Isle of Skye; Back to the Blog

Things seem to be balancing into a ‘new normality’.  I still feel anxious it will disappear, the moments with friends not seen seem so precious, not just because they have been missed, but in case they disappear once more.

Travel is still curtailed but I am, like many, learning more about the near rather than the far.

May, as soon as ‘permitted’ I headed for the Highlands, and  my first ever visit to Skye. 

When consulting the weather forecast on the first day, we realised with, that it was barely going to rain. Coming from the Lake  District and the vagaries of hill weather I had thought my entire stay was to be blighted by rain and wind.

A frantic look at Walk Highlands. How many  boots we could cope with?  We figured a 4 boot walk would suit us  after a seven hour drive up the day prior.

GPS downloaded and Google primed with the start point made setting off remarkably hassle free,  Things fitted the description pretty well.

We set off across the gentle slope to Beinne na Caillich,  Fooled somewhat as the ‘boulder field’ described does not start on the immediate ascent.  ‘These are only rocks’ we muttered, ‘hardly a boulder field’.  Debatable still on boulders, as they were not humungous, but soon in it was barely possible to place a foot between them, then  impossible.  The last few hundred meters were definitely moments of ‘are we nearly there yet’ as hands became helpful to feet.

But was there a reward to that effort.  From the top and an enormous cairn and usual trig, it was possible to see all round the Red Cullins and to the Black beyond.  Not to mention the south of Skye, the mainland and further Hebridean Isles. 

Tearing ourselves away from the view,  we headed over to the check out our route to Beinne Drag Mhor.  Wow factor in the extreme.  At first it is only possible to see the summit of Drag Mhor, then suddenly the whole of the roller coaster ride, and the third peak Beinne Dearg Bheag appear. 

Down and up to Beinne Drag Mhor is relatively straight forward.  A more gently and kinder descent and ascent than the initial boulder field.  But then… Scree in the extreme.  And steep.  The drop down to the saddle before Beinne Dearg Bheag was looking more scary than a theme park.  But we were not about to go back down the jengar imitation we had ascended.  The track was pretty much eroded of scree, just as hard to gain purchase on the loose earth.  There was nothing else to do but go slow, concentrate and put one foot carefully in front of the other.  It took time but we both ended up safely at the bottom of the slope, in the col before the final ascent.

The slope ahead looked a little ominous.  Littered with rocks.  But the track circumnavigated them quite neatly and we reached the top with relative ease.  Another time to stand stare.  Look over the sea to the westerly islands and the mainland to the  east.

Descending from the final summit gives a good view of the rest of the crooked horseshoe.  It’s always immensely satisfying to look back whence one has come.  The track wiggles a bit but is quite easy to follow.  Back at sea level, almost, it’s just a case of following your nose back to the start point and car.  A yomp across the heather and a bit of bog.

This walk took us about an hour longer than the description on Walk Highlands, but I faff about taking photographs and we stopped to eat and drink a few times. I was pretty much bowled over by the day and the walk has to rank amongst my best ever walks.  A challenging but not difficult day. 

A bit more… personal stuff….

Everyone has had a tough year.  Covid with its phases of lockdown and release has sent many into an emotional whirlwind, whether or not you have suffered a loss.  I became tired of social media, disengaging from the opinions and rants that seemed to be every present.  Bar Instagram, which I posted  ‘one a day’ for around a year. 

Then I had my own  personal loss.  My own tragedy.   I wrote a few months ago how I understood the anguish of those who could not visit loved ones terminally ill in hospital, as my father had a spell of hospital care when I was not allowed to visit.  But now he has gone, past, died.  A saving grace was, with the covid crisis easing, family were allowed to visit him  in hospital. It was not covid.  He was two weeks short of his 95th birthday and he was frail and tired of life.  When an infection hit he just could not cope. 

It is not possible to gloss over that time.  It was not good, for him, myself, my brother.  But life moves on.  The funeral brought some closure.  Even at a pared down gathering it was a time to remember him, Janis Labsvirs, as he used to be.  A step to letting go of a difficult year.

My father introduced usto the outdoors.  We swam in rivers, paddled across lakes.  Hiked up Helvellyn while still at primary school, with a tribe of other kids, all younger than I.  Life, he said, was for living.  To make things happen not wait for them to arrive.

And now. Well, a few months on I’m embarking on new adventures as he would wish.  Finding places to travel closer to home that are as dramatic and beautiful as anywhere I have ever been.

The west coast Scotland with its childhood memories of midges and rain. Exmoor, Peaks, and even small unknow local places.  With not a small amount of rashness I’ve ‘invested’ in a bigger car.  Something spacious and easy for myself and a friend to ‘chuck’ in kit and even sleep.

So life is beginning again.  .  

Janis Labsvirs  Riga 1926 – Heversham 2021