gaelic and Norse meaning 'harbour at the foot of the hill', is an impressive looking hill at the head of the Portree harbour which only stands at 413m (1,355ft) .  (picture above from Google)

The climb starts from the Tianavaig Bay, a bay I washed up upon in 2010 for lunch.

We leave Tianavaig Bay and head up a small sheep track.  The Black Cullin ridge remains in hidden in the clag but specular views of the Red Cullins come and go between showers.

The higher we get the better the views.  Bellow are the narrows of Raasay, the limit at which my paddle in 2010 got to.

It's hard going in the wind, strong enough at times to make you lose your footing.  We shelter at rocky outcrops between hail showers.

We follow the ridge to the summit, careful not to stray to close to the edge in the strong winds.

The views from the summit were great...

The Quiraing and the Old Man of Storr to the north.

Portree bellow and the west coast of Skye on the horizon.

The Isle of Raasay to the east and the Cullin mountains to the south.

Dad on the summit.

Bellow us tower steep sided cliffs where White Tailed Sea Eagles nest and where I have seen sightings of them many times before.  We sat sheltered from the wind in a dip in the cliff edge and sure enough a pair of eagles showed up, souring high above the cliff tops.

Far bellow the wind gust across the sound of Raasay.  White plumes of spray seemed to glide over the waters surface like the souls of sailors lost at sea.

From out walk we travelled north up the coast in search of another short coastal walk to fill our afternoon in the dismal conditions.  We stumbled upon a waterfall so took to the path leading down the cliff side.

Remains of the kiln

Further down the valley where the river Lealt meets the sea is the Inver Tote Diatomite works.  Diatomite is a white clay like earth formed from the deposits of microscopic organisms.  Diatomite is used in the production of face powder, fire proofing, insulation, filtration of beers, but the Skye Diatomite was mainly used in the production of dynamite in the 1880s.  The Diatomite was quarried further up the valley and transported by tram way and carried by hand down the cliff path where it would be stored before being transported by boat.

A room with a view.

The wind strengthens considerably gusting over the water, on more than one occasion I was pushed to the floor, definitely not kayaking weather.  With a westerly wind this was the sheltered east side of the island, I can only imagine what the west coast looked like.  We call it a day and head into town and warm ourselves up with some locally distilled Talisker whiskey and I try out some local venison burgers, my new favourite.  Unfortunately at the time I wasn't aware I was in for a very long night.....