Once Around Great Cumbrae

I have not posted in a month. It's been a sad month. One of my four brothers-in-law passed unexpectedly, and then a few weeks later my mother-in-law passed. The election results on top of that have made for a depressing period. But there is no better way to forget about bad times than to talk of a day on a Scottish island.

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Last time we'd spent the day on Little Cumbrae. After that, I still had a day in Largs, which was full of tourists there for the Viking Festival. It was a fun atmosphere, but far too busy. After resisting the temptations of the Ferris Wheel and Dumbo Ride, I walked onto the ferry to Great Cumbrae.

Once ashore on Great Cumbrae, I followed the ring road to the north tip of the island. Here you'll find an obelisk memorial to two teenagers who drowned while sailing a small boat. The memorial reads: To the Memory of Mr. Charles D. Cayley, aged 17 years and Mr. William N. Jewall, aged 19 years. Midshipmen of H.M.S. 'Shearwater - Promising young officers, drowned in the upsetting of their boat near this place. 17 May, 1844.

A mile down the west side of the island I passed Stinking Bay. I believe the name comes from the smell of rotting kelp at low tide. The tide was high, and no smells were evident. Great Cumbrae must be smelly on hot days, for on its east coast there is a Stinking Goat Bay. A bit further down the coast, I came to the Fintry Bay Restaurant. I could not resist the temptation, so ordered a cheese & tomato toasty and a bottle of Peroni. Both were delicious. 

Just south of Fintry, I turned onto the 'Targets Walk' trail that climbs up the west side of the island. (I think the name stems from the area once being used for target practice.) 

After following the path for a few minutes, I left the forest and entered the grassland below the Cumbrae Reservoir. There, an odd stone caught my attention, 100 feet off the path. On the OS Map, it is called 'The Gowk Stone'.

The stone looked like a small-scale version of the 'Praying Hands' stone in Glen Lyon. A local, who was walking by, told me 'Gowk' was Norse for a Cuckoo Bird, and that she had seen them on the stone and in the nearby golf course. 

The path ended at Upper Kirkton, from where I followed the road to the Cathedral of the Isles. It is a remarkable structure: a Gothic revival design that looks as if it had been built centuries ago. (Construction began in 1849 and the cathedral was consecrated in 1876.) To quote from R. Angus Downie’s Bute and the Cumbraes: 'The stained-glass windows, the tesselated floor, the naked oak beams, the altar and its crucifixes, remind one of the earlier ages of faith.

A treed burial ground lay next to the cathedral. Buried here is the Reverend James Adam (1748-1831). Adam was the minister here for many years and is famous for a prayer he often made, one that was recorded for posterity in Sir Walter Scott’s Journal:

Prayer of the minister of the Cumbrays, two miserable islands in the mouth of the Clyde: "O Lord, bless and be gracious to the Greater and the Lesser Cumbrays, and in thy mercy do not forget the adjacent islands of Great Britain and Ireland."

It was a steep road walk from the cathedral to the top of the island. It was a busy spot, and I had to wait a while to get a photo of the view indicator and trig pillar not surrounded by tourists. One of the crowd had opted to park his bike at the pillar. I was tempted to throw it off the hillside.

A few feet from the summit is a large glacial erratic called The Glaid Stone (also known as The Gledstane). I have not been able to find a meaning of 'Glaid', but I was glad that from there on my walk would be downhill. The following photo shows the Glaid Stone (at right) in 2008, taken during the walk described in Chapter 2 of Firth of Clyde to the Small Isles.

A mile down the road I came to the Broomy Knowes Footpath at NS 1758 5695. Tired of road walking, I decided to follow it. That was a mistake. The path was a muddy swamp, heavily trampled by cattle. Making matters worse, the path disappeared on the hillside above the ferry terminal. To reach the road I had to bash through rough, steep terrain, and nearly broke my leg when I stepped into a hidden hole.

Back in Largs, after sunset, I walked along the crowded waterfront. The sky was filled with smoke from the Viking boat burning (you had to pay extra to get close - I settled for a distant view). More smoke filled the evening sky an hour later when a fireworks show lit up the darkness. Off to the west, the skyline was also briefly lit by a bonfire on the summit of Great Cumbrae. 

Next up: we board Hjalmar Bjorge for an adventure at sea. I had a detailed itinerary planned, one that gale force winds would blow away. 

Three Weeks - Ten Islands: Starting with Little Cumbrae

Over three weeks in September, I was fortunate to visit ten islands. The weather at the beginning and end of those weeks was brilliant sunshine. The weather in the middle was less brilliant: lashing gale-force winds laced with cold, Arctic air. That meant my planned itinerary for a ten-day cruise around the Western Isles was not to be. But 'Plan B' was as exciting. The islands we visited on those ten days were Skye, South Rona, Rum, Ulva, Gometra, Inchkenneth, Eileach an Naoimh of the Garvellachs, and Easdale of the Slate Isles. 

Prior to the cruise, I spent five days in Largs, hoping for a weather window to get to Little Cumbrae. Fortunately, the weather on the first day was gorgeous, with just a gentle trace of wind. And so, on a sunny Friday morning, my friend Gareth Robinson and I boarded a RIB at the pier in Millport. 

I had wanted to return to Little Cumbrae for 16 years. My one (and only) visit to the island had been in May of 2008 when I'd unsuccessfully searched for St Bey's Cell. (See Chapter 2 of 'Firth of Clyde to the Small Isles'.) The 6th (or possibly 9th) Century St Bey came to Little Cumbrae to establish a place of retreat where, to quote from the Calendar of Scottish Saints, ‘she lived in solitude surrounded by birds and beasts.’

Since that visit in 2008, I'd determined what I believe to be the exact location of St Bey's Cell. The site, as described by Historic Scotland in 1964, had "the remains of a rectangular building, 6.0m by 5.0m, its walls turf-covered and 0.4m high. From the appearance of the debris on the east side of the structure, it seems likely that there was a second compartment."

The 'second compartment' may have been St Bey's Cell. As it turned out I had missed it in 2008 by 40 feet. And so, once ashore on Little Cumbrae, Gareth and I followed a path that climbed north from Little Cumbrae House. (The next photo shows Little Cumbrae House seen from the ramparts of Little Cambrae Castle.)

About a third of a mile northwest of the house, at an elevation of 200 feet, we came to a sign that marked the site of St Bey's Chapel. The only remnants of the chapel are the meagre remains of low walls hidden in heavy bracken. St Bey's Cell lay 500 feet to the northwest, across a vast sea of bracken and brambles.

I knew the bracken would be fierce in September, but I had not counted on the brambles. Thick, thorny branches interlacing the tall bracken: as effective a barrier as razor wire on a chain link fence. It made a direct approach to the site impossible. Our only option was to climb to the top of Priest Hoy, the wedge-shaped hill mentioned by William Lytteil in his 'Guide Book to the Cumbraes' (1886). It was a triangular plateau, partially surrounded by a stone wall. Once on top, we followed the wall to a point where the GPS told us we were above the site of the cell.

Below us, about 100 feet to the west, lay an oval patch of yellow-green grass surrounded by a jungle of bracken. On its far side was the burial cist (CANMORE ID 40690) I'd seen on my last visit, cloaked in heavy grass. On the near side lay the site of the cell. But if there were any remaining ruins, they, too, were not visible. 

We walked north to a break in the wall, took a deep breath, and descended into a bracken and bramble hell. Guided by the GPS, we started making our way to the location of the cell. Progress was glacially slow, and after fifteen agonizing minutes, a look at the GPS told me we were still 60 feet from the site of St Bey's Cell.

We tried to carry on, but it was not to be. My legs and arms were getting severely scratched, the thorns ripping through my pants and cutting into sore thighs. In addition to the thorns, clusters of nettles were lurking in the weeds. Occasionally, a nettle would stab its way up the insides of my pant legs, leaving stings that would last for hours. (I forgot to bring gaiters.) After another few minutes of thrashing about, yet another obstacle appeared. The ground was getting marshy; boots sinking nearly a foot with every step into a soupy morass. Finally, after making only another 10 feet of forward progress, we gave up. To find the site of the cell I'd have to return, yet again, in early springtime, before the bracken went wild.

A painful and disappointing backtrack led to the top of Priest Hoy, from where we descended to Little Cumbrae House. We still had a couple of hours to explore, so we decided to walk across the island to visit the 1757 coal-burning light tower at the summit, and then descend to the western shore to see the 1794 lighthouse that replaced it.

Under blazing sunshine, we climbed the lighthouse path to where it crested a rise, marked on old maps as 'Rest and be Thankful'. (We did rest and were thankful.) As we traversed the island, hoping to reach the summit, we were, again, thwarted by the bracken. There was no visible path to the top, and we'd had far too much bracken bashing for one day. (The next photo, taken in May of 2008, is of the 1757 light tower.)

Although there was no practicable way to reach the summit, the path to the west light was clear and easy. Fifteen minutes later, after downing a couple bottles of Peroni, we started the descent to the lighthouse.

Several of the abandoned buildings were open. We explored the interiors, finding signs that people had camped in them. The highlight was the ascent to the lantern room of the 1794 lighthouse. 

The original lamps of the lighthouse were replaced by Argand lamps in 1826, and in 1865 a foghorn was installed - the first in Britain. The tower was restored in 1956, and a solar-powered light was installed in 1974. The light was extinguished for good in 1997 when a 36-foot-tall automatic light tower was built adjacent to the old generator house.

From the balcony of the lantern room, we could see down to the slipways and the tram track used to bring supplies ashore.

An hour later we were back on the RIB, jetting across the sea to Millport. For a description of life at the Little Cumbrae Lighthouse in the early 1960s see this link: https://www.lighthousedigest.com/Digest/StoryPage.cfm?StoryKey=2302 

Getting to Little Cumbrae on the first day in Largs meant I had a few days to fill before heading to Oban for the cruise. The Largs Viking Festival was in full swing. The town was packed with tourists - carnival rides and vendors lining the waterfront. Next time I'll tell you what I did to escape the madding crowd.

The Harris Eagle Observatory & the Sron Smearasmal Beehive

During my visit to Lewis and Harris in May I set out one Sunday to revisit the stellar beehive cell of Sron Smearasmal. Eleven years had passed since I was last there, and I was curious to see if it was still intact. Another site I wanted to visit was the North Harris Eagle Observatory.

The walk started by following the track to Loch Bhoisimid. After passing through the kissing gate - unfortunately, there was no one to kiss - I headed north along the track.

A kilometre into the walk I came to the bridge over Abhainn Mhiabhaig, which marks the halfway point to the observatory.  

The observatory was soon spotted in the distance, below the looming prow of Sron Scourst. 

After 30 minutes of walking, I reached the observatory. Timber-built, with a turf roof, it has large picture windows that allow for expansive views to the north and west.

Being a weekend, the observatory was full of people. The only place to sit was on a bench at the back, which still provided a good view.

After spending some time in the observatory - without spotting any birds - I returned south along the track to the bridge over Abhainn Mhiabhaig. The bridge is a good place to start the climb to the Sron Smearasmal beehive. The cell lies a kilometre west of the track and involves an elevation gain of 170 metres. It was hot and humid, but a steady breeze kept the midges at bay

There are two cells here (NB 0900 0749). One is completely intact but only the foundation remains of the second. The intact cell is four metres in diameter at its base, two metres high to the top of the dome, and has four cupboards built into its lower walls. 

Although it has collapsed, the second cell has a unique feature, a two-metre-deep rectangular compartment that may have been a sleeping place. You can see its entrance in the previous photo. 

Although over a decade had passed since my last visit, the cell looked the same, unlike the cell at Clar Beag, that I returned to a few years ago only to discover that it had collapsed. I crawled into the cell, cracked open a can of Export, and listened as the wind blew through gaps in the cell wall.

From the cell, a gentle descent to the south across the heather-covered hillside led to the highway and the waiting car. As related in Beehive Dwellings of the Hebrides, the last time I was here was also a Sunday. I had been unable to find a meal and had to settle for a banana sandwich and tea from my B&B hostess. I was better prepared this time. I had booked a table, and an hour later dined at the Harris Hotel. The steak pie and a pint were much better than that banana sandwich and tea,

Sept 11 Cruise - Spaces Available

There are still a few spots available on our cruise around the Western Isles that departs from Oban on September 11. See the following link for more information:

https://www.hebrideanadventures.co.uk/products/adventures-in-search-of-the-past-cruise

The Lewis/Harris Bridge

I have driven across the Lewis/Harris bridge many times over the past 30 years. The bridge, on the A859, links the two islands as it crosses over Abhainn a' Mhuil. Next to the highway bridge is the old bridge, which is no longer used for vehicle traffic. The last time I passed this way, I did something different. I parked at the pullout 300 feet south of the bridge, then walked along a stretch of the old highway to the two bridges.

Once there, I scrambled down to the bank of the stream. It had been a dry summer, so the stream was low; its turbid waters cascaded under the new bridge, then under the old one, before tumbling down to Loch Seaforth.

Why, you ask, did I come here? The reason was to see the two inscriptions beneath the bridge. The first, on the southern (Harris side), was very worn, and read:

Eilean na Hearadh, eilean cùbhraidh nam beannaibh: The island of Harris, the scented isle of hills

The inscription on the Lewis side was in better shape, probably because it is farther from the stream. It read:

Eilean Leoòhais, eilean bàigheil an fhraoch: The Island of Lewis, the friendly heather isle

Some of the history of how the Lewis/Harris border was established can be found in the March 22, 2018 post. You can see a video of someone visiting the inscriptions under the bridge at this YouTube link.

Nostar & the Seaforth Roller Coaster

If you ever find yourself staying at the Rhenigidale Hostel, be sure to wander a mile up the west shore of Loch Seaforth to the deserted croft at Nostar (NB 226 033). To get there, you start by following the path that leaves the Rhenigidale road 150 feet SE of the hostel.  

If you are lucky, you may encounter Widget the cat on the road or somewhere along the path.

The path takes you up and over a low ridge where you pass through a gate that marks the beginning of the Gearraidh Mhurchaidh croft. The path then continues north before dropping down to Taigh a’ Phuist, the Postman’s House, at Gearraidh Mhurchaidh. When the Postman lived here, the house would be a welcome sight after making the 12-mile round trip to Tarbert, which involved climbing the 950-foot-high mountain pass between Urgha and Rhenigidale. Taigh a’ Phuist is known for its ‘Roller Coaster’, a 250-foot-long tram used to bring supplies to the house. It consists of a trolley that slides on four iron rails down to the shore of Loch Seaforth. 

The path ends just beyond the house at an elegant footbridge over the Gearraidh Mhurchaidh Burn. From there it’s a cross-country bash through heavy vegetation as you climb 200 feet up and over the east shoulder of Mulla. Once at the top, it’s an easy descent into the croft land of Nostar. 

At Nostar there are the ruins of several homes. The most substantial is a house that was never completed. A while back I was told the story behind the unfinished house, but my memory fails me. If anyone out there knows the story, please get in touch. 

In the 1890s, Nostar was home to a family of eight: Donald MacInnes (Domhall Nostair), his wife Chirsty, and their six children. Their story is quite tragic. Donald had acquired a 30-foot herring fishing boat in 1893, and in December of that year Donald and his crew of four went missing. 

The crew that sailed out with Donald on a December day in 1893 included his 15-year-old son Norman and three men from Eilean Anabaich, which lies three miles northwest of Rhenigidale. The men from Eilean Anabaich were Donald MacInnes’ brother-in-law Roderick Shaw, Roderick's son Angus, and  Roderick's brother Angus.

After anchoring off the west coast of the mainland with two other Rhenigidale boats, Claymore and Try Again, the three ships set out to return home. A storm blew up when they were near the Shiants. It started snowing and they became separated. Only Claymore and Try Again made it home to Loch Seaforth. A few days later (Dec 12) a shepherd found two drowned men tied together on the shore near Sandwood Bay (pictured below), 60 miles from where they were last seen. 

The Sandwood shepherd was from Lewis and recognized the bodies as Donald MacInnes and his son Norman. (The two men were buried at Oldshoremore Cemetery, four miles south of Sandwood). A bit later a search party discovered the wreck of Donald’s boat north of Sandwood on Strathcailleach Beach. Then, on Dec 18, the bodies of Angus Shaw and his nephew were recovered and buried at Oldshoremore. The last of the five-man crew, Roderick Shaw, was never found.

Donald MacInnes of Nostar left behind his wife Chirsty and six children: Duncan (13), Roderick (11), William (9), Margaret (6), Marion (4), Donald (2), and Norman (10 months). Roderick Shaw of Eilean Anabaich left behind his wife Salvia (Donald MacInnes’ sister) and five children: Duncan (14), Donald (13), Kenneth (11), Margaret (8), and Mary Kate (18 months).

The most recent tenant of Nostar (that I know of) was Kenny MacKay, who still lives in Rhenigidale. Kenny was the last postman to have the route to Rhenigidale before the road was built in 1987, and his story is told in Rhenigidale: A Community’s Fight for Survival, published by Acair in 2016. An interesting reminder of Kenny’s time at Nostar is the rusting ruin of his tractor.

Also to be seen at Nostar is a strange object snaking its way down from the top of the ridge. It is the remains of a very long pipe set in place to bring fresh water down from a mountain loch to the shore. It was a failed attempt to come up with a way to clean sea lice from farmed salmon (freshwater kills the lice). It was a failure, but the fish farm is still there. (The location of the pipe is indicated with arrows in the next photo.)  The second photo below is looking east from Nostar to the fish farm and 1470-foot-high Caiteseal.

Here ends a stunning walk up the far shores of Loch Seaforth. If you are inclined to make it a loop walk, you can head west over the ridge from Nostar and then drop down to the road. From there, a two-mile walk will take you back to the hostel (pictured below). Otherwise, return the way you came.