Westward Ho.

We’ve been off travelling, overseas, to a land where temples to the sun and moon arise out of the landscape, where the natives speak an ancient tongue, where rare orchids are to be found and where there are tales of pygmy islands. A land of white sands and turquoise seas.

No, we’ve not been east of Zanzibar, more like west of Ullapool. A trip to the Outer Hebrides, to the Long Island, to Lewis to be precise, in order that LotH could recharge her Gaelic batteries and revisit youthful haunts and not-so-youthful relatives.
As the ferry approached Stornoway, we were welcomed by a pod of porpoises jumping ahead of the boat. A good omen and so it proved for the weather, so often a limiting factor on the Atlantic’s edge, stayed fair throughout our stay.
LotH enjoyed reliving her childhood all over the island, as well as doing all the tourist spots. The Callanish stones were, as usual, too crowded but we were able to soak in the atmosphere at Callanish II and III , the smaller circles in splendid solitude

Callanis II

A trip across the Bridge over the Atlantic took us to Bernera with its wild rugged scenery and spectacular beaches. The sea looked so inviting on a warm day; it was only the realisation that the waters were those of the North Atlantic and not the Caribbean that stopped us dipping a toe. LotH spied a golden eagle sitting on rock surveying us with imperious eye. And, yes, it was an eagle. We were in eagle country.

The bridge over the Atlantic

Neolithic sites, round every other corner, standing stone or chambered cairn or stone circle jostled for attention with Iron Age brochs, duns and crannogs and early Christian chapels and anchorite cells.

In between, there was time for a bit of orchid hunting. The Hebridean Spotted-orchid is native to the island but it proved elusive, hybridising as it does with other species. I think I found one but it was probably a hybrid with the Heath Spotted-orchid or with the Northern Marsh orchid which also abound on the moors and machair.

Northern Marsh, Heath - spotted, Hebridean ? Which orchid is which?


The Isle of Pygmies? Oh yes. Luchruban or Eilean na Luchrupain is a small outlier separated from the Butt of Lewis by a narrow channel and steep cliffs.

“On the sea coast about 1 mile WSW of the Butt of Lewis is a precipitous grass-covered rock, rising some 60 - 70ft above the sea, and isolated from the mainland by a deep cleft. It is known as Luchruban and has been identified with the 'Eilean na Luchrupain', or Isle of Pigmies or Little Men, recorded by Dean Munro in about 1549, and later writers. At the SE corner of the summit, which measures about 80ft - 70ft, is a building, built partly underground, which lies NE-SW and comprises an almost circular chamber about 10ft in diameter at the SW end, connected by a passage 9ft long and 2ft wide to a rectangular chamber 8ft long and 5 1/2ft wide. There is an entrance to the passage from the S, and opposite this on the other side there is a recess.” (RCAHMS
The building where the pygmies were thought to live is now regarded as yet another anchorite cell from the early Christian era like so many dotted around the island fringes, the Pabbays, Pappys, Pappas and Pabails of the western and northern isles.
Some thirty years ago, in younger fitter and, on reflection, foolhardier times, I climbed the cliffs to get on to the island. I have no idea how I managed it but I do recall a buttock tightening moment getting over the overhang on the way back.
A somewhat faded thirty year - old shot of the cell on Luchruban

Older and wiser counsel now prevailed and we viewed the island from the safety of Roinn a Roidh – the promontory of the bog myrtle (?). LotH announced that if she had known about it, I would never have made the first visit.
The weather continued to favour us but alas still neither sight nor sound of the elusive corn crake. BiL assured us that one had been calling just below the family croft and SiL had actually seen one crossing the road but, as usual, as soon as I arrive they take a vow of silence.
An expedition to find a chambered cairn on the moors aroused to proprietary instincts of a pair of Arctic skuas but at leas they weren’t as aggressive as their big cousins, the bonxies, whose ire I had aroused on previous field trips and who can really mean business when it comes to driving off intruders.

Tramping or in my case hirpling, across moors and machair made us appreciate the pleasures of the sauna and jacuzzi in our accommodation as well as the local restaurants and take-aways – Malay. Thai, Chinese, Indian, Italian and, of course, that most Scottish of cuisine, the chippie.
I wonder if there would be a market for a Hebridean restaurant serving Lewis lamb, Stornoway black pudding, tatties and salt herring, fresh mackerel, perhaps even guga in season. Guga? Oh that’s another story! Google it, if you you want to know more.
Sailing back across the Minch, expedition over and not a pith helmet or native bearer needed, it had turned out a fruitful trip in space and time.