Isle of Skye—Take Two! We were up and on the road to Skye by 9:00. The roads in Skye come in two forms: narrow two-lane and extremely narrow one-lane with passing spots. Both are paved with Scottish prudence, ending abruptly with no shoulders. The traffic in Skye is heavy mainly because of us tourists with our attempts to outsmart everyone else and travel the road less taken. Today that road was the single tracks of the Waternish Peninsula.
By 11:00 we had reached our quota of sheep, ruins, and heather and had stopped in the quaint village of Stein on the shores of the Atlantic Ocean. The Stein Inn is the oldest inn on Skye and dates back to 1790. It had everything we were looking for: character, coffee, and most importantly, bathrooms. Next we pushed on to a tannery, where sheep skins are processed and sold around the world.
With backdrops of rugged seas and massive green mountains, the scenery is bleak and beautiful and often both. We planned for a picnic lunch and stopped by the windswept ruin of Trumpan Church to eat our sandwiches. Let me be clear, this stop was for nutrition purposes only and not historical—we had all become pretty immune to the allure of stone ruins, which are almost as numerous as sheep. However, when we read the plaque, it was clear that the roofless church was the site of yet another MacDonald massacre. The MacDonalds were top dogs of the Isles and everyone was looking to topple them. This grim tale involved the MacLeods.
The Massacre at Trumpian Church
In 1577 a group of MacLeods killed some 395 MacDonalds by suffocating them with smoke while they took refuge in a cave on the island of Eigg. The MacDonalds of ClanRanald planned their revenge, and one Sunday in 1578 they sailed across the Minch from South Uist and landed at Trumpan, near Ardmore Bay, where they found a group of MacLeods at worship in this little church. The MacLeods inside the church were unarmed and defenceless as the MacDonalds trapped them inside the building and laid a fire around the outside walls. When MacLeods from the Dunvegan village arrived they found the church a smoking ruin, and those inside dead. A terrible battle ensued and the MacDonalds tried to retreat to their boats on the shore, only to find they had been stranded by the incoming tide. The invaders were slaughtered, though a single galley escaped and carried the tale of the massacre to Uist.
We left Trumpan Church and leap-frogged along single-laned roads from passing spot to passing spot until we arrived in Dunvegan, where Jim hiked up to an old Celtic rune stone on the hill while the rest visited a craft shop—being careful not to mention that we were MacDonalds. Then on to the Fairy Pools, a short hike along a series of waterfalls and pools at the foot of the Cuillin Mountains. Back in the cars, we drove around to the other side of the mountains and stopped at Sligachan Bridge to wash our faces! Legend has it that if you submerge your face for seven seconds in the icy waters of the Sligachan River near the bridge (and up stream from the sewage pipe!) and you did not wipe your face and you let it air dry, you will be granted eternal beauty. The legend is a little vague and fantastical and beauty probably has an asterisked footnote attached to it, but that didn't stop Dusty, Cheryl and Jim from giving it a go.
Supper in Broadford and back to watch the sun set over Dornie and Eileen Donan Castle.
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