Drenched in Hebridean happiness

TEXT BY LISA MORRIS

PHOTOGRAPHY BY JASON SPAFFORD

An ancient landslide along the Trotternish Ridge, featuring unique escarpments and a stellar hiking loop that will make you earn every mile.

“DESPITE THE ONSET OF SUMMER, MOTHER NATURE HAD OTHER IDEAS: SINGLE-DIGIT CELSIUS TEMPERATURES BY DAY, GUSTING WINDS, AS WELL AS HEAVY DOWNPOURS ENSUING AT ALL HOURS.”

Time started to slow as we sank into the Scottish Highlands. Etive Road, near Glencoe, gave us a splendid camping spot for the night.

Instead of leaping offmy bike—saddle sore, itching to stretch my legs—I emerged fresh after a couple of hundred truck miles. This was a strange sensation, if I’m honest, having previously spent five years on a motorcycle trip through the Americas.

I made eye contact with a pine marten. It studied me for a while, as if I were an artwork with a hidden meaning, and then scurried up a grassy bank. While Glencoe never failed to disappoint to date, Jason’s dismay was palpable as he missed sighting the rare, weasel-like, bushy-tailed little fella. The red deer vied for his attention elsewhere.

Despite the onset of summer, Mother Nature had other ideas: single-digit Celsius temperatures by day, gusting winds, as well as heavy downpours ensuing at all hours. Relentless, the elements lashed us, but it was an apt combination to put the rooftop tent through its paces. Even the locals agreed that June’s climate was unseasonably “rude” in the Highlands for this time of year. Thank goodness the rain was akin to water offa duck’s back against our “dome, sweet dome.”

Occasionally, the conditions gave rise to a lonely quality—the kind of loneliness that howls through you like a desert wind. But, in this case, it was more like a Scottish “hooley,” blowing out the cobwebs like no other. At other times, the place only seemed half-there because of the descending fog, as if I were walking inside one of Monet’s fuzzy depictions. Especially, first thing, the mist’s touch slipped like wet tentacles over my skin and seeped dampness into just about everything. Welcome to Scotland; that’s the Highlands for ye.

Wending Into the Scottish Wilderness

Failing to curry favor with Mother Nature, we made like sheep and “got the flock out of there.”