The wind has finally stilled. It’s been chasing me since I landed in Edinburgh, threatening to blow my hat clear off, well into the Scottish Lowlands, where whole evergreen forests seem to lean like weary ravers at sunrise. Macbeth’s enemies would have been knocked over by the sporadic gales in Birnam Wood. As I enter “the real Scotland” — so says a Highlander — on my weeklong road trip around the rural, unabashedly scenic north, the gusts hit 45 mph. That’s on a calm day.

No matter. Mischievous weather isn’t about to stop me from exploring the Isle of Skye, off the northwest coast of Scotland — “not an island, but an intoxication,” goes another one of those Highland sayings. Some seven million visitors come to the Scottish Highlands each year (many in pursuit of Outlander scenery); around one in 10 make the pilgrimage over the Skye Bridge from the mainland, to drink in the island’s sea and sky and sip from oyster shells and whisky tumblers, after the basalt cliffs, turquoise water, and emerald-and-ocher hills have blown their minds.

“When does a mound become a mountain?” I ask myself, trying to keep all the hills and peaks straight. The towering Old Man of Storr on the Trotternish Ridge and the Black Cuillins topped with snow and mist look like they would be offended by a downgrade in title. They cut imposing silhouettes, ancient and volcanic, though nothing quite like what’s before me now.

The sun pierces the clouds and the wind vanishes as I look out over the Quiraing, meaning “round fold.” An imperceptibly shifting landslide, the Quiraing has undulating grassy slopes and sharp pinnacles that attract hikers, campers, and scores of photographers with their high drama. The sheep come for the fine dining. “Its atmosphere can never be captured,” writes Otta Swire in 1952 in her now-definitive guide, Skye: The Island and Its Legends. “Perhaps it can best be summed up by saying that it is as if ‘the terror that walketh in darkness’ here walks by day.” As do I. Walketh, in my booteths, down the narrow, blissfully uncrowded trail cutting into the escarpment.

With a soundtrack of rams bleating and gravel crunching, I steel myself to face the terror — though I encounter something closer to reverence, as the landscape seems to shimmer and change with each step. I take a hundred photos; no two are the same. It is otherworldly, and yes, intimidating. Perhaps that’s why a word I heard earlier tickles my imagination: “giants.” See the rocky evidence of a landslide? Imagine a colossus lost his temper and kicked a boulder down the hill, pausing to wipe his muddy boot on the grass over there. Or that gap in the rocks up ahead? It looks as if some frustrated titan, stymied by boulders in his path, yelled “arrrrgh” and split them open to continue his journey.

I’m not the only one seeing things. Filmmakers chose the Quiraing as the setting for the Land of Giants in the 2016 adaptation of Roald Dahl’s The BFG. Farther down the road, supernatural references explain the eerie sculpted mounds of Fairy Glen and life-giving waters of the Fairy Pools. As with many of the world’s inexplicable landscapes — the basalt columns of the Giant’s Causeway in Northern Ireland; the lush Valley of the Trolls on New Zealand’s South Island — the eerie countryside of Skye has inspired folklore evoking leviathans and pixies, outlandish heroes and improbable villains. The British Isles had Norse and Celtic legends to make sense of why earth’s extremities exist. It wasn’t until the late 18th century, when a Scottish naturalist and farmer, James Hutton, began to develop his “Theory of the Earth,” that the science of geology would supply an answer to the question of how. Nonetheless, these oral traditions — and a healthy respect for the natural world — are alive and well across Scotland.

As for the wind? It’s said that Highland fairies had their “kingdom to the westward” and traveled in whirlwinds. “It was by using the power of the four winds that fairies carried people off to, maybe, remote islands or the summits of distant hills,” writes Raymond Lamont-Brown in Scottish Folklore. And so go I.

Stuart Mackinnon, my lovely Scottish guide from Skye Local Tours, is trying to convince me to stick my face into the frigid, whitecapped water of River Sligachan. “Hold it underwater for seven seconds, then let it dry naturally,” he tells me, “and eternal youth and beauty will be yours.” Having just watched The Substance, I’m not that desperate to clear up my grays and frown lines, but sure, Stuart, I’ll hear you out.

As the centuries-old story goes, a fierce warrior woman named Skiach once lived in the Cuillin mountain range (the one lurking behind us as we peer into the river). She was challenged to a fight by Irish warrior Cú Chulainn, and the two clashed swords for days. Skiach’s daughter looked on helplessly as the evenly matched stalwarts teetered close to starvation. She cried and cried, and her love-filled tears fell into the River Sligachan, opening a portal to the fairy world. (“Scots faeries in general were deemed a part of the netherworld that could be arrived at through mounds, mountains, or lochs,” wrote Lamont-Brown.)

A fairy told Skiach’s daughter to submerge her head in the water to find out how to bring an end to the fighting. In the depths, she was told to find “wise” hazelnuts (or the “hazelnuts of wisdom,” which has a nicer ring to it) that grew nearby and cook them into a meal. The smell enticed the warriors down from the mountain. Skiach and Cú Chulainn each secretly hoped the wise nuts would teach them how to outwit their opponent. What they learned was that one would never overcome the other, so they made peace and from then on fought side by side. Travelers who follow Skiach’s daughter below the river’s surface will receive her virtues, beauty, and eternal youth.

A native of Skye, Stuart can weave a tale as easily as breathing, and almost (almost) gets me to dunk my head in the icy water, though not for the obvious reasons. I want to find those hazelnuts of wisdom! The scent of a great meal has wafted down from the Isle of Skye for years, where forest-to-table and pier-to-plate are ways of life. Game and shellfish, chanterelles and wild garlic, berries (rasp, black, and straw), and yes, hazelnuts can be gathered within walking distance of most restaurant kitchens. Scotland’s rural stretches of Highlands and islands are pristine, among Europe’s best-preserved natural environments, with water and air so pure, so free of pollutants, flora and fauna don’t just grow — they thrive. Which is to say: Yes, Scotland has spectacularly good food. And spectacularly bland food. You just need to look for where the magic is happening.

Case in point: Every trip to Skye should include a weekend at Kinloch, for its legendary hospitality and equally legendary Sunday Roast. A whitewashed luxury hotel set prettily on the banks of Loch na Dal, the former family home of the High Chief to Clan Donald has welcomed wanderers for 50 years. Arriving here is like being given a warm woolen blanket, tea, and a hug. Across the hotel’s two buildings and 19 rooms, drawing rooms all have fires blazing; couches are overstuffed, whiskies are plentiful, and the whole vibe is very hurkle-durkle.

Hotel owner Isabella Macdonald (daughter of Godfrey, Lord Macdonald and High Chief, and Lady Claire) greets me over breakfast, a whisper of the family resemblance mirrored in dining-room portraits of Macdonalds from the 1700s. Though I’m eyeing the full Scottish breakfast, I’m still full from dinner the night before, a feast of wildly delicious regional ingredients: West Coast crab and courgette roulade; braised Highland beef cheek; giant couscous with sweet potato, almonds, and olives; and for dessert, a four-in-one celebration of cheesecake, whipped milk-chocolate ganache, churros, and butternut squash ice cream. (The dessert legacy here owes much to Lady Claire, renowned for her sweet-tooth concoctions.) This corner of Skye is home to countless acres of forest, coast, field, and garden, and nearly half a dozen ingredients with “sea” in them: sea coriander, sea aster, sea orach, seaweed, sea buckthorn (a tangy, bright-orange berry growing on the shores of the island that makes for a refreshing sorbet). The menu changes daily, which means you can linger and keep trying new things — or come back often. But there are proverbial breadcrumbs to follow, another hour north…

For years, when outsiders spoke of Skye, it was often in reference to The Three Chimneys, a restaurant with guest rooms on the northwest coast that so profoundly moved New York Times food critic Frank Bruni, he named it one of his five favorite destinations in the world. “The Three Chimneys is the French Laundry of Scotland,” he raved back in 2008, drooling over the “generous tangle” of langoustines that came straight from fishing boats docked nearby. Chef-director Michael Smith earned a Michelin star for the beloved Colbost spot before teaming with his wife Laurence to open Loch Bay restaurant in 2016. A Michelin star followed Smith up potholed, single-track roads to the fishing village of Stein, about 25 minutes farther north of Three Chimneys. (Are we in Norway yet?) Here, Loch Bay serves a beautifully plated, catch-of-the-day feast — diver scallops, lightly fried local oysters, cod with truffles and a gratin of razor clams and mussels. Given its remoteness and size (only six tables), reservations require a bit of luck — request a date via online booking form and wait for a reply — followed by payment upfront. A disclaimer dissuades anyone looking for substitutions to the set menu: “Loch Bay is not a suitable destination for anyone who can not, or does not, eat all varieties of shellfish and fish.” Yes, chef.

As of this year, The Three Chimneys has a new chef and two locations, one in partnership with Talisker Distillery offering an à la carte lunch of oysters, cheese boards, smoked haddock chowder, and traditional Scottish staples like haggis, neeps, and tatties (#IYKYK). Three Chimneys’ star has dimmed somewhat under new ownership, though there’s now room in the spotlight for restaurants on the rise.

Here’s one: Edinbane Lodge, which really does look like a witch’s cottage, all craggy stone and shingle roofs, set back on a creek with daffodils just starting to bloom. A sign over the entrance marks the opening date — 1543. (The former hunting lodge was fully renovated in 2018.) Inside are hungry Hansels and Gretels, lured by rising star chef-patron Calum Montgomery, whose awards threaten to overwhelm the shelves at reception: Scottish Chef of the Year (2023), Scottish Restaurant of the Year (2023, 2024), and on and on. “Going to need a trophy case,” I joke as I check in.

Born and raised in Portree, Skye’s biggest town (pop. 2,310), the chef runs the “restaurant with rooms” with his family; many of their suppliers are relatives or childhood friends. He honed his skills at Kinloch and the acclaimed Ullinish House on Skye, as well as in Denmark at two-Michelin-starred Frederikshøj. Though the passion for all things local is de rigueur, Edinbane’s mission is more a throwback to a time when self-sufficiency and culinary invention were necessities on this remote island. What to do with all that seaweed? Turn it into chips…and butter…and soap.

Honestly, I can’t get enough of those seaweed chips. Over multicourse dinners and breakfasts, my palate is challenged in creative, playful ways with ingredients my children would scoff at: Fennel comes out perfectly seared, covered in pistachios and cashews. A crispy, mouth-melting barbecue lamb belly is topped with tangy pickled carrots. Paired with Jerusalem artichoke and pommes dauphine, a rich, juicy venison loin is sprinkled with — lo and behold — hazelnuts. For dessert: a disk of white chocolate with rhubarb sorbet and an Isle of Skye amber ale. Calum Montgomery seems like a chemist at play, downstairs in his kitchen lab, never to appear save for sending up a glass of bubbly and his carefully constructed dishes (served on gorgeous salt-glazed ceramic plates from next door’s Edinbane Pottery). After each meal I retreat to my room, debating whether to unwind with tea on the patio, sink into the oversize tub, or burrow beneath the covers of the cloudlike king bed. I opt for “and,” not “or.”

Lest you think all this talk of magic is tailor-made for kids…well, it is. On a separate trip on the Scottish mainland last summer, my five- and seven-year-old daughters loved knocking on tiny doors along the fairy trail behind Cameron House, a gorgeous estate home on the banks of Loch Lomond (fit with an indoor waterslide and movie theater). Even their parents got in on the fun along the Loch Lomond Faerie Trail, an hour-plus walk through the woods of Luss, with a scavenger hunt full of wish-making and magical (kid-friendly) mushrooms. An appreciation of whimsy and wit doesn’t come with age restrictions — after all, we might have fairy blood in our veins.

“I have fairy blood in me,” says Stuart Mackinnon, a wry smile growing. He tells me the story of his grandfather, who from youth straight through to old age was said to possess superhuman strength. “The old folk would say, there must be fairy blood in him. Now, there’s got to be a scientific explanation, a genetic variant, but they didn’t know about genetic variants at the time. It wasn’t in their vocabulary. Anything unusual, anything different or inexplicable, was chalked up to fairies.”

Stuart gives me a wink and a knowing grin. “It wouldn’t be any fun if we could explain everything.”

Laura Dannen Redman, Further’s Executive Editor, has Glasgow roots and a bit of an obsession with Scotland. Her latest visit was planned with the invaluable help of Michael McCuish of luxury bespoke operators Away from the Ordinary. 

I’m not sure why it took me so long to learn about Wildland, but now that I’ve experienced it firsthand I honestly can’t shut up about it. Indulge me a moment?

Founded in 2006 by Anders Holch Povlsen — a Danish billionaire and Scotland’s largest landowner — Wildland began with a singular mission: to restore the natural balance of the Scottish Highlands through light-touch interventions and science-based land management. Working in partnership with Scottish universities and local communities, Povlsen and his team have outlined a monumental, 200-year vision for the recovery of the landscape and its inhabitants.

The plan is astonishingly ambitious. And in one corner of the Cairngorms National Park, one can already see the results. Just two decades ago, the centuries-old pine forests of the Glenfeshie valley were being ravaged by an outsize red deer population, which browsed on saplings and shrubs and reduced lush hillsides to a mangy brown. Wildland’s carefully considered deer-removal program had near-instantaneous effect: Within a few short years, pine, birch, and juniper saplings sprung up, unafraid of being eaten. Today, many hillsides are swathed in soft, pale-green foliage and blankets of purple heather — and Glenfeshie feels, in a palpable way, whole again.

What’s of equal interest to travelers are the 19 unerringly chic lodges, farmhouses, and cottages that Wildland operates on its three enormous estates — one in the Cairngorms, a second on the shores of Loch Ness, and a third on Scotland’s rugged north coast. In March I spent a blissful few days visiting two properties set deep in the heart of the Cairngorms, Glenfeshie Lodge and Killiehuntly Farmhouse.

The former is Wildland’s original flagship — a restored Victorian hunting lodge, with flagstone hearths, rolltop tubs, flocked wallpaper, and tartan-clad canopy beds in the five guest suites.

The more informal Killiehuntly, an 1850s stone manse on what was until recently a working farm, hews to a more Scots-Scandinavian vibe (MacHygge?): sheepskins tossed on butterfly chairs, thick linen sheets on handmade Swedish beds, heavy oak tables displaying the latest World of Interiors. Morning sunbeams cast a pale light onto the Farrow & Ball greiges and Lulworth Blues of the four bedrooms upstairs. All that’s missing is a turntable and a Belle & Sebastian LP.

The highlight of my stay: a daylong tour of the Glenfeshie valley with resident naturalist Grant Shorten, who’s been roaming this remote wilderness his whole life. Grant grew up just down the road, and is exactly the sort of curious and capable lad you want showing you around — piloting his Land Rover across swift-flowing rivers, fixing up a picnic  by the lakeshore, scoping eagles’ nests in the cliffs above, and introducing you to Glenfeshie’s free-roaming Highland ponies, who magically appear, as if on cue, every hour or so, popping out from behind shrubbery or over a hill. “That one there is Tess,” Grant will tell you, and Tess might even amble over to say hello, nuzzling your outstretched hand without fear, her Gandalf-white mane whipping in the Highland breeze.

Like I said, it’s hard to stop raving about a place like that.

Peter Jon Lindberg is Further’s cofounder and Editor-in-Chief.

Cairngorms National Park The magnificent Glenfeshie valley is where the Wildland project originated two decades ago; today the collective operates several stylish lodges and guesthouses here, including the grand, tartan-clad Glenfeshie Lodge and the more hygge and minimalist Killiehuntly Farmhouse. Spend a day — or a week! — exploring it all with Wildland’s ace guide Grant Shorten. 

Inverness & Loch Ness Ness Walk Hotel is the only five-star lodge in Inverness proper. Have dinner at Rocpool and browse the shelves at Leakey’s Bookshop. Just outside Inverness, Culloden Battlefield and Culloden House were both key sites in the 1746 Jacobite Rising. On the shores of Loch Ness, Aldourie Castle, part of the Wildland collective, occupies a 500-acre baronial estate. The castle’s 12 bedrooms are only available for full buyouts, but individual travelers can book one of the seven private cottages scattered across the property. 

Isle of Skye  Munro Highland Hire can provide a car and driver for the two-hour ride from Inverness to Skye — a welcome assist given single-track roads, left-hand driving, and unpredictable weather. Visit Eilean Donan Castle en route. Stay at Kinloch, Skye’s most luxurious hotel, and/or Edinbane Lodge, where chef Calum Montgomery works wonders with pristine island ingredients. You can hire a private guide via Skye Local Tours; Stuart Mackinnon is a fantastic choice if available. Start your explorations on the Trotternish Peninsula, home to Skye’s most impressive landmarks: Old Man of Storr, Lealt Falls, Kilt Rock, the Quiraing, and Fairy Glen. Other must-see sights on Skye include the Sligachan Old Bridge, the Fairy Pools, Talisker Distillery, Dunvegan Castle, and Stuart Whatley’s brilliant Edinbane Pottery. Have dinner at Loch Bay, lunch at The Three Chimneys at Talisker, pastries at MacKenzie’s Bakery, and coffee at Birch Coffee in Portree.