From Loch Bay to the Fairy Bridge

From my place on Loch Bay Road, the Isle of Skye stretches out in a way that feels both intimate and infinite. The bay itself is a constant companion—its waters shifting with the light, sometimes calm as glass, sometimes restless under the wind. Each morning I find myself pausing to watch it, as if the loch is reminding me that every journey begins here.

It was from this familiar view that I set out toward the Waternish Peninsula, following the winding road that hugs the contours of the land. The drive itself felt like part of the story: crofts scattered across the moor, sheep grazing lazily, and the sea flashing in glimpses between hills. The air carried that unmistakable Skye mixture of salt, peat, and heather, grounding me in the island’s rhythm.

Just down the road, tucked into the folds of the landscape, lies the Fairy Bridge. At first glance, it’s modest—a simple stone crossing where three burns meet. But standing there, I felt the atmosphere shift. The burns whispered as they converged, and the bridge itself seemed less like a piece of architecture and more like a threshold.

The legend here is inseparable from Clan MacLeod. It is said that a MacLeod chief married a fairy princess, and for a year and a day they lived together in happiness. When her time was up, she had to return to her people. The Fairy Bridge marks the place of her departure. She left behind their child, wrapped in a silken shawl—the Fairy Flag—a talisman that would protect the clan in times of dire need.

Standing on the bridge, I imagined that moment: the sorrow of parting, the mingling of human love and otherworldly duty. The burns seemed to carry echoes of it, their waters flowing endlessly, as though retelling the story in their own language.

What struck me most was the solitude. Unlike the bustling tourist spots of Skye, the Fairy Bridge is often empty. I lingered there alone, listening to the wind move across the moor and watching the light shift across the hills. It felt like a place where the veil between worlds thins, where history and myth overlap.

Returning to Loch Bay later that day, I carried the story with me. The Fairy Bridge may be small, but it holds a legend vast enough to shape the identity of a clan and the imagination of an island. For me, it was a reminder that sometimes the most magical places are the ones closest to home.