The weather forecast said "light rain." Skye interpreted that creatively. I woke up in Portree to a sky that was all shades of grey—none of them promising. The hostel's radiator hadn't managed to dry my boots properly overnight, but I've hiked in worse. Packed a thermos of black tea, a few oatcakes, and made my way up the A855 to the Storr car park just after 8 a.m.

Despite the early hour, a few camper vans were already lined up like sleepy whales in the lot. One couple, clearly fresh from the continent, were debating whether to take umbrellas. I didn't stay to hear the result.

The Hike Begins

The initial ascent up to the Old Man of Storr is well-trodden and well-marked—no mystery there. Skye's popularity means this path sees hundreds of boots a day, and you can feel it underfoot. That said, the landscape still manages to dominate. The first part of the hike moves through a regenerating woodland area, stunted and wind-bitten, until suddenly the trees fall away and you're greeted by that famous skyline—sharp vertical spires jutting out of mossy hillsides.

The Old Man of Storr stands like a leftover piece of some ancient structure, a dark and awkward finger pointing skyward. Up close, it's even more surreal—like someone buried a cathedral and only the steeple survived.

I skirted past the busiest photo points and picked my way toward the higher trail that loops behind the rock formations. The higher I climbed, the more the wind picked up. It wasn't violent, but it was steady—one of those persistent Highland breezes that feels like it's whispering old stories in your ear. Occasionally in Gaelic.

Tea and Solitude

Found a natural windbreak near the top where I could hunker down and have a break. The tea was still warm; the oatcakes had taken on a new texture thanks to the humidity. I sat there for the better part of 20 minutes, just watching the clouds roll in from the sea. At one point, a break in the mist opened up a breathtaking view down to the Sound of Raasay—fleeting, but unforgettable.

I didn't say anything. Didn't need to. The landscape did all the talking.

The Descent

The way down was slower—mostly to avoid the growing crowd. The mid-morning arrivals had started their march, many dressed for a city stroll rather than a mountain. I overheard someone say, "Is this the rock?" just beneath the actual Old Man. Yes, mate. That's the one.

I ducked off the side trail for a quieter descent through patches of heather and boot-wet bog. Took one wrong step and found myself ankle-deep in something that smelled older than I am. Standard.

Final Thoughts

The Old Man of Storr is no hidden gem. It's one of Scotland's most photographed hikes for a reason—it's accessible, iconic, and utterly cinematic. But with a bit of timing, and a willingness to step off the main drag, it still holds quiet spaces. Moments that feel just yours.

If you're looking for solitude, come early. Or better yet, come off-season, come in the rain, come when the clouds are dragging low and the rocks look like they're breathing. That's when the Old Man talks back.