Back in the south

[glenatron]

So it was a pretty awesome week, all told. We travelled up via Leeds, where we stayed with some friends, to Arisaig on the west coast of the highlands. From there we travelled in brilliant sunshine over to Eigg. Once we had established where we were staying and how to get our luggage there we got on our bikes and set out. Turns out Lou could use practicing a bit more at the whole bike thing on account of having all the muscles one needs for riding horses but fewer of the ones that are needed to take a bike up the long hill to the top of an island. Fortunately, having reached the top of the road (Eigg only has one road, and it's about four miles long, so there's not a lot of point in having a car there) the rest was downhill to the guesthouse we were staying in. We stayed in a farm above Laig Bay on the west side of the island, an old house where sheep look at you funny when you're in the loo and the electricity goes off if the water level in the stream behind the house gets too low.

We had another day of blazing sunshine (two in a row- very nearly unheard of) which we used to cross the rocks between our beach and next one along (a surprisingly long and perilous journey) where the sand is made from quartz of a rare size and regularity that makes it buzz when you walk on it. It's named "singing sands" - I guess "buzzing sands" doesn't really sound so enticing. The beach also had a herd of cows on it, but their opinion of the sound effects on the sand was unclear.

Every evening after our tasty dinners we found ourselves drawn to the beach where the sky and sea combined in infinite variety to create the most dramatic sunsets above Rhum, the island whose sharp contours dominate the western views from the bay. My camera is about half filled with almost-identical variants on the classic Rhum sunset which also appears in the watercolour in our living room.

Our third day on the island we decided to walk along the coast from the far side of the island and almost as soon as our lift dropped us off at the furthest point from our residence, the heavens opened. They did not close again for most of the day. You expect to get wet if you holiday in the highlands but we really were drenched. Neither of our classy coats was waterproof in the "actually keeping water out" kind of a way so we were half drowned by the time we got home. The weather didn't let up until after dinner when we were rewarded by rays of sunlight cutting through the dooming clouds above Rhum. We also encountered Dunlin skittering along the edge of the waves and they must be among the most totally bless birds I have ever seen, little puffs of feathers with long beaks and double-speed legs, skittering along in hilarous style.

The next day we retreated to the mainland and after staying a few miles up the coast at Morar (where Local Hero was filmed, trivia fans) travelled to Skye where we made it our business to go on a glass bottomed boat and ride some heavy horses who proved to be generally massive and sweet natured and specifically massive and cantankerous in the case of the mare I was riding. Her major purpose appeared to be being mean to any male horses nearby so the pictures of us on the horses feature Lou's steed looking noble and mine glaring at him with flattened ears and an I'm-gonna-bite-you glint in her eye. Actually, that's not entirely true, in some of them, the horse Lou was riding is looking a bit nervously at my horse.

After riding we travelled back to the lowlands, staying another night in the heart of Lymond country and spending Saturday morning riding Icelandic horses. The Icelandic is a unique beast, much like a cross between a spirited and noble horse and a very small demon or mischevious troll. The one I was riding ( a palamino who appeared to have based his mane on the hairstyles of high-days Def Leppard ) gave me about eighteen inches between my dangling legs and the ground - on some hillsides my feet actually dragged on the ground - and he just didn't care. They have the most rapid and hilarious trot I have ever experienced and they took us rampaging over the dramatic lowland hills with the greatest aplomb. I have always found it scary going down hill on horseback because there really isn't very much in front of you when the horse is lowering it's head to descend and if you are on a steep path it can be very nervewracking, especially if most of your riding has been school work. Descending the glens on narrow sheep trails taught me to respect the sure-footedness of the pony I was riding as well as teaching me to keep enough contact on the reins to stop the little pest I was sat on from diving on any tasty looking vegetation on the way past. I had a brilliant morning, although Lou found her pony a little nervewracking.

We're back now and life returns towards normal. It was a very total escape and brilliant fun although I'm currently finding it hard to walk after all the time in the saddle, although neither of the horses I rode was actually wider than the mighty Joseph Pony, of whom more tomorrow, probably.

The radio reminds me that Richard Thompson is a genius. As he just said: "It's time to put Penge on the map."

Comments

[life-of-tom.livejournal.com]

glad to hear that bit of scotland is still there, and still beautiful. I still need to go and explore Eigg, guess I won't get the chance for a while...