Beauty and the Bleakness

So much does he love Wales, that it took some effort earlier this year for me to persuade my husband Paul to holiday in Scotland.  But the scenery in May took his breath away, and so we returned.  This time though we took both friends and bikes, Paul thinking that a trip along the West Highland Way (by mountain bike) might make a good tour.  My friend Chris, the wife of one of the lads riding with him, helped me move the van full of our collective luggage.  We had our bikes too of course, and we certainly made good use of them.

Caledonian Pine Wood

I don’t think we could have picked a better time to go.  Autumn’s palette has saturated the hillsides in colour, layer upon layer of reds, golds and greens rich and deep.  The grass, now turning, seemed like a million shards of amber lit from beneath, each glowing in the afternoon light, and the water in the lochs seemed to combine steely coldness with deep blue mystery.  


 

We rode through the exquisite Glen Etive.  There we saw a herd of twelve or fourteen red deer, led by a magnificent 12-point stag.  Their riverside location seemed intense in its beauty, peaceful and tranquil as well as wild and weather beaten.  We felt the wildness and the weather ourselves, for it poured down as we rode.  A double rainbow set against the stormy grey sky reminded us that this valley was indeed a pot of gold.

Raasay

Paul and I finished our holiday (after the departure of our friends) on the Island of Skye, where we had left a part of our hearts when we visited in May.  Setting off from our cosy B&B we rode along and across the Trotternish Peninsula.  To our east and offshore, the myriad of small islands making up the archipelago of Raasay seemed to float in the misty sea, the giants of the mainland mountains rising behind them magnificently.  Enveloping us gently as we went, the windswept bleakness dominated everything, and the little houses, many of them former crofts, were squat and sturdy, testament to the conditions they must stand firm against.

View from the West Highland Railway

Back on the mainland, the spectacular West Highland railway took us from Mallaig to our last night’s B&B at Milngavie, close to Glasgow.  Crossing Rannoch Moor, the word “bleak” was redefined for me.  So remote, so seemingly empty, and so beautiful in its wildness, only the red deer could call it home.  I had the feeling that if any person ever was lost there, they would never be found.

There are many places in the world I have never been, but there are many places in Britain I have never been either.  For the time being then I think that Scotland will have more visits from us, for we didn’t manage to bring home the parts of our hearts which we left in Skye last time.  Instead, we left parts of our hearts in all the other places we visited too.

Ferry in the Sound of Sleat