Part two of the travelogue in which I discover the limits of Lucy’s walking skills, and also that she is quite happy to push those limits to the max. This account takes us through day three and four.
Day three
We were up and out at 6:30 and started the day with a walk on the beach. It had rained a lot during the night, but we managed to stay dry and warm. My new sleeping quilt was an absolute game changer. I was the proverbial snug bug.
After a hearty breakfast and some coffee, I packed the day pack with some snacks and water and off we set for a hike along the bay to the Rubha Dunain peninsula. There is an official walk that goes all the way to end, but I decided to turn off a bit earlier and started climbing up a pathless route of my own devising. I wanted to get up on the ridge and make for the foot of the Cuillin to join one of the paths there that would take us back down to the campsite.
The climb up was tough, but when we got to the top the views were unbelievable. Stretching away in front of me were vast swathes of golden grass, punctuated by rocks and spots of black velvety moss. In the distance I could see the clouds start to hug the Cuillin’s tops but it was sunny and warm above us. On we trudged.
Now, the thing about going off the path is that the ground underfoot is usually only trodden by sheep, rabbits, and very little else. The grass grows in these tufty squat towers and threaten to break your ankle if you try go at them too fast. I was very glad for two things as I plodded up the hill with Lucy following behind. One, my barefoot hiking boots are the bees knees and I will never wear anything else on a hike. Two, trekking poles are an absolute must on uneven terrain.
Still, even with these two treasures, the going was tough. Even more so for my intrepid canine. She seemed to be enjoying the route and was having a grand old time pouncing on imaginary beasties, and finding every dead thing within a mile around us, including an intact sheep skull which she tried to smuggle home. However, the tufts of grass and the endless bog were tough going for her, and we had to stop a lot to take breathers on the way. Eventually, I conceded that she’d had enough of the difficult stuff for the day and struck back across the shortest route that would take us back to the footpath, for which she was grateful. All in all we covered 9.2km, but it took us four hours. Normally, we’d be covering twice that distance in that kind of time back home. But back home is flat and has very clear paths…and far fewer bogs.
Here we were, first proper hike on Skye and I was already thinking of abandoning the idea of doing the Skye Trail altogether. It was clear that Lucy needed quite a bit more time to get used to this sort of thing and if we could only do around 10km a day, we would never complete the trail in the time we had. I immediately started making backup plans. By the time we got back to the tent I had already decided on a new itinerary: we’d just do a bunch of walks, some over-nighters, and leave it at that. We could still do bits of the trail, but just in bite-sized chunks and not always wild camping. Of course, I change plans about as often as I drink coffee.
Our first hiking day also brought with it some additional woes. I didn’t close Lucy’s water bottle properly and got my backpack all wet, luckily without killing my power bank. Lucy also managed to make a small tear in my Rab puffy coat. Thank goodness, I brought a sewing kit. Never had to use one before, but it’s always when you least expect to need something that you’re glad you listened to the voice of reason.
After consoling myself with some biscuits and tea and then a delicious bowl of chilli sin carne, I took Lucy off to the beach for another scramble. By now the campsite was completely full, mostly with camper vans. As we walked along the sand – well I walked and Lucy careeened around like a loon – I look over to the peninsula on the other side of the bay. After today’s disappointment, the 14 mile trail around that seemed suddenly like a very bad idea.
Day four
This was a bumper day! I started the day by making the decision to leave Glenbrittle even though I had originally planned on staying an extra day or two. The reason was quite simple: the campsite was getting very crowded, and I was surrounded on all sides by camper vans. They really have become unbelievably popular in the UK. The campsite itself is so much bigger and caters more to campers than tents, at least that’s how it felt. Less personal and cosy than I remembered.
Anyway, we had a quick trundle on the beach and then I popped Lucy in the car and packed up. As we were heading past that way anyway, and it was still quite early, I decided to stop off at the Fairy Pools for a quick saunter. My word, how this spot has changed. The last time I was here in 2014, and before that in 2007, it had just been a quirky little spot with a few spaces for cars and a rough path that took you past the pools. Now it’s a two tiered major car park for which you have to pay eight pounds for the privilege of parking and the wardens are constantly checking. Then the path itself has been fully paved and widened to ensure easy access to everybody.
As a result it’s lost quite a bit of its rugged charm. At least for me.
So, in order to keep things interesting I decided to take a slightly alternative route and go along the Glen Sligachan path that can takes you up and over the ridge line down to Sligachan Hotel. Then, before you go over the ridge, there’s a path that veers to the right and takes you along the bases of a few Sgurrs to bend round and come back down along the Fairy Pools route. Seemed simple enough on paper and not that long. But that was my first mistake, equating distance with ease. So off I set with nothing but my waterproof jacket on and Lucy on her regular retractable lead. Oops. So the lead was actually not a problem. Lucy appears to be part mountain goat so she hopped obstacles with ease and didn’t take me off my feet while she was doing it. My shoes were holding up quite well and all the way along we had stunning views and some other waterfalls and pools, less famous than those on the regular path, that we followed all the way up. It was only when we were starting to summit the ridge that I realised why we were the only ones taking this path. Bog, bog and more bog. My feet both went in up to mid calf a couple of times. Still, not too spectacular, we soldiered on. Then the hail started, followed by the wind. At this point we were starting along the path toward the Sgurrs but the wind was so fierce and the rain was like bullets. Lucy was trying to hide from it and I was soaked through to the skin in seconds from the waist down, including my shoes. So at that point I decided the only course of action was to turn around and head back down the way we’d come. And it was the right one. Within 10 minutes we were back under the wind and the rain eased off. We met a single walker coming up: a young American girl. I told her what to expect and she muttered ‘Oh great, and I thought it couldn’t get any worse’ but she seemed better equipped than me and heeded my advice to put on her waterproof pants. I hope she made it over the ridge ok.
We tramped back to the car. A rapid descent comes with its own pitfalls, and I was aware that if the wind picked up, my wet feet and legs were going to become a liability. So I hiked back as quickly and carefully as I could to the car to change out of my wet clothes and into some dry ones. One upside of the new parking facilities, a toilet where you can change! Still not worth eight pounds though. Someone is making a mint, because by the time we got back, in under two hours, the car park was already mostly full!
In dry things and feeling much better, I gave Lulu a consolatory snack and some water and munched a protein bar, and then pointed us in the direction of Portree.
Portree is the hub of the island and its capital. It was quiet as I drove in and I managed to get a primo parking spot at a short stay lot right in the centre, pretty much next to the shop I needed. But first, Lucy duty. So we took a meander around the town and down to the harbour for the requisite postcard pic for Mum, and let Lucy have a tinkle on the beach, to add another one to her collection. She likes beaches.
Then I wandered over to Inside Out, where dogs were welcome, so I took her in with me and went in search of gas canisters and gloves. My current gas system was acting up. I have this dinky BRS 26 gram stove that I love and it is so much easier to carry than the clunkier piezo campinggaz system, which I’ve used before. But my gas cartridges are all click systems cartridges and the stove is a screw system, so I got an adapter. But something was not right with the adapter because after only three uses, it started leaking gas, causing flames to be where there should be none. A bit risky. So I tried the cartridge with the old stove, no problem, thus it was either my little stove or the adapter. I really didn’t want it to be the stove, so I thought ‘let’s get a screw type cartridge and see if that works’. I found the cartridges quickly but they all had caps on, and the lettering was a bit tricky to read. I must have obviously been flummoxed because a very kind salesperson came over and asked if everything was okay. I told her I wanted to know if the cartridge was a screw type, and she said ‘Oh, they’re all screw types’. Excellent. I went with a four season one. It was a bit more expensive, but with the cold temperatures we’d been having at night, I though it would be worth it.
I also got myself some very expensive, very fancy, lightweight trekking gloves, because it was still cold enough to freeze the fingers in the morning, and getting tent flaps open, or unstopping camping beds with frozen fingers is no picnic.
They were ever so nice in the shop, and Lucy charmed them all, so we left very satisfied with our purchases. While I was in Portree, I also took advantage of the good phone signal to look up Staffin campsite and try to figure out how to book a pitch. It seems that with a lot of sites you have to pre-book these days. You can’t just turn up. So I had to call them and email and then get a booking link sent so I could pay a deposit and book a pitch for the night, or more. One can only imagine the sorts of shenanigans that have gone on for this to be necessary. It was not thus ten years ago.
This involved me stopping off at various parking spots along the way to Staffin to get enough signal to make the payment so my spot was booked before I arrived. It also involved pissing off a Tesla driver, for which I make no apologies. She was sitting on my bumper for miles and despite me giving her numerous opportunities to pass me, she didn’t. So I felt completely justified in suddenly braking and turning off unto a lay-by.
I arrived at the campsite a little before 2pm, and was thoroughly pleased to see not much had changed here. I stayed here in 2014 as well, in July, and it was just as I remembered it. The owner also very kindly let me know that I could take Lucy into a field nearby where she could run off the lead to her hearts content, as there were no livestock using it at that moment. So, after checking in, that’s what we did, and then off Lucy went for a nap in the car while I pitched the tent and unpacked. It gave me no small amount of pride to see that I was pitched up and ready in under 15 minutes, while numerous neighbours had two or three pairs of hands and were making a bit of a hatchet job of it. Amateurs!
After the tent was up, I decided to take Lucy down to Staffin Bay beach to see the dinosaur footprints. It was something I didn’t get to do last time, for some forgotten reason, but the walk down is a treat in and of itself. One has to be careful, and have good shoes. Unfortunately, my boots were still soggy, so I popped on my waterproof socks and camp shoes, which worked, but by the time we got back they are wet as well. Everything was now a bit damp.
But I digress. We walked down, had a good scramble around on the rocks, found some dino footprints, and then we climbed back up the cliff and sauntered back to camp. A round trip of almost two hours.
I was ravenous by the time we returned, as was Lucy, so I fed her and then ordered myself a halloumi burger and chips from the campsite takeaway, and settled down for the evening with a cup of coffee, some jammy dodgers and an episode of My Lady Jane. This campsite had Wi-Fi, so it also enabled me to slog though some emails and clear out the spam. I could have left it all until I got back, but what better way to spend some downtime than clearing out some digital trash.
That’s one thing I really loved about this holiday on my own with a dog. It was 100% my holiday. I could do whatever I liked when I liked it. It may sound a bit selfish, perhaps it is, but there is something unbelievably freeing about going on holiday in your own.
If you’d like a visual taster of the walk we took next, check out my second Skye Walker video on YouTube:
A super post, Jo. I’m learning more of what you did than I knew at the time. Poor you for getting wet and being hailed on! Horrid!