Category: light

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Running the storm

Unplanned events are often the best.

An impromptu offer of a trip on a friends boat came by text the other evening, and as the weather looked fair and we don’t get a chance to get out onto the water often, we jumped at the opportunity.

Incredible light

We drove down to Heaste, a village some miles away, where the boat was moored at the local pontoon. Heaste sits at the head of Loch Eishort, a long narrow sea loch that opens up into the sea, and that’s fringed on one side by the jagged silhouette of the Cuillin mountains in the distance.

Our friends, mussel farmers, steered the boat into the mouth of the loch where the waters mingled with those of Loch Slapin and the open sea, killed the engine and let her drift slowly in on the tide.

Husband gutting fish over the side of the boat

It was a fabulous evening. The mackerel were biting and we landed half a dozen or so in the first few minutes of fishing, clearly having hit a shoal. Beautiful fish, dazzling with iridescent turquoise markings and firm flesh.

Storm clouds gathering

As the sun dipped into the west, black clouds started to gather ominously and the first spots of rain fell. We decided that we’d pack up and motor back in, and it proved to be not a moment too soon as the wind picked up and drove the first spots of rain upon us.

Double rainbow over the hills

The skies were a remarkable colour. Dark clouds infused with the golden light of the low sun, and a double rainbow glowing across the hillsides. It was a constantly changing tableau of light as the minutes passed and we motored back, running just ahead of the storm into safe harbour.

A magical evening, not least because of the weather. Good company, the joy of being out at sea, and the chance to experience Skye’s changing light and weather from a unique perspective.

Running the storm by @judithbrown
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Doors and turquoise seas

It’s been a busy and successful day. I managed to drive the car for the first time since my recent operation, and drove to lunch at a local community cafe with a friend. It felt so good to just get up and go, and not to have any pain. I almost felt normal again!

Ha. As if I’ve ever been normal..

Our local community cafe, An Crubh

We had a great coffee, sandwich and catch-up, in the way that only two women can, and on the way out I remembered that I had a loaf of Mallaig Bakery Sourdough waiting for me at the community shop.

Driving back along the empty road on the way to pick it up I watched the sun break through the heavy clouds over the mainland and illuminate the Sound, turning the water a glorious, luminescent turquoise.

Gloriously turquoise seas

I pulled over and just had to snap a few pictures. The iPhone can only capture a fraction of the magic of the moment, so fleeting and so transient as it is.

The Sound

It’s at times like these that I hug myself in disbelief that we live here, and that we have this stunning natural beauty on our doorstep.

However, back to earth and home again after the bread collection I was pleased to see that we had the start of the oak doors going up in the house. They still need architraves, skirting boards and a couple of protective coats of Osmo oil, but it suddenly seemed like a proper house. Doors!

It doesn’t take much 😊

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Let there be light

One of the challenges with the design of our house is that the kitchen was quite small and potentially a little dark.

All of the Hebhome designs for longhouses have kitchens that are small and minimalist. This was one of the bigger ones!

We figured with the addition of the utility room and the pantry, however, that we would be absolutely fine. We’ve just carved up the functional areas differently.

Big, seldom used appliances like a dehydrator or bulky, noisy appliances like the washing machine and tumble dryer go into the utility room, and dried or canned goods storage that I’d normally have in the kitchen go into the pantry.

The kitchen space also faces an internal wall without light, except the light that the large, double floor length windows in the dining area provide.

To counter this we asked the architect if we could install a roof window that would channel light through the sloping walls of the bedroom above down to the kitchen ceiling. It would be plastered to close the walls off from above and would be hidden in the roof slope of the upper bedroom.

Up until now during the build this has just been a square mark on the bedroom floor and a slightly odd pattern in the ceiling joists. But yesterday the plasterers cut through the bedroom floor, opening up the light well into the kitchen.

I was holding out on final kitchen finishes and colours until this happened so that I could establish what worked best in situ. The amount of light in that space makes a massive difference to the colours I’d been looking at.

So, ever onwards and upwards! We’re ordering flooring wood, tiles and kitchen units next.

It’s coming.

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Long days filled with light

For those of us in the Northern Hemisphere we are approaching the Summer Solstice, the longest day of the year.

Beautiful pink evening light on the Sound, photo by Tricia Petri-Clark

On this day at this latitude we have daylight for eighteen hours, and it never really gets dark.

The significance of the Summer Solstice is two-fold: it’s the lightest time of the year but at the same time it’s also the moment at which the year turns to ever shortening days. A bit bitter-sweet, I’d say. Just as we’re celebrating the light we’re also recognising that it’s on its way out.

I’m holding on to these long, light filled days, though. I wake with the dawn at 4.30 am. There seems little point forcing it, so I relax and watch the often rosy dawn diffuse across the sky from the comfort of our bed. I don’t want to wake my husband who is asleep next to me, so I don’t leap out and do something productive. I just relax, read a book, the news, or blogs until it’s time to get up. It still feels like a guilty pleasure not struggling into the shower and work clothes, to be honest. The day stretches ahead of me like a purring cat.

I love this time of year. This is a first for us up on the island in June. Everything is green, lush and growing. The skylark and cuckoo calls fill the cool morning air and I’m reminded that even though the house is far from finished that we are very lucky to be here, just breathing all this in.

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We have warmth!

Ha ha! Happy faces! The sun has returned! The air and the soil have warmed up and as I speak we have blue skies and a soft, warm breeze.

It will be the midges soon, but I’m hoping that being at the top of a hill with more wind than most that we’ll escape the worst of them. We’re prepared, just in case – I’ve bought midge hats and nets so that if we do get bombarded we have a fighting chance of avoiding being eaten alive whilst we run back to the caravan.

Impromptu BBQ

We had an impromptu barbecue last night to celebrate the lovely evening. These shots were taken at about 7pm. As the sun dipped behind the hill at the back of the croft at around 10pm it started to get colder, and we wrapped up in blankets and added a bit more wood to the fire.

The birds are singing, the sun is shining, and husband has thrown open all the doors and windows in the house whilst he is working so that it cools down.

I don’t want to count my chickens, but it seems like summer has come at last…

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Winter Skies

As we pass the winter solstice and the shortest day, it seems appropriate to talk about the quality of the light here on the island.

We may only have about six hours of daylight a day at this time of the year, but it’s intense. There seems to be an incredible clarity to the light, and the dusk skies are just spectacular.

The croft faces SSE, and so morning sunrises are really it’s thing. The sun sets behind the hills to the west of us, and we only see the residual glow of a sunset rather than the sun itself dipping behind the horizon.

However, even that is beautiful, making the land and skies glow with a final blast of warm light before the night encroaches. Which it does very quickly. It will be completely dark with stars visible within the hour.

I can hear the burn tumbling through the birch grove and the call of the raven as it settles down for the night in the old Scots pine to the west of the house. Apart from that, all is silent as the light fades.

Tonight will be a frosty one. There is already a smattering of snow on the hilltops and with a clear night sky it will be especially cold.

Stay safe and cosy, wherever you are.

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Evening light

The sun sets early on the croft at this time of the year. 1545 yesterday, to be precise. We’re approaching the winter solstice, the shortest day of the year.

Almost as if to make up for the long hours of darkness that are about to come, nature puts on a dazzling show of light before it dies.

The skies become suffused with a golden light and all the colours of the hedgerow glow with an incredible intensity.

That’s every evening, even on days without a remarkable sunset.

Facing SSE, we get more sunrises than sunsets on this part of the island. The sun dips behind the mountains behind us and we often just see the residual rosy glow in the sky, whereas those on the west coast enjoy its full splendour.

Still, it’s beautiful. A camera never seems to do it justice.