"PAUSE, take some time out to observe the wonderment that bejewels our world.. RESET, get things in perspective, refresh your soul and start again. The Great Artist has painted many works of art, we are all invited to walk in them" - Pause and Reset (poemblog19.blogspot.com)
Run-up
This is our sixth continuous sweep of the Outer Hebrides and seeds of expansion have already been sown for the seventh. On this particular visit we wanted to see the Islands at their bleakest quarter, it was Winter after all but as one Poet lamented "there is beauty in bleakness, there is beauty in bland". It was time to put every day cares on hold, a break from the play time to - pause and reset.
I don't really know why but there's always something exciting about being on an island, they command adventure and thrive on moments of serendipity. On pondering this matter I realized, actually I do know why! It comes down to one precious commodity - Hebridean Air!
At the risk of boring hardened Blogfans, I will once again just give a brief definition of what Hebridean Air is -
Hebridean Air - " Pure air that is breathed in from both the inner and outer
Hebrides of Scotland. Due to chemical compounds released
from plankton and various bog wetlands, this creates a
reaction in the brain that Scientists have not yet recognized.
In moderate doses this may cause bouts of hilarity. In some
cases it may cause the recipient to skirt the bounds of abject
stupidity and be curled up laughing in the process"
Added to the above, harmonizing ferry times to fit in with your timetable is virtually impossible but don't worry, you're just 'reseting', you just have to accept the fact that due to the irascible weather, ferry times and cancellations fall into that penumbra of uncertainty. It's an adventure, enjoy it! Pause and Reset.
North Lewis
Just after the Great War a certain Lord Leverhulme fell in love with Lewis and Harris, consequently leaving a long and lasting legacy on the island. You may never of heard of him yet his real name William Lever may raise a few eyebrows. He was one of the Lever Brothers who developed soap from vegetable oils and palm oil. He was very entrepreneurial and a huge philanthropist. Conversely I think of him as the unluckiest man who ever lived!
His downfall was he wanted philanthropy on his terms, Island Crofters were reluctant to depart from their hereditary traditions hence he had the financial clout but not the backing of the Islanders. All the area of blanket bog never became forests of fruit trees, the Island's population remains static at 20,000 not 200,000! He constructed a state of the art Whaling station then the government banned whaling! On the North East of the island the road runs out at Tolsta, Leverhulme built a bridge over the River Gieraha with the intention of carrying the road up the East coast, this never materialized - hence, the 'road to nowhere'! This has now become a Heritage Trail providing a snapshot of the Island's ancestral past, let's take a closer look because this is a real gem.
The B895 finally runs out of steam at North Tolsta. Crossing 'the bridge to nowhere' we now find ourselves on an old drovers track that wends it's way through ribs of rock and moated bog until it finally links up with the township of Tolsta after about 10 miles of hard graft.
The fine arc of golden sand at Garry Beach is arguably the finest beach on the East of Lewis, with the sapphire sea twinkling under an auburn sun of promise I can't help but think it's Gaelic translation 'Ghearadha Traigh' gives it a richer poetical sweep. Walking onward you can't help but lament the emptiness of the land but all of that is about to change! Revamped shielings suddenly start to spring up like mushrooms. Our hearts are aglow with the randomness of it all.
Up until the early 19th century, Crofters herded their Sheep up into the rich pasture of the hills every summer in order to keep the lowlands arable and cultivated. Throughout the duration they would live in temporary booths called Shielings. Lewis has a plethora of these ruins, some in remarkable condition - others reconstructed from the base with a large dose of imagination and enterprise.
Up on the headland, looking down on us with the austerity of an Easter Island statue was a very well preserved ruin of an 18th century chapel built by a local builder of the era, John Nicholson. This has not long fallen into desuetude, people worshipped here until the 1930's. The congregation would comprise of anyone from local townships to passing Fishermen.
As I paused to reset, the quality of light was exquisite, the amber tinted transparency
of the bogscape shone under the silvering air, I thought to myself what must it really have been like? And I could see in my minds eye - against a mural of breathtaking cliff scenery, families trudging up the hill on the Sabbath, children clinging to their Mother's posh frocks, Fathers in dark tweed suits clutching their large Gaelic bibles to their chests. Maybe that's how it was but then my mind was distracted by a Meadow Pipit seemingly oblivious that it is being circled by a Hen Harrier.
Anyway moving on, one of the highlights of any Motherland jaunt is to visit the local Kingdom Hall of Jehovah's Witnesses, we did this at Stornoway, what a joy it was to mingle with the thirty or so publishers who have the privilege of witnessing to this
beautiful island. It was as if we had all known each other for years. When we visited the Harris distillery someone called my name, I turned on my heels, I thought I don't know anyone here? I was mistaken, here was a group of friends we had met the day before - we truly are a global brotherhood!
Isle of Harris - The Hearach Single Malt
I had previously been in two minds about the Harris distillery, I even questioned it's motive in a previous blog by asking the question - " has the clumsy grasp of commercialism stretched it's hand too far?" well after time and consideration I've fallen firmly on the right side of the fence - Harris distillery is a venture of integrity! ( Ingram Fact)
Everything about the distillery is intrinsically linked to the Island. I would go so far as to say that it is unique! Even down to the swirls on the Gin bottle replicating the ripples on it's vast unspoilt beaches. When you drink the liquid you drink the land, when you drink the liquid you drink miles of sequestered wilderness, hills that thrust up like jolly green giants and rivulets glistening over patient pebbles. The real clincher is that the product, Gin or Whiskey, will never adorn Supermarket shelves - well beyond the clumsy grasp of commercialism!
On a personal note, I had a chance meeting with the drummer from the Buzzcocks, John Maher, who lives on Harris. As a teenager I was swept along with the New Wave scene. He was totally approachable and thanked me for dropping by and taking the time to chat with him, I said "I don't mind". He's maybe a Blogfan. We did have a lot in common but I assured him I've never fallen in love with someone that I shouldn't have fallen in love with!
North Uist and Benbecula
With a population of 1, 250 scattered over just one hundred and seventeen square miles, North Uist has no self aggrandizement yet is an emblem of adorable wild artistry. As we cycled, walked and drove past glassy lochs reflecting cobalt blue skies, I thought if I had the circulation I would love to dive into those mirror surfaces and swim in that crystal clear pure water! After careful consideration I thought this would maybe give me a heart attack so I declined. Notwithstanding, on North Uist you are bound to have a connection with the water, it's akin to feeling the pulse of the island. Deb had her finger firmly on the pulse.
We noticed the intriguing Scolpaig Tower on a small islet on the loch bearing it's name. This was constructed in the 18th century on the site of an ancient dun. It was commissioned by a benevolent Landlord of the day as relief work for his tenants in a time of famine. In the grip of Hebridean Air we endeavoured to wade through the icy cold waters but it was guarded like ancient Babylon. Eventually Deb took up the gauntlet and bagged our quarry. There is live footage plus photographs of my botched attempt but these have been withheld by request.
If you sit and look at a map of the Western Isles you will notice several points of interest that compete for your attention. I've always been intrigued by what appear
to be Islands in the sand or to use the correct term 'tidal islands'. We bagged a couple on this trip. The first one 'Vallay' is about three miles long by about half a mile wide. Its piece de resistance is a baronial mansion designed by the renowned textiles manufacturer, Erskine Beveridge ( what do you mean you've never heard of him! ) It was built in 1902, Beveridge died in 1920 and the place has been left abandoned since 1944! It may be a bit of misplaced flamboyancy but it was the most random thing you could ever find on an uninhabited Scottish island, whoever designed that must have been on Hebridean air. Well worth the two mile cycle across the beach.
Nothing can help you 'reset' more than being immersed in nature. To cross over into its parallel world oblivious to the tangled passion of humans. On North Uist especially it was a real joy to see so many varieties thriving - fields full of Lapwings, Curlews and Snipes foraging on the beach, flocks of Green Finches, Fieldfare, Plover, Ringed Ouzel, Redwing, Sandpipers, Red Shanks and many unidentified ( and some wrongly identified ) The RSPB reserve at Balranald was a little patch of paradise - dancing rainbows disrupted the forlorn beach from it's reverie as the long shadows of winter brought forth a silent repose. All we needed was binns, camera and an appetite for the wonderment of nature. Simplicity is the forgotten virtue RESET.
Sandpipers
A swish of Sandpipers land on the beach
morning waves under an apricot sun
riot of sound in a babble of speech
incoming tide chases birds on the run
grasping the sweetness of nature's long hand
gust of Sandpipers better than a dream
forage fervently as one in the sand
sticking together they work as a team
scripts of tiny feet on legs of wire
their toes write in cuneiform where they tread
each page is washed clean but they will not tire
this pending novel will never be read
a breeze of Sandpipers dance on the wind
swaying merrily as clouds float on by
like ink to paper to the beach they're twinned
safe together as night reclaims the sky.
(poemblogtwelve.blogspot.com)
Moving further along the mural brings us to Benbecula and surprisingly it also is being illuminated by this window of fine winter weather. There was not a breath of wind and everything had a toothpaste advert freshness. Benbecula is predominantly flat but in the centre of the island it's flagship hill, Reubhal gives a commanding viewpoint. This seemingly insignificant hill stretches itself out in lordly dominance over a preponderance of tiny lochs and lochans. Back on the ground we cycled to the East of the island still captivated by an extravagant water world of elongated ceramic blue shields.
As the sun set on the St Kilda viewpoint the sky was in a riot of colour giving everything an overriding prosaic quality. I turned to TWD and said " I don't think we've ever been anywhere quite so lovely" She agreed. Ironically we tried to cycle/walk to this location via a track through some woods but ended up being ring fenced by trees, little did I know from the other side of the island you can drive up it!
South Uist, Eriskay, Barra and Vatersay
Our truce with the weather finally ended on South Uist, silvery blue sequin lochans now had a ruffled surface as the wind gradually climbed the Beaufort scale. Mist descended with that dreaded feeling of permanency as the rain came down like it had been nursing a grudge with us through all the fine weather. It was in a rainy spell that we met our 2nd famous person! We felt sorry for this chap stoically plodding on through a Hebridean aquatic moment and gave him a lift to the Co-op at Dalabrog. The conversation in the car certainly wasn't stilted but even I could tell that there was something different about him. But TWD with that enigmatic 6th sense took things to the next level - in the CO-OP she asked him "should I know you?" he sheepishly replied that he'd written a couple of books!
This was Max Landsberg! And if you're reading this Max, I should think you are now you're a Blogfan, at the time of writing, your book "the call of the mountains" is now on order. One of the things I mentioned to my good friend Max in the car, was that in spite of the downturn in weather we were still determined to do something outdoors and that was our firm resolve. With Max's blessing we headed for Loch Skiport on our bikes. Our intention was a reconnoitre for climbing Hecla and/or Ben Mor the next day but the weather had pared down our options, disillusioned - no chance, not on the Western Isles. Our spirits rose like a kite when we observed at close quarters on Loch Skiport the antics of a very special Bird, one we had only seen in books - the Great Northern Diver! A bit more than a consolation prize.
The second tidal island we bagged was the wee island of Orasaigh (lit. tidal island) off the coast of South Uist. It was refreshing to access it's storm bound secret world meandering our way around abandoned sea faring paraphernalia to clamber up its caramel slopes to a modest summit of 85 metres. Sadly the long fingered hand of the modern world had left it's mark in the form of piles of sugar kelp ripped out by the roots! This means it wont grow back, the upshot being this will have an adverse effect on marine life. When we visited the Harris distillery, mentioned earlier, our guide assured us they only remove the leaves for their Gin infusion - hence they manifest respect. Sadly others don't.
By the time we reached Eriskay it was Sunday and even the cute Eriskay ponies that roam free, posed no threat to the fragile silence. The weather wasn't even hinting at clearing and as we roved around Barra's crazy coastline the waves were no longer gently breaking on the sand but throwing themselves on the shore with Herculean force! My mind went back to a Bible character ' Noah' who said some famous words that still resonate with us today - " it looks like rain" and it did! So rather than walk, cycle or even wind the window down, we preffered the cosy seclusion of the car.
True to form Calmac pulled the bad weather card which meant by necessity we had to scramble for one of the few remaining bed and breakfast places left on the island but behold, here was the masterstroke of unexpected genius. We ended up at the appropriately named 'Endeavour'. Our hosts John and Jill are immersed in the music of the island and their love of the land and it's heritage is self evident. We only popped down at tea time to use the microwave - at 11.30 pm we thought we finally had to call it a day after all the entertainment, singing, dancing, as well as tours of the brewery (!) and garden. Some things you feel are just scripted.
Endeavour
in honest hearted sweet endeavour
the sound of Barra will last forever
under weeping skies there's a blessed terrain
a shelter from the wind and pouring rain
serendipity's joy cannot expire
nor the happy glow around your fire
pondering the moment living the dream
a candle in the dark shows where we've been
we always wiped the mud from off our boots
but memories linger right down to the roots
dances and jigs stop your timbers from falling
when the comely Hebridean hills are calling
with heartwarming ale when the day is through
out of your windows the sky is always blue
John and Jill will be blessed forever
in honest hearted sweet endeavour.
Outrun
Well as Samuel Daniel said 'the pleasure is in the passing now thought must lengthen it in the heart'. And that is inevitably what it does. I hope that the blog wasn't too wordy, I know I can waffle on a bit but what I love is what I want to share. On an educational note too, due to an abundance of Hebridean Air we now know many things that we didn't know at the outset these are:
1. A motorized vehicle doesn't work if the keys aren't in it.
2. In Scotland Hawks are called Hocks
3. On a rough ferry trip, if you're feeling queezy, eating your meal quicker doesn't make the blindest bit of difference.
4. You can't cycle through peat bogs and boulder fields.
On a serious note I'm sure we all have our favourite places, we can't all be the same but for me getting away from it all is where the din of human static fades, then you can truly PAUSE AND RESET.
Shine on, Marky x.
Run-up
This is our sixth continuous sweep of the Outer Hebrides and seeds of expansion have already been sown for the seventh. On this particular visit we wanted to see the Islands at their bleakest quarter, it was Winter after all but as one Poet lamented "there is beauty in bleakness, there is beauty in bland". It was time to put every day cares on hold, a break from the play time to - pause and reset.
I don't really know why but there's always something exciting about being on an island, they command adventure and thrive on moments of serendipity. On pondering this matter I realized, actually I do know why! It comes down to one precious commodity - Hebridean Air!
At the risk of boring hardened Blogfans, I will once again just give a brief definition of what Hebridean Air is -
Hebridean Air - " Pure air that is breathed in from both the inner and outer
Hebrides of Scotland. Due to chemical compounds released
from plankton and various bog wetlands, this creates a
reaction in the brain that Scientists have not yet recognized.
In moderate doses this may cause bouts of hilarity. In some
cases it may cause the recipient to skirt the bounds of abject
stupidity and be curled up laughing in the process"
Added to the above, harmonizing ferry times to fit in with your timetable is virtually impossible but don't worry, you're just 'reseting', you just have to accept the fact that due to the irascible weather, ferry times and cancellations fall into that penumbra of uncertainty. It's an adventure, enjoy it! Pause and Reset.
North Lewis
Just after the Great War a certain Lord Leverhulme fell in love with Lewis and Harris, consequently leaving a long and lasting legacy on the island. You may never of heard of him yet his real name William Lever may raise a few eyebrows. He was one of the Lever Brothers who developed soap from vegetable oils and palm oil. He was very entrepreneurial and a huge philanthropist. Conversely I think of him as the unluckiest man who ever lived!
His downfall was he wanted philanthropy on his terms, Island Crofters were reluctant to depart from their hereditary traditions hence he had the financial clout but not the backing of the Islanders. All the area of blanket bog never became forests of fruit trees, the Island's population remains static at 20,000 not 200,000! He constructed a state of the art Whaling station then the government banned whaling! On the North East of the island the road runs out at Tolsta, Leverhulme built a bridge over the River Gieraha with the intention of carrying the road up the East coast, this never materialized - hence, the 'road to nowhere'! This has now become a Heritage Trail providing a snapshot of the Island's ancestral past, let's take a closer look because this is a real gem.
The B895 finally runs out of steam at North Tolsta. Crossing 'the bridge to nowhere' we now find ourselves on an old drovers track that wends it's way through ribs of rock and moated bog until it finally links up with the township of Tolsta after about 10 miles of hard graft.
The fine arc of golden sand at Garry Beach is arguably the finest beach on the East of Lewis, with the sapphire sea twinkling under an auburn sun of promise I can't help but think it's Gaelic translation 'Ghearadha Traigh' gives it a richer poetical sweep. Walking onward you can't help but lament the emptiness of the land but all of that is about to change! Revamped shielings suddenly start to spring up like mushrooms. Our hearts are aglow with the randomness of it all.
Up until the early 19th century, Crofters herded their Sheep up into the rich pasture of the hills every summer in order to keep the lowlands arable and cultivated. Throughout the duration they would live in temporary booths called Shielings. Lewis has a plethora of these ruins, some in remarkable condition - others reconstructed from the base with a large dose of imagination and enterprise.
Up on the headland, looking down on us with the austerity of an Easter Island statue was a very well preserved ruin of an 18th century chapel built by a local builder of the era, John Nicholson. This has not long fallen into desuetude, people worshipped here until the 1930's. The congregation would comprise of anyone from local townships to passing Fishermen.
As I paused to reset, the quality of light was exquisite, the amber tinted transparency
of the bogscape shone under the silvering air, I thought to myself what must it really have been like? And I could see in my minds eye - against a mural of breathtaking cliff scenery, families trudging up the hill on the Sabbath, children clinging to their Mother's posh frocks, Fathers in dark tweed suits clutching their large Gaelic bibles to their chests. Maybe that's how it was but then my mind was distracted by a Meadow Pipit seemingly oblivious that it is being circled by a Hen Harrier.
Anyway moving on, one of the highlights of any Motherland jaunt is to visit the local Kingdom Hall of Jehovah's Witnesses, we did this at Stornoway, what a joy it was to mingle with the thirty or so publishers who have the privilege of witnessing to this
beautiful island. It was as if we had all known each other for years. When we visited the Harris distillery someone called my name, I turned on my heels, I thought I don't know anyone here? I was mistaken, here was a group of friends we had met the day before - we truly are a global brotherhood!
Isle of Harris - The Hearach Single Malt
I had previously been in two minds about the Harris distillery, I even questioned it's motive in a previous blog by asking the question - " has the clumsy grasp of commercialism stretched it's hand too far?" well after time and consideration I've fallen firmly on the right side of the fence - Harris distillery is a venture of integrity! ( Ingram Fact)
Everything about the distillery is intrinsically linked to the Island. I would go so far as to say that it is unique! Even down to the swirls on the Gin bottle replicating the ripples on it's vast unspoilt beaches. When you drink the liquid you drink the land, when you drink the liquid you drink miles of sequestered wilderness, hills that thrust up like jolly green giants and rivulets glistening over patient pebbles. The real clincher is that the product, Gin or Whiskey, will never adorn Supermarket shelves - well beyond the clumsy grasp of commercialism!
On a personal note, I had a chance meeting with the drummer from the Buzzcocks, John Maher, who lives on Harris. As a teenager I was swept along with the New Wave scene. He was totally approachable and thanked me for dropping by and taking the time to chat with him, I said "I don't mind". He's maybe a Blogfan. We did have a lot in common but I assured him I've never fallen in love with someone that I shouldn't have fallen in love with!
North Uist and Benbecula
With a population of 1, 250 scattered over just one hundred and seventeen square miles, North Uist has no self aggrandizement yet is an emblem of adorable wild artistry. As we cycled, walked and drove past glassy lochs reflecting cobalt blue skies, I thought if I had the circulation I would love to dive into those mirror surfaces and swim in that crystal clear pure water! After careful consideration I thought this would maybe give me a heart attack so I declined. Notwithstanding, on North Uist you are bound to have a connection with the water, it's akin to feeling the pulse of the island. Deb had her finger firmly on the pulse.
We noticed the intriguing Scolpaig Tower on a small islet on the loch bearing it's name. This was constructed in the 18th century on the site of an ancient dun. It was commissioned by a benevolent Landlord of the day as relief work for his tenants in a time of famine. In the grip of Hebridean Air we endeavoured to wade through the icy cold waters but it was guarded like ancient Babylon. Eventually Deb took up the gauntlet and bagged our quarry. There is live footage plus photographs of my botched attempt but these have been withheld by request.
If you sit and look at a map of the Western Isles you will notice several points of interest that compete for your attention. I've always been intrigued by what appear
to be Islands in the sand or to use the correct term 'tidal islands'. We bagged a couple on this trip. The first one 'Vallay' is about three miles long by about half a mile wide. Its piece de resistance is a baronial mansion designed by the renowned textiles manufacturer, Erskine Beveridge ( what do you mean you've never heard of him! ) It was built in 1902, Beveridge died in 1920 and the place has been left abandoned since 1944! It may be a bit of misplaced flamboyancy but it was the most random thing you could ever find on an uninhabited Scottish island, whoever designed that must have been on Hebridean air. Well worth the two mile cycle across the beach.
Nothing can help you 'reset' more than being immersed in nature. To cross over into its parallel world oblivious to the tangled passion of humans. On North Uist especially it was a real joy to see so many varieties thriving - fields full of Lapwings, Curlews and Snipes foraging on the beach, flocks of Green Finches, Fieldfare, Plover, Ringed Ouzel, Redwing, Sandpipers, Red Shanks and many unidentified ( and some wrongly identified ) The RSPB reserve at Balranald was a little patch of paradise - dancing rainbows disrupted the forlorn beach from it's reverie as the long shadows of winter brought forth a silent repose. All we needed was binns, camera and an appetite for the wonderment of nature. Simplicity is the forgotten virtue RESET.
Sandpipers
A swish of Sandpipers land on the beach
morning waves under an apricot sun
riot of sound in a babble of speech
incoming tide chases birds on the run
grasping the sweetness of nature's long hand
gust of Sandpipers better than a dream
forage fervently as one in the sand
sticking together they work as a team
scripts of tiny feet on legs of wire
their toes write in cuneiform where they tread
each page is washed clean but they will not tire
this pending novel will never be read
a breeze of Sandpipers dance on the wind
swaying merrily as clouds float on by
like ink to paper to the beach they're twinned
safe together as night reclaims the sky.
(poemblogtwelve.blogspot.com)
 |
| Red Shank |
 |
| Ringed Plover |
 |
| Curlew |
 |
Lapwing |
Moving further along the mural brings us to Benbecula and surprisingly it also is being illuminated by this window of fine winter weather. There was not a breath of wind and everything had a toothpaste advert freshness. Benbecula is predominantly flat but in the centre of the island it's flagship hill, Reubhal gives a commanding viewpoint. This seemingly insignificant hill stretches itself out in lordly dominance over a preponderance of tiny lochs and lochans. Back on the ground we cycled to the East of the island still captivated by an extravagant water world of elongated ceramic blue shields.
 |
| couldn't believe I'd clicked two Herons at once! |
As the sun set on the St Kilda viewpoint the sky was in a riot of colour giving everything an overriding prosaic quality. I turned to TWD and said " I don't think we've ever been anywhere quite so lovely" She agreed. Ironically we tried to cycle/walk to this location via a track through some woods but ended up being ring fenced by trees, little did I know from the other side of the island you can drive up it!
South Uist, Eriskay, Barra and Vatersay
Our truce with the weather finally ended on South Uist, silvery blue sequin lochans now had a ruffled surface as the wind gradually climbed the Beaufort scale. Mist descended with that dreaded feeling of permanency as the rain came down like it had been nursing a grudge with us through all the fine weather. It was in a rainy spell that we met our 2nd famous person! We felt sorry for this chap stoically plodding on through a Hebridean aquatic moment and gave him a lift to the Co-op at Dalabrog. The conversation in the car certainly wasn't stilted but even I could tell that there was something different about him. But TWD with that enigmatic 6th sense took things to the next level - in the CO-OP she asked him "should I know you?" he sheepishly replied that he'd written a couple of books!
This was Max Landsberg! And if you're reading this Max, I should think you are now you're a Blogfan, at the time of writing, your book "the call of the mountains" is now on order. One of the things I mentioned to my good friend Max in the car, was that in spite of the downturn in weather we were still determined to do something outdoors and that was our firm resolve. With Max's blessing we headed for Loch Skiport on our bikes. Our intention was a reconnoitre for climbing Hecla and/or Ben Mor the next day but the weather had pared down our options, disillusioned - no chance, not on the Western Isles. Our spirits rose like a kite when we observed at close quarters on Loch Skiport the antics of a very special Bird, one we had only seen in books - the Great Northern Diver! A bit more than a consolation prize.
 |
| Loch Sgiport |
 |
| Great Northern Diver |
 |
| One of Deb's legendary bike walks! |
The second tidal island we bagged was the wee island of Orasaigh (lit. tidal island) off the coast of South Uist. It was refreshing to access it's storm bound secret world meandering our way around abandoned sea faring paraphernalia to clamber up its caramel slopes to a modest summit of 85 metres. Sadly the long fingered hand of the modern world had left it's mark in the form of piles of sugar kelp ripped out by the roots! This means it wont grow back, the upshot being this will have an adverse effect on marine life. When we visited the Harris distillery, mentioned earlier, our guide assured us they only remove the leaves for their Gin infusion - hence they manifest respect. Sadly others don't.
By the time we reached Eriskay it was Sunday and even the cute Eriskay ponies that roam free, posed no threat to the fragile silence. The weather wasn't even hinting at clearing and as we roved around Barra's crazy coastline the waves were no longer gently breaking on the sand but throwing themselves on the shore with Herculean force! My mind went back to a Bible character ' Noah' who said some famous words that still resonate with us today - " it looks like rain" and it did! So rather than walk, cycle or even wind the window down, we preffered the cosy seclusion of the car.
True to form Calmac pulled the bad weather card which meant by necessity we had to scramble for one of the few remaining bed and breakfast places left on the island but behold, here was the masterstroke of unexpected genius. We ended up at the appropriately named 'Endeavour'. Our hosts John and Jill are immersed in the music of the island and their love of the land and it's heritage is self evident. We only popped down at tea time to use the microwave - at 11.30 pm we thought we finally had to call it a day after all the entertainment, singing, dancing, as well as tours of the brewery (!) and garden. Some things you feel are just scripted.
Endeavour
in honest hearted sweet endeavour
the sound of Barra will last forever
under weeping skies there's a blessed terrain
a shelter from the wind and pouring rain
serendipity's joy cannot expire
nor the happy glow around your fire
pondering the moment living the dream
a candle in the dark shows where we've been
we always wiped the mud from off our boots
but memories linger right down to the roots
dances and jigs stop your timbers from falling
when the comely Hebridean hills are calling
with heartwarming ale when the day is through
out of your windows the sky is always blue
John and Jill will be blessed forever
in honest hearted sweet endeavour.
 |
 |
| The Art of the sea |
Outrun
Well as Samuel Daniel said 'the pleasure is in the passing now thought must lengthen it in the heart'. And that is inevitably what it does. I hope that the blog wasn't too wordy, I know I can waffle on a bit but what I love is what I want to share. On an educational note too, due to an abundance of Hebridean Air we now know many things that we didn't know at the outset these are:
1. A motorized vehicle doesn't work if the keys aren't in it.
2. In Scotland Hawks are called Hocks
3. On a rough ferry trip, if you're feeling queezy, eating your meal quicker doesn't make the blindest bit of difference.
4. You can't cycle through peat bogs and boulder fields.
On a serious note I'm sure we all have our favourite places, we can't all be the same but for me getting away from it all is where the din of human static fades, then you can truly PAUSE AND RESET.
Shine on, Marky x.
Wonderful, as ever Mark. Les 😊👍
ReplyDeleteWhat an uplifting post, you obviously love the Islands it shines through. I smiled at your comments about the Ferries, never a truer word said. Its always a lucky dip in the supermarket when the ferry doesn't run for a few days. The photographs were a delight to see showing the natural outstanding beauty. I feel honoured to call the Isle of Lewis home and although not born and bred here have been welcomed into this Island community. A truly beautiful post.
ReplyDeleteThank you for sharing your Winter holiday with us, the colours and vistas look absolutely wonderful. On a geeky note, your GND is a Cormorant.
ReplyDeleteThank you for your beautiful photo I have never been to the Isle of Lewis but photos have me a glims of its beauty so thank you again (G)
ReplyDeleteVery nice too
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