22 October 2007

September

/Octoberrrrrrrrrrrr

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Monday 22 October 2007--It's a dreich and dreary day. We head back up toward Berneray, stopping first to see Dun An Sticer, a fortified little islet accessible via three precarious causeways. The sheep munching happily on the grass there vacate on our arrival.

We cross over the causeway to Berneray and have a look around. I am pleased to find the birthplace of Angus MacAskill, the Cape Breton giant, whose grave I have driven past so many times on trips to Nova Scotia. A cairn stands 7' 9" high, as tall as Angus, amidst the ruins of the house in which he was born.

Back on North Uist, we visit Barpa Langass, the best chambered tomb in the Western Isles, and the only one I know of that can be entered. Then we park at Langass Lodge and take the short walk to the stone circle known as Pobull Fhinn, or Finn's People. There is a loop trail from the tomb, but today is not the day to walk it. In fact, Pobull Fhinn's best feature, its hillside setting with a fine view over Loch Eport toward the pyramidal hill Eaval, is obscured by the rain and mist; Eaval is not visible at all.

The smell of lunch draws us into Langass Lodge for a warming bowl of soup. Were we staying local this evening, we might be tempted to spend the afternoon here with a few pints. As it is, we must press on, and in fact, I am looking forward very much to the next stop.

Teampull na Trionaid, or Trinity Temple, is the ruin of an ecclesiastical site founded in the 12th century by the daughter of Somerled, Lord of the Isles. The ruin is interesting enough, but to be honest, it's not what I'm anticipating. I've been here twice before, and both times was greeted by a pair of border collies living in the house next door. They approached bearing their toy of the day--the first time, a battered plastic soccer ball, and the second, a chewed-up piece of plastic pipe--and laid it at my feet. I threw it as far as I could, and off they went, jostling each other for position, wrestling for control of the prize. The winner had the privilege of laying the toy at my feet again. Being border collies, they'd have gone at it all day if I could have obliged them. When I turned to leave, they picked up their toy and trotted back home.

Today I have brought them a proper dog toy, a brand new tennis ball. I've been carrying it these past weeks in anticipation of this moment. But as we approach the Temple, there are no dogs in sight, and I see that the house where they lived is empty and derelict. I am crestfallen.

We walk up the path to the ruin and poke around. As we are returning along the path, I see a woman driving away from the recently-built house across the path from the dogs' former home. As she disappears up the road, I hear barking in the house, and shortly I am standing at the gate, looking at a border collie looking back at me from the front door. They've only moved next door! There is no one to let them out--if only I'd caught the woman a minute earlier--and I can't let someone else's dog out of the house, especially on a rainy day. I content myself with saying hello, and toss the ball onto the lawn.

[If you are interested, you can read about Teampull na Trionaid at Undiscovered Scotland.]

We cross the causeway onto Benbecula and drive through Balivanich, the main town, which services the airport and army base. The housing stock is mostly military, and it seems on passing through a terribly charmless place, completely out of place in the Outer Hebrides--the anti-Brigadoon, if you will. Another causeway leads to South Uist, and we run the length of the island, stopping only to see the remains of some recently excavated wheelhouses. A herd of cows follows us down the unpaved track, thinking perhaps that we have bales of hay hidden in our back pockets. After viewing the site, we follow the track through a gap in the dunes and catch up with the cows again. Having given up on us, they have apparently decided to spend the day on the beach. We might join them for a while if the weather were nicer.

We take a short stop in Lochboisdale, and I call home for the Red Sox score (good news). At Pollacher, at South Uist's southern tip, we look across the water to Barra. Then it's across yet another causeway to Eriskay, where we have a pint at Am Politician, the pub named for the ship whose wreck off Eriskay in 1941 inspired the novel and movie Whisky Galore. There are artifacts from the ship in the pub, and one of the infamous bottles, found just a few years ago in a peat bog, is on display.

The ferry departs for Barra late in the afternoon, and we make the short drive into Castlebay in the dark. Pints this evening are in the Craigard Hotel, and it's very quiet. The last time I was here, I was fawned over by a local lass who was a bit tipsy and more than a bit dissatisfied with her husband, and later fell in with a family in town for a funeral. I had a great time (and managed to stay out of trouble). This evening, I am a bit disheartened. The grand tour of the Outer Hebrides I'd envisioned taking Ron and Bobby on has been a bit of a fizzle, today, at least, although the lads, as usual, take it all in stride. Maybe I should have flipped it around, visiting Barra on the weekend, and Stornoway during the week.

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