Curry and Bagpipes, Legit viewpoints, and roast chicken.

Sunday we started experimenting with some of the productive elements we'd hoped to achieve while we're here (part of the reason we could spend so much time in-country was the ability to get some work accomplished remotely.  Modern technology is an incredible burden sometimes, but it can also be very liberating.  Striking that balance would prove difficult because the Airbnb's DSL-fed wifi turned out to be much more finicky and slow than we were prepared for).

So let's ignore our Sunday morning (work is work, even in a beautiful place).

Sunday afternoon we realized we'd worked later than planned and were quite hungry, so we ran down to the "Local Shop" for Staffin, a couple of miles away.  'Mackenzie Stores' is the quintessential family-run store for a town with 100 inhabitants, selling a bit of hardware, groceries, dog food, petrol, gas oil, and firewood, as well as being a very legitimate Indian takeaway place.

We made it down there before their 14:00 closing (Sunday hours), which meant we got to catch the youngest of the family playing the bagpipes as the shop closed.  I'll try to upload a video later, it felt like we were momentarily trapped in a quirky arthouse comedy about the a quintessential modern-UK family, with the teenage descendant of Indian immigrants bleating out "Scotland the brave" against the beautiful backdrop of a tiny town on Isle of Skye, framed by a giant pennant spelling KEBABS fluttering in the breeze.

 (our piper)

(his view)

(The curry and naan were absolutely delicious.  10/10, recommend.)

Before the hike

 

After lunch we roved south.  Heading back from Portree the day before, Rachel had misread a sign for the Lealt river viewing area as "LEGIT VIEWPOINT", which amused us both and made us curious about it.  In the hiking guidebook we confirmed that in addition to the viewpoint, there was a short and beautiful walk, and we wanted some time to relax while cooking a meal, and try making a fire in the wood-burning stove at our Airbnb that night, so we picked the short hike as an excellent way to feel like we were exploring without having to go far.

The valley formed by the Lealt from above, facing inland

When we reached the viewpoint, we found the upper area crowded, exactly as the guidebook suggested it might be, but (ignoring the "the trail beyond this sign is not maintained, HIKE AT YOUR OWN RISK" sign) we clambered down the face of the slope to the mouth of the Lealt.  There were a couple reasons to do this, the first beind the Diatomite drying building ruin, which was a lovely stone structure with a gorgeous industrial chimney, and the second was the beautiful Lealt Waterfall just a few meters in from the mouth of the river.

On the way down though, we had a slight distraction -- I stopped to take a couple of pictures of a gorgeous cliff face and while Rachel was sketching we noticed a very large industrial nylon sack, blown off from the construction site at the top of the hill, that had become trapped in the gully midway up the slope.

It was trash.

 

 

Trash!

 

I am not sure how many of my readers have been with me in a public place when there was a single piece of visible trash, but my father taught me when I was young to pick up such things, and it's a habit I've been pleased to maintain over the last three decades.

 

Steep

So I did a bit of a scramble, got down to the bag, and dragged it back to where we could leave it near the trail, so that on our return, we could drag it out.

The picture in which you learn I choose a lot of natural colors in my travel clothing.

Victory!

 

The view I had of Rachel sketching was worth a picture all its own.

 

Bag recovered, we hiked down to the chimney and ruin, then slithered along the face of the riverbank to get to a beautiful little cove carved out by the waterfall, where we sat for a bit of photography and sketching.

Eventually we scrambled back up the way we had came, and dragged out my GIANT WEIRD BAG past a couple of dozen bewildered hikers.

We made our way back to the house and started a fire and a roast chicken, being successful in the second endeavour (the roast chicken (seasoned with butter, salt, pepper, and coriander beneath the skin) was great, and the potatoes and onions we roasted along with it were delicious) and unsuccessful in the first (the Godin log-stove is finicky and difficult to keep a fire going in, and I managed to break the handle of our cabin's small hatchet on an especially problematic piece of firewood).

After dinner, we made one final walk, a peaceful wander down a nearby path to the water, which led to a beautiful cerulean pool that seemed otherworldly in its blue-green splendor.

Along the way were a series of rocks carved with Gaelic verse that Rachel photographed, and I'll try to find out the translation and upload it later.

The home of a Nyad, I'm sure.