Yesterday, we explored the Trotternish Peninsula of Skye, which is the northwest of the island. Today, we attempted to explore the western side.
There was only one bus that took us to the west that ran on Sundays, so we hopped on, hoping to get to the Dunvegan Castle and the island's distillery. The bus driver informed us that the distillery was closed on Sundays, so we had a 45-minute trip out to the castle, a 70-minute tour of the castle, and a 45-minute trip back to Portree.
Alex couldn't be as thorough as he wanted (and usually is) in the castle. A few of the cool artifacts were a "fairy flag" that dates from the 10th century with some legends ranging from the Crusades to, obviously, fairies. There is also a bull's horn that holds half a gallon of claret (wine) that the heir to the clan chiefdom must drink to prove his worth. (Thankfully, it seems the female chief of the mid-1900s didn't have to do that.)
We sped through one of the gardens, then got back on our bus and into Portree. We had tea time, with some yummy shortbread and chocolate.
This whole trip, Alex has been pointing at mountains/hills and said, "Let's climb that." We had a bit of time, and Scotland has a free wandering law (basically, don't disrespect anyone or their herd animals, and you can go where you want). So Alex pointed out the mountain just south of Portree and we started up.
We first headed up a road that ran alongside, then found a logging road and went up that. It ended in a faint path through waist-high brush, but I egged him on, since there didn't seem to be other ways to go.
I was not very smart about this hike, and woke capris since it was a pretty warm day. The branches and bugs were attacking my shins, so I was a bit unhappy. I ended up splitting said capris while trying to climb on a log, so that just continued my not-so-rosy mood.
We went through the brush for probably half an hour before another logging road appeared. A woman just happened to be walking her dog along it (and looking very un-scratched), so Alex asked her how to get up the mountain. She gave us pretty clear directions, and we were off again.
If I was in a sour mood, Alex was ecstatic. We set off again, keeping an eye on the storm in the distance.
Every ridge we climbed over, there was another one higher that Alex wanted to get to. I was still concerned about the storm, and it got increasing windy as we went up. I asked him to pick out a final ridge, and, undoubtably, when we got up there, there were three more to be climbed.
I stopped walking there. Alex bounded up the next ridge or two to try to find the real summit, but he resigned himself that we weren't going any further and started headed back down with me.
So I ended the hike much more happy. We didn't have to scramble through the brush again. Alex ended the hike "90%" happy, since we didn't quite reach the summit.
We changed, went into town for dinner and some live music, and passed out before 11.
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