We’ve had some beautiful sunrises over the last few weeks.
This morning as the sun rose slowly behind the mountains on the Knoydart Peninsula it sent a shaft of sunlight through the valley towards Loch Nevis, like an orange searchlight.
The morning was blustery, with strong winds building steadily. We’ve had storm warnings of up to 80mph winds for the west of the island, and listening to the wind roaring around the house, I can believe it.
Time to secure the bins and tie down anything loose before it takes off.
I remember watching the cover on my rotary washing line wrestle itself free of its bindings and fly off triumphantly in a storm last year. It’s probably in Norway by now.
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.
Rain is lashing down in torrents from a leaden grey sky as I write. There’s ice in it too, and a stiff north westerly wind to drive it home.
From the caravan
The badly fitting, single glazed windows of the caravan don’t seem to provide much protection against this weather as I peer out into the gloom. I’m well wrapped up with three layers, including thermals, and I’m still chilly.
We’ve had an incredible run of storms so far this year, one right upon the coat tails of the previous one. Storms Corrie, Dudley, Eunice and Franklin have rolled over the island in the last six weeks in rapid succession, bringing 80 mph winds, hail and snow with little respite in between.
We’ve had very disturbed sleep this past month as the worst of the winds seem to come after dark. When they start, the caravan rocks and shudders as if it’s alive, straining against the lorry straps that lash it down like a wounded animal.
The noise of the hailstorms is deafening. It’s impossible to sleep through. It’s as if someone is emptying buckets of marbles into a tin bath on your head. Even burrowing further under the warmth of the duvet doesn’t dull the noise.
Image Francis Yeats
I bake. I make bread and cakes to warm and sustain us. I make soups and stews and sweet, eggy puddings and crumbles.
Brioche buns. Just because.
I venture out in the small, quiet pockets of calm between the storms and wonder at the crofts capacity to hold water. Everything is sodden, soaked.
I wear many layers. Recently I’ve taken to wearing my fingerless gloves in the caravan during the day to keep my hands warm. Tea has become an important, warming ritual in the afternoons, hands wrapped around the comforting heat of the mug.
February is well into its stride, and despite relatively mild temperatures, the storms just keep coming. We’ve got gale warnings again for next week, and most evenings the caravan is rocking away like a bucking bronco here on the side of our windswept croft.
We’ve learned never to overfill mugs of tea and to hold onto things as we move from room to room. Craziness!
Using my lovely Christmas gifted Borja Moronto jugs for soy sauce
So what’s a girl to do whilst the weather is stopping her getting out on the croft? She makes sushi. Of course she does.
Sushi rolls awaiting slicing
I haven’t made sushi at home for many years. We used to eat it a lot in London where Japanese food outlets were good and readily available.
Not feeling confident that I could get sushi grade fresh fish I decided to err on the side of caution and use cooked or smoked fish instead of raw. In this case tuna mayo, smoked salmon, cooked prawns and smoked mackerel, all from my normal supermarket shop. I managed to get wasabi, nori and even cooked crispy onions for coating some of the rolls.
Crispy onions – I could eat these by the spoonful
The biggest challenge in the tiny caravan kitchen was making room to assemble the rolls. It took a bit of shuffling and manoeuvring, and was a much fiddlier process than in a spacious kitchen with lots of worktop space.
I won’t go into detail here, but let’s just say that any flat surface was fair game (toaster, I thank you) and that it was inelegant in the extreme.
But amazingly they worked. And they tasted great.
Next time I may try making vegetarian sushi. I could imagine that using roasted butternut squash, avocado, cucumber, sweet potato and peppers would work just as well as these fish based fillings.
Never let fear of failure or lack of space stop you trying something new. You can usually always find a way.
Sometimes, when you’ve lived through two successive storms and the wind is getting up for a third wave, there is a need for Emergency Cake.
Today was such a day. As the wind roared around the walls of the caravan and the rain lashed at the windows, I looked outside and declared the weather so foul that it qualified as an Emergency Cake Day.
The key was not to go out to get any ingredients. Far too horrid out there. I would have been swept into a ditch in an instant. Not a good way to go.
So it was rather lucky that I just happened to have a jar of cherry jam and a small punnet of fresh cherries in the fridge, and some cream. I have no idea how that happened. The Seventies were calling me.
As regular readers will know, the oven in the caravan is tiny. One cake in my one square baking tin fills the whole cooking space. It’s a testament to how badly I wanted this that I was prepared to prepare and bake the cake twice (in the same tin) and sandwich them together stickily and unctuously with jam, kirsch, fresh cherries and cream.
And so, dear reader, two hours later both layers were baked. The filling was spread onto the base layer. The top layer was manoeuvred into place. There was much chocolate grating to hide the fissures.
No fancy piping gear here, I’m afraid. This is the Seventies at its most fabulously rustic in cake form.
Black Forest gateaux
Any locals fancying a slice had better battle their way to the top of our rain-lashed hill before it all disappears. A pot of tea and an inelegant, squidgy slice of lusciousness awaits.
Whilst storm Malik rages, whipping the tarpaulined piles of material stored at the front of the house into a frenzy, progress inside the house continues slowly.
The wind was huge last night. It was apparently gusting to about eighty miles per hour, and it was so loud that it was almost impossible to sleep. The caravan was dancing in the wind, walls flexing and straining hard against the webbing straps that hold it down.
Piles of building material on a calmer day
Morning brought a damage assessment between the storm flurries. Nothing too serious thankfully – a few pipes blown out of place, the bin and bits of wood and building material blown across the croft, and the cover on the rotary clothes dryer totally disappeared . I suspect it’s flown all the way to Norway by now.
We have a few more days of this predicted so we will be battening down the hatches and riding it out as best we can.
On the house front, we have an almost plasterboarded corridor and hall now. Progress.
Corridor
It makes such a difference to see walls inside rather than just spaces. I’ve been struggling with the kitchen design and colours, unable to tell how much light the room will have, but over the next few weeks I should be in a position to see exactly what it will look like. Then I will need to get my skates on and get finalising selections..
It’s true that these days we almost have too much choice. Although having said that, I can never find quite what I have in my minds eye. I seem to have a remarkable ability to love what is not trending at the moment, making it difficult to source. I will slap myself into decisions soon.
Kitchen still awaiting plasterboard and the light well
Storm Arwen swept in over the last few days bringing a significant drop in temperature, and with it, snow.
It was difficult to see the mountains of Knoydart in the flurries of snow and sleet sweeping down the sound, but once it had cleared we were treated to a scene of absolute beauty.
The low winter sun lit up the slopes of the mountains and the skies were blue and crisp. Somehow the air always seems cleaner and colours more vibrant after a storm.
We were not as badly affected by the storm as the East coast and other parts of the UK, surprisingly. The caravan rocked alarmingly in the wind and the hail and sleet were relentless for about 24 hours, but we didn’t lose power or water, so we figured we’d got off lightly compared to some.
The morning was so stunning that we decided to get out to enjoy it.
We popped down to our local pub at lunchtime and warmed ourselves by their open wood fire. They had local hogget (lamb) on as a Sunday roast , and one warming plateful later, with a pint of Skye Ale to wash it down, we drove back to the croft replete and content.
Winds on the island can be severe. We arrived here a year ago in the teeth of Storm Aiden, and almost a year later to the day here we are again with the autumn gales upon us.
This is not a photo of a stormy shoreline
We are a bit more seasoned this time around. I know now that the house is unlikely to blow down, and that the caravan is equally unlikely to sail down the hillside, tethered as it is to four large tonne bags of hardcore.
Hardcore bag tethered to caravan
However, knowledge doesn’t make it any less dramatic. Yesterday evening as we went to bed the noise of the rain and the hail on the metal roof of the caravan was deafening. Once the hail flurry had passed the sound of the wind whistling through the lorry strap tethers took over. The caravan also rocked vigorously as the wind fought to lift it, only to be slapped back down with the counterweight of the hardcore bags.
One on each corner …
All in all, a bit difficult to sleep. It was like being in a washing machine at times. It’s testament to our familiarity with it now that we somehow managed to drift off and got a reasonably good nights sleep.
Winter is almost upon us. Get the hot chocolate in and dig out those big jumpers!
The cold, crisp winter days of the last month have been replaced by a storm front bringing with it high winds and torrential rain. I knew it couldn’t last.. 😊
Last night the wind veered to the South West from the Easterlies that had been dominating for the last few weeks, and the caravan started to flex like a boat in the wind.
As I write, curled up on the cushions in the caravan, everything is moving. The noise of the wind, which is about 55 mph at the moment, is incredible. The rain sounds like a thousand marbles being flung at the windows, rattling and crashing loudly against the glass.
I can no longer see the mountains across the Sound or the sea itself through the sheet of rain that has wrapped itself around us.
Then it clears, replaced with an incredible luminosity until the next bank of rain-heavy clouds bear down on us.
Luckily we are well strapped down, so I don’t have any real fear of being scooped up and tumbled down the hillside, although at times it feels like that!
I drink my tea and soothe our rather startled old dog who doesn’t understand why everything is moving. He’s never really understood the caravan.
I’ve made some garlic lentil soup to warm us both through later.
It won’t change the weather, but it will provide some comfort on this wild winters day.
Storm Bella took hold last night. Winds of up to 70 mph, and driving hail and sleet for most of the night.
We didn’t get much sleep with the caravan rocking violently in the wind, but we awoke this morning to find the storm blown out and to a light scattering of snow on the croft.
When it’s windy the caravan is especially cold.
It’s not well insulated and the windows and doors are badly fitted and allow a gale to blow through them. We’ve done what we can with insulating tape and thermal curtains, but we can’t avoid the wind up here on the top of the hill.
After breakfast, which was taken sitting in a blanket in front of the fire, I made hot, spiced apple juice to warm us up.
Full of cinnamon, nutmeg, cranberries, juniper berries and slices of clementines, it’s definitely helping with our Vitamin C intake as well as being comforting and delicious.
We’ve run out of apple juice now until I brave the shops again so from here on in it’s going to have to be hot, spiced cider… 😊
Ravencroft Skye 