After David, Lori, Chris and eventually Ian met up at Uig campsite on Friday, our party rose next morning for the latter two to commence some serious resource management (aka faffing) while Lori heroically soloed breakfast in the nearby cafe. Our small but by now well-organised team were the object of some curiosity from American and Irish passers-by as we waited for the 1430 ferry. Once on board (despite noises of protest from Ian’s trolley) we headed for the second lunch of the day to reload the carbs for the efforts to come. On the water at Lochmaddy 1700 we paddled out of the bay and headed north beside the cliffs where we were rewarded with peregrine and sea-eagle sightings, including the latter ‘s nest. A slight push from the south east took us to our first camp on Hermetray. After setting up camp and dinner, we walked round the small island which clearly had been heavily harvested for peat in bygone times but with little sign of habitation. A fabulous summer solstice sunset over our wood-and-flotsam fire on the beach brought the day to an end.
Next day, Sunday, was Hermetray to Berneray via the Sound of Harris. Picking our way past fish farms and the many reefs and islands, we stopped at the lower end of the eastern beach and inspected the superb facilities at the Gatliff Trust-run SYHA blackhouse. After lunch on the machair and a conversation with a dog-walking ex-sea kayaker from Ullapool, we then pushed round the northern top of Berneray to reveal kilometres of magnificent deserted beach stretching southwards. Following this for a while, we eventually cut across to Boreray and were met by the solitary but friendly owner, who has restored several houses on the island including the old school where he now lives. At one point the island supported 180 people. We camped at the spot he’d recommended beside some older sheilings and the ruined church-cum-manse, whose garden included the minister’s outside loo.
Leaving next morning, Monday, we decided in the light of weather forecasts to consolidate our plans. We crossed Caolas a’Mhorain and followed the western coast; then to head for Vallay and decide our next move. After cutting across the bay from Rubha Breilis in a slightly increasing wind and sea to the SE side of Vallay we explored a beached and marooned fish farm unit. As the weather increased we backtracked round Scrifearnach where conditions were becoming increasingly interesting. We landed at Bagh nan Craobhag to take advantage of shelter from the growing NE wind and swell, discovering a natural bathing pool which remained filled even at low water. We established camp on the dunes and explored an unusual island which has a fantastic variety of wild flowers and can be reached from the south by driving or walking across the sand flats. (There’s a great pub quiz double-whammy question in there.) Beside the ruined former laird’s house and steadings we met the current owner dressed in what we now knew to be the modern laird’s uniform of boiler suit, sitting proudly astride his modern steed; the tractor. By now we’d decided to return northward next day as the forecasts were suggesting strong N and NE winds for much of the next part of the week – so though reaching the Monach Islands would have been rapidly accomplished, returning would have been somewhat more challenging. Further spectacular sunsets and views as far as St Kilda were our reward for making the safe and sensible decision.
Rain and wind overnight meant delaying departure Tuesday morning. Despite blue sky and superb sunshine, F5/6 from the north/northwest and plenty of white horses continued into the afternoon; so we further explored the coast on foot, watching the huge variety of seabirds playing on the gusts above the blue surf pounding on the white sands. David was in his element, throwing out names of birds and flowers. We returned to the camp we’d struck earlier to sit out the weather and wait for an opportunity to escape northwards. By 1500 it was clear that conditions were not going to change in the near future i.e. early enough for us to return to Berneray that day, so we made camp again about 20m from the previous spot to make it feel different (and gain some shelter from the wind.)
A favourable window in the forecast for Wednesday meant a 0400 alarm call, courtesy of Chris. Off the beach at 0545 we paddled into F3/2 with slight sea state back up the northern coast of Vallay, past Boreray and across to Berneray to the ferry terminal for 0900, slipping through the causeway culvert on the low tide. Anne Rose was arriving on the 1240 ferry to join us; so we retreated to the Bernaray Bistro to gorge on coffee and rolls of various fillings, none of them particularly healthy but nevertheless entirely welcome. So much so that we couldn’t get back through the culvert (this due to the rising tide, not the increased size of the paddlers.) We paddled to the opposite end of the causeway and trollied over the road before paddling back the length of the causeway to rendezvous with Anne. Meeting up, we paddled back round the south of Bernaray and a seemingly interminable crossing to Pabbay. Sheep, a deer herd, an empty but furnished lodge or two and a seemingly deserted quad bike, complete with keys, suggested the island is used as a base for shooting and fishing trips for the financially well-endowed. Impromptu al fresco freshwater showers on the concrete slab beside the shearing pen were a real bonus for our salt-caked crew.
Thursday was a slightly overcast start round SE of Pabbay and then a moderate water crossing over F2 and Atlantic swell to Rubha nan Teampaill. We paddled tight and lunched at the tiny chapel ruin above the small bay sheltered from the swell. One bonus was an otter who came ashore as we ate; another was Anne making the decision to join LSKC on the spot. From there we headed towards Toe Head, straight into moderate seas, a good swell and stronger winds which proved both stimulating and challenging over the 4.5 km to the point – good 5* paddling. Once round, we were met by rather more confused conditions and David’s spraydeck began to reveal its inability to repel water, leading to the use of a hand-pump. We decided to head to the smaller of two dune beaches at Scarista rather than going straight to Taransay and this, our group paddling less tight than before, led to our second challenge of the day – a steep beach with dumping surf. Aside from the difficulties of landing, getting off proved impossible for the advance party who had to sit it out for a couple of hours until the swell lessened and they could rejoin the others who had landed via a shingle inlet (which had quelled the surf) 1 km up the coast and brewed up. We paddled into the beautiful beach at Loch na h-Uidhe across a glittering sea, sunglasses on and paddling cags off. Late though the evening was, we pitched on what was probably the most stunning campsite of the trip and made our usual fire on the beach after tea.
To stub an oar on a rock where none should be,
To have it rise with a slounge out of the sea
Is a thing that happened once (too often) to me.
But not too often – though enough. I count as gain
That once I met, on a sea tin-tacked with rain,
That roomsized monster with a matchbox brain.
He displaced more than water. He shoggled me
Centuries back – this decadent townee
Shook on a wrong branch of his family tree.
Swish up the dirt and, when it settles, a spring
Is all the clearer. I saw me, in one fling,
Emerging from the slime of everything.
So who’s the monster? The thought made me grow pale
For twenty seconds while, sail after sail,
The tall fin slid away and then the tail.
Norman McCaig