Isle of Raasay

The price to pay for beautiful sunny days is cold nights. Last night we put our second duvet on the bed and were well cosy. Earlier in the evening we'd been sat outside 'The Chippy', yes that was the name of the fish and chip shop, talking to a couple from Twyford who'd flown up to Inverness to drive the North Coast 500. Average price of their B&B's, £175.00 a night!

Another clear bright start to the day. An empty sky forecast another good day. We stayed on in Portree until after lunch. The parking area was rammed with vans and it made for a nice social outing. Everyone had stories to tell and advice to give. A young Italian couple who we'd spoken to last night asked us to recommend where they should spend their last few days before returning their hire van to Edinburgh. It had to be, drive a little further up the west coast, it's stunning. They were hoping the roads would be 'proper'. On Scotland's west coast a proper road is single track with passing places, and lots of potholes. And that's the A roads.

Today we had planned to visit Raasay which lies just off Skye. A twenty-five-minute sailing for just twenty-two pounds delivers you to this tiny island just 5 miles wide by fourteen miles long. The journey is essential if you like views.

We found them to be extraordinary! The Red and Black Cuillin mountains stood proud. We'd never seen them look so magnificent. The roads here however needed major attention. Shake, rattle and roll Marge. Well not the roll bit perhaps.

After driving around, for a while we settled Marge at the start of the walk to Dun Caan, the highest mountain on the island. It was cold, but the walk up warmed us. To see the most amazing views sometimes you have to climb a mountain, and although we did not walk right to the top, in the two hours we were walking we saw some amazing views. Certainly, twenty-two pounds worth. 

Tonight, Marge is tucked behind a traditional stone building at the little ferry port. The last ferry arrived on the island at seven thirty this evening, so we couldn't leave now even if we wanted to. The late sun turned the mountains gold. Still striking they look down over us. 

We are tired from our walking, but well fed, warm and content. That'll do us.

Portree, Isle of Skye

We couldn't believe no one else had joined Marge last night.

The spot was so beautiful, right on the water's edge.

The sun eventually set, a sunset of the like we'd never seen before. We stayed up until just before 1 am in the hope of seeing the northern lights, but the cloud just would not clear for them to be seen. So, we've been tired today for nothing.

Our sailing back across to the Isle of Skye was at 4pm, so after doing some chores, and John filling the large pothole in the entrance to the parking area, we decided to visit Berneray West Beach.

On the sailing over to Tarbert Angela had overheard a couple talking and, in their opinion, this was 'the beach' in the area. Oh, my goodness! Spectacular. The Maldives in Scotland. Sorry Luskentyre on Harris, you are no longer our favourite beach. Three miles of white sand made up of broken shells accessed through the machair was unbelievable. Large sand dunes towered above the beach and our feet sunk into the sand as if it were deep snow. What a find. What an end to our visit to these outer Hebridean islands. 

Angela, always one to arrive somewhere in good time, ensured Marge was first at the ferry terminal, which meant she was the chosen campervan of the day to be searched. The cheery port official was looking for fuel. Apparently, it has been known for vans to be found carrying large amounts of fuel in jerry cans. Probably because fuel here is around 15p a litre cheaper than on the mainland. Marge passed as innocent we took a walk around Lochmaddy, the 'big town' of the island. To us, a large village.

Just after four o' clock the ferry slipped its berth and the islands where we'd spent the last eight nights became lost in the distance. Would we ever return. Who knows, there are so many places to visit and sights to see in the world. As we approached the Isle of Skye our trip felt like a dream, now we were back in familiar territory. Events on the ship however were a nightmare. the holding tank for the toilets seemed to be overflowing. Or was it seawater? No one say 'Titanic'.

So here we are back in Portree with two French vans. The one next to us has their television blasting out. We miss you Outer Hebrides, your beautiful beaches, solitude, peacefulness and fields of lambs that made us smile every day.