June 21, 2005 – Dunvegan Castle: Peering into the Past

June 21, 2005 – Dunvegan Castle: Peering into the Past

The Dunvegan Hotel sits on the side of a hill overlooking Loch Dunvegan. We had arrived at the hotel around 4:30 in the afternoon, which gave just enough time for a brisk walk before dinner. For our jaunt, we choose to walk the mile between the hotel and the castle grounds. Along the road, we notice several houses on our left, each sufficiently spaced from the other to experience a rural setting rather than a suburban one. Near the castle grounds, the growth of trees and foliage increases so much so that the setting sun off to our left is blocked from view. Looking onto the grounds we see growths of flowers and plants, all colorful in their summer dress. Arriving at the castle gate we notice the long walkway leading to the castle entrance and in the distance we can see above the forest a portion of the castle turret. It is a pleasant, romantic view.

We stay only for a few minutes taking pictures and looking about at the growths of trees and brush. On our way back to the hotel, we pass once more the houses and notice cattle grazing in one of the fields we pass. This is in contrast to the countless number of sheep we have so far seen. We arrive back at the hotel in time for dinner and I am struck by how high in the sky the sun still is. Dinner is enjoyable and afterwards I go alone down to the edge of the Loch behind the hotel for a moment of peace and quiet.

If there is one aspect of Skye that I most treasure it is its peace and quiet. As I walk along the water's edge with my camera as my companion, I am struck by the lack of any sound save the sound of the water lapping the shore. In the distance, the sun is still high in the western sky playing capriciously with the remnants of clouds left over from the earlier rain. The result of their game is a beautiful reflection of bright orange and red on the waters of the loch. By now it is nearly eight o'clock and there is still no sign the sun will ever set. I cannot help but think how nice it must be to sit beside the Loch and watch for hours the sun painting its fiery picture's in the western sky.

Behind the hotel, there is a small boathouse near the edge of the saltwater loch. Walking toward the little structure, I am struck by the smell of the plant life and seaweed washed up on shore beside it. The odor is not unpleasant rather one that makes you acutely aware that you are near the sea. Gazing at the water and boathouse I notice the abandoned hull of a boat near the water's edge as well as the lone image of another boat anchored a few yards offshore, I am struck at the scene: a perfect painting or in my case a photograph that will fail to capture the enormity of the scene.

Leaving the boathouse at around nine o'clock, I notice the sun still lingering in the distant western sky still casting an early evening glow on the countryside about the hotel. From the boathouse, I join my father- and mother-in-law at the Ceilidh—Gaelic for festive gathering—in a large open room next to the hotel, used by the locals. At one end of the room was a bar and at the other a small stage for the musicians. Entering the room, I hear an accordion’s playful tune.

Around the perimeter of the room were chairs filled with singing tourists and locals, an atmosphere that gave the room its life. It was as if everyone there belonged to the small community contained in the room. The songs and the music served as a link between all within. Strangers though we were it helped make us familiar to one another. This was helped by the friendliness of the locals who nightly gathered for the Ceilidh and who made the music for the songs being sung. We all left the Ceilidh around 11:30 that night and as I made my way out the door, I could not help but be amazed at the remnants of orange sun still visible on the western horizon.

The next morning we woke early and made our way to the dining room for breakfast. The first to arrive we had the dining room to ourselves except the hotel staff. Again, we noticed the absolute quiet that filled the room and the space outside the hotel. It was almost wrong to speak and break the lovely silence. Our dining room hostess told us she was a MacLeod. She described her kilt as the hunting tartan of the Clan MacLeod. She mentioned that Portree was the place to buy woolens and listed two places that were particularly good places to shop.

Slowly the room filled with other guests and the sound of conversation. After breakfast, we loaded the car and drove up to the castle a short time before it was scheduled to open. We toured the grounds and found a picturesque little stream to the side of the castle and noted how terribly tall and ominous the castle appeared from the side facing onto Loch Dunvegan.

When the castle opened, we made our tour through its interior with walls that were covered with larger than life portraits of clan leaders and their wives. These belongings gave a sense of the longevity of a family whose ancestry goes back to around the 12th century.

When we left what struck me about the castle was its ability to endure in the face of modern progress. This artifact, built hundreds of years ago, represented a way of life long since past. In its day it relied on an army of servants to run and maintain. Over time the cost of maintaining that workforce became uneconomical. The analogy would be trying to use a 1930s model T Ford as your commute car in 2005. The consumer culture of the modern world has a difficult time dealing with anything that requires a great deal of preservation and upkeep, something left up to a foundation, museum or government agency. For a family to shoulder the burden is remarkable. It is a testament to individual will.