The rain sleets across Mallaig as we leave the B&B. Within seconds, in spite of our layers and waterproofs, we're dank and miserable. This is not the gentle 'smirr in the wind' rain recalled with fondness from childhood summers, while lurking with Lucy on Sheena's porch, smoking. This is the serious rain that keeps me from risking a visit to Scotland.
The cosiness of the Faulty Tower-esque B&B is a much more attractive prospect than struggling down to the ferry terminal with our laden rucksacks.
Then, it seems the grim weather might jeopardise our crossing. Not the rain so much as the wind that's its bosom buddy. Hanging about in the cold, waiting for the Skye ferry (which has been cancelled) to shift its mooring and allow our little Island hopper in, we get chilled to the bone.
There's been a weird kind of transference; Lucy is now anxious about sailing, while I'm impatient to get to Rum.
The contrariness of the weather is also its advantage; in the hour or so it takes us to reach Eigg, the skies have cleared and the sun warms us through the seawind chill.
Our sea leg every bit as exquisite as the train yesterday.
This stretch of water was crossed by little puffer steamers - which transported the red stone to build the castle, aka industrial monies elaborate PR job and playground.
originally part of training/fundraising for the Hepatitis C Trust's Nepal trek. Now, sporadic musings...
- ▼ September (7)