21 October 2007

September

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Sunday 21 October 2007--South to Harris we go this morning. Lewis and Harris are actually one island, the political division dating back to a split in the inheritance of Clan MacLeod. Before the organization of the Western Isles Council, the two were actually attached to different mainland counties. They are still spoken of as if they were two islands, and they are in fact two very different places. Lewis is low and flat or rolling; Harris is mountainous, and in places gives the appearance of being quite apart from earth, never mind Lewis.

We pass through the mountains of northern Harris and arrive at Tarbert. "Tarbert" and "Tarbet" are very common placenames in Scotland--the word means "isthmus". This, the largest town in Harris, is indeed situated at the narrow neck of land between northern and southern Harris.

We drive down the west coast, famous for beautiful beaches, and stop at Tràigh Iar. There are certainly larger beaches, and one may argue prettier ones, but I have a soft spot for this one. Part of it is Clach Michleoid, MacLeod's Stone, on the hill at the far end of the beach. Part of it is circumstance. The first time I came here, I sat in the car above the beach as an intense squall blew foam up over the road. The second time I came here, a seal followed along as I walked the length of the beach, poking his head up every few yards to see what I was up to. Then the seal's apparent mate arrived, and I watched as the two of them...well, use your imagination.

There's none of that here today, but Ron and Bobby and I enjoy a stroll on the sand, and climb the hill to see the standing stone.

We circle around the west coast, past several other lovely beaches, and through the town of Leverburgh to Rodel, to see the medieval St Clement's Church. After, we have time for a loop around the eastern side of Harris, the part that is often described as a moonscape. I don't think that does it justice; the moon looks pretty mundane compared to this. The fractured rocks are shot through with veins of peat and heather, and inky black lochs fill the low spots. It's a very strange landscape. I take one quick photo--this is my third time through here, and I don't I've captured it yet.

We're back in Leverburgh in plenty of time to catch the ferry for North Uist, or more properly, Berneray--the construction of a causeway between those two islands has shortened the passage to an hour. We land, traverse the causeway, and cut across North Uist to the village of Bayhead, where our B&B lies. I've planned to have dinner in the Langass Lodge, but in researching, I've found a pub, the Westford Inn, in between, and we stop there for a pint. The landlord, Alastair, is a friendly chap, keen to show us his efforts in bringing this old inn up to date, while preserving its historic features. We each get the tour, in turn.

Dinner at the Langass Lodge is very nice--it's a place I'd love to stay in, if budget permitted. We are shortly back at the Westford, where we enjoy an evening of banter with Alastair. We discuss politics, religion, and sex, all very amicably, until we hit on the topic of the smoking ban. Like many publicans, Alastair is bitter about the government-mandated change. He tells us that a group of old gents used to come out once a week to drink, smoke, and sing old songs. They no longer do. I have to agree that it's a shame, and it's certainly something I would like to have witnessed. Things change, and on balance, I have to feel that the smoking ban is a good thing...but as Joni said, something's lost and something's gained.

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