Luck

Spot the orca

Spot the orca

I’ve just got home after an impromptu orca-spotting trip
(well, I say ‘orca-spotting’ but it was really just a few hours staring at the sea…)

There were a couple of reports on Facebook about a pod being spotted near Neist Point (the most Westerly point on Skye) and there was a possibility that they’d be heading North.

I’ve been working on a portrait in the studio this month so I washed my paintbrushes, made a Thermos of tea, then headed up the road to the ruins at Duntulm, a good vantage point.

The wind made the water choppy and my eyes were streaming. Not ideal for seeing the white mist of a blow or the dark surface of skin or fin.
Still, I sat and scanned the water as best I could.

I sipped the tea (instantly chilled by the wind) from my Thermos and nibbled on a Single Track brownie whilst tourists came and went around me wondering what this bundled-up human being was staring so intently at.

Can you tell it was chilly?

Can you tell it was chilly?

Eluded this time.
After about an hour and a half I got up and wandered back to the car, imagining the whole way that there was a pod of orcas jumping up in acrobatic cheekiness the moment I’d turned my back.

At home I checked my emails and posted a picture online to say that I’d gone for a look but that the shiny buggers were nowhere to be seen.
Often when I post a beautiful picture of Skye someone will tell me how lucky I am to live here. It’s just happened twice with my orca-spotting photo.

I don’t completely disagree with it but I always find it’s a funny thing to say…

I am incredibly lucky with so many aspects of my life.
I’ve probably had too much good luck… at least more than my fair share.
But coming here wasn’t luck. I didn’t just float up here on the breeze; I made a conscious decision to live here.

Moving to Skye was a choice. It meant making sacrifices…
In choosing Skye I’m far away from my the people who care about me most; my family and friends (even the stinky old dogs who I miss to bits).
There’s almost no getting dressed up and going out (something I used to love). There’s no pub. There’s incredibly limited dating prospects. There are less career opportunities (I’ll never become wealthy from my existence here).
I’ve even started to feel the odd pang of loneliness.

BUT…

…there’s nature, wildlife, landscape, light….
These things, for now, are what make me happy.

Brogaig Beach. Worth giving up a few things for

Brogaig Beach. Worth giving up a few things for

In a way, I suppose it’s a selfish existence, to leave loved ones behind for something that I want.

Of course, there is some element of luck; I’m lucky to have had the freedom to come here and I’m lucky that those loved ones have supported me in this decision.
A happy healthy family, no partner, a flexible career… all this meant that I didn’t have ties to keep me in one place. THAT is what was lucky.

But the bottom line is that I think we make our own choices.
I’m lucky in many ways but with Skye I wanted to move somewhere pretty so I did (I might get invited to a lot of fancy things by fancy friends but at the heart of it it’s really a simple life)

Life is short so we need to find what we love and…
…actually, ignore that, it’s a quote by Charles Bukowski: “Find what you love and let it kill you”. I don’t intend to shuffle off this mortal coil anytime soon, thank you.

Basically, what I’m trying to say is… just make your own luck.

Try to be near what makes you happy

Try to be near what makes you happy

As I write this someone’s just sent me a message saying that moving somewhere so remote is brave.
If ‘lucky’ is the adjective I hear most often, ‘brave’ is the second one.
Don’t even get me started on it…

*Also, lucky is when you go out to look for orcas and actually see them. 

“Bugger practicality”!

So I’m back in Portree having seen three gorgeous cottages, all completely different…

  • The old one next to the cliffs, no wifi, no phone, no mod cons and almost an hour from the gallery.
  • The second one in the Duntulm, also far away but with everything installed, a lovely owner and smart decor.
  • The cute one 10 mins from Portree, wifi,neighbours, tv and everything sorted.
photo 1

My third cottage: Cute and practical

A long let shouldn’t normally be such a big decision but this isn’t just a holiday home to me. When the winter gets dark and stormy I want a refuge where I can curl up in front of the fire with a book whilst the wind whistles through the dark Cuillins behind. Or somewhere where I can run through the door to a hot cup of tea when the raindrops are pelting so hard they feel like whiplashes and you can’t tell what’s rain and what’s sea spray.
Yes, it’s completely silly and whimsical but it’s a significant part of why I’m here so I wont be apologising for it!

But back in the real world… I’m in a far away place, on my own, with no experience of a Hebrides winter and no 4×4. I suppose I need to be sensible. My head says the third property, or at least the second. Still something in my heart pulls at the first.

There’s only one person to turn to when a girl is in a quandary. I call Mum.

Well, I don’t actually call Mum because this is Skye and there’s NO PHONE SIGNAL ANYWHERE!
But I do manage to locate some Wifi and get hold of her via Whatsapp. I tell her about the place I’ve just seen, how handy and how near it is. I tell her I can’t decide. What do I go for? Do I choose romance or practicality?

…And this is one of the thousands of reasons that I love my Mum:

photo-2

So I emailed the owner, Patsy, and Kilmaluag is to be my new home. EEEEEEEK!!!

A big, old fashioned cottage with deep, fuzzy brown carpets, retro patterned wallpaper and a particular kind of charm.  with a view that stretches out across the Atlantic and the Norwegian Sea towards icy Svalbard (that little island next to Greenland). Apparently there are also dolphins and porpoises that often visit the bay. Though I’m trying to ignore the stories I’ve just been told about fishermen being swept off the headland and out to sea, never to be seen again (no clifftop walks for me then!)

Toto, we’re not in Kanas anymore!