Day 26 - Over the Sea to Skye

Fort William to Portree

I'd spent my previous night in Callander resting on the geological fault line dividing the Highlands from the Lowlands. It occurs to me this morning as I dive manfully into my superb breakfast of poached eggs, tomatoes and vegetarian haggis that, oddly, I'd spent last night on another geological fault line. Honestly. I'll need to be careful people don't mistake me for a geography teacher or something...

Fort William stands with its toes in the sea at Loch Linnhe, more or less at one end of a huge fracture across the middle of Scotland which we call the Great Glen. At the other end is Inverness and the North Sea, and in between a string of lochs, the largest of which is Loch Ness, the second largest loch in Scotland after Loch Lomond. 

It didn't take a genius to work out that if you linked all those lochs together with a few lengths of canal then you'd have an extremely useful way of crossing from the Atlantic to the North Sea without having to drag yourself all the way round the boiling waters off the northern tip of Scotland. However, it did take a genius to build it – our old friend Thomas Telford again. He does keep popping up, doesn't he... 

Caledonian Canal

Telford began working on what would become the Caledonian Canal in 1803 but it proved challenging from the off. The sheer remoteness of the area meant it was often difficult moving materials to where they were needed. He also had trouble with a workforce who kept drifting away during the potato harvest and at peat cutting time, bringing work practically to a standstill. Ground conditions were appalling, too.

Eventually, Telford completed the Caledonian Canal 12 years late and at almost twice the original estimated cost, by which time it was already virtually redundant. Shipbuilding had moved on, iron steam-powered ships were the norm and most of these were too big to fit the canal. It was not a commercial success although Queen Victoria took a sail along it in 1873 with the result that it then became something of a tourist attraction. Today, it is a Scheduled Ancient Monument and attracts over half a million visitors a year.

There is also a well-travelled road shadowing the canal along the whole length of the Great Glen to Inverness and, as I'm ultimately heading for John O'Groats via that very city it makes sense to turn right at Fort William and hop on one of the regular bus services up the Great Glen.

So I'm turning left instead.

This is less perverse than it sounds. I'd originally set out to explore public transport in all it forms yet throughout all my travels I've rarely been far from the great centres of population. Now I have the chance to see what public transport is like in some of Britain's most remote corners which is why I'm turning my back on the A-road to Inverness in favour of a run up the ravishing west coast of the Highlands and a ferry across to Skye. I'm taking the Road to the Isles.

Fort William's bus station is, rather unsurprisingly, wedged gracelessly between the railway station and a major supermarket. I'm getting used to this. My experience so far is that the majority of bus stations are little more than a collection of draughty bus shelters hidden from view and squeezed into grey little corners like this. I suppose they do the job, but only just. It's a pity the Victorians didn't build bus stations, they'd probably all look like railway stations...

I arrive in good time to make my Shiel Buses service to Mallaig which turns out to be a comfortable mini-bus with a coach interior and, as there's only a handful of us waiting, there's no difficulty in finding a seat. The bus is really not the most obvious nor the quickest way to get to Mallaig. Most people seem to travel by train, especially during the summer when regular steam-hauled trains with observation cars scenically rattle and chuff their way to Mallaig and back. It sounds lovely. This route is possibly one of the bonniest rail lines in Britain and large sections of it were used in the Harry Potter films. And who wouldn't want to ride on the Hogwarts Express?

Our driver takes the precaution of popping into the supermarket for a couple of bottles of water so we leave a few minutes late, but nobody seems to mind and we are soon rumbling along the smooth 47-mile long Road to the Isles. A glance back towards Fort William reveals today to be one of those rare occasions when the summit of Ben Nevis is not closely sheathed in cloud and you can actually see the top. Despite being the middle of June, its obvious that there's still plenty of snow up there. The mountain is vast and all in all it's a deeply impressive sight, particularly when viewed from our perspective down close to sea level on the road to Corpach.

Glenfinnan

We run briskly along the shores of Loch Eil before climbing up and over into Glen Finnan and to one of the most photographed views in all Scotland, the Glenfinnan Monument at the head of Loch Sheil. This lonely stone-built tower commemorates the moment when Bonnie Prince Charlie raised his standard to rally the clans to his cause, effectively firing the starting pistol to the Jacobite Rebellion. 

Up and over once again, past lochs speckled with heathery islands, down deep and empty glens, through a wild and exhilarating landscape with a fresh jaw-dropping vista around every rocky corner. Scotland really doesn't get much better than this. A little further on we pass Morar with its beaches draped in the purest white sand, with views across a vast blue sea to the distant Hebrides. It's eye-wateringly beautiful. This is proving to be an incredible bus journey and worth every mile that has gone before to get here.

Our bus eventually pulls into Mallaig, a busy little port with not much that is pretty in the conventional sense. It's industrious and purposeful with boatyards, chandlers, an ice works, a Fisherman's Mission. I love it. The place has energy and I poke around happily in its shops and sheds for a while. This is on a well-trodden tourist route so there are cafes and gift shops mingled with the chandlery and boat repair yards, and an intriguing sign offering “Jaffy's Traditional Mallaig Kippers by Post”. Nice surprise for someone...

Over the sea... to Skye

It's a 35 minute ferry crossing from Mallaig to Armadale on the Isle of Skye and it's the perfect day for it. The Scottish Tourist Board clearly knew I was coming because they've laid on a deep blue sky to match the stunning mountain seascape and they've even added a fishing smack trailing clouds of hungry seagulls put-putting across the entrance to the harbour. They certainly know what they're doing, these tourist board people...

I'm travelling aboard the regular Caledonian Macbraynes ferry service to the Isle of Skye, a smart modern vessel rather more of a ship than some of the ferries I've travelled on so far. The name MacBraynes is synonymous with transport in the Western Isles with it's ferries and buses having played a crucial part in island life for more than 160 years, providing services where no others existed. Their red, green and cream buses with the Highland clansman logo became part of the fabric of existence in the Western Isles, not least because like today's few remaining post buses they also delivered the mail.

MacBraynes Ferry, 1960's

Caledonian MacBrayne began life in 1851 as a steamer company under the name of David Hutcheson & Co., running services from Glasgow through the Crinnan Canal to Oban and Fort William, and then on via Telford's Caledonian Canal to Inverness. By the late 1870's, the Hutcheson's had handed the company over to David MacBrayne who promptly renamed it MacBraynes. David expanded until his company was the principal carrier of mail, passengers and freight to most of the Hebridean islands. When the railways arrived on the West Coast of Scotland he cannily altered the timings of his ships to meet them. Business boomed.

MacBrayne's acquired their very first bus in 1906 when they began running a service from Fort William to Ballachulish at the foot of Glencoe. Bizarrely, they decided to buy their first bus - a chain driven 32-seat Milnes-Daimler - second-hand from an operator on the Isle of Wight, which as I can personally testify is about as far away as it is possible to get in the UK from Fort William. After travelling almost 600 gruelling miles just to get to Fort William, however, and possibly as a direct result of its journey, the bus proved less than reliable and some days neither the Daimler nor the service ran.

MacBraynes Bedford OB. Pic: Directleit

By 1928 MacBraynes was in financial difficulty and when they declined to submit a further contract for carrying mail to the Inner and Outer Islands this caused a bit of a flap at the Royal Mail, as MacBrayne's were the only company capable of serving those destinations. Eventually, the Postmaster General stepped in and effectively arranged a take over, dividing the company between another shipping firm, Coastal Lines which already had some experience in carrying mail, and the London, Midland and Scottish Railway. A huge Government subsidy was also arranged guaranteeing the postal services to the Islands and enabling MacBrayne's to replace much of its ageing shipping fleet, as well as allowing the company to expand into bus services and lorry haulage.

The Second World War saw many of MacBrayne's workers called up for military service, and a few of their charges also. Three of MacBrayne's ships took part in the evacuation of Dunkirk, and another spent four years laying mines. Three coaches were also requisitioned by the War Office, and another saw service as an ARP Ambulance.

The fact that MacBrayne's bus drivers were responsible for collecting and delivering the mail meant that, for a time, their drivers and conductors were required to sign the Official Secrets Act, becoming temporary employees of the General Post Office. As well as picking up mailbags from the various village post offices on their route, bus drivers were also issued with keys to roadside post boxes and were required to clear them and put the mail into padlocked mailbags on the bus. Some buses had special secure mail compartments at the back to which only the driver or conductor had access to.

But it wasn't just the mail. Newspapers were often carried, and the Clydesdale Bank even used Macbraynes bus services out of Glasgow and Inverness to send money to their rural branches, in bags helpfully marked” Clydesdale Bank £10,000 in notes". Amazingly, they never lost a single consignment.

The company's destination blinds which the driver selected to make sure roadside passengers knew where the bus was going to were legendary in their obscurity. One former driver remembers one destination being 'Top of Rest', which he thought might have referred to top of the “Rest and Be Thankful” pass on the road to Lochgilphead. Others were equally vague and unhelpful. One was simply marked 'Games', whilst another indicated it was going to the 'Steamer' though omitted to say which one.

In 1948, shares in the company owned by the LMS passed to the British Transport Commission, with the result that MacBraynes became partially nationalised. This process was completed in 1970 when the remaining 50% also passed into state ownership. Yet some of the old MacBrayne's still remains thanks to a bus preservation group dedicated to keeping the name alive. About a dozen former MacBraynes vehicles are now owned and cherished by members of the MacBraynes Circle, the oldest dating from 1949 (vehicle, that is, not the owner) and they can sometimes be glimpsed en route to rallies and historic vehicle events throughout Scotland during the summer.

Armadale

I'm reassured to see a bus waiting at the ferry terminal at Armadale, even if it isn't a MacBrayne's bus. I'd had difficulty finding information about bus services on Skye so I've arrived more in hope than in expectation. I'm equally relieved to see a destination blind I recognise – Portree, where I have a bed booked for tonight. Once again, its a full-sized coach, only this is a little different to yesterday's. Inside there are two seats down one side of the aisle but three down the other, with seat belts to each one, indicating its use as a school bus when not being used for ordinary bus services or coach trips.

I buy a Day Rider ticket partly for the flexibility and partly because I'm intending to change en route for a bus to Kyleakin before heading on to Portree. Kyleakin was a busy little place when it was the ferry port for the Kyle of Lochalsh Ferry, one of only a handful of ways on or off the island. I want to see what has become of the village now that its principal purpose has gone, but when I take a look at a timetable I find that the buses are so infrequent that it just isn't possible. So I reluctantly stay on the bus and arrive in Portree much earlier than planned.

Portree bus station

Having dropped off my luggage, I spent an hour or so exploring Portree, the island's principal town. This you could probably complete in less than 30 minutes, if I'm honest, but it's a lovely sunny day and I'm in no hurry. Still, with a Day Rider burning a hole in my pocket and a lot of day left to fill I am soon scouting around for a bus to take me somewhere. It is then that I happen upon the 57A to Floddigarry via Staffin, a destination that sounds intriguingly obscure. I check my pocket atlas and find it will take me north out of Portree past the wild and mighty Storr Ridge, before crossing the island to the tiny port of Uig and then back down to Portree again. It seemed like the perfect way to fill the odd hour or two.

The bus leaves the Market Place bang on time, and it's a conventional single decker for a change. I check the ceiling for emergency escape hatches and don't find any, but can't decide if that's a good thing or not. Within seconds, we have pulled unexpectedly into the grounds of Portree High School and dropped into a line of other buses with their engines off. So – this is a school service, then. A bell rings in the distance and we slowly begin filling with groups of extremely well-behaved and polite teenagers. It all seems rather... well, odd. No shouting, no swearing, no loud tinny music, no homework books being flung about, it's all so unexpectedly peaceful and calm. 

Another thing I notice is that some of the pupils have obviously had a music lesson. There are instruments a-plenty but none of the grimy gig bags, bulky cello's or battered clarinet cases you might expect to see on the mainland. Instead, some of the pupils are carrying cases which quite obviously contain accordions, and others have fiddles. One girl is even carrying a tiny harp.

Look - no plexiglas. Or cab door.

I'm beginning to look at Skye a little differently now, then I spot something I hadn't noticed before. On the basis that you can generally judge the level of disorder in a place by the arrangements made for a bus driver's protection, I'm stunned to see that here there simply aren't any. There's not even a door to his cab, let alone an armoured plexiglas protective shield. Instead, it's just a simple step up into the cab and if you really want to give the driver a gentle squeeze on the buttock then just help yourself (I wouldn't recommend it though, he's a big bloke). 

We get underway and it's soon obvious why the driver has little to fear from his passengers. Without any roadside bus stops in evidence, he drops each of them at their gates, or at the ends of their drives or where a tiny country road branches off.

“Cheerio, then Robbie. Mind how you go. Off you go, then, Calum - say hello to your mum for me...”

He seems not only to personally know every single one of them, he knows exactly where each of them lives and pulls up without anyone ever having to ring the bell. Boisterous or errant behaviour is probably dealt with by means of a quiet word with the miscreant's Dad down the pub. This isn't a bus, it's a community and I feel rather privileged to be a part of it. We eventually drop the last of the children outside Staffin, a full 17 miles from Portree which shows just how far some kids have to travel to and from school every day.

The Storr Ridge, road in foreground

A narrow single-track road takes us up the eastern coast of Skye between the sea and the dramatic wall of charred volcanic rock called the Storr Ridge. This is a bleak, powerful, exhilarating, almost alien landscape with layer upon layer of black twisted lava piled up into cliffs hundreds of feet high, and watched over by a single ominous spike of rock called The Old Man of Storr. If a flight of pterodactyls were to glide gently into view over the ridge they'd look entirely at home within this darkly primeval landscape. Thankfully, the road is dinosaur-free and we make our way north towards Floddigarry, the ridge shadowing us all the way and never really petering out until the northern tip of the island starts to dip into the sea.

Eventually, the road begins to force us west across the tops and down to the tiny port of Uig. Despite its profound isolation, Uig boasts a regular ferry service to the Outer Hebrides which is popular with lorry drivers because it is shorter and therefore cheaper than the others. Looking around the harbour there seems little else on offer, though I'm told Uig does boast its own real ale brewery responsible for such ominous potions as 'Black Cuillin', 'Witchwand' and 'Cuillin Beast'.

Uig

You tend to notice the place names on Skye because they sound so strange and un-British. Uig, Hungladder, Brogaig, Kilvaxter, these and others sound like places inhabited by Orcs and Hobbits rather than somewhere off the west coast of Scotland. Most are of Viking descent, as I suppose are many of the local families, though it's also surprising to discover how many Sassenachs like me appear to have turned their back on the mainland and set root in the place. English, it seems, is widely spoken. Of course, when you consider the astonishing scenery, the liberating sense of space and the apparent peace and calm of the place perhaps its not so surprising at all. I may have to join them.

The journey is not over yet. Our run back to Portree passes through more mountainous terrain and across miles of open moorland dotted with crofts and cottages. Finally, we drop back into Portree after a two hour journey which has brought me round in a complete circle. I'm exhilarated. This has been possibly the finest bus journey of the entire trip so far. It never actually got me anywhere except back to Square One, but what an amazing trip this has been. I am entirely out of superlatives and compelled to find solace in a glass of Black Cuillin. 

Well, it seemed like the right thing to do.

NEXT: Portree – Inverness – where I cross a very contentious road bridge, pass possibly the single most photographed castle in the UK, and begin to face the prospect of actually finishing my long journey to John O'Groats.

www.facebook.com/abusthroughbritain

Map courtesy of those awfully nice people at Google