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Days 3 and 4 of our fortnight were to be spent on the Trotternish Ridge. A part of Skye I don't know well - one visit to The Storr in thick mist a couple years back and a drive-by earlier this year were the only insights I had. A couple of reports on WH helped. I just hoped for good weather so that we could see what we were traversing.
Overnight rain and heavy, leaden skies at the campsite didn't promise the most auspicious start. We were up early to drive into Portree and get the bus up to Flodigarry. Packing up the wet tent, keen to get there and parked in good time. We walked along to the bus stop in the centre square and awaited a 57A. Due at 09.10. It's a bit of a chaos place, that bus station - lots of tourists milling around, buses come and go without apparent rhyme or reason. Our bus came in at another stance, with another number on it - 56...a friendly driver advised us to go over there. Quite a few people going up to Flodigarry, and we picked up more on the way after we set off. Lots of rucksacks walking poles and other assorted obstructions.
Morning campsite
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Al, on Flickr
The rain started whilst we drove past the Storr. This wasn't what we'd ordered! I briefly thought about staying on the bus and arriving back at Portree sometime later choosing another day for this walk, but we chanced it. We were dropped off right at the start of the walk, by the gate into Loch Langaig. A small band of folk, some Irish, some German milled around, sorting gear out. I swore I wasn't putting on waterproof trousers - it is going to clear up! We set off along the track, lots of greens and browns, the delicate reflections from the loch where a fisherman cast and retrieved. Walking by Leac nan Fionn, the mist swirling around the tops making everything mysterious and otherworldly. We wind on through strange shapes and take a right to Fir Bhreugach, where there's a short steep climb up to the ridge line. Keeping right we go out to Sron Vourlinn, which Allison tells me is the start of the ridge. It is certainly an incredible landscape - tiers of rock, plunging glens, fantastical stony shapes.
The start of the walk
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Al, on Flickr
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Al, on Flickr
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Al, on Flickr
View from Sron Vourlinn
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Al, on Flickr
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Al, on Flickr
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Al, on Flickr
From here we turn south and start up the ridge, grassy and wet underfoot. The rain overhead diminished from a drizzle to an occasional drop and it looks as if it may clear. Meall na Suiramach is our first target, where we meet a couple of tall German lads at the trig point and gaze out to North Uist and Harris, blue under a layer of puffy white cloud. Rejoining the path we encounter the busiest section of the walk - lots of folk coming up from the car park after Moladh Mor, resulting in a badly eroded hillside - really needs repaired given the traffic it endures. A Dutch woman in casual clothes advises us that it is steep and slippy the way we are going. I stifle a smirk - we are rather better prepared for the terrain than you are, dear. We smile and thank her, descend down to the car park and the milling throng.
Summit Meall na Suiramach
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Al, on Flickr
Uist
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Al, on Flickr
Bioda Buidhe and the road
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Al, on Flickr
Descending Maoladh Mor
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Al, on Flickr
Cuith-Raing
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Al, on Flickr
This is the Cuith-Raing, the navel of the world apparently - at least according to the information board. As we ascend the grassy slopes of Bioda Buidhe it is certainly an impressive sight as we look back. The weather has cleared beautifully, leaving us with blue skies and blue sea. It's going to be alright

We stop for lunch at the summit, enjoying the vista and only slightly irritated by a German woman with a camera that repeatedly walks past with an attitude of "why are you pair here when I want to take pictures". Sorry love, enjoy it. We continue on towards Beinn Edra: a succession of turns and twists along the headland, the castellated shapes below, jaggy and pointed, worthy of exploration at some later date in their own right. Descending to Bealach Uige we notice deep scars in the grass - mountain bike tyres, the wide ones. This is to be a depressing feature of the walk, as I'll no doubt moan about later. We pass a few other walkers including a group of 3 guys at the summit of Beinn Edra.
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Al, on Flickr
Towards Beinn Edra
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Al, on Flickr
Towards Flasvein
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Al, on Flickr
Beinn Edra
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Al, on Flickr
The Storr in the distance
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Al, on Flickr
Ahead of us are two Frenchmen, with large rucksacks, both with gaudy coloured rucksack covers on - they look like bipedal beetles. We can see the pointy outline of The Storr in the far distance. I'm not sure how far we are going today - depends a bit on the weather - maybe Hartaval. I stop to fill up on water from a lochan which surprises the French guys (Sawyer water filter - great) and we overtake them. More ups and downs, there's something wonderfully engaging and therapeutic about this route. The cliffs round and beyond Flasvein are rent with deep clefts and gashes - very dramatic. Up ahead are a young German couple. we overtake them on the descent from Creag a'Lain and head out to the outstretched finger of Sgurr a'Mhadaidh Ruaidh. There's a narrow section before the final summit, eroded and slippy, the cliffs plunging vertically away below us. On the mountainside are strange fences - cannot think what they are for as they are extremely steep - keeping haggises in (apparently they have one leg longer than the other two to cope with steep hillsides...)
Sgurr a'Mhadahdh Ruaidh
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Al, on Flickr
Damage due to bastard bicyclists
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Al, on Flickr
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Al, on Flickr
Hartaval then the Storr. Note the haggis enclosures
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Al, on Flickr
We continue on over Sgurr a Mhalaidh, it's gone 5pm by this time and we are starting to think about food, if not stopping for the night. I have an idea of Bealach a'Chuirn, between Hartaval and The Storr. We come down into Bealach Hartaval, a steep and stony descent. Before we can go any further a sudden cool in the air as a bank of cloud comes speeding round the cliffs from the sea. Within moments visibility is reduced to a few yards and out spot for the night is decided. The wind has got up, blowing directly into the bealach. we find the remains of an old wall to pitch the tent behind, secure it with roaks and set about trying out my new cooking system - a Caldera Cone and Ethanol burner. I'm delighted to report that it did a very fine job of boiling our water in adverse conditions and a repast of noodles with bits of veg and cashew nuts was gratefully consumed. We then settled down for the night - no chance of a sunset view this evening. Soon after the 3 guys we'd met on Beinn Edra come past - they've struggled to come down to the bealach in poor viz, but intend to head over to The Storr and descend tonight. They enquire if we've done it and can help with a route - no. I don't fancy trying to go along in the thick clag, given the drops involved, but they seem well equiped.
Sgurr a'Mhadaidh Ruaidh
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Al, on Flickr
Storr
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Al, on Flickr
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Al, on Flickr
Cloud rolls into Bealach Hartaval
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Al, on Flickr
The day's stats
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Al, on Flickr
Brrrr...
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Al, on Flickr
About 2 hours later, now about 8.30pm we hear a faint tentaive voice in the mist..."hello...we are completely lost" It's the German couple we passed earlier in the day. They also want to descend by The Storr but have no map. We show them the route, but advise that it's still a substantial way to go and will be tricky in these conditions...with no map. They have a tent with them and take our suggestion to set up camp here. I have located a small stream down to the west of where we're camped, which seems to please them too. We pass a noisy night, the cuben fibre of Beaky crinkling and rustling loudly in the wind. It never gets dark, just a misty white gloaming.
Awake at 5, I get up shortly after. It is still foggy outside the tent and rather cold. I head down to collect some water, passing the Germans' tent a few hundred metres from ours. There's no movement, I guess after their late evening they are still asleep. On impulse I go higher up towards the eastern lip of the ridge...and rise above the cloud layer. A perfect day, sun rising, a glowing orb above rolling layers of cotton wool cloud - fab! We breakfast to get some heat inside and pack up, setting off up the rocky northern shoulder of Hartaval. I can see McLeod's Tables over to the west. Rising higher, I look back along the ridge section we walked yesterday and am rewarded with cliffs looming out of mist, ethereal vistas, magickal place to be. We summit Hartaval - up ahead the Cuillin are glowing on the horizon: the Reds wearing blankets, the Blacks stripped and ready for the day.
Morning
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Al, on Flickr
McLeod's Tables
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Al, on Flickr
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Al, on Flickr
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Al, on Flickr
Hartaval
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Al, on Flickr
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Al, on Flickr
Cuillin
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Al, on Flickr
The Storr
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Al, on Flickr
We descend steeply to Bealach a'Chuirn. Yes it would have been fine for camping, with more obvious water supplies than ours. We set off up the steep boulder strewn slopes of The Storr and reach the flattish top. We can see the summit cairn over to our right, but first there's the matter of climbing the Eastern Top, which juts out from the Storr in line with Needle Rock. This involves descending into Coire Scamadal (presumably the descent route to the road if you are a lightweight and exiting the traverse at the Storr) and following a faint scree path up to the craggy exposed Top. Being a Simm it is of course worthy of visitation - but even if it weren't, it is well worth climbing for the dramatic views to the rock formations below, including the Old Man. We retrace our steps and head to the half-eaten trig point that marks the summit of The Storr.
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Al, on Flickr
The pointy eastern Top of The Storr
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Al, on Flickr
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Al, on Flickr
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Al, on Flickr
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Al, on Flickr
Storr summit
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Al, on Flickr
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Al, on Flickr
The onward route - Ben Dearg ahead
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Al, on Flickr
From here it is a gentle wander to Bealach Beag then Bealach Mor, whilst the imposing Ben Dearg dominates the view. I check the map - I had assumed we'd walk up into the moated castle that is torn by a gully but the route has us going a much less forbidding way along the northern cliffs to Beinn a'Chearcaill and gaining the summit easily from there. A raven protests at our intrusion on his domain and scuttles off behind a rock. We continue on to A' Chorra Bheinn, where we have lunch and I discover my compass has been reverse polarised...alarming. Not that there's much doubt about the way ahead - we make for Pein a'Chleib through a forest of bracken. From here it is a little uncertain where we go - I follow a path which is wrong and will bring us out on the road too high up - we want to cross Creag an Fhithich but dither about getting on the wrong side of fences into bogs and generally a poor ending to what has been a fantastic walk. Eventually we make it to the road, just by the Holiday Wigwams and prepare for a few kilometres back to Portree. Allison's brother & sister-in-law happen by and we chat for a bit. I'm keen to get into town and see if we can get the ferry to Harris that afternoon, so we scurry off in the dust and heat.
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Al, on Flickr
Ben Dearg
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Al, on Flickr
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Al, on Flickr
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Al, on Flickr
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Al, on Flickr
This has been a truly memorable wander - one of those journeys that live on being rolled around in the memory like a good whisky in the mouth, to be digested and absorbed for a long while to come. I'm so glad we got the weather we did - it is such a unique landscape that to miss it in clag or rain would be a criminal waste.