CYHA News

The Outer Hebrides are a very long way away: a world away, in fact. This was our chosen destination for Whitsun week.

Saturday was filled with a hefty drive northwards, with a couple of our party letting the bus and the plane take the strain. We arrived in Stornoway, Isle of Lewis, on Sunday afternoon, to a welcoming deluge of rain. There was some concern that this was setting the stage for the whole week, but we needn’t have worried. Monday dawned bright, if a little windy, and we decided to walk the nearby peninsula of Toe Head on the Isle of Harris.

There was some parking at a café on the neck of the peninsula, which was rather annoyingly only open Wednesday to Saturday. As the keys were in the door, Chris took the opportunity for a quick comfort break before starting the walk, only to be locked in by the unsuspecting proprietor. The rest of us had set off, so Chris was contemplating the prospect of having to survive for 3 days on cappuccino and chocolate cake when she managed to attract Clive’s attention as he returned to the car for his sun hat. A lucky escape.

The walk out along the southern edge of Toe Head was spectacular: flower-filled machair, white sandy beaches and azure seas. There was even a small ruined chapel artistically placed by the shore, just to add to the ambience.

The hill on Toe Head is called Ceaphaval. It was a steep climb up with no path and just intermittent sheep tracks to follow. The higher we climbed, the windier it got, until at the top you could barely stand. Each summiteer could be forgiven for thinking they were the first, until they looked behind a rock and found the rest of the party cowering by a natural depression (or, Doug, as it’s better known). Whilst it was still sunny and the light cloud of the morning was gradually lifting, it was windy and exposed – therefore perfect for first lunch. At this point in the walk there was a parting of the ways as the softer, more sensible types headed for the shelter of the beach, and the foolish rufty-tufty types continued to the exposed Atlantic rim of the peninsula.

It was a wild coast with spectacular, crashing waves whipped into a frenzy by the strong winds. In between the cliffs were sheltered bays of golden sands where we saw otter tracks and even a starfish thrown up amongst the seaweed. Along the northern edge of the peninsula the waves were long Atlantic rollers, cresting into galloping white horses as they approached the land. In the strong wind the spume from the waves was sprayed backwards from the crest and, as it caught the afternoon sun, it burst into all the colours of the rainbow. Needless to say we sat here for quite a while enjoying the view and a last sandwich before re-joining the others.

This was just one magical day in a magical fortnight. Where are we going next year??                                         

                                     Ali

Ode to a Lav

Oh dear, what can the matter be?

Poor old Chris got locked in the lavatory.

She’d be there from Monday to Wednesday

If Clive hadn’t needed his hat.

 Ali

Life at No.5

Our first week in the Hebrides was spent in Drinishader on the Isle of Harris. The village is a loose collection of houses on the Golden Road, and we were staying in the Croft House at No.5. With the exception of the lack of a functioning tin-opener, this was a top-notch first class bunkhouse where they really looked after us. Roddy arranged kayaks and bicycles and Annette did our laundry and of course our very own Dave P came up with fresh breakfast combinations every day – fried fruit cake anyone?

For our last night Nick & Lorna treated us to a haggis supper: traditionally ‘addressed’ and fiddled into the dining room. A great way to end the week. At this point Nick, Lorna and Chris headed for home whilst the rest of us moved on – more places to see, islands to bag.

Ali