“Do sgiathan aoibhneach air an sgaoileadh

mu Loch Shnigheasort is mun t-saoghal”

Friends, we’re all dying to go to Iona. But where is the original Cathedral of the Isles? And what is its connection to Skye’s oldest clan? Does a flame still flicker in the fireplace of Fingal? And why did one night at Kingsburgh leap the centuries in the story of Flora Macdonald? 

East by west around Trotternish. A leafy, lush ride through the green granary of Skye. Hardly hair-razing. Until you confront our hairpin bends. Would a sip of Cuillin brew be necessary perhaps? Or maybe you’ll escape altogether to another island on the Cal Mac ferry? 

Look out, we’re winding our way up to Braigh Uige. Wasn’t it worth it though? And have you heard Ann Martin sing its immortal Gaelic song?  

Round we go. Up, onto the top of this island. Off the bus we get, to feel the cuddle of distant mountains on all sides. The Cuillin, the Clisham. The enchanted islands. The Grey hard torso of Torridon. The jagged worn pelvis of Rona and Raasay. All bathed in your memory by sea and lochs, rivers and waterfalls. The monastery of Saint Columba. Didn’t he get around? Was that why they called him ‘the dove’ perhaps? You can disappear too. Off the face of the earth - to our underground house at Kilvaxter. Or keep your nose above ground and smell the peatsmoke – the greatest smell on earth – at Jonathan’s museum of island life.   Maybe you’ll see an eagle renew its age while you’re sniffing.

Veer towards Skye’s northerly point. Home to the Nicolsons through a thousand summers and winters.   Dissect the decaying fang of Duntulm castle. Monument to the Picts and the Saints, the Vikings and the Jacobites, the landlords and the cleared Skye families. And rippling through our collective memories – the giant 18-mile rock bun sculpture. The Trotternish Ridge. Cooked from fire and water, earth and air, lava, ice and hailstones. Whipped together by force ten gales. 

You’ve heard of dynamic earth. Well Trotternish is what happens when the earth gets dynamic.   Who is the guardian of this treasure in time? Who holds our ‘pillars’ in place? Surely it’s the largest stegosaurus ever discovered on planet earth? A good guess, but it’s not true.   This landscape is embroidered by the memory of millennia. And the keeper of our blanket of memories is The Old Man of Storr.

The heat is on, and the engine is pumping.   So get on our bus, and we will guide you through the mirrors of time in Trotternish. Time on the wing in our talking landscape.