A Tour of the Isles of Harris and Lewis
by John Kemp
In 2006 Malcolm (Sol) Lomas and myself made a tour of The Outer Hebrides from Barra to Berneray and back. The following year we decided to complete the tour with a visit the isles of Harris and Lewis. We intended also to include a trip to the island of Raasay. However, this time we were also accompanied by Grayham Simpson and Peter Kenner. We left Peter's at lunch time to drive to Loch Lochy SYHA for the night.
The first intimation that the holiday would be eventful came as we were breakfasting at Loch Lochy hostel when Sol said, "That couple tell me the 2 o'clock boat from Uig goes to Lochmaddy on North Uist and not to Harris".
We consult the timetable - the days have been mixed up! Big last minute change of plan - we would have to do the trip in reverse! So, onward to Skye with a stop at Broadford for coffees. We arrive at Uig only to find that all my food boxes and flask have been left at Loch Lochy. So, I have a hasty buy-in before we set sail. The sail across The Little Minch is always full of interest as we try to identify the various distant isles and mountains.
Four pm and we are at Lochmaddy sitting in the attractive visitor centre/café for a cuppa, before starting the easy 14 mile ride to the Gatliff Trust hostel at Berneray. We finally hit the road, but 200 yards on there is an explosion as Peter's rim collapses. We all stop unsure what to do. It is obvious that Peter cannot continue. The only bike shop is 40 miles away at Howmore on South Uist - and that is in the wrong direction. We get a phone number and discover that they have a wheel which should do the job. So, it is decided to leave Peter in Lochmaddy to find digs for the night whilst we press on to Berneray. In the morning, he should then be able to take a bus to Howmore, pick up a wheel, get a bus back and catch us up later.
"Sol has mixed up the ferry times, I have lost all my food, Peter's rim has failed, God knows what is going to happen to you Grayham", I said - prophetically as it turned out.
An hour later we are crossing the causeway to Berneray when a police car pulls up alongside. The window is wound down and a constable leans out and says "I've got your mate in custody!" It was a joke, for he was driving Peter complete with bike the 14 miles to join us for the night at the hostel, where he would still be able to get a bus to pick up the wheel in the morning. Why can't we have coppers like that at home?
The hostel, a traditional black house, is in an idyllic spot only a few feet from the beach. We feasted and drank wine before walking to a viewpoint where we could observe the evening seascapes. Back at the hostel we met 68 years young Margaret who was camping and touring alone by car. "My children worry about me setting off on my own and call me the mad granny" she said laughingly. We chatted and in conversation we told her of Peter's predicament. "Oh well" she said. "Take my car. I can always go for a walk and stay here another night instead". We could not believe such generosity of spirit, and it was arranged that Peter would borrow her car, drive the 84 mile round trip to pick up the wheel, get the later ferry to Harris and then catch us up at the hostel in Tarbert.
Next morning we saw Peter off and took the ferry to Leverburgh. On landing, Grayham found that with all the additional weight a spoke had broken. My emergency cassette tool would not locate easily on Grayham's frame so we enlisted the help of a local engineer who had a set of tools, removed the cassette, replaced the spoke and all was like new - or so we thought. Lunch at the port café and we had now lost so much time that we decided that we might as well now wait for Peter on the afternoon ferry rather than press on as originally intended immediately to Tarbert.
Peter duly arrived and was surprised to see us still waiting. We would have taken the east coast or 'Golden Road', but our engineer friend advised us that the west coast route was much more attractive and not to be missed by anyone coming to Harris. This proved to be good advice for it is truly a wonderfully scenic route with beaches of golden sands and mountain panoramas.
The independent hostel at Tarbert is central, so we decided to go to the Harris Inn for a buffet meal. Here we ate as much as we could for £10, had a pint and spent a pleasant evening regaled by tales from three local river wardens. Among many tales, they told us of an acquaintance who passed his driving test on the Islands, and when confronted by a roundabout on visiting the mainland, did not know what to do, so turned around and came back!
After breakfast we set off for the hostel at Kershader. Initially the main, and only, road is flat and follows the west coast. This is short lived for soon there is a long and steep ascent from Loch a Siar through a mountain pass before descending to Loch Seaforth. The climb was not made any easier with all the extra weight of panniers, front bag and a large tool kit. This is followed by a wonderful flowing descent to Loch Seaforth.
Once through the mountains the road becomes gently undulating as we pass, almost unknowingly, from Harris to Lewis. Following a wayside stop for a picnic lunch we continue to Bal Allan where we are told there is a tea shop at the other end of the village. This must be the longest village in Britain - all of two miles long and uphill. Eventually we arrive at 'Island Arts' a gallery cum café cum B&B run by Debbie and Paul two artists from Wolverhampton. They make us very welcome and, despite the 'closed Sunday' notice, they agree to open next day especially for us, provided we hide the bikes behind the building. They would not wish to upset their Kirk attending neighbours.
Replenished we retrace our tracks for a couple of miles and take the road south of Loch Erisort and on to Kershader, only stopping at the Loch Erisort Inn to stock up with wine for the evening meal. The landlord immediately asked me where I came from. It turns out that he is a Yorkshireman from my home town of Huddersfield, so we chat nostalgically about places, rugby league and the like! He tells us that his inn is one of only two on the island that is open on Sundays - and so Sunday is his busiest day!
A little further on the so called community hostel at Kershader is somewhat of a misnomer since there appears to be little community nearby. It is clean, modern and functional, but is rather lacking in character compared to the simpler bunk houses we visited, and the immediate scenery is a little less inspiring.
Next morning we re-traced our steps to Bal Allan where we knocked up Paul and Debbie, so that we could enjoy a second breakfast of bacon and egg butties. We talked for over an hour before saying goodbye and taking the road north and west to Callanish. On the way we were able to admire the extensive panoramic views of the Harris hills to the south. Grayham punctured, and so it was well into the afternoon when we arrived at Callanish. Being Sunday the visitor centre was closed, as is everything else in Harris - almost!
Callanish has to be one of the most magical atmospheric places I have been to, and it is no wonder that Debbie and Paul's gallery is replete with paintings inspired by this place. To my mind, this stone circle creates a greater sense of awe than either Stonehenge or Avebury or Castlerigg, It is something in the backdrop of sea and mountains and the very shapes of the stones themselves. At other circles, the observer feels more detached - plasticised history. But here one cannot be but involved!
After many photographs we continued to Carloway where we found the only other inn to be open on Sundays. The friendly landlady printed out a weather forecast for us - the present good weather was supposed to continue for the next five days! She told us that the Kirk had tried to stop her opening, but that they were batting against a brick wall. Times would change since young islanders knew more about Calvin Klein than John Calvin!
We carried on for the last few miles to our objective - the restored black house village of Garenin. This remarkable collection of crofts is perched on the edge of the Atlantic and consists of a series of simple single storied thatched cottages which have been restored in their traditional style. Some are now let out as holiday homes and are extremely well appointed internally. Amongst these, the Gatliff Trust cottage is basic and was only slightly too busy for comfort. But given its situation its popularity was no surprise. In the evening we walked up to the headland to survey the tremendous views of hills and islands along the Atlantic coast. On the return I tripped and fell headlong, splitting my lip in the process, but otherwise none too worse.
Back in the hostel we met an 82 year old 'mad bachelor from Lincolnshire' as he described himself, who had not only climbed all the Munroe's, but also all the Corbett's. He was now re-living his earlier experiences by hitch hiking around the Highlands, though only able to look at the mountains from below. That's life - doing what you have always done because that is what you do!
The following morning we abandoned plans to go to the Butt of Lewis and took the direct route to Stornoway. This follows the line of what was a proposed railway. Early in the last century Lord Leverhulme had the track bed laid, but the railway was never built. It is now a relatively flat surfaced road. It traverses some pretty desolate, featureless, exposed and uninhabited countryside - not a place to be on a bad day!
Stornoway, and we lunch at a café and then try to find the hostel which is a couple of miles out of the town. We stop to ask a couple of young women the way and discover that we are talking to the warden of a newly opened hostel in the centre of the town, so we decide to try there. The Heb Hostel on Kenneth St had been open for only 3 weeks, and as hostels go it is 5 star plus. £15 per night, all found and breakfast included. Do not miss it if you are in Stornoway. After dropping our gear we went for an afternoon ride out past the airport, but this turns out to be a flat uninspiring ride into a strong headwind and we decided to cut it short and return to explore the town.
the road to Callanish
On our return Grayham finds that two more spokes have broken and that the back wheel is badly out of true. There is supposedly a bike shop on the edge of town so we set off to find it, but on the way, and quite by accident in the same street as the hostel, we find another quite well appointed shop. Here Grayham is able to purchase a new wheel, and so all at last is well. Good job we had not gone to the Butt of Lewis! That night we visit a Thai restaurant - there cannot be many of these within a hundred miles - for an excellent meal.
Tuesday morning and we set off for the Gatliff hostel at Rhenigidale. The wind has unusually been in the north east all week, and today for the first time we have it behind us all day. We have to backtrack on quite a bit of road, so again we call in at "Island Arts" where Debbie and Paul once more serve us bacon and egg butties, and keep us entertained by stories of their new found island life. To reach Rhenigidale we have to climb almost 700ft from Loch Seaforth and then descend back to sea level at Loch Maraig. This is then followed by a shorter but quite vicious climb of about 1km to enter a trench between the mountains. This is traversed before dropping dramatically to the hostel at the mouth of Loch Seaforth. The situation is superb - surrounded by sea and mountains on all sides. Until quite recently the only access was by sea or a high-level footpath. We meet a man born there 70 years ago who tells us that the new road has saved the village from extinction. The hostel is a two story highland cottage, but like all the Gatliff Trust hostels full of character and interest, not least in the like minded and interesting people one meets with whom to swap tales of travels and experiences.
The next morning, for a small fee, the driver of an otherwise empty bus takes our bags to Tarbert, and so lightened we are more able to take a roughstuff route. But first we have to reverse the descent and climb of yesterday to return to Maraig. In this isolated spot we meet again on the road our 82 year old from Garenin hitching his way to Rhenigidale. We chat and wish him well before we leave the road to take a, for the most part, rideable track to the col of Braig an Ruisg. This is a former packhorse route and part of The Harris Walkway. From here there is an enjoyable single track descent to Glen Lacasdail. This is followed by a good track alongside Loch Lacasdail until we meet the road at Urgha, from where it is only a short ride into Tarbert. This off-road route through the mountains is to be highly recommended. It has all the character of a mountain route - remote, little frequented, ascent, descent and scenic, but without seriousness - a route to relax and enjoy. If we had known we would not have needed to send our panniers by bus - though it did make it easier!
At Tarbert we decide to continue to an independent hostel at Drinishader and return to Tarbert the next night so we can get the early morning boat back to Skye. But first we stop at a delightful café for a cup of tea where Peter decides for us that it would be a good place to eat out at. So, he arranges for a meal there the next night.
We continue to Drinishader on the 'Golden Road'. After ensconcing ourselves in the hostel we go for a ride to find a café further down the coast. The scenery is remarkable all bays and lochans, reflecting in the sun - up and down, never more than a few metres above sea level. We pass a couple in a caravan who tell us that the café is only a short way down the road and that it is "not hilly". We continue, but it is too late. It will be closed, so we turn round. We are beginning to feel a little bonkish as we have had no proper food today.
At the caravan we harangue the couple "What do you mean it is not hilly? It is up and down and up and down and up and down!"
"Well I meant they're not mountains" the wife replied.
They must have taken pity on us for she said "Would you like a cup of tea?"
"I thought you'd never ask", I replied.
We stayed and spent a happy hour taking tea and biscuits before making the undulating push back to the hostel into a strong headwind. Thank God we had not taken the Golden Road from Leverburgh five days ago. My mapping programme says that it involves 3000' of ascent, and yet it never rises more than a few metres above sea level - what a switchback!
The only other occupants of the hostel were a young woman (well, younger than me!) and her mother who were hostelling through Scotland and The Hebrides by motor car. We ate, chatted and discovered to our surprise that the daughter did not drive, and that it was the 84 year old mother who was doing all the driving. Again, someone doing what they are doing, because they have always done it!
Next morning we rapidly moved back to Tarbert where we dropped our bags at the hostel and went for a coffee. Peter and Sol spent quite a few pounds in purchasing paintings from those on display by local artists. We decide to ride out to the island of Scalpay to the east of Tarbert. On the way we were engaged in conversation by two travelers. They were being filmed for Gaelic TV as they journeyed through The Islands. Unfortunately, since the film will only appear on BBC2 Scotland we are unlikely to see ourselves!
Crossing the high level bridge to Scalpay we became aware of the strength of the easterly wind. Surprise - there is a café, and no surprise - we head for it. We are told that the building of the bridge has prevented the island from dying. There are something like 300 people living there, but there is still a problem of a dwindling numbers of younger people. We ride as far as we can, drop the bikes in the middle of nowhere and walk a mile across moorland to the lighthouse. The situation is dramatic but the whole lighthouse complex is now a sorry sight, deserted, neglected and dilapidated. We walk back to the bikes and with the wind behind us head back to the hostel in Tarbert. Then to the café for our gourmet meal and finally to bed.
7.30 a.m. and we are on the ferry back to Uig. Two hours later we are on Skye, retrieve the car and drive to Portree for shopping and a late breakfast. We continue to Sconser where we take an early afternoon ferry to the island of Raasay. From here it is an uphill 3 mile ride to the SYHA Alan Evans Memorial Hostel situated high above the Sound of Raasay with views to Storr and Trotternish.
After dropping our bags we set off for a ride to Brochel at the north of the island where there are views across the Inner Sound to Applecross. We continue along Calum's Road to Arnish. This road was constructed single-handedly by Calum MacLeod using only a pick and wheelbarrow. It is a remarkable undertaking as it rises, falls and traverses cliffs for almost two miles. Concerned at the depopulation of Arnish, he believed that people would return if only there were a road. Since the local authority would not provide one he had to do it himself! Only after its completion and Calum's death did the local authority tarmac the surface.
By now I was feeling hungry and set off back before the others since there were some short but stiff climbs on the return. This journey southwards along the island opens up a fantastic panorama of the entire Coulins from Clach Glas and Blaven to the main ridge. At the hostel I was joined by Grayham and Sol but there was no sign of Peter. He returned later having punctured, but having left his bags with his spare tubes at the hostel, he had to take time to repair it. We spend a pleasant night dining then chatting to the voluntary warden, and some geology students who were undertaking fieldwork.
Up early, a fast dash to the ferry and a drive to Broadford for a coffee, then on to Fort William for an all day breakfast at Morrisons. This is followed by a drive to the former SYHA hostel at Wanlockhead (the highest village in Scotland) in the Southern Uplands. This is now an independent bunk house - extremely well appointed and well worth the visit. We eat and then call at the non-descript pub before an early bed.
The last morning we fight off our only plague of midges as we pack the car and finally journey homewards. It had been a memorable holiday, outstanding scenery, good riding, good company, and for the Hebrides, good weather, no rain, not too breezy and no midges.