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.