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.

Hebrides tour - Day 3

The weather relents:

The morning broke bright and sunny and I was 'almost' tempted to wear shorts  but thankfully didn't.  I treated myself to a full Scottish breakfast (like a full English but more expensive) at the  Old Inn.  I thought  it may be my last chance of a decent breakfast for a good few days.  I worry I  might waste away if not adequately nourished!

The climb out of Carbost was soon rewarded by distant views to the Cuillin ridge.

Sgurr nan Gillean with its Pinnacle ridge to the left, the Bhastier tooth and Am Bhastier further right.

Looking  back down Loch Harport towards Carbost.

The western coast of Skye is a fascinating series of peninsulas and sea lochs, we'll worth spending time exploring  but my route today was long enough so I kept largely  on the main road  which unfortunately is fast and much busier than I remember.  The peculiarly British pass time of drivers terrorising cyclists is alive and well on the Isle of Skye.  The use of passing places on the single track sections seems often to apply to cars only with far too many  drivers  thinking  it's ok pass at speed within inches of cyclists.

Some views enroute to Dunvegan:

The twin flat tops of Healabhal Beag and Healabhal Mor
'Macleods Tables'


I stopped at one point to take a photo of yet another  glorious view, also stopped in the same place was another  cyclist. We got chatting, he was a vet in the Lake District and a keen hillwalker and cyclist. We compared notes for 10 minutes on past adventures, current ailments and the wisdom of curbing yours activities with advancing years.  It seemed neither of us had quite got the grasp of this yet.
We parted  company, I duly got my photo and set off in the same direction.  A mile down the road I met the guy again, on the grass verge with his bike upside down and that 'punctured' expression on his face which all cyclists will recognise.
It was rather more than just a puncture, his rear tyre had a substantial split in it. At this point I realised that in my hasty preperation for this tour I hadn't packed a spare tyre, note to self!
We discussed the options, there weren't many.  A repair was attempted and I was tasked to press on the few miles to Dunvegan in the optimistic quest to find a bike shop or maybe a bike hire place that could supply a new tyre.
There are lots of things Dunvegan doesn't have, not surprisingly any sort of bike facility included.
Via several messages it transpired that a sort of repair had been achieved and the travelling vet was bound for Portree and salvation.

I pressed on towards Uig. I took a wrong  turn just beyond Dunvegan, I passed the castle entrance hoping to continue along the coast but had to retrace and pickup the road towards Portree.  It seemed counter intuitive to be heading towards the east side  of the island when I wanted to get to Uig in the north west. I also kept seeing Sgur nan Gillian which Id passed the day before and it didnt seem to be getting any further away.  I'd only bought a map for the Outer Hebrides as I was confident I knew Skye well enough, I  was confused by getting closer and closer to Portree not remebering that the island is very narrow at this point and its only a few miles from Portree to the east coast.
Soon enough I  hit the junction  and took a left for Uig.
The day was harder than expected, lots of long steady climbs and at around 50 miles it was enough with my current fitness.  Before the final descent  to Uig I stopped at yet another bus stop, not to shelter this time but to rest and enjoy the view.

Hebrides Tour - Day 2

Come back Andalusia,  all is forgiven:

Unfortunately half of yesterday's blog went AWOL but it's not worth repeating so I'll start on Day 2.  Last night's accommodation at a former Fisherman's Mission was basic but adequate other than the unwelcome combination of ill fitting curtains and a very close by Belesha Beacon.  I'd  planned to get  the 09:30 ferry to Skye but following the previous evening's cancellation and the forecast gales, the advice  was to take the 07:40 ferry as that had more chance of sailing. 
The crossing was indeed lumpy but only 40 minutes so not 'quite ' long enough to induce any unpleasantness. 

The views from the ferry back to Knoydart and south to the small Isles including the unmistakeable profile of An Sgurr on the island of Egg.

On arrival at Ardvasar on Skye the sun was shining but in the direction I was heading, it didn't look so promising.

The wind was as forecast increasing in strength, mostly it was a welcome  tail wind but occasionally it was an entertaining cross wind.  Approaching Broadford it started to reach that intensity that threatens to blow you into the overtaking traffic.  I stopped in Broadford for some respite and a comforting bacon butty.
The weather by now was how I remember it on Skye, gloomy.  Only I do gloomy better than the Isle of Skye!

I knew there was a steady climb out of Broadford and I suspected the wind would be problematic.  What I didn't  expect was hail, driving rain and a wind that at one point brought me to a grinding halt on a flat section of road.  On the descent towards Slighacan the stinging hail had me squinting with one eye to see the road ahead.
I took refuge in a bus shelter at Slighacan and pondered on the merits of cycle touring in Scotland.

A minor improvement tempted me to move on, only around 8 miles remaining and indeed the rain did abate if not the wind.

I got to the hostel, the Old Inn bunkhouse at 2pm, much earlier than planned due to taking the early morning ferry. The hostel wasn't available until 5pm so I had 3 hours to kill. Now the pub would be the logical choice but fearing being blottoed by the time the hostel opened I choose to ride on along the shore of Loch Harpole to Portnalong.

I took the steep climb up behind the hallowed ground of the Taskisker distillery and continued on into a worsening gale. Just short of Portnalong further progress became almost impossible and again I had to take refuge in a bus shelter.

This is a video of my bus shelter No 2 experience, if I get get blogger to upload it?

The bunkhouse at Carbost is in a great location, scenic yes but also right next to The Old Inn, a favourite hostelry of old.  The haggis, neeps and tatties wrapped in filo pastry with an Isle  of Skye whisky and cream  sauce went down very well particularly as is was washed down by a couple of pints of Red Cuillin.

Hebrides Tour - Day 1

The journey north:

Into the Japanese Prefecture time zone.

Lugging a loaded touring bike on and off trains has to be my least favourite part of cycle touring, apart from maybe the endless climbs, and getting stung  by nasty hornet things in Spain, and crappy hostels, and strong winds, and hunger, and thirst and a few other things I won't elaborate on. Nevertheless, trains are a hassle.  I am probably more likely to upset my fragile back manhandling my bike on or off a train than at any other time during the tour.  At least spending all day on trains allows me a further recovery from my current back and hip flexor issues.  My 6 mile test yesterday has lulled me in to a hopefully justified sense of security but Thursday's rather longer journey across the Isle of Skye will be a sterner test which, if failed, will cause all sorts of shit. Fingers crossed!

Well, the journey started well and went significantly downhill.  Preston to Glasgow Central, no problem.  Except for the curious leep forward in time. Soon after crossing the Scottish border I noticed my phone had jumped from 10am to 6pm?  It seems I had changed to some obscure Japanese Prefecture time zone, has Scotland surrendered it's sovereignty to a distant land?
Once in Glasgow there followed a stressful ride across a busy and unfamiliar city. A half mile journey which involved cycling down one way streets and on pavements. Queen Street station was a big mess of building  works and judging by the demeanor of the staff there, completion won't  come a day too soon. 
The train I needed to Mallaig was to split 3 ways and no one seemed sure which part I should be on?  Fortunately the announcement put things right but that provoked a frenzied reshuffle on a very busy platform.  Having been told I must remove all pannier bags from the bike prior to boarding I was left weighed down with bags and trying to push my bike on to the train with one hand, not happy.

Once settled on the train I was happy that there were no further changes to make, I could sit back, relax and spend 5 hours watching the weather turn from sunny to shite! 

Ben Nevis is there somewhereg

Just before  arriving in Mallaig an announcement brought news that bad weather had caussed the cancellation of the evening ferry to Skye and that my ferry in the morning was also in some doubt.  A days delay would throw my week long plan in to turmoil. The journey from the station to my hostel is around 50 metres, I was drenched when I arrived, still not happy.  I got to my room and found the zip had broken on my cycling jersey and then I got a message from home to say the car  had broken down.  Beginning to see the funny side!

Let's see what tomorrow brings, more shit no doubt.

Oh, as I plan to be away for 8 days I've had to ask my wife Claire not to eat my birthday chocolates, I'll post another photo of the box when I return!

Outer Hebrides Tour, or not!

Unwanted Challenges:

Whether a half hour pootle will be a sufficient indicator of my ability to complete a week long cycle tour on the Isle of Skye and the Outer Hebrides is in some doubt but as I'm due to depart tomorrow morning I have little other choice, except to cancel as I thought inevitable until yesterday.

The reason for this all too familiar dilemma is the return of my old adversary although his company is never far away.  2 weeks ago doing a 10 mile time trial for which I was probably ill prepared I pulled my lower back and the resulting 'acute episode' has had me struggling since. Add to that a painful Hip Flexor strain brought about by doing exercises to try to help my back and the possibility of going ahead with the tour seemed unlikely.

So, with less than 24 hours before a 'possible' departure I sit here in my dressing gown looking at very dark clouds and bending trees wondering if I dare cock my leg over my bike, not easy with a hip flexor strain.  I think I'm more concerned that the short test ride will go well as then I will be tempted to proceed with the trip and may well end up stranded somewhere in the Hebridean wilderness with an embarrassing injury and an expensive early return home. 

I haven't given a thought to packing yet so I'll need to do that as well as shopping for supplies and revisiting my route plan which I've neglected as I thought the trip was off.I'd better ditch the dressing gown and get a wriggle on!