Eilidh Tuckett takes us on a road trip around the stunning Isle of Skye and shows why winter might just be the best time to visit.
You probably don’t need me to tell you to visit the Isle of Skye, but I am going to anyway. For a humble wee island in the Inner Hebrides, it gets a lot of publicity and tourism, and with good reason.
I visited in November and was so completely and utterly charmed by the landscape, the local businesses and the residents that I’ve been telling everyone I know to plan a winter trip there.
Yes, winter. Otherwise known as the ‘off-season,’ when the weather can be inclement and the days draw to a premature close.
Hear me out – that is where the real magic lies. It’s in the hard-won appreciation of small comforts, like a toasty fire crackling in the grate, promising to thaw your frostbitten toes.
‘I was completely charmed by the winter landscape on the island’
It’s in the lungfuls of fresh air at the top of the Black Cuillin after a steady hike, or in the torrent of water that parades down the hillside, filling the Torrin Pools.
On Skye, daily life is dictated by the whim of the elements, which leaves you no option but to live more in tune with the seasons – call it mandatory mindfulness. This slowing down and listening to nature is something we all could, and should, do a better job of.
That was my plan, anyway, for the three days I was there with my mum. (Incidentally, this was the second time I’d been to Skye on a girl’s trip. It might not be the first place that would spring to mind if you’re planning one, but I’d wholeheartedly recommend it.)
We started on the south side of the island, the lesser loved Sleat Peninsula known as the ‘garden of Skye’ for its lush greenery.
Stunning backdrop of Skye from the Duisdale Hotel.
After a long day’s driving, I was glad to park up at the Duisdale Hotel, where we were staying for two nights. We had dinner booked for 6:30pm and had just enough time before it to stretch our legs at the lochside.
The sound of the water washing over pebbles on the shore was so soothing after hours behind the wheel. I’m not the most confident driver, and it takes me a while to unwind, but the soft sounds of evening on Skye encouraged my tight shoulders to loosen, my jaw to unclench, and my breathing to deepen.
Dinner at Duisdale was phenomenal. I’ll admit, I do enjoy a nice meal, but the real litmus test for me is always bread and butter. The stout and treacle bannock did not disappoint – it was served with heather honey butter on what looked suspiciously like a hockey puck.
I had the plumpest hand-dived scallop to start, unctuous in its charred leek and onion broth, and Monkfish tail with langoustine, fennel jam and bouillabaisse to follow. A rich, custardy pumpkin tart rounded things off and had me feeling pleasantly snoozy, cosied up next to the delft-tiled fireplace.
Sit back and relax by the fire in Duisdale’s whiksy lounge.
My one criticism would be that the Duisdale might benefit from someone with an eye for design – Patricia Rodi, of Rodicecile studio, for example. As it stands, the interior style is muddled at best. As one local (who I won’t name) put it, ‘it’s oldy-worldy Scottish with one too many feature walls.’
The view from my room, however, was incredible, as was the bed, which was so cocooning that I was sound asleep by 10pm. Such is the narcotic effect of a good fire and an even better whisky (Talisker, of course).
Skye is connected to the northwest of mainland Scotland by bridge, but it feels a world away, especially in the winter when visiting requires a bit more planning.
This is the appeal. The jagged coastline is studded with peninsulas, the island itself blistered by mountains and a rough, textural landscape that breeds the hardiest, most creative and welcoming folk I’ve ever had the pleasure to come across.
On Skye, it seems that everyone is a friend. I say that as someone who has lived in both the Highlands, where if you weren’t four generations deep, you were a newcomer, and Glasgow, that famously friendly big smoke. Skye, to me, is like the best parts of the Highlands and Glasgow combined. That wildness, softened by the sense of community.
Many of the incredible restaurants (Edinbane Lodge, Café Cùil, Scorrybreac) have battened down the hatches by November, but others pivot, using the colder months as an opportunity to try something new with a more local crowd.
Take Birch, for instance, who have just launched their new Coffee Landy – a Land Rover Defender that sells coffee, that is. I went along to Scorrybreac for its debut event, a celebratory wild swim (I suppose you could call it a christening of sorts), which was made a lot easier by the promise of a hot cappuccino and a cinnamon bun slathered in icing afterwards.
A much needed Birch cappucino after a cold swim.
The fact that Niall (chef-owner of Birch) put the proceeds towards a local food bank and the Gaza Appeal goes to show what kind of community this is.
Standing on the banks chatting had me cold to the bone, so it was on to lunch in Portree – at Birch of course.
I had a warming bowl of dahl, exactly the sort of scran you need after a dook, which was topped with sticky-sweet, toasted garlic. Birch serves simple food done to a standard that most home cooks just can’t achieve.
Take my word for it, I tried to recreate the garlic at home, and eagerly pulled out my oven tray to reveal the most disappointing, shrivelled, dried out husks that tasted only faintly of garlic and strongly of BURNT.
After lunch it was on to a mooch around Portree and a stop in a few shops (Skyeskyns, Òr, Carmina Gadelica) before heading back to the Cuillin Hills Hotel for a rest.
From the spa-like shower to the gorgeous reception room and the lovely Donella on reception, the Cuillin Hills is something special.
The cocktail menu is hard to beat, and Kyle on the bar had an encyclopaedic knowledge. I asked for a Penicillin, my favourite, and he crafted a perfect one using local whisky.
A chic little corner in the reception room at the Cuillin Hills.
We rounded off the weekend at the lovely Clare of Café Cùil’s book launch party in Carbost, sampling goodies from the book (lobster rolls, haggis toasties!) and catching up with friends we’d made earlier in the day.
Like proper townies, my mum and I took the wrong route there and ended up on a single-track dirt road in the pitch black, with disgruntled cows as the only other form of traffic. That aside, it was a fabulous evening, and I’m very much looking forward to cooking up a wee bit of Skye at home, too. I’ll be making the celeriac, fennel and apple remoulade as a Christmas day palate cleanser.
I’d been to Skye before, in the strange summer of 2021 when local travel was all that was permitted, but my most recent trip sparked a new love for the island that I know will endure, and no doubt draw me back time and time again.
Yes, there’s the unavoidable harshness that comes with an island landscape in the depths of winter, but there’s also the warmest local community you could imagine, ready to welcome you with open arms.
As my mum said, ‘People make Skye.’ I couldn’t agree more.
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