Hebridean Adventure

Isle of Barra to the Butt of Lewis 1st July 2012

Part of the last minute preparations was to make sure there were no problems with the trains. Just as well I checked, the line to Oban was blocked by a landslide caused by the heavy summer rain. Scotrail couldn't tell  me when the line would re-open. Plan B; Aberdeen to Glasgow by train and then the bus to Oban, but I'd likely miss the Saturday sailing to Barra. I was still packing after midnight when it flashed up on my computer screen that the line was clear and trains would be running. 

Day 1:
Six hours later I was up again, the sun was shining, loaded up I was ready for the ride to Aberdeen railway station. I'd never taken a bike on a train before, just shows that life can still be full of new experiences, even at the age of 42 and I was quite excited with the prospect of being self contained on a bicycle for a week. After changing trains in Glasgow I was on my way to Oban, it's one of the great railway journeys in Scotland, passing along the shores of Gare Loch, Lochs Long and Lomond and later on Loch Awe with the haunting view of ruined Kilchurn castle.

The rain was coming down in sheets as the MV Clansman steamed into Oban harbour. A handful of other cycle tourers were waiting in the rain, hopefully this weather wasn't a sign of things to come.

The rain was still threatening when the ferry arrived at Castle Bay 4 1/2 hours later. In my haste to get to the camp site at Borve, I completely missed seeing the castle in the bay. I had to take the long way around the island to see it in the morning. I couldn't not see it, being the clan seat of the McNeils.  Castlebay was busy, it had been the Barrathon today, Barra's half marathon, unfortunately I'd arrived a day too late to compete...

Castle in the bay, how could you miss it....?

Day 2:

It was the long way round the island and a hard slog to the ferry terminal for the ferry to Eriskay but I made it with time to spare already wishing I could have stayed longer on Barra.  I'd like to have seen a plane take off from Barra airport located on a nearby sandy beach.

Across the sea to Eriskay, it was a short but hilly cycle over the island to the causeway to South Uist.  The island was surrounded by turquoise sea and with cotton wool clouds in the sky, I couldn't have asked for better weather.  

Causeway to South Uist, watch out for the otters!

Not wanting to make my life too hard I stopped for lunch at the Polochar Inn.  Fine baked haddock and in the interests of my continuing research into the delights of a particular Scottish dessert; a very delicious plate of sticky toffee pudding and ice cream.  Further along the road   I stopped at Howmore Hostel. It was quite early to stop and I hadn't cycled very far but my legs were feeling tired cycling into the wind. I stood outside the hostel pondering my next move when three German lads came out of the hostel and sat down at the table. Yes I would like to share your tea, scones and jam, thank you very much, and my mind was made up to stay. My tent was pitched beside the hostel.

I had to stop here, going back to 1996 when I was touring the Outer Hebrides by motorcycle; I had met a cyclist at this Hostel. He had given up his attempt to cycle the length of Outer Hebrides due to the weather being so bad. Instead he joined a working party helping to restore one of the hostel buildings. Since then it had always been on my mind to do this cycle. I forget his name now but he worked for the BBC in London, and I would like to thank him for the inspiration to buy a touring bicycle and do this trip.

Howmore River, South Uist

I'd thought a lot about wild camping, but being a lone cyclist it could have proved to be very lonely indeed. I was more interested in meeting people than surviving in the wild. Camping in the wild might be more fun with company but to me it was good to meet some other travellers and have the luxury of a shower at the end of the day. With this being my first proper cycle tour I wanted to enjoy it.

After a swim in the Atlantic Ocean and a hearty meal cooked up on my stove, I watched the sun dip below the clouds on the horizon out to sea. The island was bathed in a magical light , a beautiful end to the day.

Camping at Howmore Hostel

South Uist bathed in sunlight

Day 2:

I could have sent longer in the Uists as  I had a day to spare, but decided I'd prefer a spare day at the end of the week. Make progress whilst the weather was good.  Cycling North into a slight head wind across the many causeways linking up the islands was great.  The sun was shining and the views superb, the Cuillin mountains could be seen far away on the Isle of Skye.

Causeway, South Uist

Loch Olabhat, Benbecular, and the mountains of South Uist

The going wasn't so good on North Uist. An eight mile cycle from Clachan to Lochmaddy into a head wind that took well over an hour. The constant noise of the wind made my ears ring, earplugs would have been useful. The road unwound over an expanse of bleak moorland and disappeared into the distance, it was a real struggle to keep going.  I eventually arrived at the cafe in Lochmaddy with a slightly 'out of it' feeling from the exertion, sat and had tea and cake until I felt well enough to carry on to Berneray.

The road continued to Berneray where the ferry leaves for Harris. The ferry was leaving soon and there were a few cars obviously racing to make the last sailing of the day. Ignoring the cars that section of the road felt very isolated and remote with few signs of settlement. Stopping beside the road to look out to sea I could make out the islands of St. Kilda on the horizon, 40 miles away. Thinking I was by myself, except for the sheep, a seal popped its head out of the water to say hello.  I was aiming to camp next to the hostel on Berneray and get the ferry the next day so my cycle along this road was less rushed.

Tuesday night at Berneray Hostel, cooking my tea whilst speaking to some wind surfers from Edinburgh. There was no wind today at Berneray, they should have been at North Uist.   Their offer of a Hebridean ale was gladly taken and their hospitality appreciated.

Camping beside the sea on Berneray

I walked up the hill behind the hostel to get a mobile phone signal. Suddenly I was being dive bombed by the local bird population, obviously I was invading their territory, a territory devoid of people in this area. Abandoned houses are common, an old black house with furniture still inside, the decaying thatched roof ready to collapse. It looked like the inhabitants had just went out, closed the door but never returned. I wondered what stories this old house could tell.

Ruined black house, Berneray

Berneray Black house

Later a cycle touring gentleman from Germany arrived at the hostel. He had just cycled from Stornaway on an old Holdsworth touring bike. He lived in Oban and had cycled from there, a bin man whose taste for whisky was satisfied by our new windsurfing friends. Out came bottles of Ardbeg and Laphroig, a very pleasant evening indeed.  I could have stayed for a week on Berneray to soak up the peaceful ambiance and explore the beaches more, but the ferry was leaving for Harris and I had a butt to reach.

Day 3:
Cycling to the ferry terminal is was nice to sea some of the old black houses being renovated.  Even if they are used as holiday homes, at least they are brought back to life for future generations to appreciate.

The ferry steered a careful passage to Leverburgh on Harris, with many small islets and submerged rocks along the way.  Gannets dived into the sea, fishing for their lunch, as the ferry steamed past.  The mountains of Harris sat ominously in the distance, it would be a big push over them to Stornaway in a couple of days time.

I had chance to use the internet in Leverburgh.  E-mail confirmation of a new job in Aberdeen.  It would still be a couple of weeks before I would start so my mind started thinking if I could fit in another cycle tour.....

I chose the western route around Harris.  I wanted to see the beaches again.  Words can't really do them justice.  A nice down hill section of road with views to Scarasta beach and then coastline indented with beaches until the beaches of Seilibost and Luskentyre which are just fantastic, white sand and turquoise coloured sea, mountains all around, an artists delight and a lovely place to camp except I had to push on a little further.

Amazing beaches, Isle of Harris

Seilibost beach

There was little wind which was good as the road climbed from sea level to a hilly pass before descending into Tarbet.  I turned off the main road to follow a winding road to Drinishader and the Minch View campsite.  The rain had started along this last section and it was enough to give me a mild soaking before I got there.  A quiet camp site quite informal for a Caravan Club site, there was a Dutch couple staying, touring on electric bicycles.  Their batteries were charging in the kitchen, I wondered if the old lady warden was happy with this.

Loch with lilies, Isle of Harris

Day 4:

I stocked up with food in Tarbet, the local store was was an independent shop by the name of A.D. Munro. I was expecting a long hard day.  The mountains of Harris had been a talking point with all the cyclists I'd met.  A gentle climb out of Tarbet then back to sea level before the climb over the mountains.  The initial climb is quite steep and slow going, keeping it in the granny gear, but the gradient reduces towards the highest point of 189 metres.  Not such a big deal but it had put off most of the cyclists I had met so far.

Long climb on Harris, warm enough for just a tee-shirt today

Sitting by the road , I retrieved my supplies. Beautiful view out over Loch Seaforth and the little winding road over to the Rhenigidale Hostel. A visit there is for the committed cycle tourer, downhill to sea level and a big climb out the next day.  Back to my lunch, the oat cakes from A.D. Munro are the best I've tasted, four very large rough crumbly oat cakes to a packet, two with some tinned mackerel was a filling lunch.

Lunch with a view

At last the descent, a thrilling ride down to sea level, a slight head wind taking the edge off my top speed.  38 mph on a fully laden touring bike was exhilarating enough whilst being aware that with a momentary lapse of concentration could lead to a painful crash and the end of the tour.

Cycling though an idyllic forested area with a loch to the side of the road, the going was good and the road was traffic free.  Suddenly the peace was shattered as a motorcycle came from the opposite direction throttle pinned to the stop shattering the silence, the rider tucked in probably doing 150 mph plus.   I doubt if I showed up on his radar, the contrast of our speeds at opposite ends of the scale.  That could have been me some years back, now I'm happy with life in the slow lane taking in the scenery.

The Deer Raiders Memorial, Isle of Lewis

Further along the road I was running low on water. I stopped beside a house in Balallen to hear the sound of a weaver at work on a Harris Tweed loom.  He had guessed correctly why I had stopped and offered to fill up my water bottles before I could ask.  He was a jolly chap, the new looms are peddle powered like a bicycle and he found it very funny that he was peddling all day but going nowhere.

From Laxay it was another 10 miles to Stornaway, I was flagging a bit.  The first shop I'd seen since Tarbet was the petrol station at Leurbost.  The sign said 'Everything you need and more'.  Chilli chicken sandwiches and lemon sponge cake would be enough fuel to get me the last few miles into Stornaway.

It had been a big day for me, 43 miles and a lot of climbing.  After 5 nights under canvas I was glad to check into the bunkhouse at Laxdale Camp site.  A little luxury and a large steak washed down with some Hebridean ale for dinner.

Day 5:

The journey had been amazing so far, but could I make the final destination? I set off from Stornaway mid morning, with the goal of my trip to reach the Butt of Lewis, 27 miles away. I could have left my luggage and tent in Stornaway and returned later, but that would have felt like cheating. Crossing the island meant going up hill which was a struggle as my legs were hurting. It was steeper on the east meaning a long gradual descent into Barvas where I would make the decision to carry on to the Butt. I knew it was not important to me to go to the Butt, but that I'd regret it if I didn't. I thought that if I don't do it now I'll have to come back another time to do the complete journey.

Road to Barvas and a glimpse of the Atlantic Ocean

The weather had changed from sunshine in Stornaway to low cloud and mist with the wind blowing from the North.  From Barvas it was 17 miles into a head wind on rolling roads with no view, that would surely test my resolve. Character building I think they call it. I wanted to get there by lunch time so no stopping on the way. The mist grew lower the further North I went, with the head wind making me peddle hard up and down hill.

I even managed to miss the turning for the Butt... I'd almost arrived in 'down town' Port Ness before realising. An old man informed me the turn off was up the road at the junction with all the signs. Silly me they were all in Gaelic, which I didn't understand. On to the right road and it really began to have that end of the world feel that these far flung places seem to have. The same as the far west of Cornwall around Lands End. I think the mist and wind added to this feeling.

Striking a triumphant pose at the Butt of Lewis

The winding single track road led to the Light house at the Butt of Lewis, the top of the light house barely visible in the mist. I'd been here many years before on my motorbike with my friend Maff. That day there was a clear view of the mountains on mainland Scotland, today only the amazing old gnarled cliffs and the grey ocean. On an information board it claimed this was the windiest place in the whole of the UK with an entry in the Guinness Book of Records to prove it, I didn't doubt it. It wasn't a day to hang around and with the obligatory photo taken I cycled off with the slight feeling of an anti-climax, there wasn't a phone signal here, I couldn't even call anybody to say I'd made it.

Port Ness in the mist

Arriving in Port Ness my spirits were lifted. The amazing old harbour built around cliffs and rocky out crops, the turquoise sea and sandy bay made the ride North worthwhile, I was beginning to feel a sense of achievement. The wind still blowing from the North helped me back to Barvas almost blowing me to the top of the uphill sections, I stopped briefly at Steinacleit standing stones but without the surrounding view the atmosphere at the stones was not at its best. The wind was blowing spray off the nearby loch, it felt wild and stormy. With food for the evening bought from the store at Barvas I pressed on to the camp-site at Shawbost, on the west coast of Lewis. The sixth day of the trip was the longest at 54 miles. Not impressive by Tour de France standards but this was no race and I'm no cycle racer.

As camp-sites go Eilean Fraoich camp-site is definitely good one. Taking into consideration the possibilities of the weather, a camper’s kitchen and lounge are provided. A nice touch as it was still cold and misty. Five minutes later another cycle tourer arrived. Great company for the evening, swapping stories and discussing the advantages of cycle touring. I'd really come to the conclusion that travelling by bicycle could not really be bettered. Walking would be too slow, too much is missed in a car, ruled by time tables on the bus, a motorcycle is better but by bicycle, you can stop anywhere and still go everywhere. Travelling at 9 miles per hour, your perspective of the land and landscapes are changed.  Acceptance that the journey will take longer and should not be wished away.

Day 6:
The pressure was off now, I could enjoy being a cycle tourist, and a trip to Lewis would not have been complete without a visit to the Callanish Stones.  I've been to the stones several times before and they never fail to impress.  Laid out in the rough shape of a Celtic cross, the stones stand like giant sentinels forever frozen on the moorland.  Whatever time of day there seems to be a magical feeling around the stones.  Having plenty of time I visited the excellent visitors centre which has an exhibition on the history of the stones and took a walk to two nearby stones circles.

Callanish Stones

Callanish Stones

I hadn't really looked at the distance for the trip back to Stornaway but from Callanish I was left with and 18 mile cycle back to Stornaway.  The wind was blowing strongest now slowing me right down.  The road climbed high past the summit of Achmore and then turning North East directly into the wind for the single track road that lead to the Pentland road.  The view south was impressive, peat bog, lochs and the mountains of Harris in the distance.  I had no supplies with me now so there was it was Stornaway tonight or broke.

Day 7:
A lazy day today, waiting for the 2.30pm sailing from Stornaway to Ullapool.  Stornaway is a smallish town with a slightly wild west feeling about it.  The driving standards leave something to be desired.  With a limited police force and no speed cameras the speed limits seems to be ignored as I'd experienced cycling into Stornaway at rush hour a couple of days previous.  Seeing the odd 1970s Ford Capri added to the feeling.  None the less there is an arts centre and Museum well worth the visit.

Waiting obediently for the ferry

I love Ullapool but with only half an hour to spare there was just enough time for fish and chips from the Seaforth Inn.  I'd booked a bus from Ullapool to Inverness where I would meet up with my girlfriend Gael.  The bus service runs once a day from Inverness to Durness and back again with a trailer for bicycles courtesy of D&E Coaches.  My bike was the only one on the trailer.

Later at the Dores Inn on the shore of Loch Ness a pint or two was allowed as a celebration of my cycle, with my girlfriend Gael, who just happened to be visiting Inverness for the weekend.

Day 8:
The lunchtime train back to Aberdeen and the cycle home.  The cycle route is signposted from the station and I took a leisurely cycle along the streets of Aberdeen and onto the Old Deeside railway line to Peterculter.

The cycle had been a complete success.  The biggest factor with the success was the weather, it had been amazing.  The wind had not been too bad, it could have been much much worse and it had hardly rained, which was most unusual.  The Outer Hebrides was experiencing a drought during the summer of 2012.  This also had the effect of reducing the number of midgies which was appreciated when I was camping but not so good for the islanders who were facing water shortages.  My tent was fine for dry weather but it would have been difficult to cook if it had been raining.

My bicycle had gone the distance and had been the envy of several cycle tourists along the way.  More importantly my legs had gone the distance, roughly 250 miles in total.  The prevailing southerly winds were noticeable in their absence for the entire week making the cycle harder, but the wind had not been too bad, it could have been much much worse.