Despite both waking early we don’t get up, our bodies appreciate the extra few hours. A low white fog has rolled in and remains all morning. The ferry which connects Skye with the island of Raasay bleets out every so often.
We’re hiking for 9:30am and return to the main road. It is almost eerily quiet as we plod on. Compared to what we’ve seen on Skye so far, it has been rather absent of trees. This was down to the weather and strong winds which flew over the more exposed areas. This part was inland and avoided the strong gales. We pass a phone box which houses a mini library and a De-fib machine.
The low cloud lifts and the peak of Glamaig looms out. An annual race to reach the summit and back attracts many runners and spectators. My guidebook says the current best time is only 44 minutes and 27seconds! (2014).
The road ends and we opt for a brunch, smiling and nodding at hikers as they pass. The next section is along the edge of the sea and follows lots o rocky sea stone and water logged paths. Rivers flow across them and return to the sea. I choose the driest route possible which involves hopping along the large boulders along the sea edge. Max tramps along the path while I hop from boulder to boulder, careful as I go. I’m that focused that I don’t see a dozen seal heads surveying me from the water. Silently slinking along through the dark depth, eyes fixed on this odd creature bounding from rock to rock. Some disappear under the surface, smudging the surface. I then spot a seal lazing on the shore edge and take to higher ground not wanting to disturb the sea-doggo.
Avoiding the large tributaries I catch up to Max and Silgachan comes into view. A final large waterfall and we hike towards Silgachan hotel which had just had a coach load of American tourists arrive. We amble through, trying to avoid the large crowds and pick up the trail. We have a brief lunch as rain is due so we down a quick tea and march on.
Hiking through Silgachan valley is beautiful – even in the rain and hiking through the river/path. There is no sound, no wind, no people, just the burbling rivers as we approach them, the occasional cuck-coo is heard somewhere on the mountainside, unseen but clearly heard. I manage to keep my feet dry until I walk over a river and an unstable rock and tumble hands first sticking my bum in the air.
We pass two small lochs to finally arrive at a big one. I had seen there was a beach but seen a lone tent down on the shore, I had debated a quick dip but change my mind. Lucky for us, a large green field emerges on our left, over looking the large loch. A sprinkling of bluebells are scattered here and there. The clouds had been gathering overhead with the odd patch of rain drops showering us. We dropped our packs and erected the tent with haste.
Once inside we enjoyed a hot meal followed by a hot chocolate and watched the rain roll in. The pitter-patter of rain fell throughout the night and left us content and dry in Max’s Lavvu.
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