The Butt of Lewis

Thursday 18th June 2015

On the dawn of the last day on my epic trek along the whole length of the Outer Hebrides I was camped in the dunes behind the beach of Tràigh Shanndaigh near the township of Eoropie. Despite the strong winds that were coming off the North Atlantic Ocean my small tent had survived the night unmoved and I was full of praise for the tough, little thing often enduring such windy conditions during my holiday in the Western Isles. Throughout this holiday my ultimate destination has been the Butt of Lewis, the northern-most tip of the Isle of Lewis, which is the northern-most inhabited island in the long chain of islands that make up the Outer Hebrides, also known as the Western Isles. Two weeks previously I had started my trek on the island of Vatersay, the southern-most inhabited island, and now after walking the entire length of the islands I was not much more than a mile as the crow flies from my destination. Once I had packed my tent away I set off through the dunes and onto the beach where the strong wind was whipping up the waves into a tumultuous frenzy.

The sea was crashing onto the beach in a spectacular display of power and awe with the water churned up into a white froth that was simply spellbinding to behold, and completely unlike any of the other beaches that I had seen on my travels during the previous two weeks. The weather may have been poor with dark clouds lingering low overhead and a storm looking imminent, but nothing would keep me away from my goal as I made my way off the beach and onto the cliff-top grasslands. Sea pinks, also known as thrifts, carpeted the grasslands and complemented the spectacular craggy cliffs that sat above the churning seas. The weather was making the finale to my epic trek especially grand with a spectacularly dramatic climax to my two-week expedition. Blue-topped marker posts showed the route around the headland, but I needed little help as the lighthouse of the Butt of Lewis soon came into sight.

These cliffs reminded me of the Pembrokeshire Coast Path that I had walked last year, but there was a marked difference in that near the Butt of Lewis there were considerably more sea birds that I’d seen in Pembrokeshire. The coastal cliffs were covered with these birds, possibly simply because of the time of year, but they really added to this walk along the top of spectacular cliffs. Slowly I made my way around the coast and finally approached the Butt of Lewis lighthouse, the most northerly point in the Outer Hebrides. It was a relief to finally reach this place that I had spent the previous two weeks walking towards and now I was there and my epic trek was successful. It had not been an easy trek and I had considered abandoning it on several occasions, and towards the end I had just wanted to get to the Butt of Lewis as quickly as possible. Although the weather was poor during the last couple of days, earlier in the trek I had enjoyed some good, calm weather that had even been sunny when I was on the Isle of Harris, even though it had never been particularly warm.

Despite my setbacks and confusion with the route I had reached the Butt of Lewis and could now focus on the remainder of my holiday. Finally turning south I continued along the top of the cliffs taking in the spectacular coastal scenery until eventually I reached Dùn Eistean, a sea stack that at one time was a stronghold of the Clan Morrison. A metal bridge has been constructed to enable access to the small island and so I made the crossing despite the waves crashing far below my feet through the mesh of the bridge. Far greater terrors, however, lay in wait for me from the arctic terns that were nesting on the island. These birds are notoriously protective of their young and will dive-bomb any person who gets too close. As I made my way across the island to its highest point, originally the site of a rectangular tower, several terns swooped low over my head while screeching loudly. After taking a couple of pictures I quickly headed back across to the bridge while more arctic terns passed close by while one actually hit me on the head.

I had seen this happen before on nature programmes where the presenter is constantly ducking their head while being dive-bombed by birds, but it was bizarre and exciting to have it actually happen to me. I obviously didn’t want to disturb the arctic terns any more than was necessary so I quickly got back off the island and continued my walk beside the sea all the way to the Port of Ness. This may have been a short walk, but the stunning scenery more than compensated for its brevity. The past fortnight had been really tiring and very challenging for me, but one that I’ll never forget. I have a few regrets and disappointments, and I have made a few wrong turns and bad decisions, but there were many great moments that will stay with me forever. The Western Isles are a spectacular chain of islands that will inevitably draw me back before too long. The hills of Harris were difficult for me to leave and I long to be able to spend more time exploring these fabulous, rugged mountains.