Into The Otherworld

Saturday  June 16, 2017

The family left Letterfinlay hotel amidst rain and grey skies which continued during the two-hour drive to Fairy Pools on the Isle of Skye. The route to the Isle of Skye snaked between sloping mountains lush with Mountain Laurel, wild pink Foxglove, yellow Scotch broom, and farmed pines, planted thickly in neat lines. In some areas the pines had been harvested, leaving a brushy, barren mess of a mountainside. Once in a great while, a strong patch of sun would break through the rainy clouds, bringing a false hope. 

They turned off road A87 onto a narrow one-lane, two-way road, pausing at passing places for other drivers, through sheep pastures, over two cattle grates (to keep the pervasive sheep out), before reaching the crowded parking lot of The Fairy Pools, the first stop on The Agenda that day. They didn’t get out. B sighed. The rain pelted the car, with the wind blew it slanted and heavy against the windows.

“I don’t know … I don’t think this rain will stop,” B said. 

“I’ll go,” TwoSon said, willing to risk getting wet. 

“I’ll go, too, I guess,” AJ added, not looking forward to it, but up for the challenge. 

“Yeah, but it won’t be good for pictures,” B countered, much to AJ’s relief. “We’ll just come back later.” 

Instead of skipping along the Fairy Pools, they decided to seek shelter and some history at the Eilean Donan restored castle sitting on a tidal island at the intersection of three Lochs: Loch Long, Loch Alsh, and Loch Duich. After buying tickets to the castle, they visited the restaurant for Shepard’s Pie for B, Mac ’n Cheese for TwoSon and a salad and more Ginger Beer for AJ. Before crossing the bridge to tour the castle, they perused the gift shop. 

“I can’t decide between a knit sweater, woven shawl or a blanket,” AJ said as B came back from putting their bottled drinks in the car. At first she had wanted to bring back English loose tea as her souvenir of the trip, but as she encountered more and more sheep and very nice woolen products in the stores, and repeatedly failed to find loose leaf tea, her focus changed. She had a love affair with quality products that worked well and lasted, like cast-iron cooking pans, leather shoes and canvas bags. Despite the new petroleum-based warmth fabrics available, wool was one of her favorite clothing fabrics, and it seemed to be all over the UK, on sheep and store shelves. 

She put off the decision and the family crossed the wind-swept rainy bridge to explore the castle. 

The history of the castle was interesting, but not deeply so. The not-so-ancient aura was interrupted by color photos of the owners' family placed around the rooms. The place was involved in the Jacobites rebellions, destroyed by government ships and had been in shambles until restoration started 1919. It was relatively new, but compared to historic buildings in the US, still worthwhile. 

As they left Eilean Donan Castle, the rain persisted, putting a damper on the day. On their way to their next B&B in Portree on the Isle of Skye, they stopped at The Bridge of Sligachan as B took pictures of a bridge and water while TwoSon had fun on a long swing and AJ dozed in the car. 

Their next B&B, Stormy B&B located on Stormyhill Road, just a few blocks from the center of Portree, consisted of a simple second story room with a double and a twin bed and a bathroom. Downstairs was a breakfast room, stocked all day. There, the family rested, read and refreshed themselves, waiting impatiently for the rain to stop. 

And when it did, they started out, GPS on, AJ navigating and reminding B of the left-driving rule, following the one-lane, two-way roads with passing places, through sheep pastures, and over more cattle grates to a most curious, magical place aptly named Fairy Glens. 

The Fairy Glens is basically a sheep grazing area with strange striated mounds, rock outcroppings and sheep, but the bright green hills, the grey mist and dreary sky worked together to portray an Otherworldly feel.   

AJ rarely traveled anywhere, even down the street to the grocery, without some literary story in mind, ready to make connections to great stories that reflect on the extraordinary-ordinary in her life. On big trips, she made a point of bringing some literary aura with her. Though she was listening to it, Scott’s Rob Roy, wasn’t the story that came to her mind at that place. 

Wikipedia says, "Sometimes, the Otherworld is said to exist alongside our own and intrudes into this one; signaled by phenomena such as magic mist, sudden changes in the weather, or the appearance of divine beings or unusual animals." 

According to Phantastes and Lillith, novels by George MacDonald (and many other folktales, fairytales, myths and legends), there is a wonderful, powerful and sometimes dangerous world over imposed on the UK*, of magical spirits, benevolent and mischievous. Sometimes the boundary between the worlds wears thin at places, exposing the Otherworld to our mortal senses. 

This was a place where atmosphere, weather and geography wore the boundary thin, and it was easy for an imaginative person to see and feel it, maudlin as it seemed under the grey sky. 

If a visitor has even a thread of whimsy, the area will transport them to The Otherworld, or the Land of Faery. The novel Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell, by Susanna Clarke is a good illustration. It is  about English magic and where it comes from, and surmises that the north of England and Scotland was filled with strong magic.**

The family traipsed up barrow*** and down, giving the cropping sheep a wide berth as B and tripod took pictures, while AJ and TwoSon explored the area, marveling at the strange spiral formations, and nice, juicy Scottish black slugs dotting the ground.

They crossed the snaking road to more expansive area, passing a quiet flat area with a broken stone fence (old sheep pen) and a decrepit but persistent tree hanging over. AJ stopped to take in the sight, when a low croaking crrrrk filled the air, emanating from somewhere high above their heads. 

“Ravens! There are ravens around here somewhere,” AJ said, looking around for evidence, but finding none. The wall, the tree and the unmistakeable call of the ravens brought a fascinating, but morbid ancient ballad to mind: 

The Twa Corbies

As I was walking all a lane, 

I heard twa corbies making a mane;

The tane unto the t'other say, 

"Where sall we gang and dine today?"

"In behint yond auld fail dyke, 

I wot there lies a new-slain knight;

And naebody kens that he lies there, 

But his hawk, his hound, and lady fair.

"His hound is to the hunting game, 
His hawk to fetch the wild-fowl hame, 
His lady's ta'en another mate, 
So we may mak our dinner sweet. 

"Ye'll sit on his white hause-bane,
And I'll pick out his bony blue een;
Wi ae lock o' his gowden hair 
We'll theek our nest when it grows bare. 

"Mony a one for him makes mane, 
But nane sall ken where he is gane;
O'er his white banes when they are bare, 
The wind wall blaw for evermair."

They climbed the mountainside, eyes skyward, following the gruff bird cries. Eventually two or three ravens took flight from somewhere in the tall spires of rock, spread their wings, circling and calling, spying on the visitors. B and AJ tried to get pictures, but never captured a good one. 

Bad picture of a raven

While it was still light, though very late, they returned to Portree, slipping into an Italian restaurant right before it closed for a hot dinner. 

*And sometimes it shows up in the US. The great walking-advocate and author of Walden, Henry David Thoreau alluded to this Land of Faery in his lecture titled, "Walking" (sometimes known as "The Wild").  

** AJ doesn't believe that there is another "world" superimposed on this one that we can't see, in the sense which the referenced novels portray. But she can't deny (and even science itself cannot deny), that there are things in this world that move and live and exist which we can't see, but can enact great influence on us. One obvious example is the wind. We can't see it, but we can feel it and observe it's effect on others. This concept is of great inspiration for illustrating real, liveable truths through fiction and metaphor, as so many authors have shown (CSL, Tolkien, MacDonald to note only a few). 

***barrow-used here in a Tolkien-ish way, meaning ancient burial mounds

Thanks for reading