Saturday 10th April
Today’s was one of the most marvellous day’s riding it is possible to have. The scenery was as spectacularly beautiful as you would be likely to see anywhere, and being bathed in unbroken glorious spring sunshine was a bonus indeed.
We climbed from Harris Cottage to about 300′ and watched the ferry leave, bound for Harris. We could see the Western Isles quite clearly even though they were 1 hour and 40 minutes sail away.
We visited the Museum of Island Life, where a collection of crofts housed artefacts from farming and the local wool industry. Flora McDonald’s monument was in a graveyard up the hill, so we couldn’t be bothered to look at that.
When we rounded the northernmost point of the Trotternish peninsula, we had a wonderful view of a whole series of snow-capped Munroes, the most obviously identifiable of which was Slioch. We had viewed this in 2006 from the northern slopes of Beinn Eighe.
From right to left (I think): Beinn Eighe, Slioch, Mullach Coire and An Teallach (has the most snow). We climbed the last of these on our 2006 holiday, and I also drank a lot of the beer produced by a brewery of the same name.
The ride south to Portree was hampered by a strong headwind, which meant that although we climbed to over 600′ in places, more often than not we had to pedal on the descents. We visited Kilt Rock,
where a coach driver / guide was explaining the origins of this rock.
Coach driver’s spiel (adapted)
It is well known that there was to have been a right old pagga between Finn McCool, who built the Giant’s Causeway, and Fingal, who was in the habit of humming Mendelssohn to himself whilst sitting in his cave. But Fingal was a small giant compared to Finn McCool and was going to be breakfast if ever the two fought. However, Mrs. Fingal was sitting at home one day darning Fingal’s socks when Finn arrived and kicked the door in, looking for her husband. It so happened that Fingal was out hunting at the time, and Mrs. F told the Irishman “He’s not here at the moment but if you come back later I’m sure he’ll be delighted to fight you.”
Finn McCool thundered off, vowing to return.
When Fingal returned, with a brace of red deer hanging out of his sporran, his good lady told him that Finn had been to visit.
“He’s much bigger than you are and the problem is that he wants to fight you. You wouldn’t stand a chance!”
“Oh my dear wife!” cried Fingal, who really wanted a quiet life listening to Radio 3, “What am I to do?”
“Go up to the bathroom and fetch my Ladyshave Razor,” replied his spouse.
“What on earth for?” asked Fingal, who was not into depilation.
“You’ll see!”
He did as he was told and Mrs. F stripped him naked and shaved every hair off his body.
“Now, when Finn McCool arrives, go upstairs to the nursery and squeeze yourself into the baby’s crib.”
No sooner had the words left her lips and the door was kicked in again.
“Fee fie foe fum!” thundered Finn “wait a tick… where are we?… oh bugger! Anyway, where’s that puny husband of yours?”
“Still hunting I’m afraid, Mr. McCool.”
At that point a lot of galumphing could be heard from upstairs.
“He’s not hunting, he’s hiding, that’s what he’s doing!” cried Finn and he stormed up the stairs to find his foe.
In a trice he was storming down them again and out the door.
“If that’s the size of his fucking baby, then I’m staying in Ireland!”
—–
Anyway, the point of all this nonsense is that Kilt Rock is where Fingal hung his kilt when his wife was shaving him.
We saw Lealt Waterfall, which hurtled down a deep ravine
and the Old Man of Storr
who looked as though there was still plenty of lead in his pencil.
Finally we arrived in Portree and found our B & B, from which we had an excellent view of the Cuillins.
After some faffage, some laundry and an excellent meal from The Lower Deck, we retired for the night.