Still an inclement weather day so we will divide and conquer. Cynthia will hike with David at the first natural wonder place – Quiraing – but from near there take a bus to the Skye Museum of Cultural Life, while David takes the car and hikes two other spots, weather be damned. We’ll meet again in Brigadoon or Portree, whichever is real, for drinks and dinner.

We drive southeast by mistake, realize we’ve seen the unfolding lochs and valleys before, sort ourselves and arrive on the northeast coast by about 10:30. It’s cold and windy but that doesn’t seem to stop a lissome French chanteuse and her film crew from producing a video with the wall of Quiraing cliffs in the near distance and the North Sea beyond. She wraps herself in layers of blankets and grips a hot water bottle between her thighs between extended takes. We are rug’d up inside our technical gear.

The hike is wet; there’s more than a few slippery slabs of rock and squishy mud puddles and at a steep dip down to a gushing stream with a sharp climb on the opposite side, Cynthia calls it a day and returns to wait in the car for Himself to complete the circuit. He does. Nice views but a bit underwhelming. Were the sun glittering off the sea, sky deep blue with milk-white clouds, and the temp just right for shorts, the place would be glorious.

We drive to a small town named Staffin and ask a woman walking her two kids on the main road where we can find the bus stop that Cynthia needs. The woman says, “Anywhere. Just stand by the side of the road and wave it down. It’ll stop.” Cynthia wants to wait indoors so she gets the woman to direct us to a coffee shop that … lo and behold … has a bus stop directly in front of it. David drives away, heading to hike a promontory named Brother’s Point.

David’s hikes are nothing short of spectacular, partly because the weather gets both worse, and then clears, at both Brother’s Point and, later, at a place called The Old Man of Storr, part of the same Totternish Ridge that also forms Quiraing. On a clear day, Storr would just take away your breath. On a day with intermittent mists that dissipate suddenly in fleeting shafts of sunlight, it is magical, unreal. I won’t bother to try to describe it. It’s a seriously steep climb but worth it in every way. Don’t think; just do it. My pictures do not do it justice even remotely.

Meanwhile Cynthia catches a bus to the Scottish Museum of Island Life which is a group of thatched cottages – some original and some recreated – to illustrate highland village life a hundred years ago. Isolation and a harsh environment make one wonder why they stayed! The artifacts, dioramas, and narratives well document the difficult life led by these people at that time. The cold wind, intermittent rain, and grey skies enhance the experience. 

After touring the cottages, Cynthia visits the nearby take out café for a much welcome hot chocolate.  Cynthia has been drinking more hot chocolate than cola on this trip! 

The museum is about halfway around the Trotternish peninsula from Portree so Cynthia was advised to catch whatever bus first arrived and then travel clockwise or counterclockwise to town.  Waiting with me were two women who appeared at least my age but who were apparently traveling exclusively by public transportation and dressed for backpacker life.  They were so impressively familiar in Skye.  The bus stops were extremely busy with people of all ages.  Despite the cold and rain there were many with backpacks the size of their torsos who were getting off and on at campsites.  As we were told, the buses stop for anyone who flags them.  In addition the drivers let you off at any spot you choose along the road.  Name the hotel, campground, trailhead or museum and you will be left in front.  The first bus to arrive is going clockwise.  I board and move back to the middle.

When I board the bus there are five 30-year-old campers.  All smile and nod.  After a few miles a local man boards with his dog.  As we move, people wave to the driver who responds to them by name.  After about 15 minutes the campers are left at a campground and the gentleman at a village.  The driver calls to me and says that it is just us and I should move to the front.  For the rest of the trip I hear about his vacation from his home in the Netherlands to Skye and how he fell in love with a local women and has now lived in Scotland for 7 years with his wife.  Whenever he sees a nice view or some cute lambs along the road he stops the bus, points out the site and tells me to get off and take a photo!!  A lovely afternoon.

David returns to the 16-year-old drinks maker with the great gams at Caberfeidh who says the muddled cucumber and red pepper margaritas she makes are not “on” today but, as he writes recipes for Pegu Club and Vieux Carré cocktails in her notebook, she makes him a few Negronis while he waits for his better planner’s bus to arrive from parts north.

We dine in the hotel restaurant we rejected our first night, which turns out to be pretty ok, and retire, repacking again (and again and again and again) to drive across Scotland to the largest national park in the English isles.