Wallace's Wayward Wanderings: 2nd August

The Yacht

In the small tents there is little you can do, I had used my tent on Islay earlier in the year, James however had bought his a few days previously. I knew that in my 2 man tent I could get me and my bags, and nothing else. James could fit himself and nothing else.

I was aware of James being up and about early, but I'm not a morning person, I hauled myself out of my sleeping bag late on, the weather was nice and looked ok. The Yacht still bobbed in the bay, no doubt its crew eating breakfast and getting ready to set off for another haven.

We packed up the tents onto our bikes and set off for the Eriskay ferry, the time required wasn't too strenuous, and I had spotted some items and a memorial beside the road the previous night, this turned out to be the remains of a Catalina flying boat, one of many WWII aircraft to have come a cropper on the Western Islands.


Memorial

Although the weather had started nice rain was in the air, we popped into the Co-Operative in Castlebay to stock up on energy food, otherwise known as sweets. We decided to take the West coast route up to the ferry, sadly there wasn't going to be time to go to the Airport, camp and watch the flights from the mainland touch down on the sand, unfortunately too the weather had now turned it was dark, bleak, I sensed what was going to happen and the rain jacket was on, it didn't feel like stopping conditions, the most westerly hotel in Scotland was passed, sights that would normally have been stunning were shrouded in grey and as we cut inland past the Barra Church of Scotland the heavens had opened.

We arrived at the ferry terminal with plenty of time to spare, conveniently there was a catering van sitting waiting for some passing trade, unfortunately he had run out of "Sausage", this being the west coast of Scotland that means "Square Sausage" so he substituted a burger patty, I guess I gained, I wanted to try some of the local sea food he also had on offer but wasn't willing to risk it when I had a few days of cycling ahead of me, other passengers began to arrive including a few on bikes carrying much less gear, some of whom we would shadow for a fair distance and of course the German family with the dog in tow. James even managed to adopt a motorhomer for the hour or so wait.

Jaws

As we crossed from Barra to Eriskay the master on the bridge spotted a basking shark near the boat, it was time to show off! With one last burst of the motors he sent the ship into a drift and shut them down, these ships are designed for manouverability and we drifted round the shark in silence.

Some truly bowfit architecture

The weather was changeable during the crossing but on reaching Eriskay it was truly manky, I stopped for a photo back down to the ferry but didn't stop again for a long time, even on a rapid descent where we passed a photoworthy shrine I did not stop. No of course not what I stopped at was one of the most disgusting church buildings I have ever seen, it is on a par with a church in a village in Ireland I once saw that was similarly Brutal in style. The same religious organisation is responsible for them both.

We battered on through the rain, across the causeway to South Uist and a pretty uneventful cycle to a ruin highlighted by the OS as being "Flora McDonald's Birthplace" I got there first and James a minute or so later, a car had passed me and as it disappeared into the distance I got a first hearing of something I hadn't heard in ages, the rain had stopped, there was no wind, but the conditions were perfect to stifle sound, it was silent. No cars, no planes, no trains not even the sound of cattle, and with the bikes settled carefully they didn't make a sound either.

When Boswell and Johnson traveled to Skye the '45 was still in living memory, and the woman who's birth is marked at the spot was still alive and visited. As Tories the pair believed in the Stuart's birthright to the throne by declaration of god, however excused themselves from the Jacobean cause like many due to a claim that Charles II had abdicated it to William of Orange. To most Flora is known only as the romantic character of folk legend who led the young pretender to safety dressed as her maid to a safe house on Skye.

On the Road somewhere on South Uist

It was not far from here to the Howmore hostel, our target of the day. The rain was now behaving itself and in a short period of time it would be dry as would the ground.

One of the buildings at Howmore Gaitliff Trust hostel

We arrived at the hostel dripping wet, some other cyclists had already arrived and were also drying off, others were soon to arrive. I'm sure the majority of visitors that night were cyclists.

With such a mass of cyclists, bikes were admired, scrutinised, questioned, most others had 2 panniers and the sense to only carry 2 sets of cycling gear and wash them every night and leave drying for wearing the next day. My prop stand was noted, I reckoned for the weight of the bike I needed it as I didn't want to put weight on any bag, but most were happy going light weight, 2 bags on the back and these Gaitlif hostels have a reputation of always finding space for people even when all bunks are taken so little need for tents.

Being mid-afternoon there was plenty of time to spend at Howmore and an aerobie was the perfect toy to throw around on a small mound of Machair, until of course one of us managed to injure ourselves going for a ridiculous catch.

Cows approach the hostel from the ancient chapels

In the late evening, the sound of mass chomping approached, the silence disturbed by a herd of cows approaching across the ancient chapels of Tobh Mohr, clearly no need for lawn mowers here, they chewed the cud as they traveled slowly towards the Machair at the Kirk (another case of the only Church of Scotland on the island), their herder followed slowly on at about the same speed as them stopping to gas with everyone, including the hostel warden who was out to collect money.

Cows on the Machair with the highlands of South Uist behind.

Darkness was slowly approaching, I wandered out across the machair to the white sands of the Atlantic, I was faster than the cows, they had a nosey at everything including the vertebrae and skull of one of their kin propped on the dyke.

This is such an amazing place, after the mornings wet, the ground had consumed the dampness, the sun had dried the surface. And as I wandered round the beach, passing a German dog trailer and a tent (Why they didn't just stay in the hostel camping area I don't know) the sun set for the day.

I had wandered up to the post office, general store and petrol station (all one shop) the provisions were basic but I spotted the local beers, a bottle of 7.5% Berserker Ale was bought and I settled down to read and drink, after a few chapters my head was buzzing and it had nothing to do with James Joyce's writing style.

GPS Plots:
Vatersay to Barra-Eriskay Ferry:
http://ridewithgps.com/trips/347808

Barra - Eriskay Ferry
http://ridewithgps.com/trips/347337

Eriskay to Howmore
http://ridewithgps.com/trips/347797