The Isle of Skye really did seem such. Clouds perched low over us all day, topping the mountains. We walked through them, they misted on us, winds gusted at up to 40 mph.
We went over on a ferry in hopes of seeing a whale. There was no whale, but there was an ancient castle perched at the edge of the cliff. It was a day for warm beverages.
Fairy pools, the Old Man of Stor, shrouded in mist, it all felt very ancient. Waves crashed on rocky beaches, the tides went out of the lochs. Cottages dotted the seaside, and sheep dotted the cliffs. The hair of scotch cows waved in the wind and rain, hiding their eyes.
My own hair was whipped furiously, brightly stinging my eyes.
At Kilt Rock, they had drilled holes in the metal pipes guarding you from falling into the sea. As the wind blew past them, they made a continuously ghostly sound.
It's one of those places I'd love to return to eventually. To rent a self-catering cottage by the sea for a week, eat oysters, take long walks, and drink it all in.Read more