Coire Lagan, In the Shadow of the Cuillin Ridge

Go to Glenbrittle. Look at the tourists lining up to see the Fairy Pools. Don’t stop. Continue on.

At the end of the road, walk up the track for an hour.

You’ll see tourists here also, this is Skye.

A puddle?

A cavernous amphitheatre of scree and rock presents itself.

Coire Lagan.

From here continue to the Cuillin Ridge.

Or stop, and plunge in the icy cold of the lochan. This one is yours, not many will swim here.


The lochan is shallow with one aquamarine hollow, the colour emphasised by the solemn grey of gabbro encasing all around.

Many a pilgrim will travel to the cathedral that is Coire Lagan. To sit, to praise, to contemplate to be.

But how many will slip into it’s icy grasp, to be baptised and reborn?

It is sinfully cold, an pleasurable repentance.


A grand design

And don’t forget to look out across the view. Rum, Canna, Eigg. Small islands floating in the sea.


Canna in the distance, and Glenbrittle’s black beach

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