|
Cycling in the Western Isles (Outer Hebrides) |
|
|
Cycling in the Western Isles (Outer Hebrides) - South and North Uist, Benbecula, Berneray, Harris, Lewis: a tour in August 2006 - by Christine Wilson Though the weather is perhaps less of an attraction than sunnier climes, the northwestern edge of Britain presents new discoveries and challenges for the cyclist and my friend Julie's enthusiasm for western Scotland convinced me that it would be an interesting experience. So it turned out - empty narrow roads with sweeping vistas of heather and hills, water in every view, fascinating little hostels, ancient sites, crofting ancient and modern, and above all, friendly, welcoming people made for an excellent cycle tour. Getting to the Western Isles is easy but took two days from Norwich via Glasgow and Oban for an overnight stop, and then, after looking round the outdoor clothing shops and buying an island 'hopscotch' ferry ticket for ₤37 for three trips (cycles are free with this multi-ticket). The complicated bit had been booking cycles on the four trains we took and necessitated ringing GNER since Norwich station was unable to make the reservations!
We took the
15:30
ferry to Lochboisdale,
a five-hour
crossing. Marvelling at the captain's
skill at manoeuvring the ferry into the small rocky inlet that serves as
Lochboisdale's
harbour on South Uist,
we cycled a few miles on in the late evening light past the tourist office to
our B&B
(booked
in advance).
Heading north next day along the mainly straight road,
we stopped at Kildonan museum and cafe
and looked round at the mock-up
displays of home life and domestic activities of the past. This was a life of
self-sufficiency:
the furniture was made of driftwood,
the mattresses of seagrass or straw,
grain was ground with a quern and the plough was often a foot-plough.
A fine collection of photographs and documents in an archive room helped give a
vivid picture of this hard way of life.
Houses and farms are mainly scattered but we began to see some derelict blackhouses - the traditional stone-built cottages with one or two tiny windows and a thatched roof (where the roof still existed or had been rethatched). Our next overnight stop at Howmore was one of these which is one of four Gatliff hostels in the Western Isles. These small self-catering hostels in the 1960s, now run by the Gatliff Trust, are fine for the non-demanding traveller, having electricity and water but nowhere much to put anything, but are nonetheless very welcoming. Staying there is based on trust since the warden does not live in but visits once a day. Howmore had one building with two dormitories, and one building housing another dorm, the shower and the kitchen/diner area. A third building acted as bike-shed. We remembered to shop at the one small store just before the hostel and the evening was free for cooking and chatting to other hostellers then, while it was still light, going for a walk across the machair, the shell-enriched sand producing coastal grasslands used since Neolithic times for grazing.
After Howmore,
we cycled past the
'otters
crossing'
notice at the causeway to Benbecula
(sadly
no sightings of otters)
and took the road bearing west and north towards the airport as we'd
been told they were widening the road east to Lochmaddy,
a ferry terminal. The weather was as it had been and was going to remain all ten
days -
mostly cloudy with north-easterly
or north-westerly
winds,
occasional rain or drizzle,
and sometimes glorious sunshine which brought out the colours in the landscape.
We had hoped for south-westerlies
but the weather was being as unpredictable as it seems to be everywhere lately,
so cycling was that bit harder. Benbecula seemed rather livelier with some Co-op
stores. At Nunton Steadings,
west of the airport,
we found a newly-opened
cafe
and 'heritage
centre'
for a welcome tea stop.
(Tip:
take enough money as cash machines on the southern islands are virtually
non-existent and the one in a Co-op store was not working but they did give me
some money at the till.)
We liked it so
much at the Berneray hostel that we decided to have a rest day and ended up
having two, spending the first one,
which was wet,
walking the three miles round the bay to the Lobster Pot shop,
where we found some excellent kippers for supper,
and cafe
where we got into conversation with other escapees from the rain. This cafe
does the best flaky salmon sandwiches I have ever had. On the way back we called
into the Berneray Historical Society rooms and looked at books and more
photographs from the past while local people conversed in Gaelic. We felt
welcomed even if we didn't
speak Gaelic and this friendliness was consistent during our trip. Most
motorists on South and North Uist had acknowledged us and many had waited in the
passing places for us to toil uphill into the wind. This unhurried,
courteous behaviour from motorists
(many
of whom were visitors,
often foreign)
is much appreciated by us cyclists. With the wind behind us for once, we swept in record time round to Berneray harbour in heavy cloud and rain for the one-hour ferry to Leverburgh. There we went to the visitor centre and shop and then took a nearby side road which about six miles further east would join the Golden Road, so called, apparently, because of its cost. Our road was virtually traffic-free and climbed or descended gently among rocky outcrops and sweeps of heather and bog where evidence of peat-cutting could be seen. Wherever we went we met small flocks of the horned Scottish blackface sheep which roamed at will and were generally oblivious of the traffic though most moved off when I tried to photograph them. They were in the majority but we also saw Cheviots. This lovely route rose eventually to higher ground where it wound round like a switchback among rocky outcrops before joining the eastern shore route. Turning north, we finally arrived at the Skoon Art Cafe and collapsed into the two leather armchairs for tea, cake and two fascinating books: Sea room by Adam Nicholson (who owns the Shiant islands), and Lighthouses of the Atlantic by Philippe and Guillaume Plisson. I discovered that Robert Louis Stevenson was the offspring of several generations of Stevensons who built most of Scotland’s lighthouses, but he refused to follow the family calling and, as we know, his life took another course. Alas, it came on to rain hard outside and the rest of our journey was mostly uphill into the wind to the main road to Tarbert where we arrived late and drenched. All the accommodation including the bunkhouse was taken but a very kind young man at the MacLeod Motel fixed us up at his father-in-law's B&B where there was a remaining room, and he took us and our bikes there in his car - truly an act of kindness. Ceol na Mara was very warm and comfortable with a residents' sitting-room with views on two sides and a drinks' cabinet (with honesty box!). At breakfast we met a father and daughter from Melbourne who were descended from people who had left St Kilda before the evacuation and had been to visit the site of their ancestors, house. Next day, knowing that the road north to Lewis was very hilly, we decided to take the bus from Tarbert port. Bus services in the Western Isles are good (in the summer at least); several companies run buses and all of them take bikes without any ado. It's important to check the timetable though as they are not frequent. At the junction with the A858 we unloaded ourselves and bikes and took the road west towards Calanais (Callanish). The sun was out and the wind, for once, was behind us. It was another scenic road to cycle on with little traffic and more sweeping vistas of heather. At Calanais we stopped to visit the standing stones, looking first round the new visitor centre.
The standing stones of streaky grey/black Lewisian gneiss are impressive but I find that the excess of interpretation in the visitor centres for such sites rather sanitises the experience and kills the sense of communing with the past that I think they should have. Another time we will look at some of the smaller stone circles in the vicinity. The standing stones are by no means the only ancient site in the Western Isles which is rich in remains from the Neolithic through the Bronze and Iron Ages to the times of the Norse invasions. We missed tea as the blackhouse cafe further on was closed and finally stopped at the Doune Brae Hotel where the ground floor was carpeted in blue and green tartan. Still in hot sunshine we turned north into a cross wind, passing an imposing and enigmatic ancient broch (circular stone defence) which will have to be visited properly on another occasion. At Carloway we cycled downhill past the school and community centre, and at the bridge where the bus stops and there is a phone box (30p for 15 minutes for a national call) we took a lane towards the Blackhouse Village of Garenin (Na Gearrannan) where we would find the next hostel. The first view of Blackhouse Village is arresting since it consists of several restored, thatched blackhouses on a slope down towards the stony beach. Though it is an important tourist attraction and the museum and café drew many visitors, one of the houses is the hostel where both dorms, the kitchen/diner and two loos, one with shower, are under one roof. Someone had lit the stove and the communal space was cosy and inviting. An Irishman and a Welshman were trying to understand each other’s Gaelic. We unloaded our panniers in the dorm with the window to join a Canadian girl and two young Edinburgh lads with their four surfboards! They had hoped, vainly as it turned out, of finding surfing beaches nearby. Other people were camping up the hill or down near the beach.
We agreed to make the most of this highly unusual location and kept extending our stay until we finally stayed four nights. As it said in the hostel notes: people usually stay longer than they planned! Unluckily, the local shop in Carloway, mentioned in travelogues on the internet, had closed and the nearest shops were 12 miles or so in either direction. We made the most of the cafe (open Monday - Saturday) which served breakfast from 8 am - Andy the chef arriving in time to make fresh scones and pancakes every day. Garenin village was finally vacated in 1974 and restored between 1991 and 2001. The last residents had been rehoused which might have been quite a shock for it would have been a big difference from the close proximity of the blackhouses and their inter-communal life. The decor and the furniture in the museum remained as it was in the 1950s when it was vacated. There was a peat fire in the centre, the box bed was in the kitchen area and farm implements at one end where animals were once kept. Another building contained descriptions of crofting and blackhouse life, showing the need for the inhabitants to carry out domestic and farming activities collectively' and the customs of the close-knit community. For all its communality, I felt that this harsh way of life was portrayed almost romantically in the museums we had seen because it was obviously very hard making a living in the Hebridean climate and terrain when people had little or no transport and had to be self-sufficient. Friday was a lazy day and between visits to the cafe we swept out the dorm and the kitchen in old-fashioned hostelling style. In youth hostels nowadays, visitors are not required to do a chore as they were in the past but there are good reasons to contribute in the Gatliff hostels where the warden is a volunteer and does not live in. It is easy to feel immediately at home in these small hostels so it seems reasonable to try and improve the place for those who come after. I went for a walk on the small but very stony beach and was astonished to see so much plastic jetsam. We took some carrier bags and went to clear as much as we could carry back to the wheelie-bin, mostly plastic drinks bottles. We could have filled a small skip with the junk that was lying about - including a dead gannet caught up in a nylon fishing net. We had the dorm to ourselves that night but not the next when four tall, strapping Polish lads, each with 22 kg rucksacks, joined us and told us about their country in fluent English. There was even someone on a mattress on the floor as the Gatliff policy is never to turn anyone away. But we were missing our bikes so next day we cycled north to the nearest shop, the Butt View Stores, some 12 miles away. On the way we stopped at Siabost community centre - a very modern if out-of-the-way place - for coffee and a look at the small room of bygones with some interesting notices and photographs. Here we found out more about the proposed wind farms for Lewis and heard that the local population were largely against this massive development (see www.mwtlewis.org.uk for the arguments). It's a dilemma because however much we need alternative energy sources, such a huge development here would certainly change the landscape and destroy the wildness. Off the same road, a 10-minute walk over a hill and down to a stream led to the Norse mill and kiln. Two small stone buildings had been restored and thatched, one was for drying the grain before milling, and the other included the vertical spindle and flange arrangement which turned the millstone. Although described as Norse, these mills were common on Lewis and were thought to come from Ireland in the 6th century. Saturday finished with a talk in the museum by a young student from Edinburgh about the history of crofting, the blackhouse village and the use and spread of Gaelic. Sunday was our last day and we decided to take the walk north along the cliffs to Dalmore. A line of green posts at irregular intervals showed the direction but between them there was a lot of bog-hopping, if we were not to get our feet too wet, and some rocky outcrops to go up or round. Twice we came to the top of a steep rocky ravine in the cliffs with a small beach below and watched the fulmars gliding around in the air currents. At Dalmore there is a sandy beach and a large cemetery. We returned along the road.
I had hoped to see more of the rarer birds found in the Western Isles and perhaps a whale but we weren't lucky so we'll have to return some time. There were still many sites of interest and other small islands to visit but 10 days was much too short to do everything. It had been a wonderful tour and we had been fairly lucky with the weather, having only got really wet once. Cycling is my preferred mode of travel to experience a place but you could equally well do this trip by bus and on foot, hitching a lift if wanted. All good
things come to an end. We returned by bus from Garenin to Stornaway,
ferry to Ullapool, and the
cycle bus to Inverness for another B&B
stop before taking the 7:55
train home. A brickbat for the cycle bus driver who in our opinion drove far too
fast back to Inverness, but a
bouquet for the various guards on GNER and One as we were able to take our bikes
all the way to Norwich without having a reservation (or
paying)!
Links: Caledonian MacBrayne ferries: www.calmac.co.uk www.visitscotland.com for the Walkers and Cyclists Welcome Guide and other information Tim Dearman Coaches: cycle bus Inverness via Ullapool to Durness and back in one day: www.timdearmancoaches.co.uk Gatliff Hostels: www.gatliff.co.uk B&Bs: Oban: Kathmore (₤23) Lochboisdale: Lochside Cottage (₤27) Tarbert: Ceol na Mara, www.ceolnamara.com, tel: 01859 502464 (₤27.50) The Rough Guide to ScotlandSea Room by Adam Nicholson - an account of the Shiant islands, off Harris, which he owns
|
