Part 1 ~ Part 2 ~ Part 3 ~ Part 4 ~ Part 5 ~ Part 6 ~ Part 7
The North Atlantic Arc ~ Mr Tattie Heid Home
GG2BoB 2006 Pt 1 < < < The North Atlantic Ring > > > HW2IoE 2008
2007 Portfolios
Stonehenge & Avebury ~ Cathedrals 2007 ~ Three Welsh Castles ~ Northbound Pt 1
Northbound Pt 2 ~ Caerlaverock ~ Knoydart ~ Callanish ~ Glen Coe
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Harry
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Friday 19 October 2007 Last night we met a massive black lab named Harry in the bar at the Anderson, in the
company of his master. This morning, after checking out the ruin of Fortrose Cathedral, we run into a large black lab
being walked by his mistress.
"Is that Harry?" Bobby asks. "Yes," his mistress answers. "How do you know Harry?" We are not sure that we should answer. Harry is nonchalant. We depart the Black Isle via the Cromarty-Nigg ferry, which Ron and I took in the opposite direction last year. The drive to Ullapool is not long, and we have the afternoon to stroll around the town. At one point, we are standing on a street corner near a middle-aged couple with two teen-aged kids, a girl and a boy. The girl raises her foot onto a railing to to tie her shoe, and in so doing, reveals a considerable expanse of her callipygian cleft. I try not to stare; Bobby and Ron seem not to notice. The parents are looking elsewhere--I imagine there has been considerable futile conversation heretofore regarding the suitable height of a girl's trouser waistline. We cross the street toward the Caledonian Hotel, and Ron reads aloud the sign promising "good food and drink and great craic". Adolescent boys that we are at heart, we dissolve in laughter. Bobby says that we have seen the Butt of Rhonda. We hang out in the Seaforth for dinner and pints. I remember the first time I was here not thinking much of it, and the second time thinking it was okay. Today it seems a nice place to hang out. I don't know if it has changed, or I have warmed up to it. No matter. Soon enough, we are on the ferry, bound for the Western Isles. |
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Fortrose Cathedral
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The Anderson
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Cromarty ferry
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Leaving Ullapool
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Saturday 20 October 2007 Excitement on the ferry last night--a military chopper hovered above for a good
half an hour as soldiers abseiled to the deck and back, all while we were traveling at full speed. Very impressive.
We landed in Stornoway, checked in to our B&B, and set out in search of a pint. The last time I was here, I found a pub called the Whaler's Rest. The publican was a retired whaler himself, and there were old photos of whaling ships and such on the walls. We were disappointed to find that the place has changed hands, and the decor has been done over. I found it to be almost entirely without charm (and I'm assuming the pool of vomit out front is not a permanent fixture). They do have real ale, which is new to the Outer Hebrides since last I was out. We decided, after a quick look, to have a stroll around town to see what the other pubs look like. But it was Friday night in Stornoway, and the scene was pretty appalling. All you need to know is that we ultimately decided to return to the pub with the pool of vomit out front for our evening's pints. This morning we set out to tour Lewis. Archeology is a big draw out here, of course, and we find that more and more sites are being opened to tourists. Not all are particularly impressive. The first one we see, a stone circle at Achmore that was not marked the last time I was here (and is poorly signposted even now), is rather uninteresting, the few visible stones lying flat in a partially cut peat bog. But shortly we are at Callanish (or Calanais, as the more prevalent Gaelic signs read). We are fortunate to have some good sunlight for photos while we are there. I don't know what else to say about what is probably the most magical single site in Scotland. If you are interested in such, there are many websites describing Callanish and other megalithic sites in the British Isles, including The Stone Pages, Stones of Wonder, Megalithia, The Magalithic Portal, Mysterious Britain, and Undiscovered Scotland, as well as the Calanais Visitor Centre. The sun is gone by the time we get to Dun Carloway, one of the best preserved and most picturesque brochs in Scotland. We visit two reconstructed Norse mills and Clach An Truiseil, the tallest (and perhaps most phallic) standing stone in Scotland at nineteen feet, on our way out to the Butt of Lewis, the northernmost point of the Western Isles. After walking about on the windy Butt, we visit another "new" ancient site, Dun Eistean, a fortified islet off the northern cliffs near Port Nis. A recently-installed bridge provides access. Archeological survey is ongoing, and there isn't a whole lot to see, but it's an interesting spot, nonetheless. On our return to Stornoway, we stop near Callanish again to see three of the minor stone circles nearby. There have been more than a dozen such identified in the area, an extraordinary complex of megalithia, but these three are the only other ones with any stones still standing. We dine in the Royal Hotel this evening, and I must say it's the best meal of my entire trip so far. Pints are in the Crown, which we should have come to last night--there's no real ale, but it's definitely the best pub in town. There's a good crowd on a Saturday evening, especially with the rugby final on, but it's a civil one. I'm pleased to see there is no overt anti-England sentiment expressed during the match. Perhaps there is no great love for South Africa, either; or maybe Lewis is as remote from Glasgow as it is from London. In any case, Stornoway is redeemed somewhat in my eyes tonight. |
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Callanish
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Callanish
More photos of Callanish at Callanish
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Dun Carloway
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Dun Carloway
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Norse mills
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Clach An Truiseil
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The Butt Of Lewis
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Dun Eistean
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Near Callanish IV
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Sunday 21 October 2007 South to Harris we go this morning. Lewis and Harris are actually one island, the
political division dating back to a split in the inheritance of Clan MacLeod. Before the organization of the Western Isles
Council, the two were actually attached to different mainland counties. They are still spoken of as if they were two
islands, and they are in fact two very different places. Lewis is low and flat or rolling; Harris is mountainous, and in
places gives the appearance of being quite apart from earth, never mind Lewis.
We pass through the mountains of northern Harris and arrive at Tarbert. "Tarbert" and "Tarbet" are very common placenames in Scotland--the word means "isthmus". This, the largest town in Harris, is indeed situated at the narrow neck of land between northern and southern Harris. We drive down the west coast, famous for beautiful beaches, and stop at Tràigh Iar. There are certainly larger beaches, and one may argue prettier ones, but I have a soft spot for this one. Part of it is Clach Michleoid, MacLeod's Stone, on the hill at the far end of the beach. Part of it is circumstance. The first time I came here, I sat in the car above the beach as an intense squall blew foam up over the road. The second time I came here, a seal followed along as I walked the length of the beach, poking his head up every few yards to see what I was up to. Then the seal's apparent mate arrived, and I watched as the two of them...well, use your imagination. There's none of that here today, but Ron and Bobby and I enjoy a stroll on the sand, and climb the hill to see the standing stone. We circle around the west coast, past several other lovely beaches, and through the town of Leverburgh to Rodel, to see the medieval church there. After, we have time for a loop around the eastern side of Harris, the part that is often described as a moonscape. I don't think that does it justice; the moon looks pretty mundane compared to this. The fractured rocks are shot through with veins of peat and heather, and inky black lochs fill the low spots. It's a very strange landscape. [There are no photos here, unfortunately; we were a little pressed for time, and the light was poor, anyway. I've been through here three times and have yet to capture it.] We're back in Leverburgh in plenty of time to catch the ferry for North Uist, or more properly, Berneray--the construction of a causeway between those two islands has shortened the passage to an hour. We land, traverse the causeway, and cut across North Uist to the village of Bayhead, where our B&B lies. I've planned to have dinner in the Langass Lodge, but in researching, I've found a pub, the Westford Inn, in between, and we stop there for a pint. The landlord, Alastair, is a friendly chap, keen to show us his efforts in bringing this old inn up to date, while preserving its historic features. We each get the tour, in turn. Dinner at the Langass Lodge is very nice--it's a place I'd love to stay in, if budget permitted. We are shortly back at the Westford, where we enjoy an evening of banter with Alastair. We discuss politics, religion, and sex, all very amicably, until we hit on the topic of the smoking ban. Alastair tells us that a group of old gents used to come out once a week to drink, smoke, and sing old songs. They no longer do. I have to agree that it's a shame, and it's certainly something I would like to have witnessed. Things change, and on balance, I have to feel that the smoking ban is a good thing...but as Joni said, something's lost and something's gained. |
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Tarbert, Harris
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Tràigh Iar
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Macleod's Stone
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Tràigh Iar
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Tràigh Iar
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Tràigh Iar
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Tràigh Iar
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Rodel
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Monday 22 October 2007 It's a dreich and dreary day. We head back up toward Berneray, stopping first to
see Dun An Sticer, a fortified little islet accessible via three precarious causeways. The sheep munching happily on the
grass there vacate on our arrival.
We cross over the causeway to Berneray and have a look around. I am pleased to find the birthplace of Angus MacAskill, the Cape Breton giant, whose grave I have driven past so many times on trips to Nova Scotia. A cairn stands 7' 9" high, as tall as Angus, amidst the foundational ruins of the house in which he was born. Back on North Uist, we visit Barpa Langass, the best chambered tomb in the Western Isles, and the only one I know of that can be entered. Then we park at Langass Lodge and take the short walk to the stone circle known as Pobull Fhinn, or Finn's People. There is a loop trail from the tomb, but today is not the day to walk it. In fact, Pobull Fhinn's best feature, its hillside setting with a fine view over Loch Eport toward the pyramidal hill Eaval, is obscured by the rain and mist; Eaval is not visible at all. The smell of lunch draws us into Langass Lodge for a warming bowl of soup. Were we staying local this evening, we might be tempted to spend the afternoon here with a few pints. As it is, we must press on, and in fact, I am looking forward very much to the next stop. Teampull na Trionaid, or Trinity Temple, is the ruin of an ecclesiastical site founded in the 12th century by the daughter of Somerled, Lord of the Isles. The ruin is interesting enough, but to be honest, it's not what I'm anticipating. I've been here twice before, and both times was greeted by a pair of border collies living in the house next door. They approached bearing their toy of the day--the first time, a battered plastic soccer ball, and the second, a chewed-up piece of plastic pipe--and laid it at my feet. I threw it as far as I could, and off they went, jostling each other for position, wrestling for control of the prize. The winner had the privilege of laying the toy at my feet again. Being border collies, they'd have gone at it all day if I could have obliged them. When I turned to leave, they picked up their toy and trotted back home. Today I have brought them a proper dog toy, a brand new tennis ball. I've been carrying it these past weeks in anticipation of this moment. But as we approach the Temple, there are no dogs in sight, and I see that the house where they lived is empty and derelict. I am crestfallen. We walk up the path to the ruin and poke around. As we are returning along the path, I see a woman driving away from the recently-built house across the path from the dogs' former home. As she disappears up the road, I hear barking in the house, and shortly I am standing at the gate, looking at a border collie looking back at me from the front door. They've only moved next door! There is no one to let them out--if only I'd caught the woman a minute earlier--and I can't let someone else's dog out of the house, especially on a rainy day. I content myself with saying hello, and toss the ball onto the lawn. [If you are interested, you can read about Teampull na Trionaid at Undiscovered Scotland. There are photos, as well--none that I took on the day are worth showing.] We cross the causeway onto Benbecula and drive through Balivanich, the main town, which services the airport and army base. The housing stock is mostly military, and it seems on passing through a terribly charmless place, completely out of place in the Outer Hebrides--the anti-Brigadoon, if you will. Another causeway leads to South Uist, and we run the length of the island, stopping only to see the remains of some recently excavated wheelhouses. A herd of cows follows us down the unpaved track, thinking perhaps that we have bales of hay hidden in our back pockets. After viewing the site, we follow the track through a gap in the dunes and catch up with the cows again. Having given up on us, they have apparently decided to spend the day on the beach. We might join them for a while if the weather were nicer. We take a short stop in Lochboisdale, and I call home for the Red Sox score (good news). At Pollacher, at South Uist's southern tip, we look across the water to Barra. Then it's across yet another causeway to Eriskay, where we have a pint at Am Politician, the pub named for the ship whose wreck off Eriskay in 1941 inspired the novel and movie Whisky Galore. There are artifacts from the ship in the pub, and one of the infamous bottles, found just a few years ago in a peat bog, is on display. The ferry departs for Barra late in the afternoon, and we make the short drive into Castlebay in the dark. Pints this evening are in the Craigard Hotel, and it's very quiet. The last time I was here, I was fawned over by a local lass who was a bit tipsy and more than a bit dissatisfied with her husband, and later fell in with a family in town for a funeral. I had a great time (and managed to stay out of trouble). This evening, I am a bit disheartened. The grand tour of the Outer Hebrides I'd envisioned taking Ron and Bobby on has been a bit of a fizzle, today, at least, although the lads, as usual, take it all in stride. Maybe I should have flipped it around, visiting Barra on the weekend, and Stornoway during the week. The poor weather hasn't helped. |
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Dun An Sticer
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Angus MacAskill's birthplace
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Barpa Langass
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Langass Lunch
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Old friends at Teampull na Trionaid (1999)
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Beach Beauties
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Toward Barra from the Pollacher Stone
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Barra Bound
Next
SP2BoL 2007 Part 1 ~ Part 2 ~ Part 3 ~ Part 4 ~ Part 5 ~ Part 7
GG2BoB 2006 Pt 1 < < < The North Atlantic Ring > > > HW2IoE 2008
The North Atlantic Arc ~ Mr Tattie Heid Home
Mr Tattie Heid's Mileage
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