Loch Leven

We return east to the kingdom of Fife this week to visit Kinross and Loch Leven.

Loch Leven (Kinross-shire) lies between Edinburgh (31 miles) and Perth (20 miles), in the east of Scotland’s Central Lowlands.

Kinross is a commuter town that has grown from its old village, on the shores of Loch Leven.

Loch Leven, the largest loch of the Scottish Lowlands, is the main feature of this area. Declared a nature reserve in 1964, the Loch today is of international importance, attracting around 15,000 wild geese every autumn.

Sitting peacefully on an islet in Loch Leven lies enchanting Loch Leven Castle, the Castle gained infamy when it acted as a prison to Mary Queen of Scots in 1567. Her dramatic escape by boat is one of Scotland's most romantic tales.

It is from Kinross that we park the car and head round the Loch Leven Heritage Trail, Emma by bike and Eric by running shoe. Loch Leven Heritage Trail is a unique trail linking natural, historic and cultural heritage around the north and east shores of Loch Leven. Level and barrier-free for most of its length the path provides a comfortable surface to run and cycle on as we leisurely cover the 12.5kms from the Pier, Kinross to RSPB Vane Farm. The trail is furnished with multiple interpretation facilities coupled with finally crafted seats and stone sculptures. Lasting views of the loch are restricted by the wandering nature of the path and the abundance of shrubbery around the loch's shores but this restriction is compensated by the sound of flight calls overhead which herald the arrival of thousands of pinkfooted geese to feed in stubble fields, while flocks of fieldfares and redwing search for berries in woods and hedgerows.

At Vane Farm the trail ends and we take to the drudgery of tar macadam road back to Kinross, an extra 10km on a busy commuter road that brings sole enjoyment in reaching its end.

Road section apart, the trail was a hidden gem and one we aim to pay a return visit to albeit the next time will be Vane Farm and return via the comfort and tranquillity of comfortable pathway.

Coastal Path To England

This week we revisit the Berwickshire coastline to complete a meander we started on February 21st.

Our walk (nay march) will take us from Eyemouth on the Scottish border to Berwick-Upon Tweed in England. A coastal walk of 11 miles, it encompasses sweeping sandy beaches, rolling dunes, rugged cliffs, and evocative vistas of abandoned crofts on headlands, combined with the intimacy of picturesque fishing villages and the obligatory links golf courses.

Parking the car at Eyemouth we take a leisurely stroll around the town before picking up the coastal path at the south end of the harbour. It is refreshing to see that this small idyll is still an active fishing port as witnessed by the numerous vessels in port with nets awaiting repair at the harbour side. An added bonus before we embark upon the route is the sight of two friendly seals feeding from some passers-by who are throwing them some fish that they have recently acquired from a nearby Fish and Chip shop, seals in these parts seem to prefer their fish in batter with added salt and vinegar apparently.

Our first hour on the walk makes for slow progress as we amble around Eyemouth golf course looking at the various hackers as they struggle around a quite fearsome links course which today is providing precipitous wind conditions adding further discomfort to their game. Once we are clear of the golfers we walk over Fancove Head and down into the small village of Burnmouth which nestles in its own secluded bay and is now a defunct fishing village. Climbing out of Burnmouth the path turns back on itself and heads north, these many staggers and doglegs in coastal routes does make one wonder how accurate these coastal paths are measured. We have seen this one measured on various journals at 9.5, 10.5 and 11 miles, the longest one in our experience tends to be the most accurate.

From here the path runs adjacent to the main Edinburgh to London railway line passing Hilton Bay and across the English border which is highlighted by an old British Railways signpost as you cross from one country to the other. Pressing on towards Needles Eye (an unusual rock formation protruding from a headland) we stop to wonder at feeding Gannets as they drop from the sky in search of food. Although ungainly on land, gannets are magnificent in flight. When searching for food they fly parallel to the coast, between 1 and 20 metres above the sea, looking for schools of fish. They plunge headlong as soon as they spot their prey. Just before they hit the water, they fold in their wings to swoop down beneath their food. They can enter the water at speeds up to 145 kilometres an hour, relying on inflatable air sacs around the neck and chest to absorb the shock of impact. We watch from high above their entry point and find it hard to identify their success rate but can’t help thinking that the seals back in Eyemouth have an enviable lifestyle in comparison to these hi-energy Raptors.

Just before we reach Berwick we pass through our second caravan park of the journey. Is there any stretch of coastline unaffected by these growing blots on our coasts? Not only are the sites growing unhindered but they are also being populated by vans of a visually abhorrent identity. No attempt at colour cohesion between van owner and countryside is adhered too and the caravans now resemble small houses without the normal planning consents. The owners of these sites apply the simple philosophy of stacking as many vans as possible in to whatever space he/she has or can acquire before sticking a tacky, cheaply constructed club/pub in the middle of it for further profit. Adds to the local economy they would have you believe.

Plotting a route through these massive sites for the first timer can be quite a tester as every lane has a similar appearance to the lane you have just came from i.e. no lighting, no trees, no door numbers, no ambience, just row upon row of aluminium and glass. One wonders at the confusion that must ensue at closing time of a Saturday evening as the hordes of well lubricated wander around for hours in the dark continually entering the wrong vans.

Thankfully for us, daylight and the sound of a passing train provides us with a reference point that helps to guide our way from the site and in to Berwick.

Berwick is a town with a bloodied past, between 1296 and 1482, Berwick was besieged and assaulted on more occasions than any other town in the world other than Jerusalem, changing hands no less than 13 times! For many years it was in the possession of the Scots but is now regarded as England’s most northernmost town. It is built mainly of stone in grey to pinkish brown. The town is piled upon a peninsula at the mouth of the Tweed and it faces the river, rather than the sea. Three great bridges connect it with Tweedmouth on the south side of the estuary: the low stone bridge with 15 arches of varying height and width, completed in 1634; the 1928 concrete span known as the Royal Tweed which has just had a recent facelift and the railway’s Royal Border with its 28 soaring arches, completed in 1850.

The importance of its strategic position and the evidence of its turbulent past can be seen in its 18th century riverside walls which were rebuilt with gun emplacements overlooking the river mouth.

Sadly the fading light dictates that we must curtail our visit to this historic town as we board a local bus which takes us back across the border to Scotland and a fish supper from the seals' favorite Fish and Chip shop in Eyemouth.

Back To The Mountains

Back to the mountains for this weeks adventure as we tackle Ben Lui in Argyll.

Ben Lui is the highest and most famous of a group of four Munros that lie south of Glen Lochy, and about 10 km north of the top end of Loch Lomond. Having seen various images of its range of peaks we have been looking forward to conquer this one for some time.

It is early o’clock when we set of up the A82 towards Tyndrum where we turn left on to the Oban road for 10 or so miles to reach the well used car park at the foot of the climb in Glen Lochy. Recognising that it has been some time since we climbed a Munro, we set of in some trepidation as to the pain our thigh muscles may have to endure on the return down the 3703ft. It is not long before we meet our first obstacle in the shape of the free flowing River Lochy which thankfully is not in spate (we have heard stories of attempts on Ben Lui failing at this early hurdle). Managing to keep our feet dry we hop across some well placed stepping stones, this fine effort at even weight distribution to keep our pedis dry proves to be a complete waste of time as we immediately enter a forest with underfoot conditions that could only be traversed comfortably in fisherman’s waders.

After an hour trekking through the dense forest we break free of its confined enclosure and welcome our first view of the cloud covered summit above us. Hopeful that the summit will clear as forecast we press on up to the saddle which links Ben Lui with Bein a’Chleibh. From here we turn left and climb north east towards the summit. This part really does require the leg muscles and lungs to work in harmony as the ascent becomes increasingly vertical. As we reach the final plateau it becomes clear that there are in fact two summits to this mountain. There is a cairn marking the northwest summit, with the (true and the one most seen on film) southeast summit a short distance further across a dip.

Sadly the weather forecaster’s predictions turn out to be inaccurate as the clouds still remain at the summit and offer us only a brief glimpse of the beauty that spreads below us through intermittent breaks in the low cloud base. We decide to hunker down for 30 minutes in the hope that the cloud will disperse but depressingly the cloud cover becomes increasingly thicker and we decide to trek back down the mountain knowing the variances of the Scottish weather that the cloud will be clear and the sky deep blue by the time we reach ground level.

Coming back down our feet begin to dry off in time for us to re-enter the forest and get them reacquainted with the boggy conditions yet again and yes when we reach the car and look back at our conquered mountain we feel its inner smile as its tops are completely cloud free.

We may have straddled its peaks but its honour remains intact.

Day Eight: Raasay to Glasgow

There are only two ferry sailings from the Isle of Raasay on a Sunday, the first is at 10am and the second is too late to contemplate if we are to catch our final boat of the journey, the 15:10 from Armadale 33 miles south of Sconser. After a couple of reluctant alfresco trips to the sole WC during the night Eric reloads on cold deterrents as we join our fellow guests in the packing process as everyone prepares for the morning trip back to Skye. This final 33 miles has been praying heavily in our thoughts these past few days, on paper the four and a half hours allocated to this stretch seemed ample. Now, with the effects of fatigue and influenza kicking in our confidence in completing the journey by bike is diminishing.

Almost immediately on departing the tiny ferry we are upon a long slow climb taking us over the Red Cuillins. Such is its length and incline we find that we have to dismount from our two wheeled chariots once again and push on by foot. It is a great relief kindled with renewed vigour that engulfs us as we reach the summit and take a final look back down the Glen and across to Raasay. We know from previous travels that this is the last major hill that we will encounter which makes the cycle down off it at breakneck speed all the more exhilarating.

The long downhill stretch and the feel good factor gained from it propels’ us on at exceptional speed and we cover the first 13 miles in just over an hour. Stopping at the first town of Broadford we are still unconvinced in our abilities of making it to Armadale in time to catch the ferry to the mainland and connecting rail service to Glasgow. Anxious of not making the only connection to the South on a Sunday we call in at a local shop and enquire about a Taxi company who would kindly take us and our cycles onwards to the final port. The time is 12 o’ clock and the kindly robust woman behind the counter on hearing about our time schedule and picking up on our growing lack of self esteem instructs us:

‘Away and dinnae be daft, ye’ve got bags of time, ye’ve only got 17 miles tae go’.

A motivational speech delivered straight from a drill sergeant’s book on how to rebuild confidence we speculate.

She is right of course and this kick up the backside is exactly what we need at this time. To take a taxi at this last stage would lessen our achievement on completing the tour. The kindly lady will never realise how much her stoicism influenced us on our final drive to complete the journey by bike, our meeting was indeed fortuitous.

Turing right after Broadford our spirits drop as we encounter a strong head on wind and we begin to doubt the robust ones confidence in our ability. For 10 miles we press on before the wind drops and our spirits begin to soar as we realise that our cycle termination point is going to be met with time to spare.

As we round the final bend and Armadale pier comes in to view we let loud loose with gasps of delight as the enormity of completion takes its hold. We have completed the final 17 miles in two hours and find that we have an hour to spare before the Mallaig ferry arrives from the mainland. Kicking up our heels at a pier side cafe we enjoy a celebration Pizza and watch the ferry make its way across the Sound of Sleet with a goofy smile that one only acquires in instances of self-satisfaction.

As we board our ninth ferry of the week we look back at the eleventh island visited and look forward to a train journey that is regarded by many as one of the most scenic in Britain. An epic route that will see us pass tiny villages, vast moors, towering mountains and historic glens, passing the white sands of Morar with the Atlantic waves rolling in. From there we go over the Glenfinnan viaduct to Fort William. After Fort William the cloud gathers in and daylight retreats and we are denied the scenic splendour of Rannoch Moor and all vistas south. As the train trundles through the receding light Eric’s cold symptoms reach contamination levels as he coughs and sneezes all the way back to Glasgow. Such is the ferocity of his influenza symptoms, we suspect that no one in the shared train compartment will escape his contagious explosions.

In the end, Queen Street Station in Glasgow could not come quick enough for us as the debilitating cold takes its full effect. However, the feeling of achievement gained from cycling 183 miles in a week through differing weather conditions and many hills acts as a panacea for the body and mind. A week that started with heavy rain finishes with a heavy cold. We have braved gales/severe head on winds and met some bizarre and extraordinary people. We have been welcomed and cold shouldered. We have eaten some of the best cuisine that Scotland has to offer and dined in one of the shabbiest. We have sailed in most of CalMacs sailing fleet and sampled a breakfast in them all. We have cycled through glens/mountains that we have only ever dreamed of and sailed through waters that we never thought possible. Most importantly we have completed a journey of self discovery, one that will live long in the memory and one that we will cherish as the ultimate meander.

Link to holiday video

Day Seven: North Uist to Isle of Raasay

We part company with our roommates today as they head north to the Isle of Harris and we head east to the Isle of Skye. The ferry from Lochmaddy to Uig on Skye departs at 7am and the school group is less boisterous this morning as they prepare themselves for the crossing also. Before leaving the Outdoor Centre we post our fee for the overnight stay through a letter box in an office at the entrance as we have still not met anyone connected with the running of the establishment.
The cruise across The Minch between North Uist and the Isle of Skye takes 1hr 45mins in overcast conditions. As we approach the port we notice that the road takes a sharp incline on exiting Uig ensuring a lung busting start to our journey south through the island towards Sconser and our next ferry to the Isle of Raasay later in the day. The incline and the panniers prove to be a tough combination so we alight from our bikes and walk up the hill which affords us one final glance across to the islands we traversed the day before.

Once clear of the hill we enjoy a mostly flat or downhill 16 mile route into the islands capital of Portree. Deriving its name from the Gaelic Port-an-Righ, which translates as "King's Port" it dates back to a visit by King James V, plus a fleet of warships, in 1540, to persuade the island clans to support him. It had earlier been known as Kiltraglen. The centre of life in Portree has to be its harbour. This is in a superb natural setting, being surrounded by high ground and cliffs. The peninsula to the south is unflatteringly known as "The Lump", and once provided a spectacular setting for public hangings on the island. Today the harbour continues to be used by fishing boats, but is also home to other vessels, from pleasure craft to the lifeboat. After a quick visit to the local Bakers we sit by the harbour to reload our carbohydrates before attempting the 13 miles to the port of Sconser.

The long climb 4 miles south of Portree is rewarded with an exhilarating downhill run to Sligachan and its renowned Hotel. The name Sligachan is Gaelic for "shelly place", after the shells found at the original location. In about 1830 the Sligachan Inn was built at the current location at the head of Loch Sligachan and proved ideally placed when the gentleman climbers of the day discovered that this part of Scotland had mountains that in character (if not in height) could match the best available in the Alps. Most books about climbing in the latter half of the 1800s contain at least one photo of a group of tweed-clad and hobnail boot-shod men, stiffly posed in front of the Sligachan Inn. The hotel itself is home to a small museum remembering the exploits of these early climbers.

Aware that a ferry is due in at Sconser three miles along the road we bypass the tempting hospitality that the Inn has to offer and cycle to the mouth of Loch Sligachan and await the Isle of Raasay connection.

You know you are getting well off the beaten track in Scotland when you find yourself on an island that can only be reached from another island. The island of Raasay, some 14 miles long and a maximum of a little over 3 miles wide, lies off the east coast of the Isle of Skye. It may only be a fifteen minute ferry trip from Sconser, but is a world apart from its more famous neighbour. Whilst Skye is bare, sweeping and majestic, Raasay offers a more intimate landscape where pockets of woodland and hidden corners abound. The island is quiet, away from the main tourist routes, and its little capital Inverarish is a delightful haven. Whilst crossing on the ferry we are slightly dismayed when informed by a crew member that the Youth Hostel involves a three mile journey in which two of the miles are uphill.

His directions prove to be accurate as we struggle up a long forest hill road beyond the only sign of civilisation at the islands sole village of Inverarish. The reward that awaits us as we break free of the inhibiting forest growth is quite outstanding. The views over to The Red Cuillins to the south and the Trotternish Peninsular to the north are breathtaking and could not be bettered from any vantage point on Skye. It is within such splendour that we stumble across our tiny abode for the evening, the Isle of Raasay Youth Hostel.

Described as sleeping 30 in a rural location, it is no more that an old croft with a replica of a boy scouts hut placed on a slight hill behind it….can there be a more rural or inaccessible hostel in Britain? The isolation of its location inspires serenity and calm far from the rigours of daily life. The scout hall in which we have to bed down for the night inspires thoughts of having to stumble about in the dark whilst half asleep trying to locate the toilet in the nearby house. A small price to pay for such scenic splendour we venture;-)

Evening meal requires that we have to hurtle back down the hill to the only hotel on the Island, The Isle of Raasay Hotel. Passing through Inverarish we observe a public notice at the entrance to a children’s play park, which reads: ‘No Playing on a Sunday’….evidence of the strong Free Presbyterian doctrine which still prevails in many of these small island communities. The hotel provides us with attentive service and good fare as it begins to fill up with local’s intent on winning the Saturday night pub quiz.

A lingering cold that has been growing on Eric these last few days begins to make its debilitating effects more apparent as the evening progresses, with this in mind we decline our invite to the quiz and make our way back up the hill to our Hut for some Lemsip, Paracetamol and hopes of no overnight field trips to the toilet. We have a strict time schedule to adhere too and 33 miles to cycle on our final day, a bout of influenza at this stage in our journey has us wondering if we have bitten off more than we can chew.

Day Six: Barra to North Uist

The last three days of the journey are the ones that fill us with the greatest sense of apprehension. One hundred and six miles to be cycled before we finish with today’s trek the biggest challenge at 42 miles. Setting off from Castlebay at 7am we take the 1hr 40 min crossing north to Lochboisdale on South Uist. From here we cycle through three islands in a northerly direction, firstly South Uist, then across a stone causeway to Benbecula and then across another causeway to North Uist and onwards to our overnight stop in Lochmaddy at the top of the island.

Arriving in Lochboisdale we are tempted to climb aboard a small local bus to Lochmaddy as the driver sagely suggests that it will take us three days to travel through the islands by bike. Ignoring his playful banter we set off determined to prove him wrong, embarrassingly we head of in the wrong direction which brings further unbridled joy to his otherwise mundane life as he highlights the difference between north and south to the displaced townies.

South Uist is the second largest of the islands in the Western Isles, measuring some 22 miles north to south and 7 miles from east to west. The geography is divided into a series of north-south strips, each running the length of the island. The west coast faces onto the Atlantic and comprises around 20 miles of beach, broken only by a headland at the half-way point. Behind the beach is a strip of machair, or grassy duneland. East again is a strip containing a vast number of small fresh water lochans, and a series of dispersed crofting townships.

Heading out of Lochboisdale we find that the skies are clear and the sun is bright but not at a temperature that will induce sweat, perfect cycling weather? Sadly no, as we leave the sheltered port we become increasingly aware of the strong wind blowing down from the north. The wind at differing times is either blowing head on or diagonally across our bow, this is going to be a long day!! It is days like this that a cyclist grows to resent his panniers, as every hill presents a challenge and every turn in the road brings a hope of a change in wind direction.

Thankfully the single track road up the west side of the island is relatively flat with the mountains Beinn Mhor and Hecla to our right and the Atlantic always in view on our left. As we conclude our cycle through South Uist we pass a collection of buildings and domes degrading the summit of a scenic hill. They are part of the Ministry of Defence Missile Range that was built here in the late 1950s and which accounts for the number of "Danger Area" signs around the west coastal route we have just encountered.

Exiting South Uist we cross our first causeway into Benbecula. Nestled between North and South Uist in the Western Isles, Benbecula (Gael: Beinn na Faoghla, meaning 'mountain of the fords') is a low flat windswept island with a solitary hill that rises to 409 feet. It has an area of 20,270 acres comprising machair in the west and peat moorland in the east, and its main settlement is at Balivanich. An army base established here in 1958 was extended in 1971 to house military personnel servicing the South Uist rocket range and to the northeast lies the island's airfield. The total population numbers about 1300.

In 1960, HM Queen Elizabeth, the Queen Mother, opened a causeway over the North Ford connecting with North Uist and in 1982 another causeway was extended across the sands of South Ford linking the island to South Uist. At 5 miles (8 km) in length, the North Ford Causeway is the longest in the Western Isles. It clips the western end of the island of Grimsay and runs over various smaller islands on route. It is at these causeways that we encounter the relative splendour of a two way road and stunning sandy beaches deposited by the swift tidal streams of the Atlantic as it funnels in and out of the many lochans.

Crossing the final causeway we enter into North Uist and the final part of our marathon. North Uist measures some 18 miles from east to west by 12 miles from north to south, and has one of the most complex topographies you are likely to find anywhere. The eastern two thirds of the island are characterised by freshwater lochans that seem to occupy more of the land than the land itself, plus deeply indenting sea lochs that reduce still further the proportion of green to blue. The sparseness of shops and eating establishments on these islands is beginning to figure prominently in our thoughts as we slog through the relentless wind, so it is a great relief when we reach the crossroads village of Clachan and find a well stocked grocer shop which refuels our energy stores for the final 8 miles to Lochmaddy. This final stretch to our end destination requires that we change direction to a south easterly direction and refreshingly with a tail wind escorting us. The final 8 miles are completed in record time as we find top gear on our bikes and freewheel to Lochmaddy rejuvenated in the knowledge that the longest cycle stage of the tour is complete.

Our stopover for the evening (Uist Outdoor Centre) proves to be a déjà vu experience for us as we find that there is no landlady/owner/warden at this establishment either…trusting lot in this part of the world. Although we have pre-booked we have not paid for our evening stay, so it is surprising to find the backpackers centre empty with its doors open. Following the same process as yesterday we throw our bags on a bunk bed and make our exit. To further add to the feeling of déjà vu we encounter our cycling roommates from the previous evening in Lochmaddy who inform us that they are also staying the evening in the open door establishment.

Lochmaddy is the village capital and main settlement on the island of North Uist, a bustling metropolis this is not. A quiet little fishing village and port we quickly establish that it has one shop and two hotels, one seems to be unnecessarily extravagant and the other, a tad more affordable. We settle for the latter and find the food to be extremely good value for money with a homemade tomato and pepper soup to die for.

Returning to our digs we find that our erstwhile empty premises is now being overrun by a marauding group of teenagers. Our hearts immediately dive bomb to the pits of our tired legs as we anticipate a sleepless night filled with adolescent high jinks. We also find that our roommates from last night have sought sanctuary in our room for another evening; they too have the look of the dammed about them. We needn’t have worried as our cynicism was to be proven unnecessary. The children were firmly marshalled by three teachers who had taken them over from Skye to play a game of Shinty with their local rivals and the teenagers turned out to be fine ambassadors for themselves, their school and their island.

The teenagers, like us and our roommates are quick to extinguish the lights and rest their weary limbs before an early rise the following morning.

Day Five: Oban to Barra

An early rise is required this morning to pack our freshly laundered gear followed by a leisurely cycle along Oban seafront to catch the 8:30 am ferry to the Isle of Barra, stopping at Tiree and Coll en-route.

This seven hour journey is one of the most scenic on CalMac's network. After clearing Oban Bay around the north end of Kerrera we pass by the southern end of the island of Lismore and sail the length of the Sound of Mull, with Mull on your left and Morvern, and later the Ardnamurchan Peninsula, on our right.

Highlights include Duart Castle, perched atop a rock overlooking the sea; Tobermory, glimpsed sheltering in its bay; and the lighthouse at Ardnamurchan Point. Beyond the point we venture into open waters and veer North West towards Coll and Tiree.

Tiree is an island known for its sandy beaches, which when combined with its excellent record for sunshine makes it an attractive spot for those wanting to get away from it all. Its generally low-lying landscape is interrupted only where it rises to a height of nearly five hundred feet at its very western end. Tiree's land area of 30 square miles supported a population of 4450 at the time of the 1831 census: today the population is nearer 800. Tiree is variously referred to as The Land below the Waves, The Land of Corn or The Hawaii of the North depending on who you speak to. Each of these descriptions holds true depending on the season - and sometimes the time of day! Tiree is probably the flattest of all the Hebrides, most of the island lying no more than 15m above sea level. However there are three hills which give superb views over the 30 square-mile island and much further afield of course. The highest of these hills, Beinn Hynish (141m) is dominated by The Golf Ball, a huge radar dome used by the Civil Aviation Authority for tracking transatlantic air traffic.

Coll, north east of Tiree has only about a quarter of Tiree's population on an island twelve miles by three. It, too, is known for its extensive beaches, and it also has a range of prehistoric relics including standing stones and a souterrain. The island has a small village, Arinagour, where a seal watches the latest visitors to the island depart the boat at the pier.

Further out, we pass the north end of the island of Coll, the Isle of Barra and the Uist Isles come into view in the horizon. On the approach to Barra we have to negotiate some tiny rock outcrops and various small isles as we enter Castle Bay and reverse on to the pier. It is in such confined terrain that one really recognises the bulk of these ships and appreciates the skills of the crew who operate them, as the ferry is carefully manoeuvred around some canoeists close to Kisimul Castle sitting strategically in the centre of the bay.

Kisimul Castle dates from the mid 16th century. The castle is completely surrounded by water and has never fallen to an enemy. The name of the castle comes from the Gaelic words cios (tax) and mul (mound).
Kisimul was abandoned in 1838 when the island was sold, and the castle's condition deteriorated. Some of its stone was used as ballast for fishing vessels, and some even ended up as paving in Glasgow. The remains of the castle, along with most of the island of Barra, were purchased by the chief of Clan MacNeil in 1937, who made efforts at restoration. In 2001 the castle was leased by the chief of Clan MacNeil to Historic Scotland for 1000 years for the annual sum of £1 and a bottle of whisky.

In such a small port it is not long before we locate our stopover for the evening (Dunard Hostel), which occupies a prize position overlooking the bay. As we travel towards our evening residence we become aware that a host of fellow passengers are following our lead which results in great confusion when reaching the hostel. On entering the hostel we find that there is no landlady/warden/owner in attendance. The question on the gathering hordes lips is: ‘Where are we all going to sleep this evening?’ By our calculations there are now 10 people looking for a bed for the evening and only 8 beds in the establishment on offer. Having pre-paid we decide to act quickly and decisively by going upstairs and throwing our panniers on the best bunk available. An act which is quickly replicated by two fellow female cyclists who are also of the mind: ‘If you are not fast you are last’.

Further investigation reveals that the owner/landlady/warden visits each day at 10am and any questions and payments can be made at that time. Avoiding a possible bun fight downstairs we quickly change in to our cycling gear and make our exit as an unfortunate couple vacate the premises in search of another place to sleep for the evening. We suspect that they have been voted out by the other house mates ;-)

The area of Barra is roughly 23 square miles, circumnavigated by a 13 mile single track road, the main village being Castlebay. The west of the island has white sandy beaches backed by shell-sand machair and the east has numerous rocky inlets. Sadly for us as we make our escape from squabbling house mates to board our bikes the rain comes down thus inhibiting the stunning scenery around the island.

Undeterred we press on and wonder at the haphazard placement of the many bungalows around the island. There seems to be no adherence to national planning regulations around the isle, an attitude of nonchalance to government guidelines is prevalent.

Minutes from an island planning committee would appear to proceed along these lines:

Archie: Angus, would it be all right to build a hoose over on that wee hill behind yer barn?

Angus: Aye nae bother Archie, sure its nae good for anything else. When dae ye want to start building?

Archie: Next week?

Angus: Not a problem. That will be a dram you owe me!

Archie: That concludes this months planning agenda; we will now adjourn to the bar.

Despite the apathy shown to council planners the beauty spots around the island remain unaffected, of which there are many…the beaches on this island would not look out of place in The Bahamas. Sadly the weather is %100 Scottish and we are relieved to return to the bunkhouse after 2 hours to dry off and prepare ourselves for an evening meal at the nearby Castlebay Hotel.

The hotel is believed to have been built in the 1860s and the Bar was constructed around 1911, primarily to cater for the people involved in the herring industry. Photos on the walls of the hotel show the bay completely filled with fishing boats and residents of the now uninhabited island of St Kilda. The setting of the restaurant is sublime with stunning views over Kisimul Castle to the golden white sands of Vatersay and beyond. The menu and service of food match the quality of the surroundings and we promise to make the long return journey sometime in the future to book a bay window table while watching the arrival of the evening ferry blessed by a summer sunset.

Bliss!!