The beautiful views have me looking inward, too

Rab is in Skye and finds that the stunning scenery brings upon him a deeply felt sense of being alive – that is, of course, until he dices with death on the treacherous road home from the chippy

Ihave been enjoying what I like to think of (while here on Skye) as my own little stretch of shore. The bottom of the sloping garden opens straight on to the sea. If I turn right, I come to other houses, though the first is two fields away. Another 10 minutes on there’s a hotel and pier. However, if I turn left, for a little while at least there are no visible houses, and I’ve never once encountered another soul on the shore.

They do come from time to time, at least in the tourist season, as I’ve seen them from the window. But when I say “they”, I think I mean two people.

After a week here, I have, as usual, hardly been to any other part of the island. I just live here as if I do actually live here rather than as a tourist on a busy schedule to see everything.

Indeed, apart from two tradesmen and the till jockeys at the village Co-op supermarket, in eight days I haven’t spoken to another soul. So, to that extent, it’s pretty much like city life.

I never regret taking my walk along the shore, though sometimes a faint, touristy voice in my head says: “This again?”

There’s an ancient wood to the left and primeval sea to the right. Along the slippery, unstable shore, every step is a decision. Concentration is called for.

There’s a burn to jump and, on occasion, bits of rock to clamber across. When I come to the rocks at the end of “my” stretch of shore, I experience what’s popularly called “mindfulness”, I guess.

I don’t look for it. I just feel within myself, as I look over the sea towards the mountains on the mainland: “I am here in this place.”

I don’t even know what it means, other than it feels deep and real and that – though this is a poor guess, wrongly emphasising the negative – nothing else matters. All I know is: “This is where I am.”

It makes me feel alive, not in a jumpy, “hey!” way (never easy to picture that at the best of times). It’s just, “I am here”, and it’s undoubtedly inspired by the mountains and, of course, by the sea.

The weather being bad, as in grey and rainy, never bothers me. This morning, it was so overcast it got dark. Then the sun fought through the heavy, rolling clouds in a silvery splash, illuminating giant curtains of rain drifting across the mountains. It was breathtakingly beautiful.

Indeed, I have, as usual, brought sunshine to Skye (indeed, it has just come out as I type; this place weirds me out sometimes). At times, there has been sunshine and snow: the best combination.

I’d forgotten how scary it is driving on icy roads in the darkness. I nearly crashed at one point; couldn’t see a thing.

The drive home at 30 miles an hour with my fish and chips getting cold was frustrating – ooh, that delicious smell from the package nestling on the passenger seat – but I figured lukewarm haddock was better than death, though I had to think about that for 10 minutes.

I think too that, with my robin and my pine marten, my mountains and my sea, I don’t need much else, really.