Potholes to profanities - my take on Skye and Tourism

I grew up on Skye, in the north end of the island, and lived there until I was 24. Back then, “tourist season” meant a busier main road, a few campervans, and the odd slow-moving queue to Portree. It was welcomed too, tourism was short, sharp, and seasonal. So many people relied on those summer months.

My dad owned a fruit and veg wholesale business, supplying hotels, restaurants, and local shops with fresh produce. My mum and her husband ran a hotel. Tourism wasn’t just something I saw; it was part of my family’s income.

By the time I left, my dad had emigrated and my mum had moved to the Scottish Borders. I’m not sure when the shift happened – whether it crept in quietly or arrived with a bang alongside the much-hyped NC500. I suspect the latter.

Tourism has taken over. And as someone who grew up on a quiet island, it’s hard to stomach.

I know I don’t live there anymore. I know some would say that means I’ve no right to comment. But I still care about the people who do. And I feel for them.

Because now, it’s swarms of tourists everywhere. Gridlocked roads. “No unauthorised parking” signs and traffic cones across every other driveway. “Wild” campers in places that are no wilder than my kitchen.

It’s cars abandoned on blind bends so someone can photograph a sheep. Campervans lined up nose to tail overnight in beauty-spot car parks. Drivers with no idea how to use passing places on single-track roads.

The island feels smaller. And not because I’m older, because there’s just no room.

Should someone who champions rural businesses really complain about a booming tourism industry? One that’s brought an end to the old seasonality and offers better year-round income for islanders?

Maybe not. But when people I went to school with can’t afford to live here anymore, when the only way to own a home is to inherit or move away, I think I can justify it. When there are near misses on the roads every day, and the infrastructure simply isn’t keeping up, I think it’s worth saying out loud.

Of course, I see the positives. With my business hat on, I can admire the entrepreneurship. I can admire new ventures in what I once considered ‘the back and beyond’ while slowly navigating potholes and muttering under my breath, careful not to let certain profanities reach little ears in the back seat.

But at what cost?

The island is still magic and it still stops me in my tracks. But I miss the version of Skye where you could hear your own footsteps on a summer evening, where the roads felt open, and the stars weren’t competing with headlight glare.

I’m not saying close the door, just leave room for the people who already live inside.

As a wise old neighbour said today, ‘they’re spoiling what they came to admire’.