Cycled: 71.29km / 4h4m / 17.47
The day started out gloriously sunny. Our private white sand beach was all ours. Lollygagging in the fabulous weather, we walked up the nearest peak and looked around at the ocean, many tiny islands, and stones houses clinging to the land. We would have lingered, but we were out of water. We broke camp and headed back to Barra on the one and only main road. We passed sandy beaches and rugged cliffs and rocks. We even saw an airport which uses a beach of shells as its landing strip. We sat on a beach and watched a lone surfer, then went to see a plane land (which Jenn missed... the plane was 5 mins early). After semi-circling Barra we headed to the Eriksay and South Uist ferry. Sadly, the weather took a turn while we were in the waiting area for the ferry. Consequently, heavy wind, rain, and clouds greeted us on Eriksay.
We donned our Goretex and set off, thankful at least that the wind was at our backs. We sailed up Uist, and quickly covered 30km in an hour, despite fully loaded bikes. 40km/hr on flats, thanks wind! That same wind would make camping uncomfortable if we couldn't find a good wind block. We looked at staying at a Youth Hostel in a croft house. Although it would have been an interesting experience, the price was not what we were looking for (and the company was decidedly not youthful, more like >60s club). We loaded up on water and began the hunt for a dry sheltered place to pitch our tent. We pitched the tent as close of possible to a copse of trees and fence, and called it a night.
We donned our Goretex and set off, thankful at least that the wind was at our backs. We sailed up Uist, and quickly covered 30km in an hour, despite fully loaded bikes. 40km/hr on flats, thanks wind! That same wind would make camping uncomfortable if we couldn't find a good wind block. We looked at staying at a Youth Hostel in a croft house. Although it would have been an interesting experience, the price was not what we were looking for (and the company was decidedly not youthful, more like >60s club). We loaded up on water and began the hunt for a dry sheltered place to pitch our tent. We pitched the tent as close of possible to a copse of trees and fence, and called it a night.
Observations of Hebridean Life:
A town in not a town. Not in the typical sense. A town is a collection of small grey houses (none pointing in the same direction) which huddle together and look as if they're bracing themselves against the wind.
Trees. If a Hebridean status symbol existed, it would the tree. The landscape has none, you only find them in the yards of big and more expensive looking houses. And even then, they're a little scrawny.
Roads. Impeccable. Why? There is no one and nothing for them to lead to. I don't get it.
 |
| Walking along our private beach. |
 |
| Open empty rocky landscapes in the outer Hebrides. |
 |
| Doing dishes in the ocean on the beach. |
 |
| Barra Airport is a beach of white shells covered in a thin layer of ocean water. |
 |
| Two flight a day land on the beach. |
 |
| Pictures may be worth 1000 words, but this one really doesn't convey the critical elements of this moment in time: 1) the smell (horse urine), 2) the horrendous wind (hence camping behind the only trees in sight up against a barbed wire fence near horse urine). |
