Guide to Lewis I - 24/03/05

For the next few days, my routine of recent times is going out of the window, as I’ve decided to offer my services as a reasonable connaisseur of Lewis to the two Germans currently staying with mrs B. They are called Hedwig (that’s the lady) and Frederick (officially he is called Friedrich). Today, Hedwig is 65 and Frederick has set up a veritable German birthday table. Her name spelled out in wooden letters, with candles. Happy birthday in German and of course presents. These two are not married, nor in an official relationship. Suffice to say they are close friends. Yesterday, Hedwig obtained a stack of material from the library about geology in Lewis, which is interesting. Rocks are on the surface here which are 3,000 million years old! We set off for the Butt of Lewis first of all. We aim to seek out every standing stone in the island, by the sound of it. Frederick has trouble with the right-hand drive car, winding down the window when he wants to change gear, and changing gear when he wants to open the window. And putting the thing in reverse. The weather is not very nice to start with. It’s overcast and wet, and positively tipping down by the time we jump out at the first port of call, Ballantrushal. The villagers there could clear away all the disused machinery on the way to the stone, it doesn’t look very pretty. Lambs popping out all over the place now. We continue north, and finally head for the Butt of Lewis via Port Nìs and Cnocard. The weather starts to brighten up here. The Germans are absolutely flabbergasted by the fact that people still use peat for heating. They see the peatstacks, the peatbanks on the moors. Before we reach the Butt, I show them Port Stò. We park by the lighthouse, and I get an object lesson in geology. There are some interesting rock formations on the islets off the lighthouse. Folding strata of rock – see for yourself. They have also brought a geology hammer to extract (we’re talking an orthodontist here) samples of rock. Not by any means the first ever to come here for that purpose. By 1 o’clock, the question of lunch pops up. There are no restaurants or pubs about that I can think of. The Ness FC Social Club is a booze hole. So I offer them my bread. First though, the car is parked at Eoropie beach [Traigh Shanndaigh], and we walk to the sea. It’s warm and sunny now, so boots and socks can come off and we walk through the stream to the beach. Have lunch in the dunes, then walk back. Nearly lose Hedwig in the quicksand. Next port of call: Port Nìs. We look at some rocks at the roadend, admire the little port, use the toilets then go on to the next attraction: Cuidhsiadar. That was an evil suggestion of me, and I am getting my just deserts for it. I direct Frederick, who is driving, to the Skigersta roadend and he is willing to venture out on to the moors. It is 3½ km of dodging puddles and potholes. We finally park before the bridge at Cuidhsiadar, which is actually the Ness shielings. The remaining mile to Filiscleitir is completely unsuitable for a hirecar. Oh, whilst the vehicle is reversing I am directing the driver. The wheels spin in the mud, leaving me with a fair spattering all over. Again. After 1 km of walking, we veer off to a green house (set amongst a number of ruins) and a blue house. Two ruinous houses stand on the edge of a cliff, 50 metres (170 ft) high. A magnificent double rock arch can be seen at sealevel. Farthest is the ruin of a chapel, which used to serve the entire moor area, from Dibidail northwards to Ness. It’s a gloriously warm day now, blue sky and the mountains on the mainland marching dimly on the eastern horizon, 40 miles away. Everything is set off sharp against the northern sunlight. We bogslog back to the car and carefully drive back to Skigersta and then Cross. Final point of call is an obscure stone circle at Steinacleit, just outside Shader. It appeared out of the peat after about 5 feet of it was removed. Introduced the Germans to the phenomenon of the kissing gate J. Return to SY just after 6. Hedwig and Frederick take me and mrs B out for dinner to the Crown. We all have a great time, good food and of course a whisky. The Germans insist on having as peaty a whisky as possible, so a 1½ litre bottle of Islay Mist is brought out. I burn my mouth on a Glenfiddich. Oh, got nicely sunburned today