Loch Duich or Bust
Sep. 19th, 2019 01:28 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ashetlandpony19 September 1989
My purpose today was to take the car ferry from Mallaig to Skye, and there find some accommodation for the next few days. Unfortunately, when I got to the embarkation point, I was informed that the 1045 ferry had been cancelled. Great. So, to kill some time, I went walkabout in Mallaig town.
I'd been here before, in 1974, so the place was already familiar to me. Doubly so because it was home to the local fishing fleet, same as Trinidad, California, where I was studying my own otters.
Mallaig Harbour, 19 September 1989. Photo by J Scott Shannon.
Walked around the quayside a bit, enjoying the sights, sounds, and scents of the port. Spent awhile chatting with a nice young lady named Cathy MacIntyre at the local gift shop, then had a relaxing scampi lunch at the Marine Hotel, which can be seen at right in the photo below.
Station Road, Mallaig. At left, my trusty blue Austin Maestro rental car. The view today. Photo by J Scott Shannon.
After that, though, I got word that the afternoon ferry had been cancelled, as well. Tremendous. I had to at least get close to Skye today without fail, but the only way for me to do that would be to drive east all the way back to Fort William, up the A82 to Invergarry, then loop west again on the A87 to Kyle of Localsh. It was over a hundred miles, but I had no other choice, and no time to lose, either, so I had to get cracking.
This was an inconvenience, to be sure, but I couldn't really complain, as once again, I was retracing a route I knew well and remembered fondly.
I wish I had taken more snapshots along the way, but I had to make time, and so ended up with only one photo of my drive on the Mallaig-to-Kyle loop that day.
Looking east on the A830 just east of Lochailort, 19 September 1989. The view today. Photo by J Scott Shannon.
The A87 between Invergarry and Kyle is probably the Scottish road that I'd been back and forth on the most times; at least a dozen, I'm sure. We traveled it repeatedly in 1967 and 1974, and now it was all mine, driving solo in 1989. First stop was the Cluanie Inn for some petrol. That had been our hotel in 1967, and a tea stop in 1974, but it was too far away from my points of interest this time for me to stay there again.
Up until Cluanie, there wasn't much change to be seen on the A87 since those first two visits, but as I approached Loch Duich, I noticed quite a lot. The road was significantly improved, for one thing, but it was the surrounding hillsides that shocked me. Everywhere, it seemed, were dozens of young forestry plantations. These cultivated abominations ruined the natural scenery, IMHO; even worse was that the trees they planted were non-native conifers. How on earth did this became acceptable land management policy? It made me very sad to see this. (Makes me even sadder to look at present-day views of Scotland on Google Maps and see that this horticultural cancer has not only been allowed to continue, but has metastasized even further.)
I stopped for a snack and a Coke at Shiel Bridge. A bit weary of driving now, it was there that I thought twice about continuing on to Kyle and Skye today. Maybe I should try to find a place to stay around here. After all, the road I would be taking to Camusfeàrna in two days' time branched off from the A87 at this point, and also, in the meantime, I wanted to pay a visit to a pen-pal friend who lived on the south shore of Loch Duich. So I inquired at the Shiel Bridge information center about local accommodations, and they got me a reservation at Duich House at Letterfearn, which was precisely where my aforementioned friend lived. Perfect!
Duich House, with its lovely surrounding forestry plantation. The view today. Photo by J Scott Shannon.
I was more than pleased with my chance lodgings. According to my trip diary, I thought it was "an absolute palace!" Mrs. Diana Scott White was a truly gracious host, and, like the proprietress the previous night, very interested to hear about my reason for visiting the West.
View of Loch Duich and the 5 Sisters of Kintail from my room at Duich House, Letterfearn, Scotland, 21 September 1989. Photo ©J Scott Shannon.
After settling in, I set off again to visit my fellow otter-fan, Roger Parker. Roger was an engineer and entrepreneur who had a summer home on Loch Duich, where he occasionally saw otters. We'd corresponded for years, and I was very much looking forward to finally meeting him in person.
Unfortunately, I learned from his neighbors across the road that Roger was away in London at the time. However, he had let Mr. and Mrs. Martin know about my visit, and he had left them the keys to his cabin so I could at least have a look around. I had to chuckle. Roger had always given me the impression that this place was a shepherd's croft in the middle of nowhere, much like Gavin Maxwell's Camusfeàrna, but far from it. It had "all mods cons," as they say; all the conveniences of modern life. No rural hardships here, clearly!
"Dunan Cottage," Roger Parker's home on Loch Duich, 19 September 1989. The view in 2010 is quite shocking. What could have happened? Photo by J Scott Shannon.
After Roger's, I returned to the Martins' for a visit. As I entered their home, an elderly gentleman stood up and turned off the TV he was watching, and sat facing us without saying a word while Mr. and Mrs. Martin and I chatted. He looked very sad, and this troubled me the whole time I was there. Soon, two more neighbors joined us: Eddy and Joyce MacCrae. We moved into the kitchen/dining room where we could all sit around a table, but the older gentleman stayed in his chair in the other room.
Following much talk about otters (of course), during which Mr. MacCrae memorably told me, "The otter is vermin to no one," I finally had to inquire about the old man. The missus told me, "Oh, that's Mr. Martin's father. He might be a bit sad because when you arrived, he turned off the TV to be polite, but he was watching a program he'd followed for years, and that was its final episode." I've never forgotten that: how my chance visit ruined that poor old chap's whole evening. No wonder he spoke not a word. I hoped that, one day, he might get to see the ending of that program he loved that, for etiquette's sake, I had forced him to miss.
Then it was back to Duich House for supper and bed. It had been a very long day and drive, indeed, but tomorrow would be even longer!
My purpose today was to take the car ferry from Mallaig to Skye, and there find some accommodation for the next few days. Unfortunately, when I got to the embarkation point, I was informed that the 1045 ferry had been cancelled. Great. So, to kill some time, I went walkabout in Mallaig town.
I'd been here before, in 1974, so the place was already familiar to me. Doubly so because it was home to the local fishing fleet, same as Trinidad, California, where I was studying my own otters.
Mallaig Harbour, 19 September 1989. Photo by J Scott Shannon.
Walked around the quayside a bit, enjoying the sights, sounds, and scents of the port. Spent awhile chatting with a nice young lady named Cathy MacIntyre at the local gift shop, then had a relaxing scampi lunch at the Marine Hotel, which can be seen at right in the photo below.
Station Road, Mallaig. At left, my trusty blue Austin Maestro rental car. The view today. Photo by J Scott Shannon.
After that, though, I got word that the afternoon ferry had been cancelled, as well. Tremendous. I had to at least get close to Skye today without fail, but the only way for me to do that would be to drive east all the way back to Fort William, up the A82 to Invergarry, then loop west again on the A87 to Kyle of Localsh. It was over a hundred miles, but I had no other choice, and no time to lose, either, so I had to get cracking.
This was an inconvenience, to be sure, but I couldn't really complain, as once again, I was retracing a route I knew well and remembered fondly.
I wish I had taken more snapshots along the way, but I had to make time, and so ended up with only one photo of my drive on the Mallaig-to-Kyle loop that day.
Looking east on the A830 just east of Lochailort, 19 September 1989. The view today. Photo by J Scott Shannon.
The A87 between Invergarry and Kyle is probably the Scottish road that I'd been back and forth on the most times; at least a dozen, I'm sure. We traveled it repeatedly in 1967 and 1974, and now it was all mine, driving solo in 1989. First stop was the Cluanie Inn for some petrol. That had been our hotel in 1967, and a tea stop in 1974, but it was too far away from my points of interest this time for me to stay there again.
Up until Cluanie, there wasn't much change to be seen on the A87 since those first two visits, but as I approached Loch Duich, I noticed quite a lot. The road was significantly improved, for one thing, but it was the surrounding hillsides that shocked me. Everywhere, it seemed, were dozens of young forestry plantations. These cultivated abominations ruined the natural scenery, IMHO; even worse was that the trees they planted were non-native conifers. How on earth did this became acceptable land management policy? It made me very sad to see this. (Makes me even sadder to look at present-day views of Scotland on Google Maps and see that this horticultural cancer has not only been allowed to continue, but has metastasized even further.)
I stopped for a snack and a Coke at Shiel Bridge. A bit weary of driving now, it was there that I thought twice about continuing on to Kyle and Skye today. Maybe I should try to find a place to stay around here. After all, the road I would be taking to Camusfeàrna in two days' time branched off from the A87 at this point, and also, in the meantime, I wanted to pay a visit to a pen-pal friend who lived on the south shore of Loch Duich. So I inquired at the Shiel Bridge information center about local accommodations, and they got me a reservation at Duich House at Letterfearn, which was precisely where my aforementioned friend lived. Perfect!
Duich House, with its lovely surrounding forestry plantation. The view today. Photo by J Scott Shannon.
I was more than pleased with my chance lodgings. According to my trip diary, I thought it was "an absolute palace!" Mrs. Diana Scott White was a truly gracious host, and, like the proprietress the previous night, very interested to hear about my reason for visiting the West.
View of Loch Duich and the 5 Sisters of Kintail from my room at Duich House, Letterfearn, Scotland, 21 September 1989. Photo ©J Scott Shannon.
After settling in, I set off again to visit my fellow otter-fan, Roger Parker. Roger was an engineer and entrepreneur who had a summer home on Loch Duich, where he occasionally saw otters. We'd corresponded for years, and I was very much looking forward to finally meeting him in person.
Unfortunately, I learned from his neighbors across the road that Roger was away in London at the time. However, he had let Mr. and Mrs. Martin know about my visit, and he had left them the keys to his cabin so I could at least have a look around. I had to chuckle. Roger had always given me the impression that this place was a shepherd's croft in the middle of nowhere, much like Gavin Maxwell's Camusfeàrna, but far from it. It had "all mods cons," as they say; all the conveniences of modern life. No rural hardships here, clearly!
"Dunan Cottage," Roger Parker's home on Loch Duich, 19 September 1989. The view in 2010 is quite shocking. What could have happened? Photo by J Scott Shannon.
After Roger's, I returned to the Martins' for a visit. As I entered their home, an elderly gentleman stood up and turned off the TV he was watching, and sat facing us without saying a word while Mr. and Mrs. Martin and I chatted. He looked very sad, and this troubled me the whole time I was there. Soon, two more neighbors joined us: Eddy and Joyce MacCrae. We moved into the kitchen/dining room where we could all sit around a table, but the older gentleman stayed in his chair in the other room.
Following much talk about otters (of course), during which Mr. MacCrae memorably told me, "The otter is vermin to no one," I finally had to inquire about the old man. The missus told me, "Oh, that's Mr. Martin's father. He might be a bit sad because when you arrived, he turned off the TV to be polite, but he was watching a program he'd followed for years, and that was its final episode." I've never forgotten that: how my chance visit ruined that poor old chap's whole evening. No wonder he spoke not a word. I hoped that, one day, he might get to see the ending of that program he loved that, for etiquette's sake, I had forced him to miss.
Then it was back to Duich House for supper and bed. It had been a very long day and drive, indeed, but tomorrow would be even longer!
