Skye

Have you ever been to a place that leaves you breathless? Awestruck? Spiritually moved?

Well, if not, you need to come to Skye.

Skye is that kind of place, especially if you’re attracted to raw nature and unspoiled wilderness.

I have to admit I fit into that category. Whenever I find myself in wild places, I can’t help but feel cleaner, healthier, and, dare I say, closer to God? Perhaps it’s the undeniable purity of it, the fact that no one has trampled upon it, and that it transcends human control. Whatever its virtues, it’s impossible to experience unique wilderness without being moved.

And so it is with Skye.

We are working our way north, the Outer Hebrides our ultimate goal, and on the way is the west coast of Skye. From Rum, we sailed only a few miles to Loch Scavaig. Here is the Clyde Cruising Club description of Loch Scavaig:

“One of the most dramatic and awe-inspiring anchorages in Europe, it is set deep in the cirque of the Black Cullins of Skye. It is wild and totally remote from civilization…. The anchorage, even in settled weather, is subject to violent downdrafts which are capable of ‘blowing an anchor out.’ There is easy access to Loch Coruisk, a freshwater loch just above sea level which lies deep within a horseshoe of high peaks.”

The sea was like glass as we motored toward the loch from the south. We couldn’t have chosen a better day – the sun was shining brightly and only a few clouds swirled around the peaks. Arriving, we joined one motor yacht at anchor in the inner cirque, Loch na Cuilce. The anchor set securely in seven meters of water, more than enough to accommodate our draft after the four meter drop we expected by low tide.

Cliffs towered above us on three sides, emitting waterfalls echoing off the walls. Mindful of the warnings of violent downdrafts “even in settled weather,” we resolved to take our shore excursions in shifts so the boat would be tended.

I went first, leaving Jocelyn and Emily to read and sun on the deck. Once ashore, I pulled the dinghy above the high tide line and set off. Climbing, I achieved the ridge above the cove for photographs of Windleblo far below.

After my photo shoot, I followed the ridge further toward the highest peaks, which rise straight out of the sea to over 2,000 feet. I discerned a rough climbing route with some Class 4 scrambling, following it until it clefted at a notch. There, I gazed up at the highest peaks one last time before turning north and descending the back side of the ridge toward the head of Loch Coruisk.

I followed a trail along the south shore of the freshwater loch, which became well-worn the closer I got to the mouth of the loch. There, I was rewarded with a view of a natural “infinity pool” where the outlet from the loch cascades over a ledge into the sea. Then, I launched the dinghy through thick kelp (the tide had gone out) and returned to the boat.

Back on board, Jocelyn and Emily got their turn at a shore excursion. They dodged a seal that seemed to play with them as they dinghied around the loch.

Later, once the tide was right, we weighed anchor and set off for a safer place nearby to spend the night, heeding the warnings about overnight katabatic winds upsetting boats in Loch na Cuilce.

The next day was again without wind, but this time a thick cloak of cloud and rain hung over the cliffs of Skye. We motored north 20 miles before anchoring in between islands just off Skye’s northern tip. Along the way, we saw seals, Minke whales, and many different sea birds as we gazed at a shoreline alternating between deep lochs and steep cliffs.

We only had time for a sample, but clearly I had found on Skye a remote, unspoiled alpine wilderness complete with tundra-like heath, rugged boulder fields, verdant cliffs, and abundant life. Our time on Skye left me with the overwhelming impression of a place raw with nature where humans are only a small piece of a much larger puzzle, a puzzle arranged by a force much more powerful than us.