Another One-Night Shieling - Fidigidh

In the July 28, 2017 post I described a miserable night I spent sheltered in an old shieling at Uishal on the north end of Lewis. Two weeks ago I spent another night in a shieling, but this time it was under far better circumstances.

I was on Lewis again, hiking through the Ardveg and Hamnaway areas of Uig. It was perfect hiking weather: sunny and dry, with a cold wind to cool me off and keep the midges away. One of the places I wanted to camp was Fidigidh; a shieling site used up until WWII by the people of Breanis, five miles to the west. At Fidigidh you'll find a handful of beehive cells, along with several 'newer' rectangular shielings.

I found a good spot near the beehive cell in the previous photo to pitch the tent. And as I started to do that the wind picked up significantly. The tent was flapping wildly as I attempted to lay it flat on the ground, and so I decided it was time for Plan B. 

Plan B was to make use of the roofless shieling hut nearby, which you can see in the background of the photo. The shieling would protect me from the wind, and so I went to take a look. There was enough space inside to pitch the tent, and the ground was flat. That was the good news. The bad news was the dead sheep inside - a very dead sheep: a skeleton resting on gobs of decaying fleece. 

After putting on gloves I started tossing bones and bits of fleece over the walls. Most of the fleece was carried aloft on the wind, and for a while it looked like a snowstorm had hit Fidigidh. In a half hour the shieling had been cleared out, the tent was in place, and this tired hiker was ready for bed.

It was the perfect one-night shieling. I had a lot more room in the tent than usual. I was able to use the fireplace, and several of the stone cupboards built into the walls, to store my pack, boots, and other gear that I would normally have to leave in the tent overnight to protect them from rain and the morning dew.

The only downside was that I had no view while laying in the tent. But all I had to do was stand and look over the shieling walls, where I had my choice of several vast panoramas: south to the hills of Harris, west to the Uig Alps, or north to the high hills of Beinn a' Deas and Beinn Mheadhanach. It rained that night, along with strong winds that would have kept me awake, and put my tent to the test, if I'd pitched it on the open moorland. And so I slept soundly that night, snug as a bug in a rug, in my shieling of the one-night.