‘It’s all grand you being in Scotland and all. But where’s the rain?’ you might ask. Because Scotland, as we all know, is the epitome of ‘well, the landscape was stunning, but it was a bit wet.’ Which, naturally, is a euphemism for ‘there was no need to leave the horrendously expensive cottage we’d rented to ever see that beautiful waterfall right next to Loch MacGlenn. Instead, for the two weeks that we were there, we kept staring at the gallons upon gallons of pure Scottish water cleansing the front porch. When the dog dared to go outside for a wee, he drowned.’
The rain had arrived by this morning and formed an inhospitable alliance with the wind. I postponed walking the dog (the fear of him drowning, you see), said goodbye to my friend, to Stornoway and the Lewis Loom centre, and drove off towards Tarbert on the Isle of Harris.
Meanwhile, my beloved pair of glasses had gone into hiding. I reckon they’ve decided to prolong their stay on the Hebrides. At the time of writing, they’ve not been found. I would like to add ‘yet’, but I cannot know and am torn between hope and resignation. I tend to get disproportionately attached to my belongings and am therefore in a melancholy mood tonight.
I had decided to travel back to the mainland by catching the ferry to Uig, on the Isle of Skye, and then drive across the bridge to Kyle of Lochalsh. Due to the frantic search for my glasses before leaving Stornoway I set off quite a bit later than I had anticipated. I had not planned to stop anywhere during my drive to Tarbert anyway, so I was still going to get there on time. As the ferry only runs once on Thursdays and because I had already booked my overnight accommodation on the mainland, it was essential to catch that particular boat. Sadly, the pragmatic resolution not to stop anywhere only underlined my ignorance concerning the Isle of Harris.
If Lewis had been stunning, Harris was truly breathtaking. Whereas Lewis is moory and, as my guidebook called it, ‘relentlessly flat,’ Harris is much more mountainous and rugged. I had to (yes, had to, as it felt less like a voluntary act, than an obligation. To the camera. This trip. Nature itself. Scotland. World peace.) stop every five minutes to try and capture this – dare I say it? – sublime, otherworldly scenery around me.
Otherworldly was also the fact that the rain had obviously decided only to grace Stornoway, but not the rest of the islands today. This was very fortunate for my photographic ventures, not so much, however, for those concerning getting to a ferry terminal before check-in would close.
That Tarbert boasted huge Harris Tweed shop too was an additional challenge to all matters relating to time. After placing my car in the waiting lane for the ferry, I asked the officer at the terminal how much time I had left before boarding. 15 mins? Plenty of time! And off I ran (or rather limped, due to a not-so-very-recent foot injury) into another haven of wool and wool-based products.
Once we had arrived on Skye, I decided to take a quick look at the ruins of Duntulm Castle, which was once the seat of the MacDonald Clan. The ruins themselves were rather less impressive than the scenery surrounding them.
From Duntulm castle you had a nice view of the Outer Hebrides again, so I waved to my friend (and my glasses) and wished I could have stayed longer.
In the meantime, good old Gudrun (the silver beauty in the image centre) was making friends with other creepers and crawlers of his own kind. Ah, Gudrun, such a faithful and brave, but perfectly inanimate chum.
The streets were lined with these beautiful, very bright yellow bushes. Alaina enlightened me that they are called gorse and grow all over Scotland. These plants are currently in full bloom and many of the roads are lined with them.
Tonight I am staying in Strathcarron, a town in an area called Wester Ross (a friendly nod toward George R. R. Martin) and tomorrow I am planning to see Loch Ness, drive past Loch Lochy (haha) and hopefully catch a glimpse of Ben Nevis.
The Adventures of Aramis 