Collected Musings of a Hill Wanderer

The first day of November saw me make an overdue return to hill country with Cumbria’s Lake District acting as my main destination. I had a few walking locations in mind by the time that I reached Windermere train station; the railways served as my way there and away again. However, my train was late (thanks to a little Saturday morning trespassing on the line near Deansgate) so any plans for a return to Great Langdale needed to be placed on a hold and a broken down bus meant that the Coniston fells still await my footfall. That left the option of an out and back hike from the train station to the top of Yoke and my revisiting familiar terrain as I went.

I was far from disgruntled and the sights from Orrest Head should have put paid to any humbug anyway. It was its usual splendid self while I admired the views, even with a very noisy dog and her apologetic owners. The pooch had the misfortune of an aggressive appearance and an equally aggressive bark but I soon learnt to ignore her enough in order to make a few photos. The fells by now have their autumn/winter clothes on and there’s an occasional dusting of snow to be seen in places too. Panoramic views were just the balm to soothe the soul after the noisy interruptions.

Having bobbed up to Orrest Head from Windermere’s train station, I bobbed back down the other side as I made for the road near The Causeway Farm. A very short eastbound piece of tarmac bashing later, I began to cross fields again to reach Moorhowe Road where I repeated the shuffle but reaching a gravel track called Dubbs Road. Shortly after passing Dubbs Reservoir, the views over Troutbeck opened out before me and northern vistas were packed full of gloriously humpy whalebacks of hills. All of this was familiar to me from a previous circular walk from Windermere to Kentmere and a linear wander from Windermere to Staveley by way of Kentmere.

Passing a wood to my left, I emerged onto the rougher track that is Garburn Road. In so doing, I left the dodging of puddles that took up near enough to the width of the track behind me; these were there on my previous hikes too so I was unsurprised by their size. In place of those puddles, I got steeper slopes and looser surface that tested the nimbleness of my ankles. Garburn Pass was reached soon enough and, rather than descending to Kentmere as I have done on those previous visits, I left the wide track for an initially boggier one taking me higher up the slopes.

That boggy bit was to turn into a very good gravel path and it surprises me that there wasn’t a good track all of the way but I suppose that it keeps some in their place. As I went ever upward, views to my right opened out before me and the houses of Kentmere could be seen. Ever mindful of time, I continued to inch my way up Yoke with an appropriate number of photography stops. The summit wasn’t long coming, even if there was an extra cairn lurking to confuse the unwary. I was tempted by the prospect of Ill Bell but consciousness of the remaining hours of daylight and the prospect of losing a lot height before regaining it again made me see sense; the sight of an oncoming shower helped to wean me away too. That other hill can wait for another day.

I came down Yoke in the dampness and I need to admit that having pull on waterproofs did cost me some time. Given that the rain didn’t stay long, I am left wondering if it would have been better braving it but you never know with these things and it’s often better to be safe than sorry. The sun was lowering in the sky all the while as I retraced my steps and I was happy to be making progress all the while. When I made Garburn Road, I decided stick with that track rather than continuing along Dubbs Road because of the hour that it was. That meant descending on a lot of loose surface and it did begin take its toll on my patience so it was not before time that I left it for the much smoother Longmire Road, another track in spite of the name.

My plan was to return to tarmac before the light dropped too much since I wasn’t wanting to have navigational nightmares in the dusk, let alone the dark; it was an objective that was easily achieved. As it happened, I did see someone else who was going to run that gauntlet of crossing fields at dusk but I left him to it as I descended by minor roads to the A592 that would carry me onto the A591 for the final stretch back to Windermere train station. Even with failing light, the greatest challenge in all of this was one that I encountered earlier in the day: getting across the A591. Thankfully, a kind lady did me a favour for the second crossing.

It had been a great day to revisiting an old haunt but with an added twist. Ill Bell might not have been summited but hills always last more than a day and Yoke did well what was asked of it. Other plans that fell by the wayside can be kept on file for future visits. What really matters is that I enjoyed the day out and I remain hopeful of more like it.

A visit to family in Ireland last month allowed me a day trip to the beauty spot that is Gougane Barra; somewhere to which I have devoted a previous post on here. That also followed a day trip there when skies remained resolutely grey with any photos not being the type of thing that I’d share on here. In fact, it seems that many of my trips to Gougane over the years have been on cloudy days. My most recent outing looked as if it might have been the same with the forecast predicted a rain band moving south over Ireland. In the event, we managed to see Gougane under blue skies with the sun making it out from behind any clouds to make photography a more than worthwhile pursuit. The result is that I have some pleasing photos from my excursion and these have now made their way into the West Cork section of the photo gallery and I have taken the chance to freshen up some existing ones too.

The addition of new photos has not been the sole change to that online photo gallery. Some work has gone into simplifying navigation and enhancing the search facility. Behind the scenes, the wonders of ImageMagick (it’s a neat command line tool but that probably makes it best for technophiles) have been such that the process of adding new photos is now more streamlined than it ever was. Even so, the need for devoting some attention to each individual photo doesn’t go away and that is regardless of whether it was made on film or digitally. Nevertheless, any time saved might make me add new photos to the gallery on a more regular basis than has been the case in recent times. After all, there’s a potential new section for the Western Isles on the horizon and more photos from other outings to be shared.

At the end of every good trip, there’s the bittersweet experience of the journey home, especially you like the wilder places as much as I do. Nevertheless, this was a journey that had its good points with the surroundings becoming ever more familiar as it continued. The first part of the journey involved a lengthy ferry crossing from Lochboisdale to Oban and I readily admit that I was looking forward to it because places that I have never visited before were to be passed along the way. After breaking my journey in Oban for the night, it was time for travelling on land again, a journey that I had undertaken many times before.

Saturday, August 16th:

Of course, good weather can make any enticing sea journey even more memorable but I wasn’t to be blessed with perfect weather. When I arose on the Saturday of my onward passage, the day was taking a more autumnal aspect with damp greyness being the recurring theme. There was a certain end of season feel too, not at all that inappropriate given that another of Scotland’s school years was to begin on the following Monday.

Drier interludes allowed me out and about for one final stroll in the stillness before the afternoon sailing. However, the dampness was to win over the dryness and cars assembled for the ferry with rain falling. I had by now ensconced myself in the ferry terminal’s waiting room and remained there until the Lord of the Isles made its appearance at the appointed time. Thankfully, it didn’t take long for foot passengers like me to get on board and I went to the cafeteria for a midday meal. A sailing taking around five hours meant that it was never to get overly busy but getting some food was good use of the time taken for all cars to be loaded onto the boat and the rain meant that being outside on the ship’s deck at this stage in the day wouldn’t have been the pleasure that it otherwise might have been.

Thankfully, heading due east meant that the rain was going to be left after us at some point. However, we were in the vicinity of Rum before you could reside on the top deck without your sanity being questioned; it was good timing. In fact, there were flashes of blue sky and Rum was allowed to catch some sun and tease any onlookers. Eigg and Much were gathered about the tantaliser while Skye’s Cuillin loomed in the distance beyond it. I did spy some indentations on the eastern horizon from South Uist and wondered if they belonged to skye or to Rum; I am now inclined to think that it was the former that I had been seeing. Speaking of sightings on a horizon, Colonsay and Tiree may have lain to the south but there was little sign of them.

It was nearly the half way point of the crossing before the mainland made its appearance after my being away from it for the most of a week. Ardnamurchan’s lighthouse was approached and passed as we changed to a more southerly direction to enter the Sound of Mull. The appearance of Mull allowed for some spotting of familiar locations like Tobermory and Craignure while we left Ardnamurchan behind on reaching Morvern. This continuous sight of land did make time go by a lot faster than the earlier expanse of open sea. The sun remained hidden away so my camera was never going to be that useful and so I contented myself with savouring what was on offer. In any event, there’s more to life than being concerned with photographic opportunities every single second when merely taking in the sights is often sufficient.

South of Craignure, I was well into territory frequented on my crossings from Oban to Mull. Landmarks like Torosay Castle, Duart Castle, the island of Lismore, Loch Linnhe, Ben Cruachan and so on all served to remind me that landfall was not far away. Nevertheless, I think that it might have when we passed Kerrera that I went downstairs to collect my belongings. I was well organised by the time that we were to dock, even if remembering where I put the copy of my boarding card took some thinking (you start to wonder what will happen if you can’t can find it…). For sailings into (more) open water, Calmac need you to fill out a boarding card in addition to purchasing your ticket. For the crossing from Skye to Harris, one copy sufficed but two were needed for the South Uist-Argyll sailing; I suppose that it’s an extra check that no one has fallen overboard, not at all a great thought.

After my island hopping and all of the new places that I had explored, you could say that reaching Oban was like a partial homecoming, to what is familiar to me at least. The town caught the sun and a memorable sunset was gifted to those who were out and about. Before all this, I needed to get to the SYHA hostel where I would spend the night. Duly booked in and organised, I then popped out to take in the last of the evening, a perfect end to a good day.

Sunday, August 17th:

The next morning was glorious too and I had some time to enjoy it before catching the midday Citylink coach to Glasgow; familiarity was to reign supreme for the remainder of my travels. The sun did duck and dive behind the clouds but the countryside retained its inviting feel as the bus passed Kilchurn Castle and Loch Awe. A short sunny stop in Inverary allowed for a quick piece of camera action; I don’t believe that I have seen the town and its surroundings catching the sun before. The sun stayed out as we passed Arrochar and Loch Lomond on the way to Glasgow. A flying visit to George Square preceded my onward journey by train, an uneventful journey that is more typical of my experiences of railway travel, that landed me at home at not too unreasonable hour. It was a good end to a wonderful trip to places where I had not gone before and the best bit is that I am left with reasons to return, should the opportunity ever arise.

Friday, August 15th:

After the wonderful weather that I met on Harris and enjoyed from there to South Uist, the skies on the Friday of my week long visit were to have more of a milky consistency. That isn’t to say that the day was a bad one, even if I did get a few light rain showers in the middle of the day. Compared to what other parts of the U.K. had been experiencing, these were minor perturbations and I more than well aware how lucky I was.

My explorations for the day took on something of the feel of a piece of reconnaissance. The hill country around Beinn Mor and Hecla was where I wanted to explore and that did happen, though not necessarily in the way that I had planned. An idea in my mind was to ascend the slopes of Maola Breac and perhaps to continue to the summit of Beinn Mor. However, a spot of confusion induced by the bus driver meant that I got off near Loch Druidibeag National Nature Reserve instead. Naturally, that resulted in a change of plan and, having seen the way in which the hills had sheathed themselves with cloud, it might have been just as well to stay low anyway. Speaking of lower altitudes, I didn’t limit my explorations to hillier locales since I got to sampling South Uist’s machair, one of Scotland’s National Scenic Areas, too. That might have led me to stopping over at Dalabrog (English: Daliburgh) when I otherwise might not have done. May might be the best month for a visit but the flora can be colourful in August too as I discovered.

Equally worthwhile were the sights that I was seeing as I picked up the road for Loch Sgioport after leaving the bus at Groigearraidh. The hills were well in view as I skirted the shores of Loch Druidibeag. The hills were brooding under their cloudy cloak but the sun was lighting up what what was round about me. As I sped along the road, I was making my way through countryside that was getting increasingly rough, hummocky and lochan-studded. The rocky buttresses of Hecla came ever closer while passing Beinn Tarbert revealed views to the north; I believe that I was making out Eaval in the distance.

As is my wont, I eventually made my escape from tarmac tramping to pick up a good track that was signed for Hecla. It’s best not to leave initial appearances fool you though because the maintained track only goes as far as old shielings at Caolas Mor. After that, it’s very much a case of carefully navigating through country until steeper inclines are reached. Keeping by the coast helps because my wanderings revealed how tricky it would be to find your way using a more direct approach. You might have a right to roam but slow going over tussocks soon convinces you that there are easier places to walk. Seeing it with a grey and damp aspect like I did very much reinforces that impression; this was where I got the least clement weather of the day.

In fact, it was while I was wandering over those tussocks that the day was at its most leaden in appearance and dampest in feel but things were set to improve. In fact, the hills were to be uncloaked, allowing for a spot of photographic activity. After my fill of rough country walking, I returned to the road again and followed it to its end, a very dilapidated pier, before retracing my steps through countryside that looked better than before. The route followed on my return wasn’t completely faithful to the outbound one: I followed an inviting track into the nature reserve. Soon, that was become a peaty path that commanded concentration unless one was intent on blundering over heathery hummocks in a manner inconsistent with the retention of one’s dignity. It was still off road walking and with good views over Loch Druidibeag too, all while I was being taken to Stahlaigearraidh (English: Stilligarry) without incident. From there, it was back to Lochboisdale with an evening stop in Dalabrog on the way.

Thursday, August 14th:

Thursday morning began with sunny spells like the preceding days and I would have been forgiven for embarking on further explorations of Harris. After all, I had concentrated my efforts on that piece between Tarbert, Àird a’ Mhulaidh (English: Ardvourlie) and Miabhaig (English: Meavaig) and that’s only part of what’s there. However, the planned itinerary for my week of island hopping dictated that I was to leave for South Uist. Reaching my destination of Lochboisdale was to involve a ferry crossing and three coach rides and wonderful weather remained with me all day.

It was also good weather for those following the circular CalMac tour from Uig. If I recall correctly, they would have been treating themselves to ferry crossing to Tarbert, a bus connection to Leverburgh, another ferry crossing over the Sound of Harris, another bus connection to Lochmaddy followed by a return ferry crossing to Uig. Those bus connections weren’t coaches that were specially laid on but normal service buses which would have been running anyway. Even so, the coach conveying the folk on the tour from Tarbert to Leverburgh allowed stops near Harris’ famous beaches.

As it happened, the route of that tour overlapped with mine from Tarbert to Lochmaddy. I was especially appreciative of the stops made in South Harris because I got to capture views over beaches like Tràigh Losgaintir, Tràigh Seilebost and Tràigh Scarasta with my camera that I otherwise wouldn’t. The former looked especially enticing with the hills of Frith Losgaintir and beyond as a powerful backdrop to the obvious elements of sunlit sand, sky and sea. As if all of that wasn’t sufficient, there was the island of Taransay too. The countryside was flatter around Scarasta but Ceapabhal did break up the flat relief of Toe Head, adding a useful focal point.

If I stayed with the coach all of the way to Leverburgh’s pier, I would been round by Rodel and glimpsed it’s notable church. However, I felt the need to for a longer break before catching the ferry and disembarked in Leverburgh to walk the rest of the way in place of the indirect bus journey. In Gaelic, Leverburgh is An tOb or the bay. The Anglicised name comes from the time when Lord Leverhulme owned this part of Harris and tried to set up a fishing port. Like so many big schemes in Scotland’s highlands and islands, the plans came to nought (a lesson for Alladale, perhaps?). Deterioration in Leverhulme’s financial affairs cannot have helped but tidal conditions at Leverburgh didn’t make things any easier either.

That tidal disruption continues today and, when planning my escapade, I notice that the Sound of Harris ferry suffered cancellations as a result. With that potential for disruption in mind, I decide to check on things before I left Tarbert and get my ferry ticket there too; otherwise, I would have needed to buy it on the ferry because there are no ticket sales facilities at Leverburgh (I think that it’s the same at Berneray). Luckily, tidal behaviour can be predicted these days so my impression is any such disruption can be highlighted up to a week in advance, a very reassuring realisation. It wasn’t to play havoc with my travel plans though and the small vessel that was to convey me soon came into view while I was waiting at the slipway.

The Sound of Harris is dotted with islands and that may be pleasant for the island wanderer but it makes life more difficult for ship navigation, even if there is a good number of markers in place. The result was that the ferry follows a course that weaves its way through the various channels and takes an hour when straight line travel would be quicker. The crossing was a smooth one though there was enough movement in the waters to set off a car alarm periodically; CalMac recommend that you disable your car alarm because of this.

After a short wait at Berneray, it was onto another coach. This portion of land travel to Lochmaddy on North Uist was devoid of stops for the tour, a potential source disappointment given that it went a little way around Berneray. My journey was broken for an hour in Lochmaddy before I continued south with the those on the tour having gone their way on a delayed ferry to Uig. The thirty minute delay had been caused by a car accident on the mainland, on the A87 near Shiel Bridge. The ferry waited as long as it could for travellers but had to leave before the coach from Fort William could make it, a major source of disruption to anyone on that coach wanting to travel on the ferry. I suppose that it’s a lesson in the perils of travelling too far in the same day. Thankfully, my ferry crossing of the day had passed without any sort of incident and all that remained was trouble-free "land" travel from Lochmaddy to Lochboisdale.

I was a world away from the disruption of the A87 and I began to sense the striking peace and quiet that seemed to typify the Uists for me. Even Harris seemed to possess more bustle and Skye having more again. Lochmaddy did nothing that changed that opinion of these islands’ atmosphere while I was there. It wouldn’t make a great place for a shopping trip but the vistas over the island-packed Loch nam Madadh and over towards humps like those of Lì a Tuath and Lì a Deas were well enlivened by the sunshine. Hills are lower and less common hereabouts so there is a more open feel with big skies dominating the flatter landscape.

Soon enough, it was back to continuing my "land" travelling. There is a reason for my use of inverted commas here: this was inter-island travel by coach, courtesy of the maintenance of a host of causeways. By the time that I reached Lochmaddy, I had already encountered one of them: that linking Berneray and North Uist. More were to follow as my journey took me to Grimsay, Benbecula and South Uist. Each was as undramatic as if they were built on the bed of a freshwater loch rather than that of the Atlantic.

A perhaps alternative reason for using those inverted commas might be that a glance at an OS map might lead one to conclude that water trumped over land in these parts. The near constant sight of land as my coach plied its way south from Lochmaddy contradicted such a perception. Though the landscape was flat in the main, hummocks like Eaval’s 347m summit lay proud.

After the remote feel of North Uist, Benbecula looked more populous but it is also completely flat, so much so that it is devoid of good harbours and that necessitated the causeway connection to South Uist. It plays host to the Uists’ airport as well as an RAF base, something that help on the population front. Baile a’ Mhanaich (English: Balivanich) with its proximity to both of these and its hospital would seem to be a major hub in the Uists, particularly for shopping.

After Benbecula, it was on to South Uist. Like the other islands, it too features a landscape strewn with lochs and that was what typified my first sight of the island. However, hill country soon started to come into view and that is what draws the likes of me. After a change of coach in Tobha Mor (English: Howmore), I continued my journey to Lochboisdale. In contrast to the relative bustle of Harris, a more laid-back ambiance prevailed and bus drivers taking a few minutes to share the latest news did nothing to perturb it. When I reached it, Lochboisdale was as quiet as the coastal communities through which I had been journeying. After settling into my accommodation, I got something to eat and pottered out for a short evening stroll before retiring for the night. Further explorations of the island lay ahead of me but following day was to be the time for that; the amount of travelling that I had done from Harris was enough for one day.