Steve The Wandering Aussie

2023.05.10

Wet, cold and miserable. Skye is repairing yesterday’s aberration of fine and sunny and is now treating us like normal tourists. Still love being here 😎.
Lyn worked counseling again this morning so we have a late BNB checkout. And the best breakfast served so far, right here. Gotta be grateful 👍
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Our day started at Trumpton (no relation, although Dons mum was born on Skye) where the Clan McCloud slaughtered hundreds of Clan McDonalds. Twice. And buried them in the fences. Sweet folk.
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Then we moved on to the Fairy Bridge (yeah. Fairy. I know) about a forty minute drive from Trumpton and it’s a simple stone bridge. Great marketing. Lots of disappointed tourists when we got there.
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The drive to the Fairy Pools was 50km (31 miles) from the Fairy Bridge. There is a narrow, single lane, pot-holed shambles of a road leading to the most impressive Glen (valley) one could imagine. The tops of the surrounding hills and mountains were shrouded in low cloud and the valley filled with scotch mist. Read: light rain. Becoming almost heavy every 250 metres. About a two kilometer walk each way and totally worth the view. In the rain. It had also rained heavily last night in this region and the ‘pools’ were full on fast flowing waterfalls. Cascades and riverlets and wee burns (creeks) all coming together to give a great river brimming over the low heather fields. A torrent of Guinness coloured water screaming through the landscape. Great fun!!
And the rain. The cold, biting rain. The walk down into the Glen and up the other side and back again has left this old boys body knowing all about the strain. And the Trophy Wife is little better. We were both soaked to the skin. Wet through all the layers and hurting from the walk and happy. “Bubbling euphoria” is not close enough a descriptive to represent the emotion of being at this spot on this day.
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My spot, my friends, is better than your spot. No matter where on this wee blue marble you are, you ain’t here with me. Except Trophy Wife, of course.
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42 k’s from the Fairy Pools to tonight’s BNB in Broadford on the same undernourished and under maintained roads (and I use the term loosely). Last nights host told me that in 2000 there were 130 men repairing the roads here. Now there are sixteen. This is what happens when accountants manage business. Considering Skyes income is based primarily on tourism, the roads are a disgrace and an embarrassment and a disappointment.
Rant ends.
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I have to admit that when we came here and considered doing the NC500, a 515 MILE trek around Scotland’s north, I thought we would drown. Today I drove over 140 kilometers (88 miles) here on Skye. Not only did I not drown, I don’t think I exceeded 50kph (30miles) per hour the whole time.
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Reading back, I apologize for the whining about mainly the roads. In truth, I am grateful and I’m euphoric.
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Tonight’s accommodation features twin beds, a hot shower and at least eight other tourists. At £100 quid per night and five rooms, old mate (host) is living high on the hog (doing well). And good luck to him. I’m happy for him.
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Perhaps:
Bubbling euphoria could be:
Effervescent Jubilation
Rising rapture
Extreme happiness.
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Thanks crew. It’s now your turn to submit a turn of phrase for consideration to replace my “Bubbling Euphoria”
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Cheers and beers, friends

Steve and Lyn (Trophy Wife)
Isle of Skye