SOUTH UIST - Lochboisdale revisited

Thursday 22nd July 1993 - Day 57

A dull morning. I walked the mile back towards Lochboisdale. The approach to the town is uninspiring: a hangar-sized garage workshop, caravans for rent by the roadside and a wall of terraced houses. Overlooking the ferry terminal is the hotel with a sign indicating an invisible craft shop. To the side stands the Post Office. I thought I might be able to buy some food in there, but found little other than a few packets of biscuits and Cup-a-soups. Yesterday's newspapers were laid out on the counter. I rummaged through the stacks of old postcards on a shelf and bought myself some large envelopes.

Wondering what I was going to do all day, I went over to the Tourist Office. A family was in there trying to book self-catering accommodation on the island. When the lady had sorted them out, I asked her if there was anywhere I could buy bread. Most of the food apparently comes via Lochmaddy off the Skye ferry. She told me that I had missed the "shoppers' bus" to the Co-op at Daliburgh and suggested I try the café over the road. The man smiled in commiseration when I enquired, gesturing to the shelves of tins that stood behind his counter with an almost Gallic shrug of the shoulders.

As I left, the irritatingly childish pair I'd met at breakfast were just getting out of their car. The street was deserted, so I could hardly ignore them. They were going into the Tourist Office for the times of the ferry to Eriskay. I explained how I was going to have to walk three miles to Daliburgh for a loaf of bread and started up the road as it began to drizzle. After plodding along for a quarter of an hour, I saw them drive past, then stop and reverse to offer me a lift. I gratefully squeezed into the back next to all their gear and got them to drop me off outside the Co-op.

It was a revelation: the largest shop I've been in for what feels like ages. In the knowledge that anything I don't finish off before Monday will have to fit into my bags for the trip back to Lochmaddy, I resisted the temptation to buy too much. Still, I stocked up on biscuits, crisps and bread, buying a salad assortment for my lunch.

The rain had ceased by the time I started my walk back. With its hotel, supermarket, old people's home and hospital complete with helicopter landing pad, Daliburgh would seem to have more of a claim to be the island's "capital" than Lochboisdale. The immediate landscape is dominated by a ridge of dark hills to the north and boggy moors either side of the road. As I stopped for a rest, I realised that the sea comes far inland. What I had taken for pools of fresh water were embellished with rings of seaweed. I returned amidst the gloom to spend the afternoon catching up with my postcards.

Friday 23rd July 1993 - Day 58

In the time it took for me to wait for the bus this morning - all of ten minutes - a heavy blanket of grey sky was turned into a sheet of bright blue, thanks to a strong northerly wind. At 9.50am I caught the Benbecula bus and found that it was driven by the man who took me to Ludag. I asked him to drop me at the Loch Druidibeg Nature Reserve, a little over halfway up the island.

Five miles out of Daliburgh, the bus unexpectedly turned off the main road and headed towards the west coast. Following the winding back roads, we came to what remains of Ormacleit Castle. The guide books relate that it was built over a period of seven years at the beginning of eighteenth century, but burned down to a shell in 1715 when a side of venison caught fire in the kitchen.

After traversing more scattered crofts, we returned to the main road and suddenly came to a halt at what appeared to be a bus graveyard. I feared the worst, but it transpired that the driver had only gone to speak to someone in the garage office.

It was 10.40am when the driver eventually dropped me at the turn-off to Loch Skipport. Leading into the nature reserve, it is one of the few roads which penetrate the hilly eastern side of South Uist. Walking into the sun, I feared that my face would get burnt again, but after a mile or so, the clouds began to regroup and the road twisted northwards into the wind. Having seen little wildlife other than three or four birds, two tiny ponies and hundreds of sheep, I was passed by a Swedish car and watched its progress up the next hill. Within minutes of its disappearance, I saw it return and decided not to continue. Faced with a hard walk into a relentless strong wind and no sign of shelter even for a sit-down, I preferred to retrace my steps in time for the bus's return around 12.30pm. There would be no other until 3.30pm.

It was still early when I rejoined the main road, so I set off for a closer look at Rueval where religion meets radar: the hill being the site of both the Catholic statue of "Our Lady of the Isles" and the tracking equipment for the Army missile range. Waiting for the bus by the side of the road, I could see down over Loch Bee and the causeway to Benbecula in the distance. Below was the invisible line which separates the Western Isles into the Catholic-dominated south and the strictly Sabbatarian Protestant north.

By the time I reached Lochboisdale, the sky had reverted to its initial grey covering, but at least now I can say that I've seen something of South Uist in sunlight, even if it was only for a couple of hours.

Saturday 24th July 1993 - Day 59

Today I decided to explore what appears on the map as almost ten miles of unbroken beach running down the west of the island. I caught the bus to Daliburgh and then took the first of several roads which lead to the coast. The road soon gave way to a series of tracks across rabbit-infested grassy hollows. Two weasel-like creatures appeared out of their hole in front of me. One sandy coloured and one dark, they both stared at me as I stared back at them and eventually I moved slowly on.

After a sudden shower, the wind banished all the clouds to the edges of the sky's realm. I found a way through into the sand dunes and scrambled down onto the seaweed-strewn beach. The Atlantic ocean stretched out in front of me, mirroring the clearing blue sky above. To the south, the silhouetted mass of Barra sat on the grey horizon.

Having seen a car and figures in the distance, I chose to head towards the sunnier north, pretending that I alone had discovered this place. The comforting sound of the waves played in the background as oyster-catchers swooped down with their distinctive high-pitched cry to investigate the pungent seaweed. I zigzagged up and down the shoreline in my search for pretty pebbles, finding pieces of washed-up wood and dead jellyfish.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw something bobbing in the water. About thirty metres out was the swivelling head of a seal. Remembering old tales and legends, I wondered that if I spoke, it might reply. To shoot any film with the camcorder, I needed more height and climbed back into the dunes. At one stage, I saw six at the same time, their heads gleaming in the sunlight. I stayed for an hour and ate my lunch by the side of a carpet of pink and white clover busy with bees.

Looking back towards Lochboisdale, I saw that the clouds had settled over the ridge of hills running up the other side of the island. In between, scattered crofting townships appeared as white dots. South Uist seems to be split in two: boggy moors and craggy hills rule the east, whilst the west is softened by a sandy coastline and flat pasture a shade of lush green specific to these parts.

I continued along the beach, occasionally climbing into the dunes for a better view. The beaches of Benbecula and North Uist stretched around on the horizon. After a while, I realised that I had reached the golf course at Askernish. Rather than retrace my steps, I cut across it to join up with one of the side roads and walked back to the main road. Unsure as to whether the Lochmaddy bus ran on Saturdays, I kept a lookout over my shoulder for the friendly driver. As I plodded on through Daliburgh, it became apparent that I would have to walk all the way. Approaching Lochboisdale, I stopped to film a tumbled-down thatched cottage and saw peaks that I had never suspected were there. With the sun still shining down on me, I made it back to the B+B after a round trip of nearly ten miles.

Mrs. Murray asked me this morning if I wouldn't mind having dinner early as she was hoping to go over for the music festival on Barra. Apparently with two weddings being celebrated over the weekend, there isn't a spare bed left on the island and all the ferries are said to be packed, but a friend offered to take them over in his boat. However, as I waited in the lounge, raised voices wafted out of the kitchen and her husband left abruptly. Her plans had changed she said, as she brought me a ham salad. I didn't have the heart to remind her I don't eat meat.

Sunday 25th July 1993 - Day 60

Rain stopped play. Day of postcard writing and Radio 4.

Monday 26th July 1993 - Day 61

It was still raining when I got up this morning and the weather forecast wasn't good. Rather than wait around for the afternoon bus to Lochmaddy as I had originally intended, I decided to get the lunch time Post bus from Benbecula airport. This meant catching the 9.50am bus out of Lochboisdale. Mrs. Murray offered to give me a lift and I said I'd be grateful if she could drop me on the main road. Although the rain had stopped, she insisted on driving me down to the pier and seeing me onto the bus to save me waiting. I had grown to like her over the few days I was there. Unexpectedly, she shook my hand, then predictably sped off back up the road amongst the clatter of the rusty exhaust pipe.

Benbecula airport was a hive of activity. The smoke-filled lounge was busy with people coming and going. With the weather clearing, I preferred to wait outside for the Post bus. One of the inter-island light aircraft landed and took off again, followed by a British Airways jet. As the arriving passengers poured out, I was approached by a couple of foreigner backpackers who wanted to know how to get to Lochmaddy. On hearing my reply, a chap who had been waiting for some time also quizzed me about the Post bus. Having heard two Germans on the bus from Lochboisdale ask the driver about it, I began to wonder if there would be room for all of us and our luggage.

The man was from Australia and we chatted to pass the time. He seemed anxious that the Post bus might not know we wanted picking up and I reassured him that there would be plenty of time to make ourselves known to the driver when he came to exchange the sacks of mail. I told him that it probably wouldn't come until another plane landed and he went into the toilet leaving me to guard his bags with strict instructions not to let the bus go without him if it suddenly turned up.

As I stood there surrounded by luggage, a lady in uniform strode up to me. "Didn't we meet on Barra?" she questioned. Thinking that I would be sure to remember a female Army officer if I'd seen one, it took me a few seconds to realise that she was the woman I had followed up Dun Scurrival last Sunday. I should have asked how her photographs turned out.

After an hour's wait, the Post bus finally arrived. Two old ladies sat in the front whilst the rest of us piled on. Since the backpacks conveniently blocked the aisle, I collected the fares and squeezed along to get to the front in a position where I could stand up straight. After watching me painstakingly poke the money through his "cage", the driver then easily handed me the tickets through the hole for that purpose which I simply hadn't noticed in all the commotion. It was £1.25 each, half the price of the service bus.

We bounced across country, arriving in Lochmaddy just after 1pm. I pointed out the Youth Hostel to the Australian and trailed behind him with my bags to the B+B a hundred metres further up the road. I guessed that Mrs. Johnson was probably having lunch when I knocked on the door. She informed me that she had put me in the other single room and I went upstairs to settle myself in. To my amazement, the heating was on and it was almost too warm. The decor is less austere than the room I had last time, but the window doesn't let in as much light, although the view is virtually the same. On balance, I'm pleased to have spent my week in the other one, even if I did need to keep my jacket on most of the time.

Later I took a walk along the road to Sollas. Contrary to the forecast, it remained sunny for the most part. In the distance, I could see the cliffs of Skye and the mountains of Harris. It seems a long time since I was last here impatiently wishing to sail straight to Tarbert and miss out the stages in between. I'm so glad I didn't, as Barra has turned out to be one of the definite highlights of my trip so far. I've travelled a long way on my journey to reach this point and yet now I'm on the verge of returning to Harris after all these years, that feeling of anticipation is no longer there. Perhaps it will come tomorrow.

On tonight's menu:

Mussels in oatmeal with a green salad

Vegetable lasagne and side salad

Banana split

After enjoying the last of Mrs. Johnson's feasts this evening, I went to 'phone home for the first time in almost ten days and heard the phantom piper playing in the garden again.

..... Go to the next chapter ......

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May 1998