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In the last episode we left our intrepid adventures on the cusp of the Quiraing. Would they make it to their destination? Would the gaiters finally come off? Most importantly would the burger van be open at the tourist car park at lunchtime ? Read on and all will be revealed….
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- The Long and Winding Road
Our plan was to reach the half-way point of the Trotternish Ridge and make our way down to the lay by near the village of Lealt where a car had been left. The only wee thing was that chief navigator, Murray, wasn’t 100 % sure if this was going to be possible. Never mind, the sun was shining and the scenery magnificent. The curious rock formations of the Quiraing were understandably busy with day trippers gazing in awe at their eerie appearance. Leaving Murray, Brian and Frankie to walk the lower path, Alan, Pete and myself scrambled up into the inner folds to explore this Tolkeinesque landscape.
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After an enjoyable exploration we rejoined the main path thronged with tourists of all nationalities, shapes and sizes. We eventually caught up with the others who sat with crestfallen expressions by the car park. No burger van was to be seen. Obviously imagining the distant smell of frying onions, Frankie the dog, or more likely Brian had hastened along the track dreaming of hot, savoury delights. Naturally despondent, they stared at their empty Co-Op sandwich packets.
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- Where's my Burger ?
After lunch, it was time to leave the crowds and head up the easy pull of Bioda Buidhe on lovely springy turf which was a joy to walk on. The impressive views kept on appearing, each new summit revealing new vistas. Only a few fellow walkers were on this part of the ridge and the stretch was marked by only faint traces of paths. In the clear weather, navigation was easy – keep to the right of the big cliffs was the order of the day, however an ominous looking cloud looked to be heading in from the West making things a little more interesting.
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We were about three summits and 5km away from our intended descent route as visibility started to deteriorate. To the east we could see a likely route at the Bealach a’ Mhoramhain and decided to take it, rather than risk not being able to get down further along. Though fairly steep in parts, the route was straightforward and we reached the bottom without incident. It was then a meandering 5km walk across the peat hags and meadows to pick up the track from Loch Cuithir to the lay by at Inver Tote.
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- The Berghaus Boys Lead the Way
While waiting for the drivers to collect the car from the starting point, Murray and I explored the view point, an interesting spot with a picturesque waterfall, industrial remains and tales of German U boats.
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- Inver Tote
After a night sampling the fleshpots of Portree, ostensibly to charge phones and catch up on Facebook, we returned to the trail. Not fancying a crossing of the peat hags to commence our second day on the Trotternish Ridge, we decided to start from the Southern end and finish day three as day two. Parking early at the Storr car park, which was to fill up by the time we arrived back in the afternoon, we made our way up the path through a bleak landscape recently stripped of trees. Thoughts of this desolation were rapidly forgotten as the rocky pinnacles of the Storr came into view. As we climbed higher, more of this magnificent sight came into view. The Old Man himself looking enigmatic in the morning sun. Still, that’s Alan Grubb for you.
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We followed the line of the cliffs North and gradually ascended back onto the ridge, over the summits of Hartaval and Sgurr a Mhalaidh. Only one short stretch was particularly steep. The rain stayed off all day and the panoramas of mountain and sea were irresistible to the photographers among us. I took some pictures too.
We passed our original planned descent point at Bealach na Leacaich which looked achievable but made our way across two further bumps to where we had left the ridge after day two. Deciding to take a slightly different approach to avoid the peat hags, we contoured round to the Lochan and followed the Land Rover track back to Lealt. Much easier. We also managed to spot a couple of sea eagles, massive silhouettes against the blue sky. One held a fish in its talons as they swooped and dived above our heads. Unfortunately they didn’t oblige by staying still long enough for photographs though.
We headed back to Portree revelling in the sight of these magnificent creatures among a landscape that, according to Murray and Alan, ranked up with the Grand Canyon which they’d both visited. No need to go to Nevada then, I thought.
Fish and chips by the harbour seemed a good way to end the day. Maybe we are spoiled by living within a short distance of Anstruther’s award-winning fish bar, but our treat was very disappointing and most of mine went to the hungry gulls scavenging by the quayside. We were lucky to get anything at all as just after being served, the shop ran out of chips and had to close for the evening. According to the barmaid at the Caledonian, who seemed to know about these things, we had arrived in the middle of a mini potato famine on the island.
