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 survived the night unmoved and I was full of praise for the tough, little thing that had often had to endure very 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. I had started my trek two weeks previously 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 churning the water 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 that I was there my epic trek was successful. It had not been easy 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 my trek I had enjoyed some good, calm weather that had even been sunny when I was on the Isle of Harris, 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 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 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 with 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.

The Road to Nowhere

Wednesday 17th June 2015

After a wet day spent walking along the road to Tolsta I was hoping for a better day now as I continued my journey north along the length of the Outer Hebrides, but instead I had a really difficult day on the road to nowhere. I had camped at Tràigh Mhòr, just north of Tolsta, and set off along the road from Tolsta north towards nowhere. Just before I reached the bridge over the Abhainn Ghearadha the tarmac road ended with the gravel track beyond the bridge ending soon after. Although this bridge should rightfully be called the Garry Bridge, after the river, it is more commonly known as the Bridge to Nowhere, and it is all that remains of an aborted plan to build a road from Tolsta to Skigersta. The Bridge to Nowhere is a solidly built concrete structure that has withstood the last century very well, aided of course by the lack of traffic over it as it really does go nowhere. After less than a mile of pleasurable walking along the track that continues beyond the bridge, it suddenly ended leaving me with no trace of a road or a path.

I enjoy walking along well-constructed tracks or paths and later in the day I would look back on that brief section at the beginning of the day from the bridge with fondness, when I had views behind me of Garry Beach and Tràigh Mhòr and the jagged coastline ahead of me. After fording the Abhain na Cloich there was no path for me to follow across the moor even though O.S. maps indicate a Heritage Trail. Yellow topped posts mark the route of the trail across the moor, but these are often hard to follow, and soon it began to rain again. The posts were difficult to see unless they popped above the horizon, especially in the misty, rainy weather that I had the pleasure of experiencing while crossing the moor. Underfoot, however, I had a wonderful display of wild flowers of many colours and of all sorts, more than I had never seen before. I wish I had lingered at this point to examine the many delightful flowers, but since it was raining I pushed on desperately trying to find the non-existent path.

Heavy rain, strong winds and boggy terrain along with a paucity of marker posts made this moorland crossing very unpleasant. At one point I thought I could have been spending my holiday on a beach in the Mediterranean, but instead I was walking across this boggy moor on the Isle of Lewis in pouring rain. Later I could see posts on two widely separated hilltops on the horizon and I had no way of knowing which one to head for, until I eventually remembered that I had a GPS trace that someone else had made across this route, so I got out my GPS and headed towards the western post down to the upper end of Dibadale. After climbing out of the valley I passed the ruined houses of Lower Dibadale and followed a semblance of a path on flatter and drier ground to what I has endured north of Dibadale. The ground was now mainly grass rather than the heather tussocks of the boggiest sections of the trail.

I continued to follow the marker posts past two lochs even though my GPS was showing that I ought to be half a kilometre west. I don’t know what this post was marking near Loch Bacabhat Àrd, but I blindly headed north from this post passing to the right of Loch Bacaphat Iorach until I realised that the inlet of Leum Langa meant that I was quickly running out of land. I had get back onto the GPS trace so I crossed from the northern shore of the loch heading west across the moorland before dropping into a shallow valley where I found a surprisingly clear path near the remains of Maoim. From there I was able to follow the path out of the valley and up to the coast near a ruined chapel above stunning, jagged sea cliffs. I sheltered from the wind behind this chapel and while eating my lunch the rain finally stopped and the sun came out which afforded me with stunning views of the coastline including the natural arch near Dùn Filiscleitir.

After all the tears, heartache and many hours of moorland crossing I was a relieved to have finally reached this point and found improving weather. With a renewed spring in my step I resumed my walk along the path past the ruins of Filiscleitir where the path improved into a clear track that led to Cuidhsiadar where a number of mobile summer homes (the modern equivalent of Shielings) were to be found. As I made my way into the area of Ness the weather continued to improve with prolonged spells of sunshine only occasional interspersed with showers while the strong winds remained. I had hoped that I would reach the Butt of Lewis, my ultimate destination on this holiday, during the course of the afternoon, but it soon became obvious to me that that was not going to be the case and I would have to make plans to complete my Hebridean trek the following morning.

Instead of rushing towards the Butt of Lewis I descended to the Port of Ness and spent some time exploring the beach trying to enjoy myself and unwind from my travails on the moor. This is a good, little place and I’m glad that I was able to spend some time there instead of rushing to get anywhere else, and so I was able to lark about on the rocks and stroll along the beach. After spending some time exploring the coastline around and to the north of the Port of Ness I eventually walked along the road into the township of Eoropie and camped in the dunes behind Tràigh Shanndaigh. This was a very tiring day even though the worst of it was all in the morning on the crossing of the Lewis Moor. I had always known that that was not going to be easy, which is one reason why I had put it off until the end of my Hebridean trek. It was very exhausting and was not helped by the poor weather or the navigation posts, which at times were worse than useless.