Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
about-nationalised-but-just-you-wait ferry company which operated ferries across the
narrows between Lochalsh and Kyleakin, was told by the government it wouldn't be al-
lowed to do so any more once the bridge opened, to force people to use the thing no mat-
ter how high the tolls were. And, as usual with PFIs, the taxpayer takes the risk and the
shareholders pocket the profit. The Bank of America didn't even put up that much money
to build the bridge in the first place; £6 million to the taxpayer's £15 million.
Locals on Skye and on the mainland - and various others with a love of the place and
some sort of belief in putting people before profits - have fought a long and honourable
campaign against the way the bridge is run since before it opened, and there is now just a
chance that the bridge might be brought into public ownership, as the Scottish Parliament
is considering buying the bridge. Doubtless the Bank of America's shareholders will walk
off with a tidy profit, but at least we'll be rid of them.
In the meantime, in the holiday season, there's the not-yet-fucked-up-by-privatisation
Cal Mac ferry from Mallaig to Armadale and the brilliant wee ferry between Kylerhea
and Glenelg (which, to be fair, has never been anything other than privately owned, and
works just fine). Both are worth making a detour for, lie at the ends of some great roads
and are set in breathtaking, sigh-drawing scenery. The
Pioneer
takes us over to Skye in
about twenty minutes, over a calm sea beneath a shining blue sky, attended by slow-fly-
ing gulls. To port, the single ramp of Eigg and the rounded mass of Rum bulk through
a light sea haze; to starboard lies Knoydart. The peak of Ladhar Bheinn stands like a
brown-black wing of rock stroked with white at the tip. We sip coffee and watch the gulls,
gliding straight-winged a few metres off, soot-dark heads swivelling this way and that as
they scan for scraps and bits of thrown food.
As we bump off the ferry at Armadale - the 911's tyres making a rirring sound on the
ramp's metal ridges - a lone piper strikes up; a lanky kid struggling with what may or not
be the
Skye Boat Song
. Oh well, a tourist thing. Ken and I look at each other.
Ken grins. 'Welcome to the land of heederum-hawderum.'
The first part of the road from Armadale to the main route between Kyle and Portree,
Skye's capital, is either single track or that awkward one-and-a-half-lane size; the 911 is
great on these roads mainly because it's so small. It isn't furiously fast - the M5 makes
it feel slow - but it's quick enough, and it's wieldy. Being based on so old a design - the
body shell is much as it was when originally designed in 1964 - the 911 is short, and nar-
row.
It's the lack of width that pays off on Highland and Island roads; you can squeeze
past oncoming vehicles on the one-and-a-half-lane bits without worrying overmuch about
scraping or losing bits of bodywork, take blind bends that little bit quicker knowing that
even encountering an oncoming truck shouldn't mean an emergency stop because you'll
have the room to play with, and any manoeuvres within passing places are a lot easier.
