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ReportsReports
Vatersay
The team in Harris
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CLUB REPORTSA Hebridean Cycle Tour - May 2007
So, Saturday, 12th May we depart Oban on “THE CLANSMAN” at 15:30 precisely. At 16:30 precisely, we return to Oban, the Clansman having suffered “a catastrophic turbo failure on our port engine!” We have a one hour tour of Oban harbour whilst the Mull boat arrives and departs. We disembark and to fill in time, we cycle to Ganavan sands where I meet a man who has brought his terrier “on a wee holiday because it has colitis”. Back in Oban, we embark on the diverted “LORD OF THE ISLES” at 19:40. CalMac do us proud by handing us a £5 voucher for a meal plus there is no charge for the earlier tour of Oban harbour on the Clansman. The evening sail up the Sound of Mull is a fitting, proper start to our adventure with views over Coll, Tiree and Staffa to the south west and a glorious pink sky over Rhum, Muck, Eigg and distant Skye. Sunday, we tour Barra and Vatersay. The Cockle Strand Beach which is Barra’s airport, Vatersay sand dunes where the Atlantic has almost cut Vatersay in half and the sad tale of the Annie Jane, lost in 1853 with 350 souls. John it transpires“has a way” with animals. He meets and photographs a stallion which seems very pleased to meet him then is stalked by a collie which chases thrown stones until John’s arm is sore. Monday, we head for the ferry to Eriskay and an unexpected treat. A pod of porpoises delight passengers and crew alike leaping and rolling alongside. ( Sightseeing in Barra ) Tuesday morning and Donald is off! It is 38 miles to Leverburgh ferry at 12.05 so “no slacking!” is the message. Arrive with 20 minutes in hand to discover the ferry is cancelled due to low spring tides. Such stress! The tortuous sail from Berneray to Leverburgh, a maze around rocky outcrops and skerries gets us to Leverburgh where we shop for tonight’s dinner. In the queue, one of us mentions some historical titbit and I reply with some comment about Clan Campbell. “And what’s wrong wi’ the Campbell’s?” asks a loud voice in the queue. Time to leave; we leave! Wednesday morning in Tarbert; badly deteriorating weather and we abandon any hope of reaching Stornaway today. Two hours in the tourist office and twenty nine plans later, we set off, plastic bagged feet, for Stornaway. What a climb! What a barren, desolate landscape! What a dreich day! Yet the challenge provides its own pleasure. Hours pass, before finally, we find the only tea room in 40 wet miles .”Hurrah!” The “tea room” is actually a renovated phone box with one tiny “bistro” table and two chairs. Fortunately we are so cold that six of us this close together seems pretty ok. The “tea room” is run by an alien who has taken on the guise of an “artist” while on planet Earth. We stand around dripping on the floor, shivering while the alien talks endlessly without pausing to breathe (another sure sign she is not human!) telling us she has travelled the globe in her motorhome, painting scenes. Her globetrotting covers “Barra, the Uists, Benbecula and Sutherland…that’s on the MAINLAND you know!” We fight our instinct to “leg it” and some considerable time later, coffee arrives with sandwiches made by her (unseen!) partner. Is he alien also or perhaps a captive deaf man? Laxdale Bunkhouse in Stornaway is top notch; we stay two nights. Don, John, Bob and I visit the museum to see the Lewis Chessmen. The museum is closed for renovations, the chessmen are in London and Edinburgh. In the local tourist info we meet a young lady who says she never knew her father but knows he was a merchant seaman. One of us says it is time for coffee. We leave. On the bus returning from Callanish Stones we enter Stornaway as George and David cycle in to town. Oh to be young again! The return journey to Lochboisdale is made by bus, by ferry, by industrial skip lorry and minivan. The wind is 30mph south westerly and cycling is unrealistic. We cycle one section of four miles from Benbecula Airport to our B&B. It takes just over an hour.
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Not quite sure who started it but somehow it transpires we are going on an adventure. Big Donald plans the route and, like always, arranges that we will cycle into the wind both going and coming back. John is “the travel agent” who arranges our various accommodations. To ensure variety, he books through the spectrum from a five star B&B on South Uist to a “nae stars” hostel at Tarbert. Bobby and I offer to cook and David, the new boy, turns out to be and excellent all rounder, odd job man and “fixer”. George can’t take on any tasks because (as he will tell us several times each day!),“Ah’m the only wan who’s working for a livin’ around here.” Under current EU “Inclusion Policy”, we have to take a token employed person with us. George is it.
On Eriskay, a sudden squall of hailstones as we cycle past the Prince’s Beach (Prince Charlie’s first footfall in July 1745), forces us to take refuge in “Am Politician” bar for a long, slow lunch. We get to handle a bottle of Spey Royal, salvaged (along with another 28,000 cases of malt) from the SS Politician which foundered off Eriskay in 1941 and provided the inspiration for Compton MacKenzie’s book Whisky Galore. This bottle is a piece of Hebridean history so we prise it with difficulty from Donald’s firm grasp and return it to the barman. A downpour at Flora McDonald’s birthplace, a large flock of mute swans by the causeway, coffee and carrot cake at Kildonan then golden eagles circling over the Co-op at Benbecula. Same old, same old! Huh!
A fantastic week with so many splendid memories of glorious beaches, warm, helpful people, great company and a sense of a real adventure and happiness. My own highlight was on the return ferry from Leverburgh. Cycling 40 miles into the wind was out of the question. A solution had to be found. Davy, the fixer, gets us transport to Benbecula Airport for our six bikes in an industrial skip full of old fishing nets. The “price” is we sponsor the driver (DonDon) on his own “Butt to Barra” cycle event that weekend. George, suffering the cold, has dozed off on the ferry and wakes to hear Donald say,”George, give us a fiver, your bike is on the fish lorry and we are going to the airport!” Bemused doesn’t begin to describe it! A grand trip and sure to be repeated.