tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15400613314473616102024-03-16T06:05:49.309-07:00Marc CalhounMarc Calhounhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01337842920912493787noreply@blogger.comBlogger684125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1540061331447361610.post-34819454341503115672024-02-25T11:22:00.000-08:002024-02-25T18:50:30.667-08:00Book Launch Dates<p style="text-align: justify;">The Islands Book Trust will be hosting two events for the launch my new book <i>Thirty Years of Adventures in Search of the Past: The Outer Hebrides</i>. The first will be at the Harris Hotel on May 14th (5 pm). The second event will be at the Uig Community Centre on May 21 (5:30 pm). Please stop by if you are in the area.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">If you are interested in seeing first-hand some of the islands in the book, consider joining me on my guided cruise with Hebridean Adventures. It is a nine-night journey from Oban that departs on September 11th. There are only 4 spots left. For more information see the following link.</p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.hebrideanadventures.co.uk/products/adventures-in-search-of-the-past-cruise" target="_blank"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">https://www.hebrideanadventures.co.uk/products/adventures-in-search-of-the-past-cruise</span></a></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2JyRYiMZH54nDva4wxD-3mOvpzumyhmEkOgHwkTFBEigO_pdVB-FToUzvZNqZjd_Vf5-Kua3tYMDveb3F936hQ-8D9sc-8AJgf0cnFYHhhw_itxJH4bfaC9OadEIw2rAl_yyh5fMsHqlSxcVeaW6f-0OYSyg2GJRTXwSkwiAYm5ff-jTv-IV7KTnbvdY/s992/IMGP5558_HEADER_2.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="535" data-original-width="992" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2JyRYiMZH54nDva4wxD-3mOvpzumyhmEkOgHwkTFBEigO_pdVB-FToUzvZNqZjd_Vf5-Kua3tYMDveb3F936hQ-8D9sc-8AJgf0cnFYHhhw_itxJH4bfaC9OadEIw2rAl_yyh5fMsHqlSxcVeaW6f-0OYSyg2GJRTXwSkwiAYm5ff-jTv-IV7KTnbvdY/s16000/IMGP5558_HEADER_2.gif" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQMPNNBGC7cGtGHk8oboOGeiQyD-rVEt4socIvL_9V4hujmn9MenW6UCRCrs7O74TWWYcXa-K7Owx4YDtuQN0YosHcepRsvO5lKHplSueqlHw1mw1b2sQjjOXaxCjnZ6gOWWYqEnoFArVWkHfp2vopWEqJ0D5LDViynDP7ejSTfommfiWfgjg1O9LkIW8/s992/P5290014.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="586" data-original-width="992" height="378" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQMPNNBGC7cGtGHk8oboOGeiQyD-rVEt4socIvL_9V4hujmn9MenW6UCRCrs7O74TWWYcXa-K7Owx4YDtuQN0YosHcepRsvO5lKHplSueqlHw1mw1b2sQjjOXaxCjnZ6gOWWYqEnoFArVWkHfp2vopWEqJ0D5LDViynDP7ejSTfommfiWfgjg1O9LkIW8/w640-h378/P5290014.gif" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>Marc Calhounhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01337842920912493787noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1540061331447361610.post-90313776029951228912024-02-09T11:22:00.000-08:002024-02-09T11:22:10.040-08:00New Book Update - Thirty Years of Adventures in Search of the Past<p style="text-align: justify;">Design work has been completed for my upcoming book <i>Thirty Years of Adventures in Search of the Past: The Outer Hebrides</i>. The book tells the stories of adventures on forty islands of the Outer Hebrides and includes over 150 colour photos. The Islands book Trust is aiming for publication in May, and book launches will be held on Lewis and/or Harris. The venues and dates have not been set. As soon as they are I will update this page.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYET5Ffh0XeyNURsyyu1gmRh0ynlIcSJxG9BGxIQViGoZgejX42F637sp9Z_IzP8TXX3t4Bell0wTiETqj_nVGVenr0I-cPzgvnnpON9rSY0xbaXLUEmRlJP6eu0AbjGq6lHDcz9_qafcxdW_rbH7OV8ND5ulH27tJFyYPJ45qoL6aup7KRS2n1F4-8xA/s1185/IMG_0662.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1185" data-original-width="992" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYET5Ffh0XeyNURsyyu1gmRh0ynlIcSJxG9BGxIQViGoZgejX42F637sp9Z_IzP8TXX3t4Bell0wTiETqj_nVGVenr0I-cPzgvnnpON9rSY0xbaXLUEmRlJP6eu0AbjGq6lHDcz9_qafcxdW_rbH7OV8ND5ulH27tJFyYPJ45qoL6aup7KRS2n1F4-8xA/w536-h640/IMG_0662.png" width="536" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: justify;"><br /></p>Marc Calhounhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01337842920912493787noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1540061331447361610.post-23158848079466080432024-01-27T10:11:00.000-08:002024-01-30T10:55:15.280-08:00September 2024 Cruise<p style="text-align: justify;">This coming September I will have the privilege of guiding another cruise on Hjalmar Bjorge. Built in 1963, Hjalmar Bjørge served for thirty-three years as a rescue ship for the Norwegian fishing fleet. Seventy-five feet long, and twenty wide, this ninety-ton powerhouse, with her name proudly emblazoned in bold, chrome letters on the wheelhouse, draws an appreciative eye from all who see her. When it comes to adventure cruising, safety, and stability you'll find no finer ship for a Hebridean cruise.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5dVNOVLDlM2T04PTXDEFHR6QANtwyBcbqL5Alsrqf1S8UOAaRLotkBR2xKLmheBtQooZaHLeDMB-S0xRbEBFoqPE4K4ZlbZRpjpQnvSUAh1hlwQjsxGc3lSvKx6EHF8ZpgwHLTO1B0ZoK4M-vaxLqtqMBEJUNkDCABfI8s4cIoxS4KWmsNG9AaJWF0rg/s992/P5300133_blog.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="641" data-original-width="992" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5dVNOVLDlM2T04PTXDEFHR6QANtwyBcbqL5Alsrqf1S8UOAaRLotkBR2xKLmheBtQooZaHLeDMB-S0xRbEBFoqPE4K4ZlbZRpjpQnvSUAh1hlwQjsxGc3lSvKx6EHF8ZpgwHLTO1B0ZoK4M-vaxLqtqMBEJUNkDCABfI8s4cIoxS4KWmsNG9AaJWF0rg/s16000/P5300133_blog.gif" /></a></div><p style="text-align: justify;">This year marks the 20th anniversary of my first voyage on Hjalmar Bjorge. On that journey so long ago, we visited Taransay, Scarp, St Kilda, Ceann Ear of the Monachs, and Mingulay. The stories of those island visits, along with many other adventures on Hjalmar Bjorge, are included in my book <i>Thirty Years of Adventures in Search of the Past: The Outer Hebrides.</i> The book recounts voyages to forty Hebridean islands and is due to be published by the Islands Book Trust this spring. Information on the book launch events will be available shortly.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">On the September trip we are aiming to make an orbit around the Uists to set foot on several islands in the Sound of Harris, the Monach Isles, and the Barra Isles. On the way back to Oban we are also planning a full day ashore on Rum. As always, the weather and sea-state will have the final say on where we can go. As it happens, a partial lunar eclipse will occur during the cruise. If the sky is clear, it should be visible from the ship early on the morning of Sept 18.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">Currently, four of the six cabins have been booked. If you are interested, more information can be found at the following link:</p><p><a href="https://www.hebrideanadventures.co.uk/products/adventures-in-search-of-the-past-cruise" target="_blank"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">https://www.hebrideanadventures.co.uk/products/adventures-in-search-of-the-past-cruise</span></a><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6W4Vsds_QtRsaz0URhNKadNuiBdSOCtOMl_c6kcGvbp9n-dTags9JK5jXq3QSCWX4xTfnXs2VuREQPxMddy8XLVoLePMBfU3JL9jjneBLw0tKFxQXwdkPzRosjJMPtwsmSqV8MjedrU6SkBzGhcqxJZ0tZDheY91YdAOCd39VjywaSESs7-AuwoX8dco/s4134/Adventures-Past-2024_1_Blog.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4134" data-original-width="4134" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6W4Vsds_QtRsaz0URhNKadNuiBdSOCtOMl_c6kcGvbp9n-dTags9JK5jXq3QSCWX4xTfnXs2VuREQPxMddy8XLVoLePMBfU3JL9jjneBLw0tKFxQXwdkPzRosjJMPtwsmSqV8MjedrU6SkBzGhcqxJZ0tZDheY91YdAOCd39VjywaSESs7-AuwoX8dco/w640-h640/Adventures-Past-2024_1_Blog.gif" width="640" /></a></div>Marc Calhounhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01337842920912493787noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1540061331447361610.post-29455401757531676722024-01-07T13:41:00.000-08:002024-01-07T13:41:01.583-08:00The Glen Rosa Circuit - Arran<p style="text-align: justify;">The route into the Arran hills started at Glenrosa Campsite. It was a deceptively easy start, the boot-beaten path gradually ascending along the winding Glenrosa Water. I’d visited Holy Island the day before, and was setting out to hike the Glen Rosa circuit, hoping to find a view of Holy Island from the 2000-foot horseshoe ridge between Cir Mhòr and A’ Chir.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">After three miles, I came to a fork in the path. A right turn led to 'The Saddle', the way to climb Goatfell or carry on through to Glen Sannox. The 2,866-foot summit of Goatfell was hidden in clouds—there’d be no views there—so I took the left fork. It made a steady, steep climb, rising 1400 feet over one mile, that led through the heart of Fionn Coire to the high ridge between the peaks of Cir Mhòr and A’ Chir.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">I was then faced with a difficult choice. A right turn led to Cir Mhòr (2600 ft), via the Rosa Pinnacle, and then on to Caisteal Abhail and <i>Ceum na Caillich</i>, the Witch’s Step. In addition to the Witch’s Step, and nearby Broomstick Ridge, there are dozens of Arran place names guaranteed to make a climber drool: Pagoda Ridge, Portcullis Buttress, Rosa Slabs, the Bastion, the Rosetta Stone, and the Devil’s Punchbowl. If you fail to climb any of those enticing temptations, you can always settle for Consolation Tor.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">I needed to be back at the road in three hours to meet my wife, so I turned left to follow an exhilaratingly airy ridge-top path to the south. Five minutes later, at an elevation of 2000 feet, the path split, and another decision had to be made. The left fork made a challenging, 300-foot knife-edge climb to the summit of A’ Chir. I was beat in the heat—it was a sweltering, 80-degree July day (27 deg C)—and I’d already climbed 1800 feet in over six miles. It was an easy decision for someone hiking on their own. I took the right fork that led around the west shoulder of A’ Chir. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">In a matter of minutes, 300 feet of hard-earned altitude was lost, as the trail dropped down dusty, sunbaked slabs of granite, before climbing steeply to <i>Bealach an Fhir-bhogha</i>, Bowman’s Pass. Deer were once driven through this narrow pass, where archers lying in wait would pick them off as they stampeded through.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">The view was spectacular; the massive bowl of Coire Daingean lay at my feet, dropping 1600 feet to the headwaters of Glenrosa Water. The clouds had thinned over the past hour, and the summit of Goatfell looked clear and inviting. I was beginning to regret my decision not to climb it, when something else impressive caught my eye—the very thing I’d come here to see—Holy Island rising from the blue-green waters of the Firth.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">According to the map, there is a route from Bowman’s Pass down to Glen Rosa. But nary a path was to be seen, just dusty slopes, far too steep to safely descend. But 200 feet farther, just beyond the pass where archers once laid in wait, I came across a trail that dropped to the summit of <i>Beinn a’ Chliabhain</i>, Creel Mountain (2140 ft).</p><p style="text-align: justify;">I did not want to leave the airy heights, but the time had come to start down. The heavenly ridge path to Beinn a’ Chliabhain led to another high ridge above <i>Coire a’ Bhradain</i>, Salmon Corry. Five hundred feet below, like veins leading to a heart, a half-dozen streams could be seen trickling down the corry; the headwaters of the salmon-filled river of Garbh Allt.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf2kJjMVaslIS_jCVRJgrgUTEkLsL0LvLm9VpEzMTUYa4S9rg3IsLUxQD1AaGalRsukF86WTPHKRDCP_iMH15bnIskThlWInOi_ezIPV5wpxYyB_2WbmgoIlfeBAuavXYK9CMl0GD1aimtmgyWT6klEb5EcHnqUc8JhHdNQhS57q_3M1P44SVola_W_wE/s756/GlenRosa.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="756" data-original-width="567" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf2kJjMVaslIS_jCVRJgrgUTEkLsL0LvLm9VpEzMTUYa4S9rg3IsLUxQD1AaGalRsukF86WTPHKRDCP_iMH15bnIskThlWInOi_ezIPV5wpxYyB_2WbmgoIlfeBAuavXYK9CMl0GD1aimtmgyWT6klEb5EcHnqUc8JhHdNQhS57q_3M1P44SVola_W_wE/w480-h640/GlenRosa.gif" width="480" /></a></div><p style="text-align: justify;">It was a joy to be walking downhill (my favourite direction). And so, happy as a midge at a nude beach, I descended to <i>Cnoc Breac</i>, Trout Hill. You may have noticed by now that there are a lot of fishy names on Arran. I’m surprised there’s no Pike’s Peak, but there is a hill called An Tunna; a name that commemorates an event back in the days of Cuchulain, when a lost bluefin, thinking it was a salmon, swam up Glenrosa Water trying to spawn. (Or so I read in Wikipedia.)</p><p style="text-align: justify;">From Cnoc Breac, the terrain gradually transitioned from rock to heather and grass, as it descended to the cascading waters of Garbh Allt. At 6 pm the Glen Rosa campsite came into view, where my wife had dropped me six hours earlier. She wasn’t there - good help is hard to find. Fifteen minutes later, she showed up with a cold can of beer. (Oh me, of little faith.)</p><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Arand na n-aighedh n-imdha, tadall fairge re a formna,</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>ailén a m-biadhta buidhni, druimne a n-dergthar gái gorma.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Arran blessed with stags, encircled by the sea,</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Island that fed hosts, where the black spears turn crimson.</i></div><p></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;">From ‘Acallamh na Senórach’, Tales of the Elders of Ireland, 12th century, author unknown</div><div style="text-align: center;">Translation from ‘A New Translation by Ann Dooley and Harry Roe’, Oxford University Press</div><p></p>Marc Calhounhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01337842920912493787noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1540061331447361610.post-10586035398433143102023-12-14T14:17:00.000-08:002023-12-15T09:27:43.230-08:00New Book and a Cruise<p style="text-align: justify;">You may have noticed I have been neglecting the blog for a few months. The reason is that I've been preoccupied with completing my next book: <i>Thirty Years of Adventures in Search of the Past: The Outer Hebrides</i>. Book design is underway, with publication by the Islands Book Trust tentatively set for May of 2024. As part of promoting the book, I will be guiding a cruise on the ship Hjalmar Bjorge, operated by Hebridean Adventures. As with the previous books, this one includes several stories that stem from experiences aboard Hjalmar Bjorge, both as a guide and a paying guest. The following link will take you to the Hebridean Adventures website that describes the cruise. </p><p style="text-align: justify;"><a href="https://www.hebrideanadventures.co.uk/products/adventures-in-search-of-the-past-cruise" target="_blank"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">https://www.hebrideanadventures.co.uk/products/adventures-in-search-of-the-past-cruise</span></a><br /></p><p style="text-align: justify;">The first of the photos below is of Dun Shanndraigh on the island of Sandray, one of the historical sites we hope to explore.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ8kMcXUW9Elus8YeR0hCTUY9QgHA3uM6BJS_NemtjJOpoG2ZOi2BKgG6oshh6BH4nF7SQkHlEgOTRY5j6y9DbDQWSWyUbkHXxuM57e-g5EDDtGDKrUuULOq15CXd9l4YG5hTcJERxIyeSiLOERNm5Rz23tUmyAn8FytJ4lFSPcBRN2OEbvr5cNUlrvCQ/s992/DunSandray_Small.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="586" data-original-width="992" height="378" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ8kMcXUW9Elus8YeR0hCTUY9QgHA3uM6BJS_NemtjJOpoG2ZOi2BKgG6oshh6BH4nF7SQkHlEgOTRY5j6y9DbDQWSWyUbkHXxuM57e-g5EDDtGDKrUuULOq15CXd9l4YG5hTcJERxIyeSiLOERNm5Rz23tUmyAn8FytJ4lFSPcBRN2OEbvr5cNUlrvCQ/w640-h378/DunSandray_Small.gif" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9qoxlFa4Fx_wkmyDm57XjA8AMTQXqVTIjeF4it_boUwcQkq2sZFBU4cuJLZGE9apjXfwdPd_ALIpgbUU1vCI_CSJjFxEUca92PRuGiDPDO_mK9RfvVc1pwmHqPZn6L3hUmkBvHz4_W0xQQ3HHeLN9PSSW1x9ilyuIQVZrmHoTbwYfSJDAo-clqBw3dFQ/s992/P1010806.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="560" data-original-width="992" height="361" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9qoxlFa4Fx_wkmyDm57XjA8AMTQXqVTIjeF4it_boUwcQkq2sZFBU4cuJLZGE9apjXfwdPd_ALIpgbUU1vCI_CSJjFxEUca92PRuGiDPDO_mK9RfvVc1pwmHqPZn6L3hUmkBvHz4_W0xQQ3HHeLN9PSSW1x9ilyuIQVZrmHoTbwYfSJDAo-clqBw3dFQ/w640-h361/P1010806.gif" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy4D5dOth7REG8bPbJpg4PU2P7CDy_JqelSqr4LBr9Zrh919SUDOlV7Poo33ARprWhcYviJgN-P1yoJ8O9TDSyKYeWsDi5StB4ig6G0av5I4Y58K-OB8GiVU23g2qzCp0NTEEn3h0IRW8dzeEn8xBOEy03JN8E1na0LT6ztMX_YXVDlucEbfHgMgMdyMI/s992/IMGP1508.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="619" data-original-width="992" height="399" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy4D5dOth7REG8bPbJpg4PU2P7CDy_JqelSqr4LBr9Zrh919SUDOlV7Poo33ARprWhcYviJgN-P1yoJ8O9TDSyKYeWsDi5StB4ig6G0av5I4Y58K-OB8GiVU23g2qzCp0NTEEn3h0IRW8dzeEn8xBOEy03JN8E1na0LT6ztMX_YXVDlucEbfHgMgMdyMI/w640-h399/IMGP1508.gif" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfy9w4Nq2BjdgnTUpQNrR-s0UQqhy6VbdFQR9EdEqYgNwZ6NTkumpXQ6Go32bFHI2oRp4ftHe4bqSltoKf4jQPyF-XpPSP8PtcdfW-rygPk7Im8GyHGs562NPPklgHGrLKm3hDR_cdutj7nHGSkJqggfwihQDM34dgRUGDUXWSdWcnh92yVmuUHiPOzeM/s992/IMG_0349.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="630" data-original-width="992" height="406" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfy9w4Nq2BjdgnTUpQNrR-s0UQqhy6VbdFQR9EdEqYgNwZ6NTkumpXQ6Go32bFHI2oRp4ftHe4bqSltoKf4jQPyF-XpPSP8PtcdfW-rygPk7Im8GyHGs562NPPklgHGrLKm3hDR_cdutj7nHGSkJqggfwihQDM34dgRUGDUXWSdWcnh92yVmuUHiPOzeM/w640-h406/IMG_0349.gif" width="640" /></a></div>Marc Calhounhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01337842920912493787noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1540061331447361610.post-24481708818407286702023-08-06T16:34:00.000-07:002023-08-06T16:34:18.041-07:00Twilight on Taransay<p style="text-align: justify;">There is something special about an early morning, or early evening landing, on a deserted island. The slanting rays of the sun give the terrain an added dimension of depth and color. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPGgRZrPxMhIjiYocJqKaaQEBUyHGcnyyKwxeqHJQHhsDDWLtjHgrbeApoB7cyIEeX9ZcBsRJVQbuSLlujva8glQzrXpfAEjDUo0v8CTNSwZnIqYY661JAkYm7IzojiBjID9lZVkW41QqE_AXO7QaN1k-Bz5SUv9LEu1E4-BRjl5BIQQs8sLruMZW4YTU/s992/P6050842.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="561" data-original-width="992" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPGgRZrPxMhIjiYocJqKaaQEBUyHGcnyyKwxeqHJQHhsDDWLtjHgrbeApoB7cyIEeX9ZcBsRJVQbuSLlujva8glQzrXpfAEjDUo0v8CTNSwZnIqYY661JAkYm7IzojiBjID9lZVkW41QqE_AXO7QaN1k-Bz5SUv9LEu1E4-BRjl5BIQQs8sLruMZW4YTU/s16000/P6050842.gif" /></a></div><p style="text-align: justify;">Adding to the uniqueness is that these shore trips, before breakfast, or after dinner, are few and far between. I last wrote of such an experience in 2019, when during a trip down the west of Ireland we went ashore for an early morning walk on Iniskea North. (You can see those photos on the <a href="https://marccalhoun.blogspot.com/2019/11/islay-to-cork-day-13-inishkea-another.html"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">November 7, 2019 post</span></a>.)</p><p style="text-align: justify;">And so, on a Hebridean cruise in June, I was delighted when the skipper offered up an evening stroll on Taransay. Some of these photos show the ruin of the nineteenth century <i>Taigh Geal na h-Uidhe</i>, the white house of Uidhe. Originally two-storeys high, with a roof of Ballachulish slate, the house was built for John MacDonald, the Taransay tacksman in the nineteenth century. The structure turned out to be unstable, so the gables were knocked down, and the slates taken for use on a building in Tarbert.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiAuA81qK5GTKAspc3mVJMHOYBNixZ9tS0Gx25xPiUuoqZfbq83o6KayHX2TkaOiXyCfBEiGnEcEVZ7aGcOBs1jSU6pmQI5ne4oEjUODKHaU0nD8YHb7Xil1ZmxsUsK45eqXDjnXoZDSPEZcnQnzV6vMWz88D-FsTszN4FLwl7i_A_oAvNgbE_4rbIYlY/s992/P6050820.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="602" data-original-width="992" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiAuA81qK5GTKAspc3mVJMHOYBNixZ9tS0Gx25xPiUuoqZfbq83o6KayHX2TkaOiXyCfBEiGnEcEVZ7aGcOBs1jSU6pmQI5ne4oEjUODKHaU0nD8YHb7Xil1ZmxsUsK45eqXDjnXoZDSPEZcnQnzV6vMWz88D-FsTszN4FLwl7i_A_oAvNgbE_4rbIYlY/s16000/P6050820.gif" /></a></div><p style="text-align: justify;">The shell of the house still stands in the form of a single-storey, tin-roofed bothy, refurbished by the Mountain Bothies Association in the 1980s. (They no longer maintain the bothy.) Many years had passed since I last entered the bothy. On that previous visit in 2011, there was a two-burner propane stove sitting atop a slim table and a half dozen fishnet hammocks hung from the rafters. There were several fishing crates stacked in the cooking area, each holding an assortment of worn utensils. Except for two items, an adjacent shelf was bare. The two items it proudly held were a crusty salt shaker and a faded jar of Marmite. Stamped on the Marmite label was EXP: 7/2008. I've never been a Marmite fan, let alone when it's been fermenting for three years.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">When I entered the bothy in June I found it to be a sad wreck, The door was gone, and the inside was a complete mess. But, if you wanted to spend the night, the fishnet hammocks were still there.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje1CT3oa6zsTkD40X6YR6PGMR6WN_aJ8xoBpqU6uDd6UxkY0RhzhsHoKZN61OpHBtZ_bVS9e3s9LtkhVWQtSy7esAet3dqCOjw1Bd9oHm056SHuuDcnsXsStUCoyAfT6lCQTnaY9QoB1ZTU_YY71q0p3aroHtFtnDaIMl4SPKdbjODnPSmoqr-zUYNoH4/s992/P6050817.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="744" data-original-width="992" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje1CT3oa6zsTkD40X6YR6PGMR6WN_aJ8xoBpqU6uDd6UxkY0RhzhsHoKZN61OpHBtZ_bVS9e3s9LtkhVWQtSy7esAet3dqCOjw1Bd9oHm056SHuuDcnsXsStUCoyAfT6lCQTnaY9QoB1ZTU_YY71q0p3aroHtFtnDaIMl4SPKdbjODnPSmoqr-zUYNoH4/s16000/P6050817.gif" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT8541XeRErCGvjF3s-c7DykXD4f66tnJc4aG0wnvs_3ORVUu4vuA8zDExGs043VgEzbYmsCOx0ExL19Yjoc6dg63PPGWoGG-MmexilCVrt-RPXOmNkcGm9rT3bdG3rqFaSn4mzxvmZsVkzbNWPwsfy-h_HOlu6HlpjWGXxbbCVj3F00o2Td4VqjPkupQ/s992/P6050819.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="744" data-original-width="992" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT8541XeRErCGvjF3s-c7DykXD4f66tnJc4aG0wnvs_3ORVUu4vuA8zDExGs043VgEzbYmsCOx0ExL19Yjoc6dg63PPGWoGG-MmexilCVrt-RPXOmNkcGm9rT3bdG3rqFaSn4mzxvmZsVkzbNWPwsfy-h_HOlu6HlpjWGXxbbCVj3F00o2Td4VqjPkupQ/s16000/P6050819.gif" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="text-align: justify;">Before returning to the ship, I paid a visit to St Taran's cross. The incised cross on the standing stone has faded over the years, but you can still make it out. It was a delight to see in in the twilight, but I will never forget how it looked on a sunny afternoon, twenty years ago (last photo).</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="text-align: justify;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjekBjLjyFOHO3B6117RaUMDPaXgMwunEfuxVSFRZLMmkYciZxtxW63pBDRjqdGCiQ_Vs63TkB0X8vdwZ1-b5HI43V0hL1TV6lEScQcMFU4hkmBno1CPpPssuBFBip3AE1pLT8O9HALmnAn0C9OtLaSf0KZj6zV_DuuwzpAfeAN6qnte3oHSVjRgxU0N20/s992/P6050832.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="628" data-original-width="992" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjekBjLjyFOHO3B6117RaUMDPaXgMwunEfuxVSFRZLMmkYciZxtxW63pBDRjqdGCiQ_Vs63TkB0X8vdwZ1-b5HI43V0hL1TV6lEScQcMFU4hkmBno1CPpPssuBFBip3AE1pLT8O9HALmnAn0C9OtLaSf0KZj6zV_DuuwzpAfeAN6qnte3oHSVjRgxU0N20/s16000/P6050832.gif" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj32-n5WyHB2oQZ0YQwvwB6A-4mMN1hoVJO9713Zq8lpjB7gTTeEqnaJdjr7vhfeulvhtYATCO0vbHV_lGYbGWDglS-McfVc1mCLYV5N38_Qo97ozXiw3w-mWOa3lyFHfldcol_mvgLo1S2XRLc1F0D_thoqjh-GuR3k_5mADEjPsZK0E9z_S9Nk98HGt0/s1487/2004HB-07-17.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1487" data-original-width="992" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj32-n5WyHB2oQZ0YQwvwB6A-4mMN1hoVJO9713Zq8lpjB7gTTeEqnaJdjr7vhfeulvhtYATCO0vbHV_lGYbGWDglS-McfVc1mCLYV5N38_Qo97ozXiw3w-mWOa3lyFHfldcol_mvgLo1S2XRLc1F0D_thoqjh-GuR3k_5mADEjPsZK0E9z_S9Nk98HGt0/w427-h640/2004HB-07-17.gif" width="427" /></a></div>Marc Calhounhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01337842920912493787noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1540061331447361610.post-67294109825554979432023-06-24T11:37:00.000-07:002023-06-24T11:37:22.975-07:00A Shot of Rum<p style="text-align: justify;">Two weeks ago I had a few hours of shore leave on Rum. Not enough time to do much. But time enough to do something exciting. After passing in front of the sad-looking and fenced-off Kinloch Castle, I made my way to the bridge over the Kinloch River. Once over the bridge, a turn to the left led to the start of the North Nature Trail. A thousand feet later, at an elevation of 100 feet, the trail made a hard left turn to the west. It was time to leave the easy track and dive into the hard wilderness.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">Hard wilderness may seem an exaggeration. But it was hard, it was wild, with seemingly endless stretches of three-foot-tall hummocks of grass. Each hummock hid one of three things: a deep hole, a patch of swamp, or a stream. It was slow going, made easier now and then by deer trails. How in the hell deer ran along these paths without plunging into a hole and breaking a leg is a mystery.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">It was a swelteringly hot day. Whenever I stopped to cool off the midges and clegs showed up in force, so the respites were short. The despairing challenge of the hummocks was interspersed with sections of blessedly shaded woodland. But it was not much of a blessing, as it required multiple detours around impassable swaths of trees. Here and there dead stumps rose from the ground. Whenever I grabbed one for support it crumbled to dust. Dead and dried. I felt dead and dried. I was also worried about ticks, so avoided sitting on the ground to rest, as I ascended eastward across the shoulder of Meall a’ Ghoirtein.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">A half-hour later, I reached the tree line at an elevation of 300 feet. The GPS indicated I had another 200 feet to climb and a quarter mile of terrain to cross to reach my destination. Twenty minutes later I noticed a structure built upon a strange, arch-shaped boulder. The boulder was ten feet by five, and the structure was what I’d been searching for: an intact beehive cell, eight feet high at its centre.<br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9COt6PNKLIc5v6w3niK2DKNFQaH22Ok1pgu4HJ1IBFE_sZfIM_ydXLjP2WVyp0iEyqS1mAEpRZaRCBEMHVuZJZwSQ21UQHF34jKhbAWt29GBBZFMJsLVj-VT_igIA0MqUxRj-Jnj23AWeqzeMUyOoe37FzCsJfA644FNimyM6bOHJtGCgtChRmNSHNbk/s992/P6071037.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="692" data-original-width="992" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9COt6PNKLIc5v6w3niK2DKNFQaH22Ok1pgu4HJ1IBFE_sZfIM_ydXLjP2WVyp0iEyqS1mAEpRZaRCBEMHVuZJZwSQ21UQHF34jKhbAWt29GBBZFMJsLVj-VT_igIA0MqUxRj-Jnj23AWeqzeMUyOoe37FzCsJfA644FNimyM6bOHJtGCgtChRmNSHNbk/s16000/P6071037.gif" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHBL8B-P50WFZyBITMeKQB7oOK-9BA7wCuy2bfV0zj2kGMG8GGSFzWahmIAvkFNGBSmzkXKLA58LpyMjPRRaKXQ5ktWoCys2mdLjuCzEUn1yQ8Jwx1ybPAukPxlRtDk2dcXNav9jpR2Km7AeX4XjCx6DyHtrikgCJtV6ANWM8OAOUV6XfLLosxGpOOpFw/s992/P6071058.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="653" data-original-width="992" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHBL8B-P50WFZyBITMeKQB7oOK-9BA7wCuy2bfV0zj2kGMG8GGSFzWahmIAvkFNGBSmzkXKLA58LpyMjPRRaKXQ5ktWoCys2mdLjuCzEUn1yQ8Jwx1ybPAukPxlRtDk2dcXNav9jpR2Km7AeX4XjCx6DyHtrikgCJtV6ANWM8OAOUV6XfLLosxGpOOpFw/s16000/P6071058.gif" /></a></div><p style="text-align: justify;">There are nearly 400 shieling huts on Rum, and over a hundred of them were circular cells. Only about three of the beehive type are still intact, and this cell, high on the slopes above Kinloch Castle, is one of them. It was a stunning location, with a wide view over the mouth of Loch Scresort. Most of Eigg could also be seen, with the high prow of An Sgùrr pointing skyward.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTNDM45XPVZ-YAHL2N2GaYCTjkya7E89xPAuf6a9IoFdmnuwt_6HuNa_UoG--9k74NjqahDZo5CO_xmqowVJgvXNjdecAYzqTDqhuo_-Dcyra_5BQfAJ3pslMxRsaPSeOMa4zsDhDIs_ThGjkc4yw-IjcNz7nkXLsPw_Tn80BfOp0g0lS4mzKA065wZyE/s992/P6071049.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="653" data-original-width="992" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTNDM45XPVZ-YAHL2N2GaYCTjkya7E89xPAuf6a9IoFdmnuwt_6HuNa_UoG--9k74NjqahDZo5CO_xmqowVJgvXNjdecAYzqTDqhuo_-Dcyra_5BQfAJ3pslMxRsaPSeOMa4zsDhDIs_ThGjkc4yw-IjcNz7nkXLsPw_Tn80BfOp0g0lS4mzKA065wZyE/s16000/P6071049.gif" /></a></div><p style="text-align: justify;">There was a low, lintelled entrance on the east side of the cell. Ticks be damned, I crawled inside. The interior was blissfully cool, and mysteriously shielded from the barrage of persistent midges. The dome was not perfectly built, and several gaps allowed shafts of sunlight to illuminate the interior.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNlq-Sa6Kv6pmRgKg6tvPXJLG1SJUGEFqr5IP--Sf7fVD7-g8OtMMfV64thnkooADs50T3Aa1EYW3mqz8IUzgHKz8T3cRgelqajusja0m5k99I_Vw9HWxoAZYgWA7ATprS3sT0O3twIX2Lz08ft9sQ462aa7L5VP2izpuToWgWNgRuI4kMhZ1-HIRAsj8/s992/P6071045.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="744" data-original-width="992" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNlq-Sa6Kv6pmRgKg6tvPXJLG1SJUGEFqr5IP--Sf7fVD7-g8OtMMfV64thnkooADs50T3Aa1EYW3mqz8IUzgHKz8T3cRgelqajusja0m5k99I_Vw9HWxoAZYgWA7ATprS3sT0O3twIX2Lz08ft9sQ462aa7L5VP2izpuToWgWNgRuI4kMhZ1-HIRAsj8/s16000/P6071045.gif" /></a></div><p style="text-align: justify;">The floor was covered with a thick layer of dried thatch, which would make it a comfortable place to nap. Large, flat stones lay under the thatch; stones that strangely clanked when any pressure was applied, hinting that there may be storage chambers below them. I was beat in the heat and had limited time, so was not in the mood to nap or look under the stones.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy5PFqwRH4bqOA2esDpl59isJm29z5bSl1QABP9F_E1XNJTtgpqVtZRK2sYQY5Kv1KrlP_RSqerOXPjgObdjqKpmV785qReP7yGmVPkVP0HH_E9OwevM3O7ID86HCHICxUUQNVxJPUfD1aLT2XKztJXfQIoOy0ihXpO8iv3RjH0GT-0ya5xaBGLqTWXpM/s992/P6071068.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="609" data-original-width="992" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy5PFqwRH4bqOA2esDpl59isJm29z5bSl1QABP9F_E1XNJTtgpqVtZRK2sYQY5Kv1KrlP_RSqerOXPjgObdjqKpmV785qReP7yGmVPkVP0HH_E9OwevM3O7ID86HCHICxUUQNVxJPUfD1aLT2XKztJXfQIoOy0ihXpO8iv3RjH0GT-0ya5xaBGLqTWXpM/s16000/P6071068.gif" /></a></div><p style="text-align: justify;">The cell was once part of a shieling village, and the ruins of several other structures dotted the nearby hillside. It seemed like an odd place for shielings, on the steeply sloping ground below Meall a’ Ghoirtein. But the hill’s name hints at why the settlement was here, as it roughly translates to the Hill of Cultivation (OS Name Book, Argyll Vol. 63, p.67). It was a beautiful spot, with an open view over Loch Scresort. The loch was as calm as a mill pond, and along with several sailing yachts I could see our ship, Hjalmar Bjorge, lying at anchor. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">The reinforcements the midges had called for then showed up in force. It was time to "run away, run away". On the way back to the pier I wandered around the fenced-off Kinloch Castle. On its porch lay several mouldering benches. The sight of one of them took me back to another sunny day, twenty-six years before. It was 1997, and my wife and I had just returned from the fifteen-mile round-trip walk to see the mausoleum at Harris. We were staying in the ‘Sir William Bass’ bedroom on the southwest corner of the castle’s top floor. Before going in to freshen up, with ankles afire from the long, stony walk, we rested on a white bench beside the main entrance. (The following photo is from 1997.)</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0-l3IbX8D1urnnx6wvqGz98kUN-6Ics6HaC-B_uwYEE03AiIsDxY5iw9z4QJD0NpMDVihxBTje-TlAoeK2JAhg4-MLWswIdaxIDrwJ1sUZ6Y-3MLX_-h4p1CRfFkdyIeXItsiyQ9FXjNWRakJgamXQe_zl7hoWiPqrbLIEk10_NUA1rLxo69Fg2V1C-c/s992/KinlochCastle.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="653" data-original-width="992" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0-l3IbX8D1urnnx6wvqGz98kUN-6Ics6HaC-B_uwYEE03AiIsDxY5iw9z4QJD0NpMDVihxBTje-TlAoeK2JAhg4-MLWswIdaxIDrwJ1sUZ6Y-3MLX_-h4p1CRfFkdyIeXItsiyQ9FXjNWRakJgamXQe_zl7hoWiPqrbLIEk10_NUA1rLxo69Fg2V1C-c/s16000/KinlochCastle.gif" /></a></div><p style="text-align: justify;">Over a quarter-century had passed since that day of memory. The bench was now faded and cracked, as was the castle.<br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdZKeXdWsmGheboryiIvBRzaucLVyUQA639iC-Mts5VsNwpk28g8f8TlKBv2J7vPI5k0Y4hjPDP7YbZhQvN70tqnSpKObM2p0MYXC-YJmJgCRAV_v5QAd_cSkiCu32daZy88c5V2i5QWV47ejiKjp_jii-3Cy8aspVbiZVduNCCrU-w4HFt-cHzBsisOo/s992/P6071073.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="704" data-original-width="992" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdZKeXdWsmGheboryiIvBRzaucLVyUQA639iC-Mts5VsNwpk28g8f8TlKBv2J7vPI5k0Y4hjPDP7YbZhQvN70tqnSpKObM2p0MYXC-YJmJgCRAV_v5QAd_cSkiCu32daZy88c5V2i5QWV47ejiKjp_jii-3Cy8aspVbiZVduNCCrU-w4HFt-cHzBsisOo/s16000/P6071073.gif" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: justify;"><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I walked around to peer up at the windows of the turreted Bass Bedroom and wondered what it looked like today—probably faded and cracked. Plans are afoot to renovate the castle. I hope they succeed. I’d like to bring Shawna back to Rum someday to stay, once again, in that grand bedroom, before I, too, am faded and cracked.</div><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGeZeiHa36AMpa_Gs2ItT1zLNt6ah1vIgCZec0t1tGxDuSi3CKsNjdNtgIjFEh7SdpM7tq1cV03FWeGvJ15tL0D0JYhYYnwFYxhdONLZEZW8eBGxrY4AtOF67e12cW_vYsJVuz2RQ5Uhv4VlOGryFQmLMm5LLMm70uTcZTdLpISG0oSeG3XRiKqpaN15c/s992/BassBedroom1997.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="681" data-original-width="992" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGeZeiHa36AMpa_Gs2ItT1zLNt6ah1vIgCZec0t1tGxDuSi3CKsNjdNtgIjFEh7SdpM7tq1cV03FWeGvJ15tL0D0JYhYYnwFYxhdONLZEZW8eBGxrY4AtOF67e12cW_vYsJVuz2RQ5Uhv4VlOGryFQmLMm5LLMm70uTcZTdLpISG0oSeG3XRiKqpaN15c/s16000/BassBedroom1997.gif" /></a></div><p style="text-align: justify;">Note: My thanks to John Love for the information on the location of the cell.</p>Marc Calhounhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01337842920912493787noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1540061331447361610.post-41144524588611612372023-05-24T16:49:00.001-07:002023-05-24T16:49:39.271-07:00The Beehive of Both a' Ghriosamul - A Message in a Bottle<p style="text-align: justify;">In section 2.6.2 of <i>Beehive Dwellings of the Hebrides</i> I wrote about a visit to the remote cell at Both a' Ghriosamul. It lies two miles east of Kinlochresort and requires a dedicated effort to reach. I visited the cell on May 21, 2019, and after crawling into it I found a couple of old, empty bottles. One had once held whisky, and the other looked to have been for something medicinal.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGWoGiZiWI3g0gCrS5twLkcIEgt27IHDIcq1UJTB0tMIdfErXgntARJEk4qI1XYCnMRa2agYSUIw1bWoSJ2tZp7_AGTBZvtRDitJpIVsG3i9-_WhlahPx5HAcLkoJfMgt_IYdexyN8zcMSjHSYT7dng9HcLZEWcns7rF_zq-nHPSmf3Q6cz5kUEjxA/s992/P5210872.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="626" data-original-width="992" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGWoGiZiWI3g0gCrS5twLkcIEgt27IHDIcq1UJTB0tMIdfErXgntARJEk4qI1XYCnMRa2agYSUIw1bWoSJ2tZp7_AGTBZvtRDitJpIVsG3i9-_WhlahPx5HAcLkoJfMgt_IYdexyN8zcMSjHSYT7dng9HcLZEWcns7rF_zq-nHPSmf3Q6cz5kUEjxA/s16000/P5210872.gif" /></a></div><p style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="text-align: justify;">It was a blazing hot day, and so I sheltered from the sun inside the cell for a half-hour. As I did, I caught up on my journal, and since the pen was at hand, decided to leave a note for the next visitor. I tore a blank page from the back of the journal, wrote a few lines, then shoved it into the medicine bottle. After crawling out of the cell I made my way back to my campsite at Airigh an t-Sluic.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;">I had forgotten all about the note I wrote in 2019 until I received an e-mail on May 21, 2023: four years to the day from when I left it in the cell. The message was from Anna Mackenzie of Lewis who, along with her friend Murdo Macleod, were using my book to find the cell. On entering it they discovered my message in a bottle, and kindly sent me this photo of a note from the past.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg35_Ibt07eLz6imkFnEm5RgeCTaehJbYvO2Rs7YyrSvkyaUh2Y2H64ueLv84PZOimZ6edVEirLitIvplsNSPajg6Mw7iDWml33xK-PpF8Vope9wgJSUGRlJgeNXBvsieOUWP1yQ2QOjJ_kgm2e_HGlm7hRyKon0ohQTcxUxRk2GyhlWk1lqdP33a-S/s992/BothGriosimulNoteEditedForWeb.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="652" data-original-width="992" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg35_Ibt07eLz6imkFnEm5RgeCTaehJbYvO2Rs7YyrSvkyaUh2Y2H64ueLv84PZOimZ6edVEirLitIvplsNSPajg6Mw7iDWml33xK-PpF8Vope9wgJSUGRlJgeNXBvsieOUWP1yQ2QOjJ_kgm2e_HGlm7hRyKon0ohQTcxUxRk2GyhlWk1lqdP33a-S/s16000/BothGriosimulNoteEditedForWeb.gif" /></a></div><p style="text-align: justify;">I am delighted that the book is inspiring people to seek out these mostly forgotten cells. I would love to hear from anyone else who has done that.</p>Marc Calhounhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01337842920912493787noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1540061331447361610.post-52658315383874411862023-04-20T10:46:00.000-07:002023-04-20T10:46:11.152-07:00A Beautiful Sight<p style="text-align: justify;">I was delighted this morning when I took a look at the Oban <a href="https://www.oban.org.uk/northpierpontoonswebcam/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">North Pier webcam</span></a>. It showed a gloriously sunny day. Even better, it showed my two favourite ships, both fresh from winter hibernation and ready to start the new season.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">At left is Hjalmar Bjorge, which I will be joining in a few weeks. They have spaces available for several of this year's trips - see the <a href="https://www.northernlight-uk.com/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Northern Lights website</span></a> for more information.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">At right is Elizabeth G, which is operated by Hebrides Cruises. Its owner is Rob Barlow, and it was with Rob that I made one of my first remote island adventures back in 2002. For information on their trips see the <a href="https://www.hebridescruises.co.uk/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Hebrides Cruises</span></a> website.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaFXy_gIE2CFg8vIjECMU5yIoFAuLlmJbPWGOPx1A6Lbeq0RlPfTKYQL6_OvFHLHP8YZtJstVTIrBPlzz73KzasQja081QojaAncalwUW2ma1qh1spi5SgRAmnL4_bxgcQcM3uaYH-KKDuMit2i0ivcAADY9WfeQ8_2MkaW6WnQppUvUxenVyipqlq/s992/HBJ.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="429" data-original-width="992" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaFXy_gIE2CFg8vIjECMU5yIoFAuLlmJbPWGOPx1A6Lbeq0RlPfTKYQL6_OvFHLHP8YZtJstVTIrBPlzz73KzasQja081QojaAncalwUW2ma1qh1spi5SgRAmnL4_bxgcQcM3uaYH-KKDuMit2i0ivcAADY9WfeQ8_2MkaW6WnQppUvUxenVyipqlq/s16000/HBJ.gif" /></a></div>Marc Calhounhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01337842920912493787noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1540061331447361610.post-26720039042785934002023-04-08T08:08:00.001-07:002023-04-08T13:43:45.642-07:00The Islands Book Trust<p style="text-align: justify;">I just learned that the Islands Book Trust is once again holding events and actively pursuing new publications. I urge you to support them by becoming a member and/or donating. Details can be found on their website: <a href="https://islandsbooktrust.org/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">https://islandsbooktrust.org/</span></a></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOrMO21yUM3aHIybqxfsecfjr3vS-MOZDzqv_6FXLzoM2DA42scTRTdHXp7bRhQK360NykTuiKM86wahDbA9C6966RGa3yrZNA0BhG5y2QdmcOvWBJCbvXbbPv8saJOVjFoQfQqqRkVZGnHLN_DKyOVWomFxBQb19R_q1VHm3ksK1J4Ksh2aVpQft-/s194/IBT_Logo_web_3.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="168" data-original-width="194" height="277" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOrMO21yUM3aHIybqxfsecfjr3vS-MOZDzqv_6FXLzoM2DA42scTRTdHXp7bRhQK360NykTuiKM86wahDbA9C6966RGa3yrZNA0BhG5y2QdmcOvWBJCbvXbbPv8saJOVjFoQfQqqRkVZGnHLN_DKyOVWomFxBQb19R_q1VHm3ksK1J4Ksh2aVpQft-/w320-h277/IBT_Logo_web_3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Marc Calhounhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01337842920912493787noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1540061331447361610.post-14539382214671598122023-04-03T18:38:00.000-07:002023-04-03T18:38:04.737-07:00<p style="text-align: justify;">Way back, in what seems like a galaxy far, far away, I wrote about a night when I was saved from hypothermia. A night when a soggy hiker stumbled upon a mostly intact shieling to shelter for the night. (See the <a href="https://marccalhoun.blogspot.com/2017/07/equipment-failure-and-shieling-salvation.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">July 28, 2017</span></a> post, which you should read first). The shieling was on the southern slopes of Beinn Rathacliet, four miles east of Carloway of Lewis. I had made the two-day hike in what became a failed attempt to find a beehive cell I'd read about in the area.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">A reader recently asked if I ever found the cell. As the following story will relate, the short answer is, no. The long answer is, yes.</p><p style="text-align: center;">* * *</p><p style="text-align: justify;">The failed hike occurred in July of 2017. Not finding the beehive was a big disappointment, and so a year later I once again tried to find it. It was August of 2018 when I set out from the end of the road at Pairc Siaboast, where I'd ended the one-night shieling walk the year before.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZpfY36MMkm01NXbaQ5AXpbo2Nq1K6CsMa1JNNtr1Y1NLZwKyUkK5DrBOvn2Am9zZv8bzddDrfog7RS-1ggQr5-v5dFDIQvvMclyT3tV29ItaTaaopoF1SGUMdq5t3dj8M1eO3RdROUR87BU9DK-zVjlypmnzgfd_QgaI5G6-dLvFFq8vlaMkBviFE/s992/P8130329.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="660" data-original-width="992" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZpfY36MMkm01NXbaQ5AXpbo2Nq1K6CsMa1JNNtr1Y1NLZwKyUkK5DrBOvn2Am9zZv8bzddDrfog7RS-1ggQr5-v5dFDIQvvMclyT3tV29ItaTaaopoF1SGUMdq5t3dj8M1eO3RdROUR87BU9DK-zVjlypmnzgfd_QgaI5G6-dLvFFq8vlaMkBviFE/s16000/P8130329.gif" /></a></div><p style="text-align: justify;">This time the pack was much lighter, as I was going to make an out-and-back day hike. I still did not know the location of the cell I'd sought the year before. But I thought there was a good chance I'd find it if I circled around Beinn Bhragair, where the map showed two large shieling sites: Gearraidh Choinnich and Gearraidh Mhàolan.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">Under gray, unsettled skies, I started along the mile-and-a-half track that wends its way through Gleann Mòr Shiaboist. The track ended at the Shiaboist waterworks, where I started out across the moorland towards the saddle between Beinn Bhragair and Beinn Choinnich. It was then that things took a turn for the worse.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">First came the wind. Then came the rain. Then came the exhaustion.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">I'd not yet fully recovered from a three-day hike through Morsgail I'd completed the day before. It had been three days of wet weather and boggy terrain; three days that had sapped my strength. All that caught up to me five minutes after starting across the heathered terrain towards Beinn Bhragair when I stopped to put on waterproofs. Due to the rain and clouds, I could barely see my destination: the dark pass east of Beinn Bhragair. It was only a mile away, but the hard part was that I'd have to climb 500 feet. Easy peasy on a nice day, but at that moment, tired and sweating heavily in my rain gear, it felt as if I had to scale Everest.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">I decided to turn back. I told myself it was because any photos taken on that wet and grey day would turn out wet and grey, and they would. But the truth was I was too old to carry on in those conditions. But old enough to know the right thing to do would be to come back on a better day the following year, when the journey would be something to enjoy, not endure.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">Little did I know that COVID would have something to say about that. Several years were to pass before I once again traversed the heights of Beinn Bhragair to search for that elusive cell.</p><p style="text-align: center;"><b>— Four Years Pass: It is now 2022 —</b></p><p style="text-align: justify;">As it turned out, when I'd spent that rainy night in the shieling in 2017, I'd missed the cell I'd been seeking by a half mile. I learned that in the summer of 2021, just after <i>Beehive Cell Dwellings of the Hebrides</i> was published. I was contacted by James Crawford, who had restored the beehives of Cnoc Dubh and Eilean Fir Crothair. Among many other things, James told me the location of the cell. It was at Gearraidh Mhàolan, a shieling site south of the summit of Beinn Bhragair.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">And so, in the summer of 2022, I once again walked the track to Siabost waterworks. But this time it was a dry day, not a rain cloud in sight. After traversing the west flank of Beinn Bhragair, I made the steep climb through bracken and heather to the saddle between Beinn Bhragair and Beinn Rathacleit. After cresting a few false summits, I came to a green, triangular-shaped oasis in the bog that overlooked a vast, level section of moorland. It would have been the perfect place to pitch a tent - a haven in the wilderness. And it was there that I found the elusive beehive (NB 2677 4284), along with the foundations of two other cells robbed of their stones long ago.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipB_AlnYhDPQCdOgNYwLfXkUhZRAciTPU3_YZLXalluoEr0UvmACbNd2UdPVMVfB6wExi6_YHo49gKKX_glAPlrb8CLb3GWkAdJyU3_uzlbeNCUqjKX-cGAZIWHytAmmvHdVNL8yY04LeCiEUx39d1xZKRcLX7su2EhVdBcUhYLV44-cEJb5XiLfUc/s992/IMGP0382.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="620" data-original-width="992" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipB_AlnYhDPQCdOgNYwLfXkUhZRAciTPU3_YZLXalluoEr0UvmACbNd2UdPVMVfB6wExi6_YHo49gKKX_glAPlrb8CLb3GWkAdJyU3_uzlbeNCUqjKX-cGAZIWHytAmmvHdVNL8yY04LeCiEUx39d1xZKRcLX7su2EhVdBcUhYLV44-cEJb5XiLfUc/s16000/IMGP0382.gif" /></a></div><p style="text-align: justify;">The beehive had obviously been tampered with. An iron pipe, possibly once used as a chimney by the cell's last occupants when it was a shieling, lay atop the ruin. Time had not been kind. The cell was reduced to about 75% of the height it had in a photo from the 1970s, and the interior was so clogged with stones fallen from the dome that there was no way to safely enter.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRyu7ZN97M0gx9eUcv-0tH-v2OPAR83rw_XU-QnUovdhWmszpfdzTFn67fAxW6f5iv1ISwnZvbrbVeVikkbxwzNp8SEsjYqIV6iMWUkwbFpHQrPMdLz1xYBwX6K__GJOHcS6lp24Nu01iIuQRQ0MrVx4haysiScgBqwIHdxfSAavWNyzIikc8EtcYK/s992/P8130365.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="744" data-original-width="992" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRyu7ZN97M0gx9eUcv-0tH-v2OPAR83rw_XU-QnUovdhWmszpfdzTFn67fAxW6f5iv1ISwnZvbrbVeVikkbxwzNp8SEsjYqIV6iMWUkwbFpHQrPMdLz1xYBwX6K__GJOHcS6lp24Nu01iIuQRQ0MrVx4haysiScgBqwIHdxfSAavWNyzIikc8EtcYK/s16000/P8130365.gif" /></a></div><p style="text-align: justify;">I left the cell and crossed the marshy saddle between Beinn Mhaol and Beinn Rathacleit, then descended to Uishal. On turning a corner, a familiar sight came into view: the shieling of my one night five years before.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigF6MXls_9QxAdseavwjKuBen1czxSv23u7eWQXXWBfKhs_r9xy7N6o0Yni78_yT-AiMl6UpfKAmcy3BBCE7KqLljrNUpuroTA-6fhyPoc7NbVXs2SRiNHBqF-CfIdWWeDuU0CCZimw-3Irm1SgmKR4upXXul9GrAz4p-4gTTBJiPjp7bb3W-So3zL/s992/P8130384.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="643" data-original-width="992" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigF6MXls_9QxAdseavwjKuBen1czxSv23u7eWQXXWBfKhs_r9xy7N6o0Yni78_yT-AiMl6UpfKAmcy3BBCE7KqLljrNUpuroTA-6fhyPoc7NbVXs2SRiNHBqF-CfIdWWeDuU0CCZimw-3Irm1SgmKR4upXXul9GrAz4p-4gTTBJiPjp7bb3W-So3zL/s16000/P8130384.gif" /></a></div><p style="text-align: justify;">It looked quite different, as it had been given some love since my last visit. The turf roof that had a big hole in it had been repaired and a fiberglass skylight installed. Also different was the door: there was one. In 2017, there was just an iron bar placed diagonally across the entrance to keep out the sheep. The shieling now sported a shiny aluminum door, held in place by that same iron bar. After removing the door, I stepped inside to discover that all the junk had been cleared away.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">The next three photos show the interior as I found it in 2017. (The third photo shows the sheep skull that had grinned at me during that cold, restless night in 2017).</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibylqD0epoOy1-hNi5Zj9APxTad_8l-3NmcqCAo7FJATxEtQ9p_5oqGxFyF7gYPByx9x7Mk246X9Iay2FZYr4gv2kgU7OJFbf04vvYtY10QL5Bs5hUU_ROySXIiIcPMdlNS5SbgD5OvxR92ARgBPs3v6vfVC33vmoZrWRPsP_OmytLTI-jQaiu6GLT/s992/P7160264.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="622" data-original-width="992" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibylqD0epoOy1-hNi5Zj9APxTad_8l-3NmcqCAo7FJATxEtQ9p_5oqGxFyF7gYPByx9x7Mk246X9Iay2FZYr4gv2kgU7OJFbf04vvYtY10QL5Bs5hUU_ROySXIiIcPMdlNS5SbgD5OvxR92ARgBPs3v6vfVC33vmoZrWRPsP_OmytLTI-jQaiu6GLT/s16000/P7160264.gif" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRc56k7LRR0iXICpU8BVxVXWAV9TItR5pYDUo3bsT3RkMe3sG7_I2WOlSm_tqvvAonc86GvmxETeTysp2_iFTTre7YwIzGhR0Xr_TmHo1Ha-UbEpm_AKadXWOq4KYTyclTWzviuPwYF8aEmRatGp4qSvWraO1LLhfK4dFUGYUPI2vJoT4zUnVNK9IR/s992/P7160265.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="647" data-original-width="992" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRc56k7LRR0iXICpU8BVxVXWAV9TItR5pYDUo3bsT3RkMe3sG7_I2WOlSm_tqvvAonc86GvmxETeTysp2_iFTTre7YwIzGhR0Xr_TmHo1Ha-UbEpm_AKadXWOq4KYTyclTWzviuPwYF8aEmRatGp4qSvWraO1LLhfK4dFUGYUPI2vJoT4zUnVNK9IR/s16000/P7160265.gif" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSVs028bsqo0iuuuZpl61cFQ1Jj15XmcqpBGTl640NyjRaKmlXGNJMy5mDaxDk3OXLc5c3c1pMts8iMzqotPJx6pidYmgBRS8kSZJjUx4pDu5MAG3qSrfnoz-FhkKcy3R_ALzxBsy2vdVW01VbRcUTjtznA__s8tVw8oyh8fJvEWKjGqsbnNPJ7KZz/s992/P7160266.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="712" data-original-width="992" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSVs028bsqo0iuuuZpl61cFQ1Jj15XmcqpBGTl640NyjRaKmlXGNJMy5mDaxDk3OXLc5c3c1pMts8iMzqotPJx6pidYmgBRS8kSZJjUx4pDu5MAG3qSrfnoz-FhkKcy3R_ALzxBsy2vdVW01VbRcUTjtznA__s8tVw8oyh8fJvEWKjGqsbnNPJ7KZz/s16000/P7160266.gif" /></a></div><p style="text-align: justify;">The following photos show the cleaned up interior found in 2022.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhGUPfHl2EFbUuMVNOMHLNsymZOB2L7K3tqX2AglHIOEXFHdjcblwp_J1YpuUVPipGarznkBNR-vzW1CfxDpaUvPDZAy8zKUjJyDY98Zslzn9Ah4-5--zeQoRJohPjdo-3Cr2lUfLj3dTJ4Dfea6_0O6T7-fTWZwkLiwV9RfP7JRiDO0cqpddnxMDM/s992/P8130385.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="744" data-original-width="992" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhGUPfHl2EFbUuMVNOMHLNsymZOB2L7K3tqX2AglHIOEXFHdjcblwp_J1YpuUVPipGarznkBNR-vzW1CfxDpaUvPDZAy8zKUjJyDY98Zslzn9Ah4-5--zeQoRJohPjdo-3Cr2lUfLj3dTJ4Dfea6_0O6T7-fTWZwkLiwV9RfP7JRiDO0cqpddnxMDM/s16000/P8130385.gif" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6wt4wINCl_Tq-UrPhkxBPlrAfiUVAAHfCsLaiaIDZgqAJfeqUtCPc6Y2NA74EyXsZzGFmflC57mytXow5bcKwASqSaFi_6yFyZC7m6eX948Um-dozBjjtju5XzCNMn-ouyTcD5-bINlDwzDIwf0dPTPlLDZxKUG63baMGMOC9SOTAz3oXjUkeSGt5/s992/P8130388.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="710" data-original-width="992" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6wt4wINCl_Tq-UrPhkxBPlrAfiUVAAHfCsLaiaIDZgqAJfeqUtCPc6Y2NA74EyXsZzGFmflC57mytXow5bcKwASqSaFi_6yFyZC7m6eX948Um-dozBjjtju5XzCNMn-ouyTcD5-bINlDwzDIwf0dPTPlLDZxKUG63baMGMOC9SOTAz3oXjUkeSGt5/s16000/P8130388.gif" /></a></div><p style="text-align: justify;">I was happy to discover that the eerie sheep skull had been given a proper burial somewhere. After securing the door firmly in place I started the three-mile walk back to the car.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3wrO97_zRTCw_Pg9u3_ATOPEq-VpuIoZaO6LCoPSz0BIKnSici3GwVU1_NgG-X0ZZW0hFSrzKlSZzp_QggzMEv0gg1m9BHpF9NaUDD-4QOBX35BzCJih1IDXKoMvXtrH9INKM5blgE9Ft3Jt59_VK525ykmH11-bvgec-5LqIoUoX5zK2tplq3E4d/s992/IMGP0401a.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="620" data-original-width="992" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3wrO97_zRTCw_Pg9u3_ATOPEq-VpuIoZaO6LCoPSz0BIKnSici3GwVU1_NgG-X0ZZW0hFSrzKlSZzp_QggzMEv0gg1m9BHpF9NaUDD-4QOBX35BzCJih1IDXKoMvXtrH9INKM5blgE9Ft3Jt59_VK525ykmH11-bvgec-5LqIoUoX5zK2tplq3E4d/s16000/IMGP0401a.gif" /></a></div>Marc Calhounhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01337842920912493787noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1540061331447361610.post-50208850270952454872023-03-04T12:05:00.001-08:002023-03-10T10:51:19.397-08:00Stac Dhomhnaill Chaim<p style="text-align: left;"><span style="text-align: justify;">The Mangarstadh cliffs looked particularly stunning in the early morning sunshine as I climbed up from the golden sands of Traigh Mhangarstadh, split by the gently flowing water of Allt Loch a' Ghlomaich.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh3E5DMBIZjytrrNiimfkMNRmYIbe9O7K5ilhRPDq89PEv6XLS_tWpOrXfuUKJCXPpWFr1dxolaqT319u7XXyLQvvR9ML7xi6OQi-eIxlmiZlykkrRI7TIhXUeeYUhaFdDRdL1TmALQlgN4YIFwte9QSMLN6-0LzsedfJvLDEAgxz6hHUo12gNsl_j/s992/P8100130.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="581" data-original-width="992" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh3E5DMBIZjytrrNiimfkMNRmYIbe9O7K5ilhRPDq89PEv6XLS_tWpOrXfuUKJCXPpWFr1dxolaqT319u7XXyLQvvR9ML7xi6OQi-eIxlmiZlykkrRI7TIhXUeeYUhaFdDRdL1TmALQlgN4YIFwte9QSMLN6-0LzsedfJvLDEAgxz6hHUo12gNsl_j/s16000/P8100130.gif" /></a></div><p style="text-align: justify;">From the beach a gradual ascent led to the headland of Rubha Thisgeis, where the undulating cliff top was followed farther north to a point opposite Stac Dhomhnaill Chaim: the precarious stack-top fort of Domnhnaill Chaim Macaulay, one-eyed Donald Macaulay.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">Donald was chief of the Macaulays of Uig in the early 1600s. He died around 1640, but still lives on in Uig history and legend. (Donald was the grandson of John Roy Macaulay, whose tale was told in Chapter 17 of <i>Skye & Tiree to the Outer Isles</i>.) In his youth, Donald joined some of the Macleods of Lewis working as mercenaries in Ireland, fighting for the O'Neill earl of Tyrone. On his return to Lewis, Donald carried on with the only career he knew. Fighting. Some of his foes were the 'Fife Adventurers', sent to Lewis by James VI. The Adventurers came in 1599, bringing over 500 troops to tame the natives. Aside from fighting off the invaders, Donald had a long-running feud with the Morrisons of Lewis. During one incident, Donald set out to kill a band of Morrisons who were using the Broch of Carloway as a base. After dispatching the sentry, and blocking the one doorway, Donald scaled the wall of the forty-foot-high broch.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8-GAvlyB-5X6X56dy8FIoPcLsWUkurQ2FjLFP5rHHOR7nXG60DQoT2BXM8eVZDvCh1IVAmeFGDUJf5P6JbYlki2rNFPvZa3_obi4Urcl6mQQNhbDHTdmv-gN9eW16SyVaUKmhGoH-qVLBjn7cgJB3qgtbmFpWEw-DwPqhMTPdyPz2E6L7PN2qCJ12/s992/CarlowayBroch.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="649" data-original-width="992" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8-GAvlyB-5X6X56dy8FIoPcLsWUkurQ2FjLFP5rHHOR7nXG60DQoT2BXM8eVZDvCh1IVAmeFGDUJf5P6JbYlki2rNFPvZa3_obi4Urcl6mQQNhbDHTdmv-gN9eW16SyVaUKmhGoH-qVLBjn7cgJB3qgtbmFpWEw-DwPqhMTPdyPz2E6L7PN2qCJ12/s16000/CarlowayBroch.gif" /></a></div><p style="text-align: justify;">So, just how do you climb a broch? It was something out of Mission Impossible. Donald used knives, one in each hand, that he inserted in gaps in the stonework to inch his way to the top. Once there, he heaved burning bales of heather into the fort. The Morrisons, trapped inside, were smothered. One incident in Donald's conflicts gave him his nickname. It occurred during a struggle with the blacksmith of Cnip, the Gobha Bàn. The fair-haired smith wielded a red-hot poker and blinded Donald in one eye. (Lesson learned: if your opponent has a red-hot poker, run away.) I do not know who won the fight. Did Donald manage to wrest away the hot poker or not? And if so, what did he do with it? The fate of Edward II comes to mind.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">Donald Cam participated in an attack on Stornoway Castle in 1607, which made him, even more, an enemy of the state. As such, he lived like Osama Bin Laden, changing his location from one remote spot to another, always on the run. One of his hideouts was a roundhouse, Dùn Camus na Clibhe—also called Valtos Castle, high above the beach of Traigh na Clibhe. Another of his hidey-holes was an island-fort in Loch Bharabhat, reached by a 100-foot-long causeway. Donald may also have spent time at a remote shieling on the east shore of Loch Seaforth, where you will find the ruins of Airigh Dhomhnuill Chaim at the foot of <i>Sidhean an Airgid</i>, the hill of wealth.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvRLuPoa3UFhy95ggomQlkZ5AMhRzRzPVjDa-MvZ5OjkbU25qdltG0YGTjLph5jJKqS64ZSIbICCF4vYZ3g0CJ-y1644UngqZ2ZQ-ugnhNYCfUWfCJ3-RuBRn29C9ynCQZnKk7PuC8gVHVZpz-AiVutjYsZh_d76tiBAlZncQwWZqIlC5HUmCkaAm0/s992/P8100146.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="620" data-original-width="992" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvRLuPoa3UFhy95ggomQlkZ5AMhRzRzPVjDa-MvZ5OjkbU25qdltG0YGTjLph5jJKqS64ZSIbICCF4vYZ3g0CJ-y1644UngqZ2ZQ-ugnhNYCfUWfCJ3-RuBRn29C9ynCQZnKk7PuC8gVHVZpz-AiVutjYsZh_d76tiBAlZncQwWZqIlC5HUmCkaAm0/s16000/P8100146.gif" /></a></div><p style="text-align: justify;">Now that you know something of Donald Cam, you'll understand why I'd come to the cliffs of Mangarstadh to see Stac Dhomhnaill Chaim, One-Eyed Donald's most fantastic hiding place. The nearest I could get was a dramatic precipice looking across to the narrow stack, which was barely 100 feet wide and jutted 500 feet into the sea. There had been a fort on the stack long before the days of Donald Cam. It had been reached by a narrow land bridge, one that has since crumbled away, leaving an airy, sixty-foot gap. Although you can't get there without climbing gear, the fortifications can be seen from the mainland. They consist of a D-shaped wall enclosing an area forty by twenty feet in size. And at its centre stand the walls of a ruined cottage that Donald occasionally called home. The description of the fort in Donald MacIver's <i>Place Names of Lewis and Harris</i> says:</p><p style="text-align: justify;"><i>This is the rock where this warlike hero was hiding after dealing severely with his betrayers. His daughter, Anna, brought him food at night.</i></p><p style="text-align: justify;">It is also mentioned by Bill Lawson in <i>Lewis: The West Coast</i>:</p><p style="text-align: justify;"><i>Domhnall Cam is the folk hero of the MacAulays in Uig, and having allied himself to the old MacLeod chiefs against the Scottish king and the MacKenzies, he was being pursued even more than usual. So he fortified the stack, where he was attended by his daughter Anna, who brought provisions and water up the cliff-face. She is said to have been so sure-footed that she could climb the stack with a pail of milk in each hand.</i></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTSxJyPAwv2R0cQs7dQv0H2PcSVoYDQS4-r_p17aqSpjejVRlW_uWHqRERG-Q32_hcLmPGEN06qbsxO5z64uYq2_wA6ahIg4QDOhETh5IvahYZYouWBpNvXOsFhcGnx6Y9270J9EATd3URv-WKYkIJds998ovLZvP_soPg5Jpr1busj_tUKV4_7JPE/s992/P8100157.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="619" data-original-width="992" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTSxJyPAwv2R0cQs7dQv0H2PcSVoYDQS4-r_p17aqSpjejVRlW_uWHqRERG-Q32_hcLmPGEN06qbsxO5z64uYq2_wA6ahIg4QDOhETh5IvahYZYouWBpNvXOsFhcGnx6Y9270J9EATd3URv-WKYkIJds998ovLZvP_soPg5Jpr1busj_tUKV4_7JPE/s16000/P8100157.gif" /></a></div><p style="text-align: justify;">Even though I'd read the stack was inaccessible, I was hoping to find a way across. But those hopes vanished the moment I stood at the edge of the cliff. Not even a sure-footed, dedicated daughter, like the fearless Anna trying to help her father, could climb the stack these days. You would need ropes and a lot of courage. (With a pail of milk in each hand you'd need a helicopter.) I don't know how Donald Cam met his end—maybe he fell off the stack—but some sources say he died at the ripe old age of eighty and is buried at Balnacille, the sanctuary on whose threshold his grandfather, John Roy Macaulay, killed the Macleods of Pabbay.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBxYZiEwvUT9dH8V_E623NdAb7tY-u_mxvOQ-BNqn77n4yNV-i92He3bqQap0FSLhLyUa9k8Oow-RniG7Oa7LIwa-IMTMnmg6CoiL-VC97RAFlN4Q3ERjkanl-O0Qk1B-5RibyAfhQ4zVFOdRI5WNl6GmpTlDnZ5Tae2BCdLaG53rlfG-ZQMMbijWF/s992/1997-11-11.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="617" data-original-width="992" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBxYZiEwvUT9dH8V_E623NdAb7tY-u_mxvOQ-BNqn77n4yNV-i92He3bqQap0FSLhLyUa9k8Oow-RniG7Oa7LIwa-IMTMnmg6CoiL-VC97RAFlN4Q3ERjkanl-O0Qk1B-5RibyAfhQ4zVFOdRI5WNl6GmpTlDnZ5Tae2BCdLaG53rlfG-ZQMMbijWF/s16000/1997-11-11.gif" /></a></div><p style="text-align: justify;">Note: <span style="text-align: center;">The above story is an excerpt from the upcoming Second Edition of </span><i style="text-align: center;">Skye & Tiree to the Outer Isles</i><span style="text-align: center;">. </span>For a complete account of Donald Cam Macauley see Chapter 4 of Michael Robson's <i>Someone Else's Story</i> (Acair Books, 2018).</p>Marc Calhounhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01337842920912493787noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1540061331447361610.post-91139646008653781692022-11-22T12:57:00.000-08:002022-11-22T12:57:04.719-08:00Eilean Righ - The King's Isle<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: justify;">I have an article in the current Scottish Islands Explorer Magazine about Eilean Righ, the King's Isle of Loch Craignish. It was once part of a ritual landscape; just five miles away stands the hill of Dunadd, where the early kings of Dalriada were inaugurated; and two miles to the east is Kilmartin Glen, with its vast number of neolithic and bronze age sites. And then there's Ormaig, a half mile from Eilean Righ. Ormaig has some of the best examples of rock-art in the country. Cups, rings, and rosettes carved in stone for still unknown reasons.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><div>There were two forts on Eilean Righ, so it was well defended. Add to that its easy access to the sea and sheltered anchorage, it is possible Eilean Righ was used by the early kings as an island residence. There was also a royal connection in the 1930s, when the island was owned by Sir Reginald Fleming Johnston, who was tutor to the young Dragon Emperor Puyi from 1919 to 1924.</div><div><br /></div></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span>See the following link to get a copy of the magazine:<br /></span><a href="https://www.scottishislandsexplorer.com/index.php" target="_blank"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">https://www.scottishislandsexplorer.com/index.php</span></a></div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCFt-HS6z6Z3PVW-fcSrpkOAQP6qLTcSP6H2UY0U6vSxTRgX9F-hS_6Zv31LWNIZw4eeA9wYECnCLS952BbOkfKjIIEn_gDjTYY97qj8UymBEKpSCD7HoASh_wujVAqp5Exm9bhd9lXNs/s1600/P1030023.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCFt-HS6z6Z3PVW-fcSrpkOAQP6qLTcSP6H2UY0U6vSxTRgX9F-hS_6Zv31LWNIZw4eeA9wYECnCLS952BbOkfKjIIEn_gDjTYY97qj8UymBEKpSCD7HoASh_wujVAqp5Exm9bhd9lXNs/s1600/P1030023.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption"><span style="font-size: x-large;">The south end of Eilean Righ - </span><span style="font-size: x-large;">Eilean Macaskin in the distance<br /></span></td></tr></tbody></table>Marc Calhounhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01337842920912493787noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1540061331447361610.post-1513746344641666682022-09-30T12:24:00.001-07:002022-09-30T12:52:18.338-07:00Hairteabhaigh of South Uist<p><span style="text-align: justify;">I have an article i</span><span style="text-align: justify;">n the latest issue of </span><i style="text-align: justify;">Scottish Islands Explorer</i><span style="text-align: justify;"> </span><span style="text-align: justify;">about a walk to Hairteabhaigh, a remote ghost village on a far corner of South Uist. The journey was a six-mile loop walk from South Glendale that also passed the site of the schoolhouse of Glaic Ruairidh, immortalized in the poetry of </span><span style="text-align: justify;">Dòmhnall Aonghais Bhàin</span><span style="text-align: justify;">. </span></p><p><span style="text-align: justify;">See the following link to get a copy of the magazine:<br /></span><a href="https://www.scottishislandsexplorer.com/index.php" style="text-align: justify;" target="_blank"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">https://www.scottishislandsexplorer.com/index.php</span></a></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT8NoDfz87vv3axbSAl7lYqZHkjkuFW9Wnzwc1ZqD58fsQBPpGR_dC5i0S-csOvnX_QCe_pVMv6noV2bXSKRjD8waSdpdyJS6-0fWrl9A4sqgxPbaq_jSSs85k0TzyWES4VLa2qU_koi4/s1600/map.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT8NoDfz87vv3axbSAl7lYqZHkjkuFW9Wnzwc1ZqD58fsQBPpGR_dC5i0S-csOvnX_QCe_pVMv6noV2bXSKRjD8waSdpdyJS6-0fWrl9A4sqgxPbaq_jSSs85k0TzyWES4VLa2qU_koi4/s1600/map.jpg" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU3_5yT94CwtXUzGkLbrjaJZaTf6yNZkd8Y4J5iVDwkpWfgkmARzlyKiCr67twIw6DCfFj0gDH8FqlxBJKC5VDgE4Go5QvfWA0_SYw_t9lJ0QCrqNDopzHdER2XwTzpK5Bsais6hMRgVaeLcBe2ajP3aBDaRCbkp5gsJUgvoORHMjadKfqQkY1posZ/s992/IMGP0210.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="622" data-original-width="992" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU3_5yT94CwtXUzGkLbrjaJZaTf6yNZkd8Y4J5iVDwkpWfgkmARzlyKiCr67twIw6DCfFj0gDH8FqlxBJKC5VDgE4Go5QvfWA0_SYw_t9lJ0QCrqNDopzHdER2XwTzpK5Bsais6hMRgVaeLcBe2ajP3aBDaRCbkp5gsJUgvoORHMjadKfqQkY1posZ/s16000/IMGP0210.gif" /></a></div><br />Marc Calhounhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01337842920912493787noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1540061331447361610.post-13689158465217075982022-09-05T16:03:00.002-07:002022-09-05T16:03:32.214-07:00Bernera Bridge - Old and New<p style="text-align: justify;">Last month I had an extraordinary opportunity to spend a day on Loch Rog to set foot on four of its now uninhabited isles. The boatman picked me up at Bosta beach, at the north tip of Great Bernera—the 'Best Beach' as it's called by the locals. To get to Bosta I had to cross the Bernera Bridge, which I'd last traversed in 2019. As I approached the bridge things looked quite different. The road suddenly curved right and, instead of leading to the 100-foot-long pre-stressed concrete bridge of 1953, took me across a brand new, steel-girder bridge, which was opened in December of 2021.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">Once over the bridge, I climbed to the standing stones of Callanaish VI to take a photo of the old and new bridges. Standing side by side above the swift-flowing waters of Struth Earshader, the bridges are the reason Great Bernera is still a vibrant, living island.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5g9riJ95vtnKO4WJ1w7Hi6cAdvMce0I9eq7eMF1ls7WBWiBPmgIcaUPvIvnBCPO3WvbE_rqGnLVCkCw5Muh4ho0BnYabhZUOlIR8y4NrJOE4lHDsT0S1QK1hd-_YxYAxaKmd44X_PJG0B5u4sc8iJVMGvYtpBZoKs4do6M09uGHz44l_0yXtt0MdY/s992/P7210756.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="624" data-original-width="992" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5g9riJ95vtnKO4WJ1w7Hi6cAdvMce0I9eq7eMF1ls7WBWiBPmgIcaUPvIvnBCPO3WvbE_rqGnLVCkCw5Muh4ho0BnYabhZUOlIR8y4NrJOE4lHDsT0S1QK1hd-_YxYAxaKmd44X_PJG0B5u4sc8iJVMGvYtpBZoKs4do6M09uGHz44l_0yXtt0MdY/s16000/P7210756.gif" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJJV4n6U1biuH0zv2pD6JjXpLoyDEAIpEctYwqqSmO5GEeIrxRHv1E-tcOLzXINFIowm_3GcrAnugmaHdBeXuhyEq8EqF8IANSFR2sFFhfQrf-6ke33eRof34uncXqzl3wEZWM7EV19YQL0jshvBf1KSpc0BZcPDl2x0odvvFOBRiFoYDxYuFdSL6o/s992/P8090091.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="622" data-original-width="992" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJJV4n6U1biuH0zv2pD6JjXpLoyDEAIpEctYwqqSmO5GEeIrxRHv1E-tcOLzXINFIowm_3GcrAnugmaHdBeXuhyEq8EqF8IANSFR2sFFhfQrf-6ke33eRof34uncXqzl3wEZWM7EV19YQL0jshvBf1KSpc0BZcPDl2x0odvvFOBRiFoYDxYuFdSL6o/s16000/P8090091.gif" /></a></div>Marc Calhounhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01337842920912493787noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1540061331447361610.post-907139110865931502022-07-22T15:55:00.001-07:002022-07-22T16:18:17.874-07:00Scarp<p><span style="text-align: justify;">I was fortunate to have been able to visit one of my favourite islands, Scarp, twice this year. It is a hard island to get to, and most visitors come from passing sailboats, It was a bit busier in the past, for from 1966 to 1971, the island was home to the most remote hostel in Scotland - which was located left of centre in the following photo. I have an article about the hostel in the latest issue of Scottish Islands Explorer Magazine. You can find the print and digital editions at the following link:</span></p><p><a href="https://www.scottishislandsexplorer.com/index.php" target="_blank"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">https://www.scottishislandsexplorer.com/index.php</span></a></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0s_APz7fB2UThf0WR8z5k-BanSeiljSzljsajUIfoAlLVLQZsx5MNqDhUH57IwbFHtlsGJLTTdOxry5SLcWCcC4ebyNwlMK3bdiLE5-ATCf_AX39tU6FlDO5GxjM6FVSw9AkfRMFa5E3hLpQgvcoGW7T0w8VXi0UDD1IAaI789YDSd3sbPtiDN0QY/s992/IMGP1706Blog.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="623" data-original-width="992" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0s_APz7fB2UThf0WR8z5k-BanSeiljSzljsajUIfoAlLVLQZsx5MNqDhUH57IwbFHtlsGJLTTdOxry5SLcWCcC4ebyNwlMK3bdiLE5-ATCf_AX39tU6FlDO5GxjM6FVSw9AkfRMFa5E3hLpQgvcoGW7T0w8VXi0UDD1IAaI789YDSd3sbPtiDN0QY/s16000/IMGP1706Blog.jpg" /></a></div><p style="text-align: justify;">PS: It's been a while since I posted. The main reason is that my PC crashed, another is that after managing to avoid Covid for over two years, I caught it during my trip to Scotland last month. Based on when my symptoms started, I believe caught it on the train ride from Oban to Glasgow (no one was wearing a mask). Fortunately, that was at the end of the trip. My advice is to mask up when travelling on all public transport.</p>Marc Calhounhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01337842920912493787noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1540061331447361610.post-84720731545029685262022-06-23T09:55:00.000-07:002022-06-23T09:55:59.475-07:00Hallaig - Raasay<p style="text-align: justify;">It was back in 1998 that I first climbed Dun Cann, the summit of Raasay. Looking south from the summit, I saw the ruins of a large village set on a grassy ledge, 300 feet above the sea. A look at the map told me it was Hallaig, but I knew nothing of its history at the time. It would take a few years, but I would eventually learn about the Raasay Bard Sorley Maclean, and his best-known poem, <i>Hallaig</i>.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">The village of forty houses was cleared of its people by George Rainy in 1854. Sorley MacLean’s poem evokes the author’s memories of this place where some of his family had lived; a place once full of life, but dead for a hundred years when the poem was published. But it is not truly dead. <i>Hallaig</i> invokes the truth that the spirits of the people remain in the landscape and wildlife: in the birch, the rowan, the hazel, and the red deer sprinting across the slopes of Cnoc an Rà.</p><p></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><i>Na h-igheanan nan coille bheithe / The girls a wood of birch trees</i></div><i>Direch an druim, crom an ceann / Standing tall with their heads bowed</i><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;">In the following photo, taken from the summit of Dun Caan, the green plateau of Hallaig can be seen just left of centre.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0xKgP8EdRmsxfPlPqxTQznDB1-nUd_rO5_stLe-IwfRZndRg6w7mYP74tAXtb_sZ-gvn1JVYZ7rUmVGbe4BE1PrEFvW4cXb6sq74bTuI5kvmYcVKzGXEmiKh7MlvYkfLyoKZ1kToyu-ixsc71Q7U3D7m6xYcmreF0rJSrSgmE1T8pwkSfzlxS4hQq/s992/P1000685.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="622" data-original-width="992" height="402" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0xKgP8EdRmsxfPlPqxTQznDB1-nUd_rO5_stLe-IwfRZndRg6w7mYP74tAXtb_sZ-gvn1JVYZ7rUmVGbe4BE1PrEFvW4cXb6sq74bTuI5kvmYcVKzGXEmiKh7MlvYkfLyoKZ1kToyu-ixsc71Q7U3D7m6xYcmreF0rJSrSgmE1T8pwkSfzlxS4hQq/w640-h402/P1000685.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p style="text-align: justify;">Also to be seen from the top of Dun Caan were the ruins of Screapadal, three miles to the north—the subject of another poem by Sorley Maclean: <i>Screapadal</i>. There you will find the ruins of forty homes split between the townships of North and South Screapadal, separated by the peaty, cascading waters of An Leth-allt—another village cleared by Rainy. </p><p style="text-align: justify;"><i><span style="text-align: left;">Dh’fhag Rèanaidh Sgreapadal gun daoine, / Rainy left Screapadal without people,<br /></span><span style="text-align: left;">gun taighean, gun chrodh ach caoraich, / with no houses or cattle, only sheep,<br /></span><span style="text-align: left;">ach dh’fhàg e Sgreapadal bòidheach; / but he left Screapadal beautiful;<br /></span><span style="text-align: left;">ra linn cha b’ urrainn dha a chaochladh. / in his time he could do nothing else.</span></i></p><p><span style="text-align: justify;">Hallaig and </span><span style="text-align: justify;">Screapadal are </span><span style="text-align: justify;">places that must be seen, and there is no excuse not to, as both are easy, four-mile round trip hikes. That said, I cheated and got within less than a mile of Hallaig by boat. It was a couple of weeks ago, and the ship Hjalmar Bjorge had to shelter from a southerly gale. The bay below Hallaig, nestled by the hook-headland of Rudha na’ Leac, was the perfect spot. </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy7pEu7LUFY7BNmK153dzIv5__TUsyVUXhdVK_78bhuvpmjYuHmxtpRaj2yCQ6ThIHi3L-0eFoYR5yuN8gZXWDr0Z4sAgzxQe2H5wMOc3FbvW3TMemEJFuWlnl5Mk-KHxo_XX9Tdc_u2o1cgNndzXaUEVoychySEEkq1ZUroHZuk5HLdrwEG82x0SJ/s992/P6091127.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="622" data-original-width="992" height="402" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy7pEu7LUFY7BNmK153dzIv5__TUsyVUXhdVK_78bhuvpmjYuHmxtpRaj2yCQ6ThIHi3L-0eFoYR5yuN8gZXWDr0Z4sAgzxQe2H5wMOc3FbvW3TMemEJFuWlnl5Mk-KHxo_XX9Tdc_u2o1cgNndzXaUEVoychySEEkq1ZUroHZuk5HLdrwEG82x0SJ/w640-h402/P6091127.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><p><span style="text-align: justify;">Once ashore, a steep climb of 300 feet led to the Hallaig footpath, where we encountered the Hallaig Memorial Cairn, with brass plaques inscribed with the poem in Gaelic and English.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh_dJXOl-qrHxI5_R0THc6T5ROwq_HKnHh_6rb5TLeey9qYPw-KAF8bpuyy0xr4PRAQcSv4v7_803N5Yo8ZYkPafhi4IsBcWA31cs7JvsbEHekKuC81LOb7tVSbox7WH4X8fKkAjx-E-f9EUE6kjF--sfwqgTvYJkbkmoJOyTx9ToX344fghpIgjkD/s992/P6091156.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="622" data-original-width="992" height="402" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh_dJXOl-qrHxI5_R0THc6T5ROwq_HKnHh_6rb5TLeey9qYPw-KAF8bpuyy0xr4PRAQcSv4v7_803N5Yo8ZYkPafhi4IsBcWA31cs7JvsbEHekKuC81LOb7tVSbox7WH4X8fKkAjx-E-f9EUE6kjF--sfwqgTvYJkbkmoJOyTx9ToX344fghpIgjkD/w640-h402/P6091156.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><p><span style="text-align: justify;">The path quickly dropped down through woodland to cross the Hallaig stream, then climbed to a sloping, 250,000 square-foot enclosure: Hallaig’s most visible feature from a distance.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><i>’s tha mo ghaol aig Allt Hallaig / And my love is a birch forever<br />’na craoibh bheithe, ’s bha i riamh / By Hallaig Stream, at her tryst</i></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6tQOF_Na9vNW_cbILGcOzgcxIxLxWISR0RjNHq0eSiL8c0Kj24B-jM0ihBKzMifNaEr2ciDrpnjopisAVis1U_ZNsnnJbShrAuLAqkW1n9xLQjrRbW3dxRlIL1pZdkSpE4w3E4TB6XYDAScRkl2hPCVmzxPOXodJd2JdaX5fJrJgP-zE-xBuPLmzc/s992/P6091109.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="745" data-original-width="992" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6tQOF_Na9vNW_cbILGcOzgcxIxLxWISR0RjNHq0eSiL8c0Kj24B-jM0ihBKzMifNaEr2ciDrpnjopisAVis1U_ZNsnnJbShrAuLAqkW1n9xLQjrRbW3dxRlIL1pZdkSpE4w3E4TB6XYDAScRkl2hPCVmzxPOXodJd2JdaX5fJrJgP-zE-xBuPLmzc/w640-h480/P6091109.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><p><span style="text-align: justify;">Above the enclosure lay the ruins of eighty structures, some still standing; most just the low, grass-grown foundations of circular and rectangular dwellings. Most of the houses lay on a fairly level, grassy plateau, overlooked by the mantled summit of Dun Caan.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg77lPAn0aDlbEZiYJaqHorl6LwjEFTMph7V6Yr7oiHLsA1kFP2acWNTpqfRtiX9QiQ1yWUYJdwrVGlHzDVNCmjE_Im-1VUEZxz1cJ5gBHG4DZ8cGUaOvTvH_LVaWZWwSqXLceEJAhG4USbA-2omEdCi2Kl8I-rhrXDqTEm-COwTJOWExh9xYUW_N18/s992/P6091113.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="622" data-original-width="992" height="402" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg77lPAn0aDlbEZiYJaqHorl6LwjEFTMph7V6Yr7oiHLsA1kFP2acWNTpqfRtiX9QiQ1yWUYJdwrVGlHzDVNCmjE_Im-1VUEZxz1cJ5gBHG4DZ8cGUaOvTvH_LVaWZWwSqXLceEJAhG4USbA-2omEdCi2Kl8I-rhrXDqTEm-COwTJOWExh9xYUW_N18/w640-h402/P6091113.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWws9Z3GZpvar0SYJVFYdUePqHEyFZyxyVDY8m3hJCBo5dmGh_IELcjjIK_ozhS0viZ8F6O_sD4G519UAGSqrrsZsIGgk9iHfCBaZkvdL5UPgqWcZzcvy8P1KLuv5dYsFQ-VeJy0f0cJsFKFRc8aGU85Te52bxve5sF3MC5Woh37jZJMrYU_krnVl8/s992/P6091138.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="622" data-original-width="992" height="402" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWws9Z3GZpvar0SYJVFYdUePqHEyFZyxyVDY8m3hJCBo5dmGh_IELcjjIK_ozhS0viZ8F6O_sD4G519UAGSqrrsZsIGgk9iHfCBaZkvdL5UPgqWcZzcvy8P1KLuv5dYsFQ-VeJy0f0cJsFKFRc8aGU85Te52bxve5sF3MC5Woh37jZJMrYU_krnVl8/w640-h402/P6091138.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><p style="text-align: justify;">Before returning to the ship I made my way to the high, north end of the village. It was a magnificent spot and the location of the most intact of the many ruins. I realized it was a shame I'd not taken the time to hike here in the past, and next time I am on Raasay I will make the walk to Screapadale via Raasay Wood.</p><p></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><i>Tha iad fhathast ann a Hallaig / They are still in Hallaig</i></div><i>Clann Ghill-Eain ’s Clann MhicLeòid / All the MacLeans and MacLeods<br />na bh’ ann ri linn Mhic Ghille Chaluim: / Who were there in the time of Mac Gille Chaluim:<br />chunnacas na mairbh beò. / The dead have been seen alive.</i><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghX3CCIaFaYL8E6XO9o5N37-oTE4WmK5Ar5SnnZKpGMdz3JnlzuDnorvXIWN4w-38dSgm-2-60dmKOWJ7KGuJPuaO3XGkVfMBQqEdlHc4VFbXQsfRr0bLKnv4_jOymh1rtQteabyuCk_g1KQMdqqxQiq12Mrn1-O9O9vZUewY4n2NeNRLs7pPHxrt5/s992/IMGP0301.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="622" data-original-width="992" height="402" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghX3CCIaFaYL8E6XO9o5N37-oTE4WmK5Ar5SnnZKpGMdz3JnlzuDnorvXIWN4w-38dSgm-2-60dmKOWJ7KGuJPuaO3XGkVfMBQqEdlHc4VFbXQsfRr0bLKnv4_jOymh1rtQteabyuCk_g1KQMdqqxQiq12Mrn1-O9O9vZUewY4n2NeNRLs7pPHxrt5/w640-h402/IMGP0301.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>Marc Calhounhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01337842920912493787noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1540061331447361610.post-52469067801422914412022-05-29T15:13:00.003-07:002022-06-15T11:13:11.530-07:00The Adventures of Hjalmar Bjorge - Season 5, Episode 5<p style="text-align: center;"> <b><i>The </i></b><b><i>Continuing Adventures of Hjalmar Bjorge<br /></i></b><b><i>Season 5 - Episode 5 - Mingulay to Mull<br /></i></b><i><b>Exploring the Isles of the West Cruise April 18-May 2, 2022</b></i></p><div style="text-align: justify;">From Mingulay we motored across the Sea of the Hebrides to Heisker Rock, where we were delighted by the sight of two minke whales. Peter Hill, author of <i>Stargazing: Memoirs of a Young Lightkeeper</i>, ends his book with a description of his last posting, which was on Hyskeir in 1973. Upon arriving via helicopter, he was greeted by the keepers, along with three other residents of his new posting.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i>And as we walked across the black lava towards the tallest lighthouse tower I had ever seen, three goats emerged out of the fine sea mist.</i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglD4dCiarT_RtasMgTUownKGRU_8BNEtnP5j7nVkCtl_y7bb0Khi8BhUBtkBx3EG2S4M6KKuBbE1S7wZneZ9CosKFgo3s-5RqZYaWyqknccJpATyioj_DDwXALLk7T46KTvk9OCinGUnpDCAiSN2TkzjbuhZQxcvpywrqc3ThXTXj_GtIS8LdXUUmQ/s992/P4290590.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="611" data-original-width="992" height="394" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglD4dCiarT_RtasMgTUownKGRU_8BNEtnP5j7nVkCtl_y7bb0Khi8BhUBtkBx3EG2S4M6KKuBbE1S7wZneZ9CosKFgo3s-5RqZYaWyqknccJpATyioj_DDwXALLk7T46KTvk9OCinGUnpDCAiSN2TkzjbuhZQxcvpywrqc3ThXTXj_GtIS8LdXUUmQ/w640-h394/P4290590.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div><span style="text-align: justify;">There have been no men (or goats) on Hyskeir since it was automated in 1997. (For more on Hyskeir see these posts: <a href="https://marccalhoun.blogspot.com/2014/11/scenes-from-heisker.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">https://marccalhoun.blogspot.com/2014/11/scenes-from-heisker.html</span></a>). The sea was mirror calm as we left Hyskeir and motored over to the west side of beautiful</span> Canna, where we were planning to spend the night. The western cliffs of Canna were teeming with seabirds. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC4xj4KXgfqx33QXa8y_e55wLAl6sv8Bd25IpySBVdZjk5Q_PnTiVl0qGSeQllOselSSkyILxW4wFb8BFBplBkGDz_N96Q9Kdj-BbsHte1oYohCC77TuDmYYfXvrRmcEzuU-b93h_9K4ZcU5YsuUYE4I6S-ThSdRD46G-d5n6oRkHFi5fws7o-kGrx/s992/P4290602.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="744" data-original-width="992" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC4xj4KXgfqx33QXa8y_e55wLAl6sv8Bd25IpySBVdZjk5Q_PnTiVl0qGSeQllOselSSkyILxW4wFb8BFBplBkGDz_N96Q9Kdj-BbsHte1oYohCC77TuDmYYfXvrRmcEzuU-b93h_9K4ZcU5YsuUYE4I6S-ThSdRD46G-d5n6oRkHFi5fws7o-kGrx/w640-h480/P4290602.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFsy1dULt58cWVfxVPjevVrhRQCP9uQUFO0TbxtazTnDONwQm21TaIvL7FMuoYG144M75u7GopMsKC3cl9URNiL-eI9wCCWaLBYF17zEtgrLnL4LUPanui7kaKauNbhgfjgiM6NH-wwmuaS2jDN2kxAVYIeRHUQ2qCm2UP6C4Lcq3fl0Y7Xi-yiNs9/s992/P4290612.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="625" data-original-width="992" height="404" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFsy1dULt58cWVfxVPjevVrhRQCP9uQUFO0TbxtazTnDONwQm21TaIvL7FMuoYG144M75u7GopMsKC3cl9URNiL-eI9wCCWaLBYF17zEtgrLnL4LUPanui7kaKauNbhgfjgiM6NH-wwmuaS2jDN2kxAVYIeRHUQ2qCm2UP6C4Lcq3fl0Y7Xi-yiNs9/w640-h404/P4290612.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div>Just as we rounded the corner to enter the harbour the Calmac ferry Lochnevis rocketed out of the harbour on its way back to Mallaig.<div>. <br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-NGm4toXv8oFjMTHAf-OOLoa_304TbookkI0WpVDv4GpcyxJWvbVIXsSWTPh9Dshb9FUSRtCBG6RMrQLkH4_JKx6jCcURh3TWeENy7e68mmbBHauzQ4k2Rwx5XSRUj2SEWFZmUdjE9OjA3hsBp34MBJwv4Hje63CcWbHB-2FmcUb2clOEbIaOawLz/s992/P4290619.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="664" data-original-width="992" height="428" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-NGm4toXv8oFjMTHAf-OOLoa_304TbookkI0WpVDv4GpcyxJWvbVIXsSWTPh9Dshb9FUSRtCBG6RMrQLkH4_JKx6jCcURh3TWeENy7e68mmbBHauzQ4k2Rwx5XSRUj2SEWFZmUdjE9OjA3hsBp34MBJwv4Hje63CcWbHB-2FmcUb2clOEbIaOawLz/w640-h428/P4290619.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Once ashore I led the group to Rhu Church, also known as the Rocket Church due to its Irish Round tower belfry. It is always a delight to see it, especially on a bright spring afternoon with only wispy clouds floating overhead.</div><div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE4roL3Q0PAOCyBKAjFgCXpc3jRSXVhGMHuj1quULkeCmNOtrcLCXRTLVhecH7LkfbBHN_3pBs9oAHMYHl216PYk6DSUOUpPOAvSIb55drKNa4NDdLFhxSKDpYD994T2ZzbzqV-q5OytHcqMtsy82E81H9wRelC3hp6SbI7HWLxVtUdD9ZAiV5n55i/s992/P4290622.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="579" data-original-width="992" height="374" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE4roL3Q0PAOCyBKAjFgCXpc3jRSXVhGMHuj1quULkeCmNOtrcLCXRTLVhecH7LkfbBHN_3pBs9oAHMYHl216PYk6DSUOUpPOAvSIb55drKNa4NDdLFhxSKDpYD994T2ZzbzqV-q5OytHcqMtsy82E81H9wRelC3hp6SbI7HWLxVtUdD9ZAiV5n55i/w640-h374/P4290622.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAWWmQzd3I37MhddDdDn2BM-X_ghARyvpUZWNncACPahZfGl6o4BzqshD_Nq7ENIhkGCYI7eAMWdyMY1H2v_88CaLCqMvNtRlILelPTIs3G9NYYwJ28tMaSsGbPpFHydX82iNrbJPBzv2J0O66YVTCAiEzLRjGEQPzEM1W-Xv3IatSF-YGnLuMLYdu/s992/P4290623.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="744" data-original-width="992" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAWWmQzd3I37MhddDdDn2BM-X_ghARyvpUZWNncACPahZfGl6o4BzqshD_Nq7ENIhkGCYI7eAMWdyMY1H2v_88CaLCqMvNtRlILelPTIs3G9NYYwJ28tMaSsGbPpFHydX82iNrbJPBzv2J0O66YVTCAiEzLRjGEQPzEM1W-Xv3IatSF-YGnLuMLYdu/w640-h480/P4290623.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>We then headed into the woodlands past John Campbell's grave to reach the Celtic Cross and the burial ground. Campbell's elegant tombstone reads:</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Ian Latharna Caimbeul</div><div style="text-align: center;">1.10.1906 25.4.1996</div><div style="text-align: center;">Fear Chanaidh</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Campbell died in Italy in 1996, and was buried there. But his body was returned to Canna in 2006. For the story of Campbell's life see <a href="http://www.birlinn.co.uk/Man-Who-Gave-Away-His-Island-The.html"><span style="color: blue;">The Man Who Gave Away His Island</span></a>, by Ray Perman.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn97R_o2C9UB-hI6DCgOo__2j6HsLCaFPngixbrU7mtxjqyliKwZq-xHE1T8em5hQ-64cPNRdwmwG-9imY7Qhu7P0B5lT2Tkd0jO3UyGQiEGDyNaE068Ssds8nbtovBFrj4_PLcAMnZXpYDhO1nNYB2aCMMcRiuvTlCJD0XUOC5Db3F-1DawPxqAUx/s992/P4290624.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="611" data-original-width="992" height="394" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn97R_o2C9UB-hI6DCgOo__2j6HsLCaFPngixbrU7mtxjqyliKwZq-xHE1T8em5hQ-64cPNRdwmwG-9imY7Qhu7P0B5lT2Tkd0jO3UyGQiEGDyNaE068Ssds8nbtovBFrj4_PLcAMnZXpYDhO1nNYB2aCMMcRiuvTlCJD0XUOC5Db3F-1DawPxqAUx/w640-h394/P4290624.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1D4y895B8ykvzuMvT-ahPS8tF71RxKE1YkBG4nFLyn-eEUk4KRicbdTbeKNgJSke8DMO6gtAblXI9djw6FPhwFAJwE0bH5N_Ua3Q9tbjal6_TJ6BjP5A--6NiJyiSYogpqvAirvCOp_mgMc47-uItGGMp4tUiIk_yijozUOxpJOWTl3WVPspnriNl/s992/P4290625.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="744" data-original-width="992" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1D4y895B8ykvzuMvT-ahPS8tF71RxKE1YkBG4nFLyn-eEUk4KRicbdTbeKNgJSke8DMO6gtAblXI9djw6FPhwFAJwE0bH5N_Ua3Q9tbjal6_TJ6BjP5A--6NiJyiSYogpqvAirvCOp_mgMc47-uItGGMp4tUiIk_yijozUOxpJOWTl3WVPspnriNl/w640-h480/P4290625.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh04EDFb-L3EJAiuhTpJPaHDRYp0OJAFjIFxyc2JHrJ5YtKL8s_ajxS4E_fGIiTWUAauVqOoNZ643htLS_fpaIOS8VRxQLTLQu79BEzirnS7xc-yg8uli7EtPWUf6t0vHb6ZLsTDPWMYpjETYX-aG2Jd6PL4zCkC7bj30BsSKdPnHAydP1WntRSY5vi/s992/P4290630.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="555" data-original-width="992" height="358" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh04EDFb-L3EJAiuhTpJPaHDRYp0OJAFjIFxyc2JHrJ5YtKL8s_ajxS4E_fGIiTWUAauVqOoNZ643htLS_fpaIOS8VRxQLTLQu79BEzirnS7xc-yg8uli7EtPWUf6t0vHb6ZLsTDPWMYpjETYX-aG2Jd6PL4zCkC7bj30BsSKdPnHAydP1WntRSY5vi/w640-h358/P4290630.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Our next stop was the bridge to Sanday, where some of us climbed to the high ground overlooking Sanday village. Just to the right of centre in the next photo you can see the Sanday Schoolhouse. The school dates to 1878, and is the subject of Kate Riley's book <i>Canna School Days</i>: <a href="https://acairbooks.com/product/books/non-fiction-books/history-non-fiction-books/canna-schooldays/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">https://acairbooks.com/product/books/non-fiction-books/history-non-fiction-books/canna-schooldays/</span></a></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrW8c5PsN8qVwVwiCuOBEkPzbxoR3c46lOGIyJTBiykm4hWt3r4voYxnEP0t3EBOzqPtmM8LuM6FJsGZa0y3MezoMBhbykVoRz_vaMBftv7JdP_XGiKJHhjT_n-HkyJ660d11jCSnKrn3qXGzJIrxqjtVpj26Ioz_v4VXwNItd5g_JlZUQmZqDrOY9/s992/P4290631.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="617" data-original-width="992" height="398" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrW8c5PsN8qVwVwiCuOBEkPzbxoR3c46lOGIyJTBiykm4hWt3r4voYxnEP0t3EBOzqPtmM8LuM6FJsGZa0y3MezoMBhbykVoRz_vaMBftv7JdP_XGiKJHhjT_n-HkyJ660d11jCSnKrn3qXGzJIrxqjtVpj26Ioz_v4VXwNItd5g_JlZUQmZqDrOY9/w640-h398/P4290631.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifjppoYNkt5RFBimSQLxg_zFsIck09S7hb63651f8Sq4iEelFqcckhzT2kNlc0c9UmRCWaYzvr5XYsCKYEfXfoTy-ldqxjRYb2GOmxLCZOWOkHaHnMX_CSFOqhJkMahAMqvNp-tvqLATzC2UhJA9lw1EgHO2ySEZnUGV8ZiDKsS-vBp4qsS7-hQ5g6/s992/P4290633.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="607" data-original-width="992" height="392" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifjppoYNkt5RFBimSQLxg_zFsIck09S7hb63651f8Sq4iEelFqcckhzT2kNlc0c9UmRCWaYzvr5XYsCKYEfXfoTy-ldqxjRYb2GOmxLCZOWOkHaHnMX_CSFOqhJkMahAMqvNp-tvqLATzC2UhJA9lw1EgHO2ySEZnUGV8ZiDKsS-vBp4qsS7-hQ5g6/w640-h392/P4290633.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Just before returning to the ship a detour was made to Canna Prison. It is a mini-castle atop a dramatic stack that rises 80 feet above the western shoreline. The structure looks very precarious. I'd climbed it in my younger days, but not wanting to be responsible for the whole thing to come tumbling down, we settled for the view from below.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQk_4_huLyKOEAnBl2t8To1zx1RLdzMrQoD-u6NNaBKYcuC00nOD7948zpp7JnUhQeZrVSjPvGOYESd6JETkLIlz5_p2ybGik7fL3IidBQUfcnXqglluLBXrP6hyRXl4ztEuPjO9c4A0mQWDO4YBbA4N0Pb90y2Gf0cpKtM0fIG0jloBFL386dfBNw/s992/P4290637.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="744" data-original-width="992" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQk_4_huLyKOEAnBl2t8To1zx1RLdzMrQoD-u6NNaBKYcuC00nOD7948zpp7JnUhQeZrVSjPvGOYESd6JETkLIlz5_p2ybGik7fL3IidBQUfcnXqglluLBXrP6hyRXl4ztEuPjO9c4A0mQWDO4YBbA4N0Pb90y2Gf0cpKtM0fIG0jloBFL386dfBNw/w640-h480/P4290637.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">A fanciful watercolur of the prison was done by Richard Doyle in the 1870s. He titled it 'The Witches' Home'. No witches were soaring about, just curious gulls and kittiwakes.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijgoJJOml6LQ0uh4YMq2lKhzsdlEZjsldyY7MDaMqhsPBbKVW8vayIOmKS1kF2rQjdWw5oxPPeSITl55rWV9hyoNROuLIMNiIvqbh9s4m_SR9BsFFhbF8yQ1-3PBCZLtLkDF5xs4fQcBrU1uIhYVULyX2dt_bL-CuTtk4V1hot4JhrKtjqQ1qV81iX/s992/WitchesHome.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="666" data-original-width="992" height="430" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijgoJJOml6LQ0uh4YMq2lKhzsdlEZjsldyY7MDaMqhsPBbKVW8vayIOmKS1kF2rQjdWw5oxPPeSITl55rWV9hyoNROuLIMNiIvqbh9s4m_SR9BsFFhbF8yQ1-3PBCZLtLkDF5xs4fQcBrU1uIhYVULyX2dt_bL-CuTtk4V1hot4JhrKtjqQ1qV81iX/w640-h430/WitchesHome.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><div>When we returned to Hjalmar Bjorge we discovered Charlie had acquired prawns from a local fisherman. They made a delicious starter to the evening meal.</div><div><br style="text-align: left;" /></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_KlFnDzWjepYiJbcVwgqUwISGxOtgxvLyaoMMpUImBK9MctPrGIDEsNMXPGfYzz0sLkTnqpQI6HHCDYtXtrSSzSwGopBNWJjBY8BfKMebcFqCmT5_yM6m0Qx1e8l-eNrwaCtqiEi_Wf3bYKiODOmwS5AekstQpOL003MockGcx8HF-V7pOTbnNsyp/s992/P4290644.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="632" data-original-width="992" height="408" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_KlFnDzWjepYiJbcVwgqUwISGxOtgxvLyaoMMpUImBK9MctPrGIDEsNMXPGfYzz0sLkTnqpQI6HHCDYtXtrSSzSwGopBNWJjBY8BfKMebcFqCmT5_yM6m0Qx1e8l-eNrwaCtqiEi_Wf3bYKiODOmwS5AekstQpOL003MockGcx8HF-V7pOTbnNsyp/w640-h408/P4290644.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Overnight the weather drastically changed for the worse. We needed a place to shelter for the night, so Charlie took us over to the northeast corner of Ardnamurchan, where we anchored in Kentra Bay. In the morning we spent a couple hours ashore exploring the Singing Sands of Kentra. Similar to the Signing Sands of Eigg and Islay, if you scrape your shoes across the sands they make an odd, squeaking sound. Writing in 1844, the geologist Hugh Miller thought highly of the sound:</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i>I walked over it, striking it obliquely at each step, and with every blow the shrill note was repeated. My companions joined me; and we performed a concert, in which, if we could boast of but little variety in the tones produced, we might at least challenge all Europe for an instrument of the kind which produced them.</i></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg57yylN7paLCB0fPK-E0Cs99eDcJytzz7LAx1w_wPNRMe1pVnmOI-J2lFshrIj4KmsaU66ebSTjpuzR2QuDvE9skfz04CEPzJWOhX0R_QPLWVhxausfkO72nTLLOgSXMu2vbpdBcXgXHpCuotXhv0PZjmgvexkQiV__EO-1Abm416oUgk5EapMuY_c/s992/P5010656.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="744" data-original-width="992" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg57yylN7paLCB0fPK-E0Cs99eDcJytzz7LAx1w_wPNRMe1pVnmOI-J2lFshrIj4KmsaU66ebSTjpuzR2QuDvE9skfz04CEPzJWOhX0R_QPLWVhxausfkO72nTLLOgSXMu2vbpdBcXgXHpCuotXhv0PZjmgvexkQiV__EO-1Abm416oUgk5EapMuY_c/w640-h480/P5010656.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">A few of us made a stunning woodland walk above the sands, which starts with a warning sign about unexploded munitions in the sands. (Now they tell us!)</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzAuEAJKwS4mV0dLuAOKX7_tXfCTtvyAxChsCCnCb-lYp0Td_vvHDkOHdErUwA2JU8K6uzryaMk_IdaXzRFhWcrnyBf-Nsx9rCpZCoN9dwH4Rsj0dYwLbdgPYYzkBWUzh9ub8SThTjL2EAso_dUzkoK1vMHSJ3VizlEQWhfMsHmV59TeP7XG7ZvNg_/s992/P5010659.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="656" data-original-width="992" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzAuEAJKwS4mV0dLuAOKX7_tXfCTtvyAxChsCCnCb-lYp0Td_vvHDkOHdErUwA2JU8K6uzryaMk_IdaXzRFhWcrnyBf-Nsx9rCpZCoN9dwH4Rsj0dYwLbdgPYYzkBWUzh9ub8SThTjL2EAso_dUzkoK1vMHSJ3VizlEQWhfMsHmV59TeP7XG7ZvNg_/w640-h424/P5010659.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2jvk-k6sXHmA4RWCIAa8qxVShoosSBMyU25L3UV1NnwahNKbqyZsbte4bX7jyhpBpeVdeWCqpvHVfHmCIbYf_t56vWCmBO6qzY7wt4EqhSbz55oylGJmuERsTX92u0Vv2_GmIAzMUVAJdgbG-kCUSFSNoVB70IkCtsYCjVy-zUI_KkzAvJvXkrtSR/s992/P5010662.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="744" data-original-width="992" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2jvk-k6sXHmA4RWCIAa8qxVShoosSBMyU25L3UV1NnwahNKbqyZsbte4bX7jyhpBpeVdeWCqpvHVfHmCIbYf_t56vWCmBO6qzY7wt4EqhSbz55oylGJmuERsTX92u0Vv2_GmIAzMUVAJdgbG-kCUSFSNoVB70IkCtsYCjVy-zUI_KkzAvJvXkrtSR/w640-h480/P5010662.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9p4NFUQlZrVVsSCkNiPM7R8qFS5rMDXx__CSeA0eXaK_fObzrZ90CS4TCEFnNWR57SPsw3Fs6St7nyIJBaE-g11h6uM1EbUI7DokffKPWdbQzdvCq7QYxEPp31iifF-D9ks8WEGQw5FTgATQI6MxSNkpTuirR3jThVmpl0BWiMo1iMcBIexZnNs1j/s992/P5010666Pan.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="509" data-original-width="992" height="328" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9p4NFUQlZrVVsSCkNiPM7R8qFS5rMDXx__CSeA0eXaK_fObzrZ90CS4TCEFnNWR57SPsw3Fs6St7nyIJBaE-g11h6uM1EbUI7DokffKPWdbQzdvCq7QYxEPp31iifF-D9ks8WEGQw5FTgATQI6MxSNkpTuirR3jThVmpl0BWiMo1iMcBIexZnNs1j/w640-h328/P5010666Pan.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy9Ofoy0DP7E44smMYzuwtj2jNDG2MxD9FcicTcmvBu9HYHSK2rsu75MnjoZw5T7YaZ4kuJkmslfkzfWscIYuG4fuY1yLD6WCbuEN7F2THrAcjCudsXNLFWR8EJ-JMh_d7AVAXQiEXyWuOsXTyrQYWt7VQSBBOZZQCZS8vYHOxUNtio9dkB6-ga5kg/s992/P5010667.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="634" data-original-width="992" height="410" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy9Ofoy0DP7E44smMYzuwtj2jNDG2MxD9FcicTcmvBu9HYHSK2rsu75MnjoZw5T7YaZ4kuJkmslfkzfWscIYuG4fuY1yLD6WCbuEN7F2THrAcjCudsXNLFWR8EJ-JMh_d7AVAXQiEXyWuOsXTyrQYWt7VQSBBOZZQCZS8vYHOxUNtio9dkB6-ga5kg/w640-h410/P5010667.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Fortunately, no one was blown up. (That would not have looked good on my Island Guider CV.) And so from Kentra we made our way to the Cairns of Coll, a spot known for whales. We did not see any whales, but we did see something fantastic - something in my thirty-plus years of Hebridean sailing I'd never seen. For over an hour, a large group of bottlenose dolphins bow surfed, and raced alongside the ship. There must have been nearly three dozen of them, gleefully playing with us, and you could tell they were happy to make us smile.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaKFqCJtlcSb6bXK6DLj2CMopJ2lCL1S9BEE_l1rCXLMa91kRod9zeWfv8PBUNC7hOXPjzkfA2wpa7BkcuyQlO75BbbhdEMm4ydVS2CK9USmNK1BC-BQdZQDl3IRfxfmBzmLrEjkAMZcMjVv-d6RCvS6hpHoBiVjhS_wC4RxGEauBz4H44uC2PDH8A/s992/P5010686.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="607" data-original-width="992" height="392" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaKFqCJtlcSb6bXK6DLj2CMopJ2lCL1S9BEE_l1rCXLMa91kRod9zeWfv8PBUNC7hOXPjzkfA2wpa7BkcuyQlO75BbbhdEMm4ydVS2CK9USmNK1BC-BQdZQDl3IRfxfmBzmLrEjkAMZcMjVv-d6RCvS6hpHoBiVjhS_wC4RxGEauBz4H44uC2PDH8A/w640-h392/P5010686.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioeNID1pWf9UXue8ZBd_poYc2kbDtzf71tZO5haIzXLcdoSaz-Q9WskD0lGvYz2K7k1seTkH5xSy9nyR3Ck9MiLDcarWKZkEYd1i-jzojvwc5_7gGZfmm8lGUO6YedCYjRicQn3F08FVWHYunOWw18U6nT27PiQghRjVLchdLfRmZfl_FZ2D2Qg-n6/s425/P5010695.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="251" data-original-width="425" height="378" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioeNID1pWf9UXue8ZBd_poYc2kbDtzf71tZO5haIzXLcdoSaz-Q9WskD0lGvYz2K7k1seTkH5xSy9nyR3Ck9MiLDcarWKZkEYd1i-jzojvwc5_7gGZfmm8lGUO6YedCYjRicQn3F08FVWHYunOWw18U6nT27PiQghRjVLchdLfRmZfl_FZ2D2Qg-n6/w640-h378/P5010695.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLuQlw211FYjHVq2ES7Fpqokso_SLATjARB6--iQnL2KfP9hNnx9s583BGz37vPrhnnhgXpYdiidv2N6ujj_2ZbIj59fkEobh8DNid_ZWBgRoFkGm5vp3aYgpD5l8LmDJS5-RYyYB8EUX6J3jqMy-Gt_lDG3GHOfE2HTaK_1tWXwG6gZeM-hBWv9SO/s992/P5010705.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="653" data-original-width="992" height="422" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLuQlw211FYjHVq2ES7Fpqokso_SLATjARB6--iQnL2KfP9hNnx9s583BGz37vPrhnnhgXpYdiidv2N6ujj_2ZbIj59fkEobh8DNid_ZWBgRoFkGm5vp3aYgpD5l8LmDJS5-RYyYB8EUX6J3jqMy-Gt_lDG3GHOfE2HTaK_1tWXwG6gZeM-hBWv9SO/w640-h422/P5010705.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>We ended the day on the pontoons of Tobermory Harbour. As we arrived I saw the sailing yacht Zuza tied up. She is a ship of memories for me. Many years ago I'd sailed on her around the Inner Hebrides and the Orkneys with Skipper Tim Wear at the helm. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZI9i5Uxho7j3JKpGXTpiP0Fu3tB-mOHfdc_DaXzhOaqsK_1xwAihcUBxETZmaI908M5jpmQTBQH6KCqUPFNIPQVtO0AJY39VccHieovxKxUEKnMwLSIKFHbe7t10OjC4oGWE_TDngM0PVjG63cbW-y-kYg-SYx93YSjaFjDp-Gk35AzH0yghZ3OtS/s992/P5010746.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="623" data-original-width="992" height="402" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZI9i5Uxho7j3JKpGXTpiP0Fu3tB-mOHfdc_DaXzhOaqsK_1xwAihcUBxETZmaI908M5jpmQTBQH6KCqUPFNIPQVtO0AJY39VccHieovxKxUEKnMwLSIKFHbe7t10OjC4oGWE_TDngM0PVjG63cbW-y-kYg-SYx93YSjaFjDp-Gk35AzH0yghZ3OtS/w640-h402/P5010746.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>After a wander around the village we spent the night on the pontoons, then got an early start back to Oban in the morning.</div></div><div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVzBp-6dcV14s8PLJvNYtmzgpMBFjpRYkDnRAViEmIChU94FrTcmHJ7zkfr4MZ1Xk9ELrSi9WJmhP04XI0ncAkoVR8mlpJp379i8Z44mxZ-oBXxIYBFfTk-66xq0VNLDBlozO6GIrFDkqjczkgRjIQI6c5r0oQ6bfF8VDO1oDFDTdrhXJCOS1PvVEF/s992/P5010761.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="580" data-original-width="992" height="374" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVzBp-6dcV14s8PLJvNYtmzgpMBFjpRYkDnRAViEmIChU94FrTcmHJ7zkfr4MZ1Xk9ELrSi9WJmhP04XI0ncAkoVR8mlpJp379i8Z44mxZ-oBXxIYBFfTk-66xq0VNLDBlozO6GIrFDkqjczkgRjIQI6c5r0oQ6bfF8VDO1oDFDTdrhXJCOS1PvVEF/w640-h374/P5010761.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">By noon the next day, we were in Oban to say our goodbyes. It had been an exemplary trip, and we'd been blessed with (mostly) magnificent weather. I want to thank Charlie, Mel, and Steve for being a great crew, and Peter, Liz, Anne, Nigel, Clare, Wolfgang, and Debbie for being such great travelling companions. I hope to sail with you all again, someday.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWiYGGIIJeo1E7hU9tX7fersRYdbqZ4y7Ow_ymxNMnEu6t_GPqMrfuZI60OLGJsvJnRyAfYYVIwe2M8hz-0DxulwPh2PpDyBWtfjNhu0V3CrZ1xjBtvdP299g9aCAlfQv-gNpZCiK61_5zQGGagBshyK3SABH-dBbcUkJ6nQ4iOPw3g5elloJGoJJP/s992/P4290641.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="655" data-original-width="992" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWiYGGIIJeo1E7hU9tX7fersRYdbqZ4y7Ow_ymxNMnEu6t_GPqMrfuZI60OLGJsvJnRyAfYYVIwe2M8hz-0DxulwPh2PpDyBWtfjNhu0V3CrZ1xjBtvdP299g9aCAlfQv-gNpZCiK61_5zQGGagBshyK3SABH-dBbcUkJ6nQ4iOPw3g5elloJGoJJP/s16000/P4290641.jpg" /></a></div></div></div>Marc Calhounhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01337842920912493787noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1540061331447361610.post-61816471332566064512022-05-25T10:19:00.002-07:002022-05-25T10:21:59.184-07:00The Adventures of Hjalmar Bjorge - Season 5, Episode 4<div style="text-align: center;"><b><i>The </i></b><b><i>Continuing Adventures of Hjalmar Bjorge</i></b><b><i><br />Season 5 - Episode 4 - Mingulay</i></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><b>Exploring the Isles of the West Cruise April 18-May 2, 2022</b></i></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">After a night at the Monachs, we awoke to a morning of golden sunshine. The engines were fired up, anchor raised, and we set off to the south. Destination: Mingulay. Eighteen years had passed since I was last there, and I was looking forward to showing everyone its large puffin colony. Landing can be tricky, as the beach, which can look deceptively easy to land on, is subject to swells that can overturn a small boat. Charlie anchored just off the south shore of Mingulay Bay, where he set us ashore on the rocks near the ruin of the derrick platform that had been built in 1901. It was poorly built, and was not of much use. The struggling community finally left the island in 1912.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmX4xA7dUFmuLnDe27KmistX_HqjI7tZLWBkA5cB53gwq48nlMxRq65duYP1L1xQKi0rbeJHWp6mGIhXB_t1CKotiaBPMiOXCJNYu2wURFy1LacTCP14ETAMxDxFGiv-FS6lPYS6BQOf55r1f3BWb3jd1jdefsMzcRtKgScz8LBKR1Z08rLl-Oyu8p/s992/P4280440.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="550" data-original-width="992" height="354" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmX4xA7dUFmuLnDe27KmistX_HqjI7tZLWBkA5cB53gwq48nlMxRq65duYP1L1xQKi0rbeJHWp6mGIhXB_t1CKotiaBPMiOXCJNYu2wURFy1LacTCP14ETAMxDxFGiv-FS6lPYS6BQOf55r1f3BWb3jd1jdefsMzcRtKgScz8LBKR1Z08rLl-Oyu8p/w640-h354/P4280440.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">From the landing, we followed a track over to the old school, which has been renovated to house the ranger. Built in 1881, it saw its last pupil in 1910. The ranger was not in residence, so we had the island to ourselves.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXagCxtNFxhB_jI8c8yj76su5ne4cIe-vHo4mU_kE8AB55ymdQoY01w2X7eBCwRZ8UAEq165pZxA80Yi0xSDE3PFEDAY5x5HzUMA47xNmVvBCALW7gV3sxhnr2a1hnoyDcOq-b6nMzX-4OxTxUJ9jNfZdW0ZBho0Dk7WmOqb36hUPitHew8hcXtKAi/s992/P4280441.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="677" data-original-width="992" height="436" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXagCxtNFxhB_jI8c8yj76su5ne4cIe-vHo4mU_kE8AB55ymdQoY01w2X7eBCwRZ8UAEq165pZxA80Yi0xSDE3PFEDAY5x5HzUMA47xNmVvBCALW7gV3sxhnr2a1hnoyDcOq-b6nMzX-4OxTxUJ9jNfZdW0ZBho0Dk7WmOqb36hUPitHew8hcXtKAi/w640-h436/P4280441.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvrZyctA0vf9meTUuvbtVkOiv_0sRovTbcnhtF8I_T_1Yau4r1B03sTUy0iFcBkrBNag0agzoGm73UIA-ZtkfGbIMeMOBmOcLZs_72HTiseWSSu69isZbF1extH15sJ7ii0Rr7-re9_tatXVYUzV_M-RjuYHvs33_N8EUUG-NijALaIUn1SZXYwEhF/s992/P4280444.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="551" data-original-width="992" height="356" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvrZyctA0vf9meTUuvbtVkOiv_0sRovTbcnhtF8I_T_1Yau4r1B03sTUy0iFcBkrBNag0agzoGm73UIA-ZtkfGbIMeMOBmOcLZs_72HTiseWSSu69isZbF1extH15sJ7ii0Rr7-re9_tatXVYUzV_M-RjuYHvs33_N8EUUG-NijALaIUn1SZXYwEhF/w640-h356/P4280444.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Leaving the school, we followed 'Main Street' down to the village. Over the past century, drifting sands have half-buried the black houses near the beach. They are an odd sight, lintel stones in place a foot or two above the ground. It is as if the homes have sunk in quick-sand. The village burial ground lies just above the beach, an oval mound surrounded by a stone embankment. An early chapel dedicated to St Columba once stood on the site, and there are some fifty grave stones, most unmarked and covered by sand. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnqom-_bbzph4V4M6oPqAj2otQN0prC92YdQdzRi5HqGlY9QAvliTkFHwjOCUspSpCO76yN1sWB24fk9WVct12Yz5fbSBEapVwGKsJR295ASCxdJthecEWGwYYs5uGBU9157btFeEtJ734jFP898tpEmIO7MeybSfp9F397K9mTRplLRDDQSQGupAt/s992/P4280461.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="560" data-original-width="992" height="362" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnqom-_bbzph4V4M6oPqAj2otQN0prC92YdQdzRi5HqGlY9QAvliTkFHwjOCUspSpCO76yN1sWB24fk9WVct12Yz5fbSBEapVwGKsJR295ASCxdJthecEWGwYYs5uGBU9157btFeEtJ734jFP898tpEmIO7MeybSfp9F397K9mTRplLRDDQSQGupAt/w640-h362/P4280461.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbU_tbqr-nsSx1t1jqk6NtJRAehYB5E9bnnQnWJuHfh50PIoOK9INSHrLUcN_ApYadACNxWSUB3gUfw3euNhh49K5YZ31ny5SpEf2XAFqqpriKSB04LM8Nf6HpowKi1ZcAByE_8uuObcYh9_jLkKgkupyKk8NK14w3OwRn-DPJQ1tGAc5ohHXOdpHO/s992/P4280462.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="627" data-original-width="992" height="404" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbU_tbqr-nsSx1t1jqk6NtJRAehYB5E9bnnQnWJuHfh50PIoOK9INSHrLUcN_ApYadACNxWSUB3gUfw3euNhh49K5YZ31ny5SpEf2XAFqqpriKSB04LM8Nf6HpowKi1ZcAByE_8uuObcYh9_jLkKgkupyKk8NK14w3OwRn-DPJQ1tGAc5ohHXOdpHO/w640-h404/P4280462.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEily3s0SCVRAu4sVaTKqTjPCgBPrzH7ezZjxv1MSUzDtXxPaYcgmJ9R7rbFTmtTlQBW1VZhBCWEGLcfQmdxpBimx76MBauQEDdhdy6BPyHo2_dDDsHYJ2kjgBAXiu5WAinf9WgNPt-ue8Ecqtniy-E5dmtbE9ObTpzYe3YmjNKAXo0CDbgtnJh8a4CB/s992/P4280464.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="643" data-original-width="992" height="414" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEily3s0SCVRAu4sVaTKqTjPCgBPrzH7ezZjxv1MSUzDtXxPaYcgmJ9R7rbFTmtTlQBW1VZhBCWEGLcfQmdxpBimx76MBauQEDdhdy6BPyHo2_dDDsHYJ2kjgBAXiu5WAinf9WgNPt-ue8Ecqtniy-E5dmtbE9ObTpzYe3YmjNKAXo0CDbgtnJh8a4CB/w640-h414/P4280464.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmH8dpI30taJ6YQcFPMkUp2WeMdmtzTH22BvaGsoKO34ZMX-HJTO7Q2eJqScjCQtMBDETumVN2YizlK8oiyx019-7l53nkrGXCBYnn4cJd_QsB2wy-AgoxmlUPW2G5h4xhD0hsW4zja6GQ3honXWg7_T1J598H_07fYLKjIEiT2h2pPkVajPK1udyg/s992/P4280468.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="744" data-original-width="992" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmH8dpI30taJ6YQcFPMkUp2WeMdmtzTH22BvaGsoKO34ZMX-HJTO7Q2eJqScjCQtMBDETumVN2YizlK8oiyx019-7l53nkrGXCBYnn4cJd_QsB2wy-AgoxmlUPW2G5h4xhD0hsW4zja6GQ3honXWg7_T1J598H_07fYLKjIEiT2h2pPkVajPK1udyg/w640-h480/P4280468.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;">The most substantial building here is the Priest’s House. Built of granite blocks, its ground floor had four rooms and a kitchen, which were used as quarters for visiting priests. The chapel on the upper floor, accessed by an external staircase, had been one large room, forty-five by twenty-five feet. It was in June of 1898 that Mass was first held here, celebrated by Father Allan MacDonald. </span><span style="text-align: left;">There is a wonderful book about Fr Macdonald, Amy Murray’s Father Allan’s Island, written in 1920. The island referred to in the title is Eriskay, sixteen miles north of Mingulay. Fr MacDonald worked throughout all the Barra Isles until 1905, when he died from pneumonia at the age of forty-six. Murray’s book is a moving portrait of a man who gave his life to a people struggling to survive in these unforgiving isles in the sea.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;">Sadly, the Priest’s House is now a complete ruin. The roof blew off during a storm in the winter of 1996. When I'd last seen it, in 2004, the walls, and both gables, were still standing. It is now a pile of rubble, littered with fallen stones, shards of the slate roof, and chimney pots sitting oddly upright on the ground. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHOzMuRzMzCs_EIbbmYmTBvMfMgbPWgEqGb08ZfTUmajJmyRMsUqfXReTMTsFOidEEIGQYR6kcOvZWQvrZA-zdK-AVpCt6VFuPNlDN_8PrE8C-doNVl2Zrx8iCovh7lI1MbPAtWJWN6L9Kk-TN49KfKEZqNXMplBIKgqfR5AL7MzIA96HZIvpUYrgT/s992/P4280476.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="602" data-original-width="992" height="388" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHOzMuRzMzCs_EIbbmYmTBvMfMgbPWgEqGb08ZfTUmajJmyRMsUqfXReTMTsFOidEEIGQYR6kcOvZWQvrZA-zdK-AVpCt6VFuPNlDN_8PrE8C-doNVl2Zrx8iCovh7lI1MbPAtWJWN6L9Kk-TN49KfKEZqNXMplBIKgqfR5AL7MzIA96HZIvpUYrgT/w640-h388/P4280476.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCzjKBHJ-JHug3TqyzdtBe7p13ZyOzCYlkF4ZlMCRsLm0k2mBz88FYcinChN3u7KQeL8WKf5SPwWJEuhQYfy2anLXyC5X7eXSoX0eTYfR6-zNgeb6f4NIdtKBWe7Aw0uWTxzWctHPEVNKGEww5hX9TUm9q66ag-y02iOxz4vviEZMh6HqSS_v2m6cG/s992/IMG_0338.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="544" data-original-width="992" height="350" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCzjKBHJ-JHug3TqyzdtBe7p13ZyOzCYlkF4ZlMCRsLm0k2mBz88FYcinChN3u7KQeL8WKf5SPwWJEuhQYfy2anLXyC5X7eXSoX0eTYfR6-zNgeb6f4NIdtKBWe7Aw0uWTxzWctHPEVNKGEww5hX9TUm9q66ag-y02iOxz4vviEZMh6HqSS_v2m6cG/w640-h350/IMG_0338.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">To give you an idea of the destruction, the next photo is of the Priest's House in 2003.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDAH8fCrAeIicl0lafQjUColmhwvzSi_eKBuOYCe1Xr2ieee3aJKuDOH6Pw-UpopoNkEMtoKUbOFzCdhFzYXVIts9VQykfL0cFmK_lt8Jc3XYWZn6Gi4coW14CWNB2d_BVX_sJZPYOigDLYq3H_XldGI76DRZqCIbxplcSRWXyuHvSalKrRjxiMr7_/s992/2003PD-08-35.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="536" data-original-width="992" height="346" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDAH8fCrAeIicl0lafQjUColmhwvzSi_eKBuOYCe1Xr2ieee3aJKuDOH6Pw-UpopoNkEMtoKUbOFzCdhFzYXVIts9VQykfL0cFmK_lt8Jc3XYWZn6Gi4coW14CWNB2d_BVX_sJZPYOigDLYq3H_XldGI76DRZqCIbxplcSRWXyuHvSalKrRjxiMr7_/w640-h346/2003PD-08-35.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">Leaving the ruins behind, we headed across the hillside to the puffin colony. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNsMYKer3AU0eCdS06a8Uf70oL6_4Bfq4bA3AOKHLNeCD7St2NePOvcn-qQiy190tAlYyoDwcZAwVPsB5ay6V9suwC_Z2Rt7nVKvIA7bggZaClpDs83WWG-SBfA1hu1q3Ld8nlimqAsJMlh6yjx-VEZl1PWv0qNKoauMXLZE3YwjH1im-ia5qbd709/s992/P4280484.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="567" data-original-width="992" height="366" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNsMYKer3AU0eCdS06a8Uf70oL6_4Bfq4bA3AOKHLNeCD7St2NePOvcn-qQiy190tAlYyoDwcZAwVPsB5ay6V9suwC_Z2Rt7nVKvIA7bggZaClpDs83WWG-SBfA1hu1q3Ld8nlimqAsJMlh6yjx-VEZl1PWv0qNKoauMXLZE3YwjH1im-ia5qbd709/w640-h366/P4280484.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSbYafN858JQg239ve_SnO1oUkFWKWQgVxemjmE8jF347olOAJqnj1hjx8bHCaV8wB7OQ7frRXk4fms-kouoQVcDsHMMWjg025Psu5koqv_cTwX69s2NLNXnPgK4JtVg-_rYSBTDAVgAWZKcI8Xz9KJePJIbMN0x0iPbnrrsWX2GMid68fMVaWcZg7/s992/P4280487.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="584" data-original-width="992" height="376" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSbYafN858JQg239ve_SnO1oUkFWKWQgVxemjmE8jF347olOAJqnj1hjx8bHCaV8wB7OQ7frRXk4fms-kouoQVcDsHMMWjg025Psu5koqv_cTwX69s2NLNXnPgK4JtVg-_rYSBTDAVgAWZKcI8Xz9KJePJIbMN0x0iPbnrrsWX2GMid68fMVaWcZg7/w640-h376/P4280487.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Once they got used to our presence, the puffins resumed their daily activities, which included a lot of squawking, kissing, and bringing back beak-fulls of sand eels to feed their pufflings. Puffins are known as Tammie-Norries in Shetland; papageitaucher in Germany (the diving parrots); and frilathios in Spain (the little friars, or, if you’re really hungry, maybe the little fryers). But I always think of them as the smiling birds. Not that they smile with their bright orange, red, and yellow bills. But if you watch people watching puffins, you’ll notice a lot of smiles.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpYJKCFc_kZSKu8vQb2BNILu_uPbviaLIB3Gz1DGufREy6w8uYM2TJs0kZkjyrVmgmByoVc1VhXDxLZm_OlvN3kE98WafyYd-Piqo_eg91WjXuNIPcBdaeGGyDk1aYjK9mXDvZ2-XXBH3r_TLjee4fCB0uE-0H_fBEiS-0BS1oHDt7-ripT4_GmfCj/s992/P4280488.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="992" height="348" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpYJKCFc_kZSKu8vQb2BNILu_uPbviaLIB3Gz1DGufREy6w8uYM2TJs0kZkjyrVmgmByoVc1VhXDxLZm_OlvN3kE98WafyYd-Piqo_eg91WjXuNIPcBdaeGGyDk1aYjK9mXDvZ2-XXBH3r_TLjee4fCB0uE-0H_fBEiS-0BS1oHDt7-ripT4_GmfCj/w640-h348/P4280488.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz5QEOTdABn_F3QTOo95EauY54sDS_n9Bxc7G8zFAuJBmWqQU1uXVfp8QvbiwgK7r1xA7QXrrw4-dwPho4LfR4Mjoca_WNV-iyjiplHoLx9JfTPFPwGZUX9v4D88VRF3UTC1vlD7asV1jcReKwRg1h8_yqDDe5UUOD9orAZSBojroqBbL7oYk3s40O/s992/P4280494.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="544" data-original-width="992" height="350" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz5QEOTdABn_F3QTOo95EauY54sDS_n9Bxc7G8zFAuJBmWqQU1uXVfp8QvbiwgK7r1xA7QXrrw4-dwPho4LfR4Mjoca_WNV-iyjiplHoLx9JfTPFPwGZUX9v4D88VRF3UTC1vlD7asV1jcReKwRg1h8_yqDDe5UUOD9orAZSBojroqBbL7oYk3s40O/w640-h350/P4280494.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjCN3TyZYBFO5V6kMP4N9nd_ua1Od0zCVWPyXrse6_hbnuGdf-P7hU58APoCMIioSeHHyzyzGVDUH_UYJ_gAPWUqk8IMMdFRUMCraT2GZUTwP8tnygC08CfJ3_SOqvyisMwJIjHKn5_nwXyOeL8oFNCdglqxEnbAaFvAsnIO-bfysi1Ak8F34rbzdX/s992/P4280501.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="581" data-original-width="992" height="374" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjCN3TyZYBFO5V6kMP4N9nd_ua1Od0zCVWPyXrse6_hbnuGdf-P7hU58APoCMIioSeHHyzyzGVDUH_UYJ_gAPWUqk8IMMdFRUMCraT2GZUTwP8tnygC08CfJ3_SOqvyisMwJIjHKn5_nwXyOeL8oFNCdglqxEnbAaFvAsnIO-bfysi1Ak8F34rbzdX/w640-h374/P4280501.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">It was a picture perfect day. The azure sky crisscrossed by high contrails. Were were now at the apogee of the cruise, and in the morning would start making our way back to Oban. But we'd have two more islands to visit along the way: Canna of Columba and Mull of the mountains.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc-AB9FO9v0Zi3c-yj3nVdz3SLtBPyMH1YrwO8SkPH0rlsYFMtcaRi2F0fl7axHMOX4UxI_nwbshwq1C17Q_V_9Pj8zD8975_7bshZkV0vnOM-CpRXNlQHbDSC6c3E-mslceBuIQjj9x6o3mR-x9yYuxmL4YCVjV6_G1cyfiloFlaq7JOrCtvCe5rD/s992/P4290518Pan.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="458" data-original-width="992" height="296" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc-AB9FO9v0Zi3c-yj3nVdz3SLtBPyMH1YrwO8SkPH0rlsYFMtcaRi2F0fl7axHMOX4UxI_nwbshwq1C17Q_V_9Pj8zD8975_7bshZkV0vnOM-CpRXNlQHbDSC6c3E-mslceBuIQjj9x6o3mR-x9yYuxmL4YCVjV6_G1cyfiloFlaq7JOrCtvCe5rD/w640-h296/P4290518Pan.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>Marc Calhounhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01337842920912493787noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1540061331447361610.post-60439803121510789902022-05-22T15:42:00.000-07:002022-05-22T15:42:16.468-07:00The Adventures of Hjalmar Bjorge - Season 5, Episode 3<div style="text-align: center;"><b><i>The Continuing Adventures of Hjalmar Bjorge<br />Season 5 - Episode 3 - Scarp to the Monachs</i></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><b>Exploring the Isles of the West Cruise April 18-May 2, 2022</b></i></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">After our wedding surprise in the Sound of Scarp, we set off for the Flannans. They lie 20 miles west of Lewis, and are home to a large gannetry. There had been a monastic hermitage there 1200 years ago, and its three beehive cells are in remarkably good shape. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9YSUG0H-9HBVNSijpXiYzKPAC7BZewnS-iZNEl5K1C4N6KFUowQfSTT704QsbH48lEIhWam2DdS2MXejXFuz0nCum40qpo-Xd-HU3FC7QUddDRqWyMOjlwshjgzuGqpxjIbEIMO07dwHAlyMK_TTGj0HnLZBTGL-KFDaddiDEmDFXZ16T8FjKGbJq/s992/P4270295Edited.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="526" data-original-width="992" height="340" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9YSUG0H-9HBVNSijpXiYzKPAC7BZewnS-iZNEl5K1C4N6KFUowQfSTT704QsbH48lEIhWam2DdS2MXejXFuz0nCum40qpo-Xd-HU3FC7QUddDRqWyMOjlwshjgzuGqpxjIbEIMO07dwHAlyMK_TTGj0HnLZBTGL-KFDaddiDEmDFXZ16T8FjKGbJq/w640-h340/P4270295Edited.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">We motored into the sheltered bay below the lighthouse island. The tide was low, and we could see that the landing platform, and the stairs that ascend the island from it, were high above the waterline. It can be dangerous to get ashore here, and people have been injured in the attempt. On our 2019 trip we were able to land, but only after setting a rope so we could pull ourselves up to the beginning of the stairs. We did not have the crew complement to set a rope this time, so were unable to land. See this post for photos of the visit in 2019: <a href="https://marccalhoun.blogspot.com/2019/08/the-adventures-of-hjalmar-bjorge-season_12.html" target="_blank">https://marccalhoun.blogspot.com/2019/08/the-adventures-of-hjalmar-bjorge-season_12.html</a>.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdRpHEDaBItapo-52KmX85wNyjNYB7CVQbUQkmFg0TKqf4aACB5KeBA5-lMqxYoV03OG5Hc3WOxbDqSislUgk34yeN0AyBSPjgwhXgNkgoYtSW4DbhRlvOZeAbX92SCLP62LXILA8YuTJ45AnDf0wUMvStI9Tc9vnfkYNpJyy-ZhyuafH2tRMTiaxB/s992/P4270305.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="620" data-original-width="992" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdRpHEDaBItapo-52KmX85wNyjNYB7CVQbUQkmFg0TKqf4aACB5KeBA5-lMqxYoV03OG5Hc3WOxbDqSislUgk34yeN0AyBSPjgwhXgNkgoYtSW4DbhRlvOZeAbX92SCLP62LXILA8YuTJ45AnDf0wUMvStI9Tc9vnfkYNpJyy-ZhyuafH2tRMTiaxB/w640-h400/P4270305.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">Charlie then took us on a tour around to the infamous West Landing, where the three keepers were washed away. Depending on the swell, landing here can be easier than the east side. But the problem is that a large section of the steps that ascend the cliff have washed away, so without ropes there is no way to ascend.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjboUzdZjqAhdSYUsNihBVfs0-B_cvpvQPifWYrLZldB1EQXErlOADAU0nvgZCRaxbOvQ9T5ZRjtYmKh6Djc8gGJDetZ1Qn8SbABy1SNfneKGB15-7k0xOCZ0iu0-_RIHKoiabvxPwf58b_7lTLkk6-Bhvt5oDGcw4PPOE5kF8y3nPEgPfEaEvtSHAt/s992/P4270298Edited2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="992" height="388" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjboUzdZjqAhdSYUsNihBVfs0-B_cvpvQPifWYrLZldB1EQXErlOADAU0nvgZCRaxbOvQ9T5ZRjtYmKh6Djc8gGJDetZ1Qn8SbABy1SNfneKGB15-7k0xOCZ0iu0-_RIHKoiabvxPwf58b_7lTLkk6-Bhvt5oDGcw4PPOE5kF8y3nPEgPfEaEvtSHAt/w640-h388/P4270298Edited2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;">A look to the skyline above the landing showed two of the island's beehive cells, once home to monks, now home to puffins. The second photo below was taken in 2019, and shows the largest cell, a three-chambered oratory.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR7q-HeWgZdlvCnhqGvUXdJFzJMSedBA1QImLJBwJJwePQC4RwarBi9Cnyuh6Yij4b20T1tSTwHi43uAfrsShlYVg9qlROqLVV7mKDpn80wWOnOMmqgUaPCeD96lMeKMK8uGiqDb-g8McQn4dqCDdX5mODuOvAjx1mozuHXQ-U114VrTONN8z9--mv/s992/P4270330.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="557" data-original-width="992" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR7q-HeWgZdlvCnhqGvUXdJFzJMSedBA1QImLJBwJJwePQC4RwarBi9Cnyuh6Yij4b20T1tSTwHi43uAfrsShlYVg9qlROqLVV7mKDpn80wWOnOMmqgUaPCeD96lMeKMK8uGiqDb-g8McQn4dqCDdX5mODuOvAjx1mozuHXQ-U114VrTONN8z9--mv/w640-h360/P4270330.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizBrBLdtOYdaaiq3jtjpcS-CTR7mSehNMvABMq6fx_0uLpANkDn3hP6BxdqtfdYGA6Xk1SBdinHbmIwCKDu-h0ENh_Y21W2yUmJgL2qK9qVQxah7u9S762foP6nZLOHZQ35xrmABssobpAX6Lekw5HtOOqGwKY--y8ql6wMT9krKYk4mA7Hw-tZQCQ/s952/P7160703.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="607" data-original-width="952" height="408" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizBrBLdtOYdaaiq3jtjpcS-CTR7mSehNMvABMq6fx_0uLpANkDn3hP6BxdqtfdYGA6Xk1SBdinHbmIwCKDu-h0ENh_Y21W2yUmJgL2qK9qVQxah7u9S762foP6nZLOHZQ35xrmABssobpAX6Lekw5HtOOqGwKY--y8ql6wMT9krKYk4mA7Hw-tZQCQ/w640-h408/P7160703.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">We then headed further west to take a look at the Roareim Gannetry. On the way we encountered a pod of white-sided Atlantic dolphins, including a stunning albino dolphin. Truly amazing!</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4HARyQNc2HfEQ5CkuoJmMv3SOvR2IOIU3EzBXwROJ3qjUUi2Hg3NO8fif_2E0UHuO1veOTL57Owv5bVpa1FGUZrzSFMdzYXwGFiS7rh8MatCZetSRjbWaGmFWQkZZKlYK17o-ZDNF8pOMvmdNszJKc4E2b3np-kvvH5mzb5wrmCkWffXh3-7rfzbB/s992/P4270307.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="575" data-original-width="992" height="370" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4HARyQNc2HfEQ5CkuoJmMv3SOvR2IOIU3EzBXwROJ3qjUUi2Hg3NO8fif_2E0UHuO1veOTL57Owv5bVpa1FGUZrzSFMdzYXwGFiS7rh8MatCZetSRjbWaGmFWQkZZKlYK17o-ZDNF8pOMvmdNszJKc4E2b3np-kvvH5mzb5wrmCkWffXh3-7rfzbB/w640-h370/P4270307.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh6qrF0-DhWGOY6DLMYls2oF2-GtJe8whmiZeWPYO_oY2Qc4W9dO3T6DCM9Wy8lmMiEp-zCEtxOyeDWELGOZPL1n7_bT2avJQZMRAuuLO0QBmTRq4DOLn1joTsVDOyC35VM9l6joNQa6nOlfdmOxcuF_cFURXJhUQDRHrB7Zrb9vz_t7-W6YfZHPI_/s992/P4270361.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="485" data-original-width="992" height="312" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh6qrF0-DhWGOY6DLMYls2oF2-GtJe8whmiZeWPYO_oY2Qc4W9dO3T6DCM9Wy8lmMiEp-zCEtxOyeDWELGOZPL1n7_bT2avJQZMRAuuLO0QBmTRq4DOLn1joTsVDOyC35VM9l6joNQa6nOlfdmOxcuF_cFURXJhUQDRHrB7Zrb9vz_t7-W6YfZHPI_/w640-h312/P4270361.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Just off the Roareim Arch we came to a stop to admire the gannets filling the sky. It was raining guano, and a few of us took direct hits. (No matter how much I tried, I could not wash the gannet pooh stain out of my black coat until after I got home and put it through the wash twice). </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAS2-WXbBtENfwk1A6LUuiaNabFZFiZZXhAUZuR9j3SvG9IBMc1Cj4DUk5cehSV2R4MMW9KXoIoKz8uiXgj9ZFH9tyxzCuh0TPQVIsm2kBzHL3hHF7Nes59vuX4Zdk0wuEPmPq3q33N1U6ZbSYQbV2uESh3FWDyOZ3_Dab_v1ffmjVaJa2sw6yVLDu/s992/P4270367.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="726" data-original-width="992" height="468" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAS2-WXbBtENfwk1A6LUuiaNabFZFiZZXhAUZuR9j3SvG9IBMc1Cj4DUk5cehSV2R4MMW9KXoIoKz8uiXgj9ZFH9tyxzCuh0TPQVIsm2kBzHL3hHF7Nes59vuX4Zdk0wuEPmPq3q33N1U6ZbSYQbV2uESh3FWDyOZ3_Dab_v1ffmjVaJa2sw6yVLDu/w640-h468/P4270367.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">After a leisurely tour around the Flannans we turned south to make the five-hour journey down to the low-lying Monach Isles. We made an easy beach landing on Ceann Iar, the second largest of the island group. A sandbar once connected the Monachs to North Uist, but it was washed away during a storm in 1697.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOEipMzM2-UkSu9dOTirOxjWjZMJ_PyJb_BZTzVjO_CCyhBGEqoa_YdPSvmULTd07Pu0qyqI5m0yb36sEzWHQw3JcOjWrV28TzeBOxc9XP39GXgRUSP_H52RMfNrBnopN1LD2kt61LW38EFgheRX1bMhTa9A3umZfpRIsZ36TiXXfJ4SLL3DLNpYf8/s992/P4280386.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="617" data-original-width="992" height="398" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOEipMzM2-UkSu9dOTirOxjWjZMJ_PyJb_BZTzVjO_CCyhBGEqoa_YdPSvmULTd07Pu0qyqI5m0yb36sEzWHQw3JcOjWrV28TzeBOxc9XP39GXgRUSP_H52RMfNrBnopN1LD2kt61LW38EFgheRX1bMhTa9A3umZfpRIsZ36TiXXfJ4SLL3DLNpYf8/w640-h398/P4280386.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div>We wandered across the primrose-dotted island to its small shieling village, then made our way to the summit trig-pillar. At 50 feet above sea-level it was not much of a climb.<div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1Std-K0RB_6SRAETieYYR8NFiu4Vl7Hc4nLf5zZ-LqdBhE7gqksMEfGt0jWIPk8_z94ZVSM1cU2agXvfBrA9TySVam0huW6EC_cNiroyiGrG8Nopbp-wU6XkBFa--MOUPIF4vKsaxVqWuKM0oYG8mDJO0wVKdDlqwHhDNPXysFj5gIyGqyhaQP60F/s992/P4280389.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="530" data-original-width="992" height="342" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1Std-K0RB_6SRAETieYYR8NFiu4Vl7Hc4nLf5zZ-LqdBhE7gqksMEfGt0jWIPk8_z94ZVSM1cU2agXvfBrA9TySVam0huW6EC_cNiroyiGrG8Nopbp-wU6XkBFa--MOUPIF4vKsaxVqWuKM0oYG8mDJO0wVKdDlqwHhDNPXysFj5gIyGqyhaQP60F/w640-h342/P4280389.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2zLXXbsviqaiTirvWe_knY0hBeRn2VIk98qHf8dOPwktVnvT5kL3LCtTr3pgvyGn32FGKf4FDyZ3_3C5gzDBBOUIU3cE70yrmX0C_1DhmSLtikBBXbg2KWpWFHshd-PIS0DVpc64jXuMNlZUilFnUX0upCGiV7bxkCQ8q5HfCfjUrZ-TEDp4ixn7a/s992/P4280396.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="455" data-original-width="992" height="294" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2zLXXbsviqaiTirvWe_knY0hBeRn2VIk98qHf8dOPwktVnvT5kL3LCtTr3pgvyGn32FGKf4FDyZ3_3C5gzDBBOUIU3cE70yrmX0C_1DhmSLtikBBXbg2KWpWFHshd-PIS0DVpc64jXuMNlZUilFnUX0upCGiV7bxkCQ8q5HfCfjUrZ-TEDp4ixn7a/w640-h294/P4280396.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">We were unfortunate with the tide. When it's low you can cross over to the main island with its abandoned settlement, including a small museum in the old school. The following photo shows the flooded crossing.</div></div><div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgba3YH31JlROTN_IuKiGCS9Q0g8oHht-nxPCjywhguJIkyzmvPPAcij7OTKxRtFnPOsiTsNkIZFZzjp9-b0LkY-qCN91x-Sol4Bt3YTt2Dr2yyCaWHt2acHLd5cBl1EL10hwIUHcZX7gR7gIvOvNp4HXZMkw_SBZrNtLUtmKsvzuNhFsxv2hnreMWp/s992/P4280398.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="635" data-original-width="992" height="410" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgba3YH31JlROTN_IuKiGCS9Q0g8oHht-nxPCjywhguJIkyzmvPPAcij7OTKxRtFnPOsiTsNkIZFZzjp9-b0LkY-qCN91x-Sol4Bt3YTt2Dr2yyCaWHt2acHLd5cBl1EL10hwIUHcZX7gR7gIvOvNp4HXZMkw_SBZrNtLUtmKsvzuNhFsxv2hnreMWp/w640-h410/P4280398.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I took a group photo at the trig pillar, then we returned to the ship. As we did there was some suspense in the air. Would we make it to Mingulay the next day - another 50 miles to the south - before the weather changed?</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh21VC7ribABv6x8UWH5pKnLbeSedhMoarzuroupqB99ScTv4bidtZUvakIp_onBtWnEfM_o5vLa2EOMCKZZnfw6z_h78A_dtmdReQEsMq4L1WE-cy842H2FmyEVhtH9DMemVASVqodzHy0sN7l5TaVe9nlDlf4xK_zSKN7nbUz2ag0wkE8mke2MiAl/s992/P4280395.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="564" data-original-width="992" height="364" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh21VC7ribABv6x8UWH5pKnLbeSedhMoarzuroupqB99ScTv4bidtZUvakIp_onBtWnEfM_o5vLa2EOMCKZZnfw6z_h78A_dtmdReQEsMq4L1WE-cy842H2FmyEVhtH9DMemVASVqodzHy0sN7l5TaVe9nlDlf4xK_zSKN7nbUz2ag0wkE8mke2MiAl/w640-h364/P4280395.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYjEvEqQUw5M7AM2Z3hYdoCf1X9kC3No5GYvUPhrCJmioXin_eoXOSU0-sCSxjvd0FDXX-yCbS33adyTQ-VmzTC-LIwb4SDh6_7b633Y45bxaD2kYD0rtJWnonftGo6Z3ABqEmAxYAN6xxhkaBHAEYEeUTblbtlLtNwVDY9pxDBNPPOVSbDn3B4Wgi/s992/P4280402.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="524" data-original-width="992" height="338" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYjEvEqQUw5M7AM2Z3hYdoCf1X9kC3No5GYvUPhrCJmioXin_eoXOSU0-sCSxjvd0FDXX-yCbS33adyTQ-VmzTC-LIwb4SDh6_7b633Y45bxaD2kYD0rtJWnonftGo6Z3ABqEmAxYAN6xxhkaBHAEYEeUTblbtlLtNwVDY9pxDBNPPOVSbDn3B4Wgi/w640-h338/P4280402.jpg" width="640" /></a></div></div>Marc Calhounhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01337842920912493787noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1540061331447361610.post-25938973542815433612022-05-17T13:18:00.001-07:002022-05-17T13:18:58.905-07:00The Adventures of Hjalmar Bjorge - Season 5, Episode 2<div style="text-align: center;"><b><i>The Continuing Adventures of Hjalmar Bjorge</i></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Season 5 - Episode 2 - Isay to Scarp</i></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><b>Exploring the Isles of the West Cruise April 18-May 2, 2022</b></i></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">After our exploration of Isay we steamed across the Minch under cloudy skies. After passing through the Sound of Harris, Charlie took us up past Taransay and into the Sound of Scarp. As we passed Huisinis, on the Harris side of the Sound, we could see the Stiomar cutting across the Harris slopes. It is a thrilling, steep path, that leads from Husinis over to historic Cravadale. (For a description of that walk see this link: <a href="https://marccalhoun.blogspot.com/search?q=cravadale" target="_blank"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Cravadale Walk</span></a>). Most who take the path do not go to Cravadale, as a side trail halfway along branches off to Traigh Mheilein, one of the most stunning beaches in the Hebrides. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">When I'd hiked the path in 2013 I did not take the detour to the beach, as I was exhausted. Little did I know that we'd be visiting that glorious beach the following day, and in doing so encounter the most surprising thing I've ever seen on a remote island beach. In the following photo you can just barely see the Stiomar path halfway up the hillside.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAm09DrUjGVFQysctrWDqWRJJwXAGa6VqIFq3egPwVe9utU5kakTxgy8TdVJyz5bSDiY8dEv-iaLZ2iIZm1ykOYm8KUxXT0Hebfg6l-kGsKnKPsodHZ9I1zoNJ6QVbfU2EA1QPW-bCjrEpo1S2gdcTZ_8RkvwQV8kil5JHwuLlo7nQXRsdTLEIfXtD/s992/P42602022.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="535" data-original-width="992" height="346" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAm09DrUjGVFQysctrWDqWRJJwXAGa6VqIFq3egPwVe9utU5kakTxgy8TdVJyz5bSDiY8dEv-iaLZ2iIZm1ykOYm8KUxXT0Hebfg6l-kGsKnKPsodHZ9I1zoNJ6QVbfU2EA1QPW-bCjrEpo1S2gdcTZ_8RkvwQV8kil5JHwuLlo7nQXRsdTLEIfXtD/w640-h346/P42602022.gif" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="text-align: justify;">We anchored for the night just off the Scarp settlement, which saw its last full-time residents in 1971. The following morning we were greeted with sunshine and mostly clear skies that would be with us for several days. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvNyglwXB8gn12RyNGJLDvst1XotxzNbpmtEcJnQPmArwhWiPJ2qZFMCTO3zc3pdO62Arvd_caG5i0npqs4dAYqm-AcvnPEM4s3GW0o-k0NfTLibxWYuSst0q1WYcbHDSYeyuoDTD79hPfKKLE41dCTDUcT9COunnfDVwacZHbsVXyDADYEYda0vLM/s992/P4260274.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="409" data-original-width="992" height="264" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvNyglwXB8gn12RyNGJLDvst1XotxzNbpmtEcJnQPmArwhWiPJ2qZFMCTO3zc3pdO62Arvd_caG5i0npqs4dAYqm-AcvnPEM4s3GW0o-k0NfTLibxWYuSst0q1WYcbHDSYeyuoDTD79hPfKKLE41dCTDUcT9COunnfDVwacZHbsVXyDADYEYda0vLM/w640-h264/P4260274.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><div>After landing on Scarp I led the group through the blackhouse settlement of North Town, and then to the old shop, post office, and burial ground. </div><div><br /></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXwPVig-mRc65fSRZ39UsoEGQT3tUVw2iE6Ox7hySCky-YlQDS1lgSZ2mc0RD6FcVfFR1wR-ZJwDVfsxr_pYJqaMm_mm3cuicRqSeESWpgcmMnptcwY7kT4nZEORb0Xg8uhjIWabXqJw92x7JXVDcIqJY0MUUWNoHsJ30-4zTgfPDbhcsJ7qnCv-FV/s992/P4260215.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="634" data-original-width="992" height="410" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXwPVig-mRc65fSRZ39UsoEGQT3tUVw2iE6Ox7hySCky-YlQDS1lgSZ2mc0RD6FcVfFR1wR-ZJwDVfsxr_pYJqaMm_mm3cuicRqSeESWpgcmMnptcwY7kT4nZEORb0Xg8uhjIWabXqJw92x7JXVDcIqJY0MUUWNoHsJ30-4zTgfPDbhcsJ7qnCv-FV/w640-h410/P4260215.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjytPB7fZ3vAiG0DYpMgdTi6gwdrfHxNsJeMnHEQ612rboMZi81psmHZ8JJngu9fN1yofogbP3HEXzz9BANbPIerS_99lm45oDKp6SAt-VtIanFd_GsWbUVeUeOiewtBs6tMrY_THPNip-J36Ws4IKRJzlvv5dsD5mrqfkDBSjY-t6DrqRb-E0LIu6i/s992/P4260217.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="611" data-original-width="992" height="394" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjytPB7fZ3vAiG0DYpMgdTi6gwdrfHxNsJeMnHEQ612rboMZi81psmHZ8JJngu9fN1yofogbP3HEXzz9BANbPIerS_99lm45oDKp6SAt-VtIanFd_GsWbUVeUeOiewtBs6tMrY_THPNip-J36Ws4IKRJzlvv5dsD5mrqfkDBSjY-t6DrqRb-E0LIu6i/w640-h394/P4260217.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_qw3NI0QJOqEekbHhQ0mO-gqxNV_ef4Pd5k9lqMx2ImuefMQyRfT5H19d6iVKw0T9_dtCV6gSMMI7YtiOgkH09x4dY_j15OMUO7ScwJej4XagNxUnulXPKP4zqXJ8jr1SPkazTXlFY0FVlua6kO5i-6nI88GIuhCq31WqcyQd8DjCL9ZI5FER8w4s/s992/IMG_0183.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="614" data-original-width="992" height="396" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_qw3NI0QJOqEekbHhQ0mO-gqxNV_ef4Pd5k9lqMx2ImuefMQyRfT5H19d6iVKw0T9_dtCV6gSMMI7YtiOgkH09x4dY_j15OMUO7ScwJej4XagNxUnulXPKP4zqXJ8jr1SPkazTXlFY0FVlua6kO5i-6nI88GIuhCq31WqcyQd8DjCL9ZI5FER8w4s/w640-h396/IMG_0183.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWxNN97xsnY-2QSL0fxFWBsc8Dox-GlSDymP83MgAT-xEC8G4W19GjAkbaejV5LFY8xkJDnhB-OKU8ouPLBTGuW1Qm7-P2lgunh3ndZvqURodFH_VSaRYGSnUwhb7YKKlQUHcp_IlDz7SMNk9sZGbI2NItwMKaar2OLWYY48yxQWPMj-PkCo7ieWZ7/s992/P4260247.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="693" data-original-width="992" height="448" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWxNN97xsnY-2QSL0fxFWBsc8Dox-GlSDymP83MgAT-xEC8G4W19GjAkbaejV5LFY8xkJDnhB-OKU8ouPLBTGuW1Qm7-P2lgunh3ndZvqURodFH_VSaRYGSnUwhb7YKKlQUHcp_IlDz7SMNk9sZGbI2NItwMKaar2OLWYY48yxQWPMj-PkCo7ieWZ7/w640-h448/P4260247.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">We then hiked up to the old schoolhouse, which is still in the process of falling down. When I first visited Scarp, in 2004, the roof was intact. But instead of scholars, a large class of sheep was sheltering inside. A while back the owners put a bit of money into the structure, complete with flush toilets. But they did nothing to improve the roof. Needless to say, winter winds took the roof, and the building won't last much longer.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBoBJMnqrB14pBXZoO2foxoGC8krvfeHQPd71EgbXyjSTl-JpsCQGBBfoXKYNVPOonRz4B_5DHsVQckJ-BAKDOlPvsHl78cbwTB9StjYc5u4yo1aG1ccrXoDWUJowgMhhfVCrBw3rwjr4si4yxeAa2ILp66AWYwN3WQp6fyrjzO0GYg2mgkPSiFvze/s992/IMGP1735.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="603" data-original-width="992" height="390" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBoBJMnqrB14pBXZoO2foxoGC8krvfeHQPd71EgbXyjSTl-JpsCQGBBfoXKYNVPOonRz4B_5DHsVQckJ-BAKDOlPvsHl78cbwTB9StjYc5u4yo1aG1ccrXoDWUJowgMhhfVCrBw3rwjr4si4yxeAa2ILp66AWYwN3WQp6fyrjzO0GYg2mgkPSiFvze/w640-h390/IMGP1735.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">Before leaving Scarp we stopped in to see Brian and Shiela Harper, who have been spending their springs and summers on the island for many years. They are a lovely couple, and it was a delight to see them again over a cup of tea. (See this link for more on Scarp and the Harpers: <a href="https://marccalhoun.blogspot.com/search?q=Brian+harper" target="_blank"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Scarp Posts</span></a>.)</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjixaK0WjNqPP-QgBpagLrkKTrqONBR5WneEztKgcGxVZ7DsuX6uCoWV8Pwm-1_I-klnDeWW7gSMPrn3_TaXVCo4rNk4sL71eXypmB-yHVzb9Zfj7kWsOVDJUqzLvJiRUXEY_IZLrcEBDf4bfPqm2VDavdfiqORJvV2dDTIntcUxjcT6nTn_JNj1EsP/s992/P4260253.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="677" data-original-width="992" height="436" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjixaK0WjNqPP-QgBpagLrkKTrqONBR5WneEztKgcGxVZ7DsuX6uCoWV8Pwm-1_I-klnDeWW7gSMPrn3_TaXVCo4rNk4sL71eXypmB-yHVzb9Zfj7kWsOVDJUqzLvJiRUXEY_IZLrcEBDf4bfPqm2VDavdfiqORJvV2dDTIntcUxjcT6nTn_JNj1EsP/w640-h436/P4260253.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">Brian then told me something surprising: a wedding was going to happen that afternoon on Traigh Mheilein beach, just opposite Scarp on Harris. So when Charlie offered to run us over to the beach for a couple of hours, some of the group decided to come along.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><div>Magnificent does not come close to describing Traigh Mheilein: a mile-long stretch of blinding-white shell sand. What few visitors it does see, have to climb the Stiomar from Huisinis, a mile-long hike along that path that climbs 300 feet as it hugs the steep slopes of Huiseabhal Beag. (Most are not as fortunate as we were to be set ashore from a boat.) The following photo shows the view from the path looking down to Huisinis.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx5JGb7VH-ThcnPrL123WqhGl7S4iOtYT-p_XYbiKpsMA18mt_t9qovXrf7NUlnMAV7gbt503Mb0lJAFWBbG1ahlzUsH7QCTlfI8QfxYOGHBkOrmW7Wo_9e1yq5BKEeE6Wff-cRWU8E7EYcmwigOn7aSPIg8r27NiAUQzWzM_AiZRqgMmEfynue4Wc/s992/IMG_0630.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="617" data-original-width="992" height="398" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx5JGb7VH-ThcnPrL123WqhGl7S4iOtYT-p_XYbiKpsMA18mt_t9qovXrf7NUlnMAV7gbt503Mb0lJAFWBbG1ahlzUsH7QCTlfI8QfxYOGHBkOrmW7Wo_9e1yq5BKEeE6Wff-cRWU8E7EYcmwigOn7aSPIg8r27NiAUQzWzM_AiZRqgMmEfynue4Wc/w640-h398/IMG_0630.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUIU4g9lSZQ9VsWgS3H5rNvt5_wlLNZsylPp80dTnNxKSgYx7kTOOhsC9G9zFoAxS8ub_RrzQyvqCDoEGQOUiGI2qrzzoChfD7_XI3pNlDBjtqOeG6bhkFeCkNurJ3TSWjUhGi56oi_6g87jQBnNBtyBBsDPohZowNQCRmugrJUjLITDoZyu_XH9K1/s992/IMG_0209.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="545" data-original-width="992" height="352" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUIU4g9lSZQ9VsWgS3H5rNvt5_wlLNZsylPp80dTnNxKSgYx7kTOOhsC9G9zFoAxS8ub_RrzQyvqCDoEGQOUiGI2qrzzoChfD7_XI3pNlDBjtqOeG6bhkFeCkNurJ3TSWjUhGi56oi_6g87jQBnNBtyBBsDPohZowNQCRmugrJUjLITDoZyu_XH9K1/w640-h352/IMG_0209.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><div>It was an entrancing walk along the beach to its north end, from where an easy hike over the dunes led to Loch na Cleabhaig. In the following photo the lone house of Cravadale can be seen on the far side of the loch.</div></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKwFKYyQ8d8VhmntgcqyKF8NWLR60Hsff_xsKmFqh-srv15aMB6alYki99O8tT_GJHkG3HK3SKrLSPF9pz_knBGAhJm3JX-Ec1sezpIsKgIDnrkRzYvnvx2fF5TGBx67KlwS7NGAmzzHQhw_s_7438ljTD6I4vwqk0QYvxheba4Wg9hqJ8t2Ftl2uU/s992/P4260256.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="624" data-original-width="992" height="402" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKwFKYyQ8d8VhmntgcqyKF8NWLR60Hsff_xsKmFqh-srv15aMB6alYki99O8tT_GJHkG3HK3SKrLSPF9pz_knBGAhJm3JX-Ec1sezpIsKgIDnrkRzYvnvx2fF5TGBx67KlwS7NGAmzzHQhw_s_7438ljTD6I4vwqk0QYvxheba4Wg9hqJ8t2Ftl2uU/w640-h402/P4260256.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">From the high ground above the beach I had a birds-eye view over the Sound of Scarp, with Hjalmar Bjorge resting peacefully at anchor.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWMs-PwNBnTKkj2SOB9Ktga3SNRGI0TaR7GWuo3S1QQs7_dhqHqoVx2-H4v1h9CCz-JM_LHVtD0ZxalauXfWUD6rwnjlSs852gO9GmHiZFXlbPRlTCHgpCfysE6t3TAfmGgUAg-QQNqHvnFgJxUXs_x2ZTlyyuoUCA9HpJsMPcNM28caBAJNb8AmIz/s992/IMG_0216.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="575" data-original-width="992" height="370" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWMs-PwNBnTKkj2SOB9Ktga3SNRGI0TaR7GWuo3S1QQs7_dhqHqoVx2-H4v1h9CCz-JM_LHVtD0ZxalauXfWUD6rwnjlSs852gO9GmHiZFXlbPRlTCHgpCfysE6t3TAfmGgUAg-QQNqHvnFgJxUXs_x2ZTlyyuoUCA9HpJsMPcNM28caBAJNb8AmIz/w640-h370/IMG_0216.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">When I returned to the beach I had a vision: A lovely young woman in a flowing white dress slowly walking across the white sands, accompanied by a tall man in a kilt. (As it turned out, she'd injured her leg on the hike out.) From a discrete distance, I took a photo of the wedding party before Charlie came to return us to Hjalmar Bjorge. While he was ashore, Charlie was approached by someone from the wedding party, who asked if it would be possible to return the bride to Huisinis in the RIB, so that she would not have to make the strenuous return hike with a bad leg. Charlie was happy to oblige. Hjalmar Bjorge, a former rescue boat, had come to the rescue once again.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><div><div><br /></div></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHugcUCHvsQLEOVQt1cUEW_f9PKMY3SKRwqg3adqBH3oks9LFXPIb9as8sxVMi0dMBs32_9ZTmQaB7Ls5Tg0BPWbhN2SGPZInsUW_geYz3R-MfJl3pCu6ZIQvG3VbcX-mVT3dDEpjgpnsOAo41UkNjn8S9rV_cNviI-201G_jkmSBqSOLz_fmNc8v9/s992/P4260265.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="472" data-original-width="992" height="304" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHugcUCHvsQLEOVQt1cUEW_f9PKMY3SKRwqg3adqBH3oks9LFXPIb9as8sxVMi0dMBs32_9ZTmQaB7Ls5Tg0BPWbhN2SGPZInsUW_geYz3R-MfJl3pCu6ZIQvG3VbcX-mVT3dDEpjgpnsOAo41UkNjn8S9rV_cNviI-201G_jkmSBqSOLz_fmNc8v9/w640-h304/P4260265.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">Back on the ship, we sat on the deck to watch the ceremony, which took a very long time; a drone flying around to take photos of the event: Charlie patiently waiting on the beach for over an hour.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR_Ajf7-ZvK-KFTtmO3ffqjykWnZWg6VmMVehoUCTfkqnp9vJZA5aum3sNhBKAbGR68l_mNXx2s5EXj3x5p6DUrWyXiri5gfQjaof3loinCbjh5KYuYYd9S6TJyx9VdaHC8b4YYuj2Rg5Hh6_yMcT3Yl9CxZ5kVDv0X4PxKAqQdwNPZs2HT_k08tq9/s992/P4260267.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="490" data-original-width="992" height="316" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR_Ajf7-ZvK-KFTtmO3ffqjykWnZWg6VmMVehoUCTfkqnp9vJZA5aum3sNhBKAbGR68l_mNXx2s5EXj3x5p6DUrWyXiri5gfQjaof3loinCbjh5KYuYYd9S6TJyx9VdaHC8b4YYuj2Rg5Hh6_yMcT3Yl9CxZ5kVDv0X4PxKAqQdwNPZs2HT_k08tq9/w640-h316/P4260267.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU8iEkePvoQVxunUN9bI__lAEuKntSgvrjCTxi3FeC_yxpH5R_TSQ6k7giluMF2jEiTqHOG0eIxpDmM9CKCYQUE_uxxlIBfsMgrUXzT6zIsZ9tzAu5kPgRFKj_JgRYiQ6BDLY6P7izVw5q2z0jzrV58EdF_ejxPCQsprLoLCiq4pbpZBcs7iuuePG3/s992/Wedding.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="627" data-original-width="992" height="404" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU8iEkePvoQVxunUN9bI__lAEuKntSgvrjCTxi3FeC_yxpH5R_TSQ6k7giluMF2jEiTqHOG0eIxpDmM9CKCYQUE_uxxlIBfsMgrUXzT6zIsZ9tzAu5kPgRFKj_JgRYiQ6BDLY6P7izVw5q2z0jzrV58EdF_ejxPCQsprLoLCiq4pbpZBcs7iuuePG3/w640-h404/Wedding.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>All in all, it was one of the most unusual, and delightful, Hebridean days I've ever had: I'd seen old friends, showed off one of my favourite islands, and witnessed a beach wedding. We spent the night anchored in the sound, and in the morning set off for the Flannan Isles.</div><div><br /></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Three men alive on Flannan Isle,</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Who thought on three men dead.</i></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh0JuQ2o5y6siwFGbTTU5xG7HiKKZ_gQAqHPapVkxExMpVPl1HWvvXkBO-sBcCbQfB6koIDJq6XvkDtkcb88KL7tmPfYfm6o0uqjYAoXcI6RoxnnnciXXM8ZRPl4FaWYG5BssKbXk7VkO2BQN4oDlOVBIcdFBzEdvYR_ooqZuziXL-JYLes5dgVG-n/s992/P4270295.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="504" data-original-width="992" height="325" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh0JuQ2o5y6siwFGbTTU5xG7HiKKZ_gQAqHPapVkxExMpVPl1HWvvXkBO-sBcCbQfB6koIDJq6XvkDtkcb88KL7tmPfYfm6o0uqjYAoXcI6RoxnnnciXXM8ZRPl4FaWYG5BssKbXk7VkO2BQN4oDlOVBIcdFBzEdvYR_ooqZuziXL-JYLes5dgVG-n/w640-h325/P4270295.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>Marc Calhounhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01337842920912493787noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1540061331447361610.post-54732559031779717202022-05-12T11:05:00.001-07:002022-05-12T23:52:57.663-07:00The Adventures of Hjalmar Bjorge - Season 5, Episode 1<div style="text-align: center;"><b><i>The Continuing Adventures of Hjalmar Bjorge</i></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Season 5 - Episode 1 - Oban to Isay</i></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><b>Exploring the Isles of the West Cruise April 18-May 2, 2022</b></i></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">After being cancelled for two years, Season 5 has finally arrived. The cancellations were publicly blamed on COVID, but the true story is that the guide had demanded an exorbitant raise, free beer, and a total ban on fish pie. He finally relented when the skipper discovered the guide had an overdue four-figure bar bill and threatened legal action. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">And so, after a 30-month absence, I was back aboard Hjalmar Bjorge for my fifth guide trip. We were very fortunate - the sun was shining and the sea calm - as we set out from Oban. Aboard were seven guests, which made for a small, intimate group, as my previous guide trips have had up to 12 guests. Four of the group, Clare, Debbie, Wolfgang, and Nigel, were frequent flyers. New to Hjalmar Bjorge were Peter, Liz, and Anne, and the crew consisted of skipper Charlie McLeish, First Mate Mel, and chef Steve Milne.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">We had a smooth three-hour sail up the Sound of Mull to settle in for the night in Glenmore Bay on the south side of Ardnamurachan. The next morning, Skipper Charlie took us up the Sea of the Hebrides to take a look at the Sanday Stacks (by Canna). Puffins are usually found there, but nary a one was in sight. A bit of a disappointment, but the massive number of puffins we'd see on Mingulay in a few days would make up for that.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrmqSZvNjLbsNOqUJ01rOWGJjS7cKyXRSYboCB_P-gBD8ukh2GFiKZNvdW-m8ZOw5-o11mt1BSP7YRIenlHNgN8GnhYt4rnCwRIYfZ6VhMfIpWh7OkBaBu-H-L8tUQL68tqZNwwwMyZk8SEweXNnT0snSJcP-n2CU0jqQyeNow8FqTgpOgABkaDl7A/s992/IMG_0141.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="552" data-original-width="992" height="356" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrmqSZvNjLbsNOqUJ01rOWGJjS7cKyXRSYboCB_P-gBD8ukh2GFiKZNvdW-m8ZOw5-o11mt1BSP7YRIenlHNgN8GnhYt4rnCwRIYfZ6VhMfIpWh7OkBaBu-H-L8tUQL68tqZNwwwMyZk8SEweXNnT0snSJcP-n2CU0jqQyeNow8FqTgpOgABkaDl7A/w640-h356/IMG_0141.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">The sea was slightly choppy as we motored up the west of Skye past the iconic Neist Point lighthouse. Along the way, several puffins, Manx shearwaters, and razorbills paid us a visit.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2lMD6LLM199Cai81k_CjSX1LLIjNAJmvssh3FPL3TZT61f7cgOq5UmfqNolaIFyh2eQMQlERnmc9boVJS7GNS_7lFoHqe5DpSn8GsbKuvvIZHq5hplBkLdccPY8Hk1Ky7QPgsobkLf0eI-0Wy9cUuDOEEEXC9NdO51moSeYY1RMNsgfTrT0gxlERK/s992/IMG_0155.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="523" data-original-width="992" height="338" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2lMD6LLM199Cai81k_CjSX1LLIjNAJmvssh3FPL3TZT61f7cgOq5UmfqNolaIFyh2eQMQlERnmc9boVJS7GNS_7lFoHqe5DpSn8GsbKuvvIZHq5hplBkLdccPY8Hk1Ky7QPgsobkLf0eI-0Wy9cUuDOEEEXC9NdO51moSeYY1RMNsgfTrT0gxlERK/w640-h338/IMG_0155.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">Our first island destination was Isay in Skye's Loch Dunvegan. Isay (Ìosaigh, Old Norse for House Island) appeared as we rounded the Vaternish Peninsula. We took a look at the conditions near Isay, but it was too rough to anchor, so Charlie motored us towards the Skye shore to anchor for the night off the village of Stein.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbULEOGB4dBz8aOpS0eOdQ4sO0WOwCGXdGnqlGeqk0vU_W6yHWEgBbbJU_zxF3ZnAndhBF0X7U0GDN2AQqvYPHmdOvi066vCOlAP3OFp4niJTZ0ot0VsE-cc3_fBhOiv67CqiFz-7PZn8vno0Z4EhSYU_fKbpI31jG42LzuL6kyUmn8a8fs33s_92k/s992/IMG_0157.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="550" data-original-width="992" height="354" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbULEOGB4dBz8aOpS0eOdQ4sO0WOwCGXdGnqlGeqk0vU_W6yHWEgBbbJU_zxF3ZnAndhBF0X7U0GDN2AQqvYPHmdOvi066vCOlAP3OFp4niJTZ0ot0VsE-cc3_fBhOiv67CqiFz-7PZn8vno0Z4EhSYU_fKbpI31jG42LzuL6kyUmn8a8fs33s_92k/w640-h354/IMG_0157.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">After breakfast the following morning we headed over to Isay. There are two reasons Isay is well known to those who love Scottish islands. The first is because of the following passage from Boswell’s journal of his trip to the Hebrides in 1773:</div><div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i>There is a beautiful little island in the Loch of Dunvegan, called Isay. MacLeod said he would give it to Mr. Johnson, on condition of his residing on it three months in the year, nay, one month. Mr. Johnson was highly pleased with the fancy… He talked a great deal of this island—how he would build a house, how he would fortify it, how he would have cannon, how he would plant, how he would sally out and take the isle of Muck.</i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">The second reason this little island is fairly well known is that it was owned, for a short time, by the singer Donovan. Donovan bought Isay, the two neighbouring isles of Mingay and Clett, and some nearby land on Skye in the late 1960s. A lot of what you read says he established a commune on Isay itself, which is not true. He did establish a commune in the area, but he pretty much glosses over it in his autobiography, <i>The Hurdy Gurdy Man</i>. In a chapter entitled <i>Lord of the Isles</i>, Donovan describes how he met MacDonald of the Isles in Stein to discuss buying land, including the island of Isay. The chapter opens with the following:</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i>My thoughts were drifting to the wild and windy land of my birth. I had some crazy notion of starting a commune with my artist friends, to pick up the threads of an early dream, to be a poet and painter. I felt that musical fame had led me astray.</i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">We anchored off Isay in a spot sheltered by the smaller islands of Mingay and Clett. In the one song (that I know of) where Donovan mentions Isay, he also mentions these two small islands. The song, which was never formally released, is <i>And Clett Makes Three</i>, which you can listen to at this link: <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l7_Qy9lOcBI" target="_blank">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l7_Qy9lOcBI</a></div></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">We attempted to get ashore via the landing ladder used by the boats that make day trips from Dunvegan. I'd used this steep ladder the last time I landed on Isay, but ten years had passed, and time has taken its toll - the ladder was bent, slippy with seaweed, and looked scary - so we made an easy landing at the small beach just to the north.</div><div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTVw-llqrnTJ8L8vNXEJPH9iWgM_JdHe8v6sFc6vR4vVrnXB9t9dF_zAV8khJ7Ysxu08Afd0jusylc3q5u_VhD9Zy3PIYCdI1V_6LmBBPI5wmtTNqTkqcYAO-WP07-hrTaAOh7P4GGd1RCyoBIJ2Tz5y8T6gMZCESwHSI-O0cSgLaHXNQ7d473FED_/s992/P4250154.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="601" data-original-width="992" height="388" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTVw-llqrnTJ8L8vNXEJPH9iWgM_JdHe8v6sFc6vR4vVrnXB9t9dF_zAV8khJ7Ysxu08Afd0jusylc3q5u_VhD9Zy3PIYCdI1V_6LmBBPI5wmtTNqTkqcYAO-WP07-hrTaAOh7P4GGd1RCyoBIJ2Tz5y8T6gMZCESwHSI-O0cSgLaHXNQ7d473FED_/w640-h388/P4250154.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiornnsgKCGLCnZ5eCZ2_MYSU6sCDPeZq_h3hItGKolNdEI46h6ekTCPl73b3BWqwD970cHyN7RvTaNqKKWHD2TJiRuraj3D9Oz0hEckX2t-K2llTOlw8t2oHrRCRdoRRnDmWVO4EhrSYKF3Ri5xCR5mfJFpogxlcHKb26779LaKlDvL7i80-Pwi49B/s992/P4250161.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="593" data-original-width="992" height="382" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiornnsgKCGLCnZ5eCZ2_MYSU6sCDPeZq_h3hItGKolNdEI46h6ekTCPl73b3BWqwD970cHyN7RvTaNqKKWHD2TJiRuraj3D9Oz0hEckX2t-K2llTOlw8t2oHrRCRdoRRnDmWVO4EhrSYKF3Ri5xCR5mfJFpogxlcHKb26779LaKlDvL7i80-Pwi49B/w640-h382/P4250161.jpg" width="640" /></a></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggWyZTNUMczAGDYiuJnfHY2_zVFshBdSi53kCjWtukA9435nlhmfUgiA1Mq-89TavmJh1F6ew-LS_aPpadMvtWoFTJvE45edGCnK0SRRpYAzdc86bCCt_7IumrBWydVY8OxXSBrZWS6NDdhAJsKrSq30Il7-Dt7eaQEBeDXpvLWB4TnCc2fl3Ztrtn/s992/P4250157.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="503" data-original-width="992" height="324" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggWyZTNUMczAGDYiuJnfHY2_zVFshBdSi53kCjWtukA9435nlhmfUgiA1Mq-89TavmJh1F6ew-LS_aPpadMvtWoFTJvE45edGCnK0SRRpYAzdc86bCCt_7IumrBWydVY8OxXSBrZWS6NDdhAJsKrSq30Il7-Dt7eaQEBeDXpvLWB4TnCc2fl3Ztrtn/w640-h324/P4250157.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Once ashore, we hiked through the abandoned village, passing, one by one, a dozen ruined houses. Upwards of ninety people called Isay home in the nineteenth century when it had been a fishing station with a general store. The community came in 1830, made up of people evicted from Bracadale, fifteen miles away on Skye. But life on the island came to an end in 1860 when it was cleared for sheep.</div><div><div><br /></div><div>Here and there nettles and blue iris, but no people, greeted us as we explored the village. At the south end of the village we came to another string of houses, and below them stone fish traps could be seen on the foreshore.</div></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAo6Kt8qvghy2hS1Zj-E-SsOQjlIBPE5iO2kpFWq6VFASsySLdSrVAhwHVAvOfBjoFY5fvYcsdJ39loAj5fKxsyjBuX8WRxezvjVbdBw13iOQ0dmFRR_oCk4a2bxxJ_jr6oJzpBY3SlV5G4KpaRvAlqRs74dkTQOFCfuTT-TdrHRX27ys-eyF69zh8/s992/P4250163.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="561" data-original-width="992" height="362" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAo6Kt8qvghy2hS1Zj-E-SsOQjlIBPE5iO2kpFWq6VFASsySLdSrVAhwHVAvOfBjoFY5fvYcsdJ39loAj5fKxsyjBuX8WRxezvjVbdBw13iOQ0dmFRR_oCk4a2bxxJ_jr6oJzpBY3SlV5G4KpaRvAlqRs74dkTQOFCfuTT-TdrHRX27ys-eyF69zh8/w640-h362/P4250163.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">A bit past the end of the village we came to Isay House. It is an eerie-looking structure. The roof is missing, and the jagged and split gable ends looked like pincers pointing to the sky, lying in wait to clutch one of the gulls that soared overhead. Access to the first floor is via a grand, stone-balustered staircase. (The balusters have long since gone with the wind.) The staircase is ten feet across at the ground, gradually tapering as it rises to the threshold of what had been the reception room. No door blocks the entrance these days, and if you step through you will fall ten feet down into the rocky ground floor, as the house is now just a shell.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXg-FHL2xZm_m-hq4DGCrx97J4NCegL0USGR5Zu2uv4z-BVPBE_4HNCFAWJZ_Cp0CnSAyTDu_NNR90R3tENIeDVT47QQ8HXarw7xEOnKEWAeA10H-EFaOYyXyd42ioMPf11dIpqwt6VrwQShobLWFAaKRAkn-k42Ac22EO2c7IKFGUhGE32YpmAcly/s992/P4250171.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="623" data-original-width="992" height="402" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXg-FHL2xZm_m-hq4DGCrx97J4NCegL0USGR5Zu2uv4z-BVPBE_4HNCFAWJZ_Cp0CnSAyTDu_NNR90R3tENIeDVT47QQ8HXarw7xEOnKEWAeA10H-EFaOYyXyd42ioMPf11dIpqwt6VrwQShobLWFAaKRAkn-k42Ac22EO2c7IKFGUhGE32YpmAcly/w640-h402/P4250171.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><div style="text-align: justify;">We took turns climbing to the top of the staircase to look out over the hollow interior. If he had taken MacLeod up on his offer this could have been Samuel Johnson’s holiday home, from where he could have sallied forth to take Muck. But there was someone who stood here about fifty years ago that did decide to make Isay a holiday home of sorts, and that was Donovan. In his autobiography, he describes landing on Isay and sitting on tussocks of sea grass inside the ruin of Isay House when he decided to buy the property. He goes on to tell about establishing the commune in the winter of 1968 by buying ‘a few old gypsy caravans’. Gardens were planted, and ‘my friends and I had probably experienced the last wilderness of Europe before the coming tide of development’. He then writes briefly about the end of the commune. It was turning out to be expensive, and so he ‘sold the Isles to a Dutchman’.</div></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp2rJl3VXXY7DXodgUDvURwF1qlfQDzDDfZsmk87TYeOgnUgc8jWC6vjlPUupm6V-rLwpuuDJ-hyZ_donq1hpItGV0jsv3OzYsINOxvOtQdIhV853j9_DAZVhlPMvP2546N1rNelDZTUjWkYJAoe0eEpqB5VEBctcYHCuPnTO5Pm9QXmpLa7CUeXTM/s992/P4250172.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="638" data-original-width="992" height="412" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp2rJl3VXXY7DXodgUDvURwF1qlfQDzDDfZsmk87TYeOgnUgc8jWC6vjlPUupm6V-rLwpuuDJ-hyZ_donq1hpItGV0jsv3OzYsINOxvOtQdIhV853j9_DAZVhlPMvP2546N1rNelDZTUjWkYJAoe0eEpqB5VEBctcYHCuPnTO5Pm9QXmpLa7CUeXTM/w640-h412/P4250172.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilE-pk9nv3vcHyOLqdIiRSs_Co6R4G-dLJsX0CZ06qaRJ7Y91sYxa6HqcXV2bH0ZPjahivMv-8GCO8Tnt4WXKlbKyYr99FLpgwOVfVWQ9yvFiRzE2DAs27Lau9HQasew42tkqiuX4vzVY-fSiXw_g79vCXgDv4RPxAi0SzuLqYXk21l8FHtTe8WwSd/s992/P4250174.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="551" data-original-width="992" height="356" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilE-pk9nv3vcHyOLqdIiRSs_Co6R4G-dLJsX0CZ06qaRJ7Y91sYxa6HqcXV2bH0ZPjahivMv-8GCO8Tnt4WXKlbKyYr99FLpgwOVfVWQ9yvFiRzE2DAs27Lau9HQasew42tkqiuX4vzVY-fSiXw_g79vCXgDv4RPxAi0SzuLqYXk21l8FHtTe8WwSd/w640-h356/P4250174.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Something less picturesque happened in Isay House 400 years before Donovan's time. It was in 1592, when Ruairaidh MacAilein MacLeod, known as Nimheach (the venomous) lived here. MacLeod wanted his son to inherit Raasay and the lands of Gairloch, but his family was third in line for the inheritance. So Ruairaidh decided to host a banquet, and the families that stood in the way were invited. During dinner each attendee was invited to have a private word with him and, one by one, each was quietly murdered.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Tour of the island complete, I took a group photo, then everyone dispersed to wander for the remaining hour ashore. Pictured are: Top row - Clare, Peter, Ann and Debbie. Bottom row: Anne, Wolfgang, and Nigel. Over the coming week we'd get to know each other, and what a week it would be. Sitting there on Isay we had no idea of what marvelous weather awaited us - the sun shining down as we'd explore five more islands. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Our next stop would be Scarp, where Hjalmar Bjorge, a former rescue boat, would be called upon to rescue an injured bride from the white sands of Traigh Mheilein.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVqwL8QxTJCLXz2zuIvWtdvDsJhseF-V2rKd-Xex1olWLWVk5r5P1emYJy_WytFthcDNoqw57IdZS_zQmytOMNU9LcJTrm7ZOlG4VPm1tTcPam6v9I5mBjXnA4tj5vXha78NapbLHv6n7yjuRDzzaFV1RzCK2EkAT2sxjB05iAYhDT5evyHmQStk_H/s992/P4250176.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="744" data-original-width="992" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVqwL8QxTJCLXz2zuIvWtdvDsJhseF-V2rKd-Xex1olWLWVk5r5P1emYJy_WytFthcDNoqw57IdZS_zQmytOMNU9LcJTrm7ZOlG4VPm1tTcPam6v9I5mBjXnA4tj5vXha78NapbLHv6n7yjuRDzzaFV1RzCK2EkAT2sxjB05iAYhDT5evyHmQStk_H/w640-h480/P4250176.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><i>I see, you see, we’ll all be free,</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><i>Isay, Mingay, and Clett makes three.<br /><br /></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">‘Isay, Mingay, and Clett Makes Three’, Donovan (1970)</div></div>Marc Calhounhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01337842920912493787noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1540061331447361610.post-11944564321011492852021-11-04T12:35:00.001-07:002022-01-28T11:48:25.268-08:00Beehive Dwellings of the Hebrides - Book Review<p style="text-align: justify;">Note: I will be pausing the blog until May, when I hope to be able to share the stories of some new Hebridean adventures. </p><p style="text-align: center;">* * *</p><p style="text-align: justify;">The following review of <i>Beehive Dwellings of the Hebrides</i> appeared in the Stornoway Gazette. The review was written by Frank Rennie, who has allowed me to reproduce it here. The book can be purchased via the following link: <a href="https://acairbooks.com/product/books/non-fiction-books/nature-non-fiction-books/beehive-dwellings-of-the-hebrides/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Beehive Dwellings of the Hebrides</span></a></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-4k9AkzLvO5GD7GLo_g1NhA52go2g0n3DNzBCA-cGXDAIBbUUCl1u2H_dUiKYNk-TsAcqwMtGazF4S9VjVEMV0pRd58FQAAFmq5-6AtTCZoq6l9_np0BUnXiSRZHdDR-x7Ct-m1Cfx1I/s966/Cover.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="966" data-original-width="709" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-4k9AkzLvO5GD7GLo_g1NhA52go2g0n3DNzBCA-cGXDAIBbUUCl1u2H_dUiKYNk-TsAcqwMtGazF4S9VjVEMV0pRd58FQAAFmq5-6AtTCZoq6l9_np0BUnXiSRZHdDR-x7Ct-m1Cfx1I/w470-h640/Cover.jpg" width="470" /></a></div><p style="text-align: center;">__________________________________________________________</p><p style="text-align: justify;"><i>Stornoway Gazette, August 29, 2021</i></p><p style="text-align: justify;">There sometimes appears a book that you return to again and again, browsing the pages to discover (and re-discover) the delights of the contents. This is one of those books. This is a book for armchair reading that will inspire you to check the weather forecast and look out your old walking boots, because you will want to investigate for yourself the gems listed in these pages. There has been very little written about the beehive structures of the Hebrides, and much of what has been published is in a format of academic writing that may capture the details, but often lacks the excitement and the essence of exploring these buildings in their natural landscape. This book by Marc Calhoun does both, superbly. At 260 pages of large format text and beautifully illustrated with 285 colour photographs, plus diagrams, and orientation sketch maps, this is undoubtedly the most comprehensive, and the most readable, account of the beehives yet produced. It is not a small, pocket-sized publication, but rather a well-documented account to spread out on your lap in your favourite armchair and savour the planning of innumerable journeys to view the locations for yourself.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">The text is written in an easy, informal style, but it takes the reader along on the journey of the expeditions and explorations of his 20+ years of visiting these strange structures. The beehive dwellings get their name from the curious domed structure of their dry-stone construction, like small, rounded, dumps of stone on the landscape of the moor and hill. In reality, they were used for several different purposes, from small summer shielings to storage rooms, or as cells of the early Celtic clerics, and possibly even some of them as the homes of the earliest hunter-gathering communities to settle in these islands. All of this contributes to a rich heritage in stone that, although resilient in its building components, is fragile in its construction and even more tenuous in its recorded history. In Lewis, Harris, and North Uist, in the scattered islands of the Inner Hebrides and the outliers of the far northwest, the author has visited, catalogued, and described a hundred or so beehive structures, giving each a short text accompanied by a precise grid reference and map description, and where relevant the identification number in the Canmore archaeological archive.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">You may be surprised to find that you can write so much about such simple ruins, but you would be mistaken. If you know the region at all, you will want to turn to your favourite location(s) (the list is presented geographically) and study how to find the beehives in that area, (if there are any, for these are uncommon relics of the past). There is a fair chance that, unless you have prior knowledge, you may have walked close by a tumbled-down beehive without realising it. If you are not familiar with the off-road parts of these islands, but you like walking and you have even a passing interest in heritage or archaeology, then you will likely next reach for your collection of OS maps to prepare for your next walking trip.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">One of the beauties of this publication is that not only is it the most comprehensive account to date of the beehive dwellings over the whole range of the Inner and Outer Hebrides, (including a detailed appendix giving the sources of further archaeological and historical information on each area) but that the author has personally visited each location. His enthusiasm and dedication to charting the history and geographical distribution of these ancient buildings is evident throughout the book. The text is sprinkled with passing references to the appearance of a structure, or the views from the door, or simply a memory of a visit, and these anecdotes bring to life the discoveries. As you flip through the pages, the wonderful colour photographs highlight different aspects of interest (archaeological, architectural, and historical) and provide an important record of this aspect of our heritage that has generally been neglected (apart from the dry descriptions in old academic journals). The author has a word of caution about visiting some of these sites, because the dry-stone walls are sometimes precariously balanced after years of neglect, but the locations of most of them mean that we are unlikely to see a flood of visitors seeking to clamber over the remains. Part of the attraction in these buildings is also part of the reason that they were built, and why they have lasted intact for so long, namely that they are generally far from roads and villages. Simply getting to the sites (and being able to find the structure once you get there!) will require more than a little effort, and is a large part of the reward for that effort. If you are not able to trek the moor to see them in real life, this book, for the first time, provides a satisfying proxy to enjoy the journey from your armchair.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">This is a scholarly publication that is a pleasure to read simply for fun. I am dipping into it, in no particular order, and the multiple joys that this book contains are suggesting not one, but many day trips and island walks that will combine physical and mental stimulation in the outdoors during the coming months. This book will be available for consultation on my coffee table for quite some time before it gets archived on my bookshelf.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">Marc Calhoun <i>Beehive dwellings of the Hebrides: A photographic record</i>. <br />Acair: Stornoway. ISBN 9-781-78907-077-4 £20.00</p>Marc Calhounhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01337842920912493787noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1540061331447361610.post-4778785447511974302021-01-25T11:32:00.000-08:002021-01-25T11:32:33.710-08:00One-handed Typing<p style="text-align: justify;">I have been a bit delinquent at blogging. I recently had shoulder surgery to repair a torn rotator cuff tendon. I was on a hike last year where we had to hold on to ropes for safety while descending some steep hillsides. I slipped and the rope saved me. But with the added weight of the pack the stress on my arm tore the tendon. As a result I am limited to typing with one hand, which is a slow process. I hope to be in shape to hike again in a few months, and to once again raise a toast to the Western Isles in the Western Isles.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOLiPe4k02uqs4NPijJVCUP5qTSYMeDvFlqg09C_rSiCWM88jbqrdXXtZQbHWi06aSimWzB4mZ6uBScqQstYZQa2KOX0uZeGP2yACy_PXl4ZZTUZh5gRDjUsga4YeZ97yXnjeC44AHon4/s992/IMGP0372a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="706" data-original-width="992" height="456" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOLiPe4k02uqs4NPijJVCUP5qTSYMeDvFlqg09C_rSiCWM88jbqrdXXtZQbHWi06aSimWzB4mZ6uBScqQstYZQa2KOX0uZeGP2yACy_PXl4ZZTUZh5gRDjUsga4YeZ97yXnjeC44AHon4/w640-h456/IMGP0372a.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>Marc Calhounhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01337842920912493787noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1540061331447361610.post-68387443767552689082020-12-12T18:28:00.001-08:002020-12-12T22:20:13.592-08:00Please, Sir, Can I have some more?<p style="text-align: justify;">More breakfast fun in Scotland . . . </p><p style="text-align: justify;">On our first visit to Scotland my wife and I took my parents with us. It was 1989, and after exploring the Loch Lomond area we drove north to Fort Willian. As we approached the town we saw a vacancy sign at the Innseagan Hotel, and decided to spend the night there. We enjoyed a quiet evening, and in the morning the four of us went down for breakfast. As usual, there was a table filled with an assortment of cereals, and another table with a tray of tiny glasses set next to pitchers of apple and orange juice.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">I proceeded to scoop some corn flakes into a bowl, and to fill one of those tiny glasses with orange juice. As I made my way to a table I heard a shout.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">"Sir . . . Sir . . ."</p><p style="text-align: justify;">"Yes", I replied.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">"Please, Sir. You can have cereal, or juice, but not both." I had to return the juice. That was my introduction, and a still lingering memory, of Fort William. Good times.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqBckWR812KJalXW1N5omV2IMAbKU3_06TNamhXd4kPMrECnQ2VwklPMVJYilifwNF1U0mVzv4cYyryUSaZNi9SPhRfoHZw1CZ-cscO-NEYy9rN_3bwTVMyEmOoqbvqhCMKiyt9kosBvk/s709/PleaseSir.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="618" data-original-width="709" height="349" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqBckWR812KJalXW1N5omV2IMAbKU3_06TNamhXd4kPMrECnQ2VwklPMVJYilifwNF1U0mVzv4cYyryUSaZNi9SPhRfoHZw1CZ-cscO-NEYy9rN_3bwTVMyEmOoqbvqhCMKiyt9kosBvk/w400-h349/PleaseSir.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>Marc Calhounhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01337842920912493787noreply@blogger.com2