Tuesday 08/03/05

Harris day again, but it’s not a very nice day. Overcast and occasional rain. A spell of rain is visible over Lochs and it looks very ominous over Harris. I alight at the Huisinis road-end, after a bit of a struggle through the second set of roadworks. I walk west for just under a mile to the hamlet of Bun Abhainn Eadarra. There I turn off the main road and onto a gravel track. This appears to end at a house, and as I stand taking my bearings a woman calls out to me. “Are you going on a hike?” Yep. “You’ll want the red gate”. I duly proceed through that gate and immediately I found myself confronted by the Harris moonscape, the Empire of Stone. Finding and keeping the path is tricky, particularly with the mist and rain. And the little stream Abhainn Glaic a’Choin-Duinn also gets in the way for the half mile I have to follow it. Then I turn north. It is actually not difficult to set the course: just head north, you cannot leave the valley. There are mountains of more than 2,000 feet on either side. With a spot of bother I cross a larger stream, the Abhainn Eadarra, after which I really have reached the wilderness. I keep a north northwesterly direction, but by the look of things at a rather high contour: 200 m, 700 ft. I come across some very tricky slabs of rock, but do make good progress. I’m abreast of Loch a’Sgail at 1pm. Have lunch due east of Teileasbhal half an hour later. Snow crowns the top at 697m; this mountain presents a forbidding wall. I finally leave this remote valley at 2 o’clock and struggle northeast through some extremely boggy and wet terrain. I even have to go right down to the Langadale River, but then rise again. The view back is stupendous, Teileasbhal, Stulabhal, Stuabhal. I hit the southern vehicle track at 2.40, and grant myself a 5 minute teabreak. I then have to press on as the bus back goes at 4.05 from Vigadale. The snow has gone now, and it’s plain wet. As I wait for the bus, about 250m west of the road, a sharp jolt shakes the ground, followed a few seconds later by a rumble of falling rock. This is not sound carried through the air, but through the very earth on which I sit. Not an earthquake, but blasting at the Ardhasaig Quarry several miles away. John drives the bus back to town, and Sally joins me on board at Balallan.