Hebrides Tour - Day 8

Homeward bound:

Yesterday's ride ended fairly late so I missed the opportunity to visit Vatersay, the most southerly island in the Outer Hebridean chain. The morning ferry was at 8:00am so a pre-ferry excursion to Vatersay wasn't going to happen.

The evening at the Dunard hostel right on the shoreline at Castlebay and just a stones throw from the ferry terminal was a convivial one.  The hostel was full with visitors from Ayrshire, Dundee, Berkshire and the USA.  I also bumped into an intrepid traveller from South Korea who I'd also seen at the hostel in Tarbert on Harris. He was a late arrival and settled for the only accommodation available which was the sofa in the lounge.

My 4 bed bunk room was compact to say the least and for the first time in the week I was assigned to an upper bunk.  The bunk bed was one of those fragile looking tubular metal affairs which sqeaked and distorted massively as I climbed the ladder.  I feared for the safety of the elderly gentleman below. Also in the the room was the chap from Reading who was hunkering down for the night with eye shades and ear plugs as I got ready for bed.  The final room mate was a young American woman whose verbose drawl could be heard from anywhere in the hostel.  It's the 3rd time this week that I've been in a mixed dorm, I hadn't realised that this was quite common now.  

My return to 'civilisation' awaits:

It's often the case that those closest to a meeting point are the last to arrive and so it was, as I casually loaded my panniers on to the bike I glanced over my shoulder to see the line of cars actually boarding the ferry.  I set off in hot pursuit, of-course the access road I could see from the hostel wasn't the one I needed, it was a one-way system.  I had to climb a hill and go round the back of the terminal causing yet another last minute flap. I made it and settled in for the four and three quarter hour return to Oban.  It struck me that I can fly from the UK to the Middle East in the time it takes for the ferry from Barra to mainland Scotland.

It was a beautiful day to be cruising down the Sound of Mull.

A few scraps of snow remaining on Ben More on the Isle of Mull.  The Islands highest peak and the very first Munro I climbed many years ago.

As my journey nears it's end, for others it's just beginning.

The port of Oban:

I expected Oban to be busy, at least by comparison to the Islands I'd left behind but I wasn't prepared for the masses of tourists, throng of cars or the deafening sound of pneumatic drills and clouds of dust from the town centre road works.

I joined the line of traffic and aimed for the southern end of town stopping only at a busy petrol station to pick up some lunch before climbing the hill out of town bound for a 16 mile afternoon route I'd planned to kill some time before I could get into the night's accommodation.

After 5 miles I was able to leave the busy road, immediately the reduction in stress was apparent and soon I adopted the mindset of a cycle tourer as opposed to the survival instinct of a cycle commuter. 

I stopped for my sandwich at Loch Nell, a pleasant spot which in normal circumstances would be considered scenic but being spoilt by the Hebridean sights, it seemed less than impressive.

Continuing northwards on a succession of steep ups and downs I eventually arrive back on the coast at the estuary of Loch Etive at the Connell bridge.

The very fast flowing outlet of the Loch was being used for swift water rescue practise as each member of the crew took their turn in being dropped in the water and subsequently picked up by the others.

I then joined the busy A85 for the journey back to Oban.  Not enjoying the fast road I was pleased after a couple of miles to see a sign for a cycle path for Oban.  I followed the sign and after a little flummoxing around in a housing estate I picked up the track and enjoyed a traffic free route to the outskirts of town.

The cycle path popped out at Ganavan bay, where a typical British seaside scene unfolded.  I bought an ice-cream and sat for a while enjoying the sunshine.

Back into Oban and my final and unwanted stop-over before my train for home at 5:20 in the morning. I'd booked into the cheapest hotel in town by way of a treat after a week spent in hostels. What a stupid move, I'm sure Oban's Youth hostel would have been a better choice!

   The hotels only saving graces were it's proximity to a bike shop and a chippy, neither of which I was in need of.  

The room had 3 huge sash windows, 1 facing south and 2 west. Only 1 window opened, the other 2 were painted shut so the full heat of this unseasonal sunshine had raised the temperature to that of a furnace.

The room was the sort of dubious place I often encounter abroad but for half the price.  No en-suite, no breakfast, no charm.  My Hebridean heaven was well and truly over.

A 4:15am alarm had me away on the final leg of my journey. 

Only remaining, the hassle of lugging the bike on and off 2 trains, the confusion of crossing Glasgow and the final 10 mile ride home from Preston station.

Another tour comes to an end.  I finally made it to the Outer Hebrides, I'd hoped to get there to do some walking but now never will. I think aboard a bike is a good way to see the islands, their open spaces lend themselves well to the pace of cycle travel.  A car is too fast, you miss too much and walking would be too slow for the less interesting sections.

Although not a difficult tour compared to some previous outings it certainly had that essential element for travel, a degree of uncertainty. This time it was whether I could complete the tour, I'd almost cancelled the trip due to health issues and was resigned to an early abandonment although there was no contingency plan.  Admittedly the possession of a phone and a credit card make outings somewhat less of an adventure than they may otherwise be but nonetheless I'm glad the tour went ahead and a lesson was reinforced. Just give it a go.

I regret not seeing anything of the Isle of Lewis, of not staying in an old Black House as planned and of not having more time to explore other corners of the islands.

I'd like to say I've eaten well on this tour but it's more a case of well, I've eaten.  I've scoffed more Scotch Pies, bags of crisps, Chicken curry pies and drunk enough Irn Bru to sink a battleship.  I treated myself to a curry on the last night in Oban, I wish I hadn't.

So, my tour of the Hebrides will live in my memory for as long as my faculties last.  Will I return, probably not, too many other places to see and not enough time.

My tours are usually all too short but a great joy is the anticipation and planning of the next one. It won't be long before I embark on my next excursion, back to my beloved Andalusia.  

I'll happily settle for the weather I've had the past few days if not the food.

I wish you well on your journeys.

Mark

Hebrides tour - Day 7

Hebridean Heaven:

I left Nunton House on Benbecula after a leisurely breakfast which was included in the price.  It was one of the better hostels I've stayed at on this trip but even the less salubrious ones are enjoyable as my fellow travellers have all been friendly and are often well travelled and interesting.

Today my journey south continues, on to South Uist, Eriskay and then, if I don't dawdle too long the 4:30pm ferry to Barra.  With around 45 miles to cover and not too much climbing it was again a day I could take at a leisurely pace and make the most of the continuing exceptional weather.  Apparently the hottest place in the UK yesterday was a small town called Benbecula in the remote Outer Hebrides. I just happened to be there.

 One of the causeways linking Benbecula to South Uist:

South Uist may not quite compare for scenery with areas further north but it's not too shabby!

                                                  

Any proper cyclist would have ridden up this steep side road to get a close-up photo of this sculpture. I didn't.

A little further on at a place called Milton I came across the remains of an old Black House which was the birthplace of Flora Macdonald whose assistance to the fugitive Bonnie Prince Charlie was immortalised in the song:-

"Skye Boat Song"

Speed bonnie boat like a bird on the wing,
Onward the sailors cry,
Carry the lad that is born to be King,
Over the sea to Skye.

Loud the winds howl, loud the winds roar,
Thunderclouds rend the air,
baffled our foes, stand on the shore,
follow they will not dare.

Speed bonnie boat like a bird on the wing,
Onward the sailors cry,
Carry the lad that is born to be King,
Over the sea to Skye.

[Instrumental]

Burned are our homes, Exile and death,
Scatter the loyal men,
yet oer the sword, cool in the sheath,
Charlie will come again.

Speed bonnie boat like a bird on the wing,
Onward the sailors cry,
Carry the lad that is born to be King,
Over the sea to Skye.

Over the sea to Skye.

                                           The beech at Gearraidh ma Monadh on South Uist:

                                        Leaving South Uist for Eriskay 'The Whisky Galore Isle'

Having dawdled too long as I knew I shouldn't I found myself once again a little short of time to get to the ferry for Barra.  I crossed the causeway onto Eriskay at a speed inappropriate for such glorious scenery.  Of course there was a significant climb to cause even more concern and in the heat of the afternoon sun I was very relieved to crest the rise and see the tiny ferry terminal at the bottom of a lovely flowing descent. I had time to watch the approach of the ferry to Barra, the final Isle of my journey.

                                                                Cruising to Barra:

More Seals - I need a tele-photo lens!  

I'd been told on the crossing about Barra Airport, I didn't know there was one but as it was on the beech I made the detour to take a look.  I think a flight to Barra may be one for the bucket list.

From the Airport I backtracked and then plumped for the slightly longer route around the west side of Barra. Tomorrow morning I would make the 5 hour crossing from Castlebay on Barra to Oban.  I had that 'end of tour' feeling that I know too well. I knew the culture shock that would hit me once back on the mainland even after a short tour of just a week.  Around the corner however was yet one more piece of Hebridean Heaven.

Hebrides Tour - Day 6

After the hail, the heatwave:

I was happy to leave the Leverburgh bunkhouse, I'm  more accustomed to cycle touring in Andalusia and the sheer volume of people was a culture shock.  You wouldn't imagine the Outer Hebrides were more touristy than Spain but they are.  At least more touristy than the places in Spain I visit.  In Spain I meet 95% Spanish people,  in Scotland this week I've spoken to more French, Dutch, American and English than Scots.  I suppose it's good for the local economy but certainly I was shocked by the changes on Skye I've witnessed on this trip compared to previous visits.  The Outer Hebrides are more remote and therefore slower to change but I'm sure the same changes are afoot. Ive heard one complaint this week that Harris is 'overrun with campervans'.  It's no different,  infact not nearly as bad as the quantum changes imposed on countries such as Spain and Greece. It has benefits of course but some people's lives are changed forever in ways they may not choose.

The morning ferry journey to Berneray was a delight, blue skies, calm seas and a succession of small uninhabited islands to view.


I had around 40 miles to do today and with no ferry deadline to meet I could ride at a leisurely pace and take any diversions I pleased.  The first of these was to visit the Gatliff Trust hostel which is where I'd  intended to stay the previous night.  I took a right off the ferry and rode the deserted coast road towards the hostel.

As is invariably the case, the detour  was worthwhile.  How often do you get to see Common Seals basking on the rocks just 20 metres off shore.

A mile further on I arrived at the wonderfully sited hostel at the north eastern tip of Bernaray.  It's a shame the ferry was cancelled yesterday, I'm sure it would have been very different to the chaos at the bunkhouse in Leverburgh.

From Berneray I crossed the causeway linking the island to North Uist.

Looking back to Berneray:

I'd  heard that the 'Uists' weren't as nice as other areas of the Outer Hebrides but certainly the west coast of North Uist is very scenic and has bays to match those of West Harris.

I took a number of side trips down minor roads towards the coast and was generally rewarded by spectacular scenery.  The weather of course is a bonus although I'm sure these places would be equally impressive in a storm, maybe!

The town of Benbecula (it's also the name of the island) isn't the most attractive place with it's airport, military installations and what looks like ex military housing.  I passed through quickly and after stocking up on groceries for the evening I rode the further few miles to Nunton House hostel.  There was nobody around when I arrived at 4pm but a phone call soon brought assistance. I was shown to my room, a very nice 4 bunk ensuite room.  Wouldn't it be just perfect if I had this room to myself after the chaos of last night. Well I did.  The early arrival allowed me to catch up on my laundry, and, all importantly, my blog.  Just 2 more people turned up to stay at the hostel.  An ex serviceman from west sussex who'd served at the military base at Benbecula. He met his wife there, married in the local chapel and was now making the long pilgrimage from the south of England to visit his wifes ashes which were scattered at the chapel.  He reminisced over those years spent on the island and talked of the changes on the island since.

His unlikely travelling companion was a lean, long haired and haggered looking Dutch guy who looked like he'd probably been given a long service award from the local coffee shops of his home town of Amsterdam.

The hostel is alleged to have been visited by Bonnie Prince Charlie whilst being pursued around the Outer Hebrides before his escape to Skye and onward to France. Donald, the current owner/guardian also told me about his grandfather's involvement in the infamous 'Whisky Galore' episode in 1943.  At one point it seems, a wagon full of cases of the contraband arrived at Nunton House, whisky dripping from the back. The wagon left the house in the dead of night to be completely buried in the peat, the locals used their contacts at the military base with their earthmoving equipment. They waited a few months for the heat to die down and the excise men to go on their way before uncovering their stash.  Apparently the following year was a lean one in the area as there was no peat dug for the fires and no potatoes planted as all the men were too busy drinking whisky.
I must seek out the classic film Whisky Galore, I'll watch it now with renewed interest.
The actual incident/shipwreck was on the island of Eriskay where I'm heading tomorrow although many of the scenes were filmed on the main street in Castlebay on Barra which is where I'll be staying tomorrow night.  I'm told it's hardly changed since 1943.

Nunton House hostel;

I had another senior moment on the morning I left Nunton House, it was to be a hot day.  The application however of sun cream to a place normally reserved for chammy cream was a mistake. Needless to say my perineum was safe from the harmful rays of the sun for the rest of the day. 

Hebrides Tour - Day 5

Heading south:

Last  night's hostel was the 'Backpackers Stop' in Tarbert.  None of the mod cons or underfloor heating of last night's hostel but warm and welcoming with lots of nice touches like towels, free tea, 'fresh' coffee, rice, pasta, and all the  breakfast  cereal a cycle tourer could possibly need and all for £20.
It was a good  5 minutes walk into 'town' so once again I was stuck with staying in the hostel.  Getting back on my bike to find food in the evenings rarely appeals. I did however pop into town before settling down to get provisions  for the following day and a couple of bottles of local beer for the evening.
As look would  have it there was a chippy right next to the hostel, meticulous planning on my part.

                                         Hostel yellow, chippy white - happy days

There were 3 other travellers in the dorm, one of whom was a young French guy called Thomas. 

He'd camped out for the last 5 nights but now took refuge in the hostel as his tent was in the bin having been destroyed by the gales of the previous night.

Thomas came out with the quote of the week so far (read in a French accent) - "I murst resharge my iperd, I carn go to ell but not wizout music".  I like his style.

The plan today was to ride from Tarbert to Leverburgh at the southern tip of Harris.  I had all day to do just around 25 miles so it would be nice to ride at a very leisurely pace. The day started immediately with a steep climb from the hostel, a big ask of lungs and legs barely awake. 
I'd planned to take the minor road down the east side of the island but was advised by the warden at the hostel that the west side was more scenic and less hilly. It was a no brainer.

Again, it was windy and chilly but not on the scale of yesterday. Continuing the pattern of the week, I made use of a bus stop for shelter and as time was on my side I checked my map to see where the minor road by the bus stop led to.  It led to a beach called Losgaintir.

I rode the 2 miles and landed at a car park and toilet block. Frustratingly there was a sandy path leading to the unseen beach which was guarded by a cycle unfriendly style.  I normally wouldnt attempt a walk of this distance, 'over 100 metres' but having come this far I decided  to press on.  An awkward tussle got my bike through the style so I had something to lean on to help me on my way.  It was worth the effort.

The route down the west coast was a succession spectacular bays and rocky promontories.

As the miles rolled by I realised that it may be an option to get the earlier ferry to Bernaray at 2:10pm.  As I neared Leverburgh time was tight and it became a full blown race to make Leverburgh on time.  I arrived in a sweaty breathless state. It was ominously quiet, yet another cancelled ferry, this time due to low tides!

I went into the waiting room to find 2 other less than happy cycle tourers, both buried in their books and resigned to the 3 hour wait.  I decided  to wander off to explore a bit more of Harris but on the road out I noticed a bunkhouse so plan B unfolded.  I checked that a bed was available and learned that there was a ferry at 8:25 the following morning.  l claimed a bed, checked my map and decided to ride round a loop of the south east part of the island and head for Berneray the following morning.

This side of the island is in complete constrast to the open aspect and wide sandy bays of the west.  It's all craggy and desolate with just a few isolated houses dotted around.

lm not sure I'd  want to live here but at least there  would be no issues with noisy neighbours.

The route was a joy and virtually traffic free.  It was anything but flat so today's  easy day turned out to be well over 3000ft of ascent, the Hebrides are not as easy as I'd presumed.  

I returned to the hosel to find the place swarming with a group from Yorkshire Ramblers,  13 of them and subsequently 5 other cyclists arrived so the hostel's facilities were stretched to breaking point. Everyone was very friendly though and we all bumped, tripped and nudged our way around each other during the chaos of food preperation in the evening.

Thank you to the gentleman who gave me a wee dram, the 2nd time this week thats happened.  I must look like the type that drinks whisky!


When I'd popped in to the hostel in the afternoon I was told it was pretty full for the night but that no one had yet arrived. 'Go and grab any bed in room no 4' - I couldn't find room 4, I went back to the owners house next door and asked for help.  'It's upstairs  he said, a six bunk room'  I'd already had a quick look upstairs but hadnt seen the room, I ventured back up the stairs. Upstairs was a mezanine level with just 1 bunk in an open area, a big mirror on the wall and not much else, now I really was confused.  I did another tour of the hostel to search for a different staircase, there was none.

With my tail between my legs I sheepishly went next door again, 'I still can't find it' - the bemused owner marched me upstairs to the mezanine floor and pointed at the 'mirror' which wasn't a mirror but a big port hole style door opening with an 8 inch cill at the bottom, beyond it lay the elusive 6 bunk room. Senior moment or a visit  to Specsavers needed? 

Hebrides Tour - Day 4

The Ends justifies the means:

Friday night was spent at the 'Boutique' Cowshed bunkhouse (oxymoron?) in Uig. Now its a while since I stayed in a bunkhouse in Scotland but I don't  remember them looking like this!

It was very good indeed with small dorms, each bunk having its own little shelf, light and socket for the recharging of those modern travel essentials.  I even had a full curtain so I could blog in private.  The curtain however didn't keep out the light when someone burst through  the door 'western saloon syle' at god knows what time. The main room light stayed on for 10 minutes while the offender faffed with rustling
carrier bags and zips before leaving the roomd with the light still on.  10 minutes later I got up to switch the light off, the culprit returned soon after but clearly resisted the temptation to reoffend.

It may not have been the same person, although I suspect it was (a young oriental gentleman) that got up early in the morning, disappeared to the bathroom for 5 minutes, came back and sprayed half a can of deodorant on himself and around the room. I'm afraid the Lynx effect was lost on me, I could have kneecapped the little shit.

It was a glorious evening in Uig, sunny but too early in the season for midges.

The following morning also started promisingly but was windy and cold.

I could see the ferry I needed to catch for the Isle of Harris from the host so it was just a quick mile downhill to catch it.

The crossing to Tarbert is around an hour and 40 minutes, most of it was spent in the cabin as it was freezing and blowing a hoolie on deck.

I stocked  up on lunch in Tarbert and headed off on my planned route out to the west of Harris, I'd heard the road out to Huisnis was one of the most scenic in the Hebrides.  Progress was slow heading initially north as there was a vicious northerly blowing, The trip was an out and back route of around 30 miles with lots of hills enroute.  After a few miles struggling with the gales it didn't look good but then what else could I do with the day, the hostel wasn't open until 5pm.

I stopped for lunch at the only shelter for miles around, the end of a wall provided a bit of shelter from the Arctic blast.  I dined in style making the most of the finest local produce, a Scotch pie, packet of McCoys crisps and a can of Irn Bru.

Some views on the road to Huisnis:

                                                                 Highland Coos:


The return trip was just as cold and arduous as the outward one so were it not for the splendours of Huisnis, it may not have been worthwhile.