Return to South Rona

The September 2024 cruise on Hjalmar Bjorge was different than any I’d done before. Due to cancellations, there were only two guests, which made my job as a guide much easier. What made it not so easy was the weather. Force 8 gales were streaming off the Atlantic and had blown away my plans for a sail around the Outer Hebrides. Fortunately, the guests, Sally and Debbie, had been aboard before. They knew itinerary changes happen when the weather worsens. And turn for the worse it had.

Due to the wind, we needed to stay in sheltered waters for a few days. So, after leaving Oban, our first night was spent at anchor in the cradle of Drumbuie, between Oronsay and the Morvern mainland. Oronsay has a sad history. In the 1840s and 50s, over fifty souls eked a living out of its hard ground. But, like the people of the nearby Morvern townships, they are all gone. The infamous Patrick Sellar had a role in the clearances here. Due to his participation in the Sutherland Clearances of the 1810s, he was notorious as the most widely hated man in the Highlands. In 1848, he acquired his first Morvern property, Acharn, eight miles from Oronsay. He proceeded to evict its fifty families and brought sheep from Sutherland to occupy the land. It was an era that Marion Campbell succinctly summarises in Argyll: The Enduring Heartland.

The Blackfaces, a’ chaorach mhòr, brought sorrow to Morvern when Patrick Sellar came down there from Sutherland to boast of his success in replacing wasteful humans with profitable flocks. 

After a night in Drumbuie, we made our way north to another sheltered harbour, Acairsaid Mhòr, the big anchorage of South Rona. Fifteen years had passed since I was last there, and I was delighted to meet Bill Cowie on the pontoon dock. Bill had been island manager for twenty years, and since I’d last seen him, he’d gotten married. The wedding had been held in a special place on Rona, Church Cave, on the island’s eastern cliffs. Bill told us that significant changes were in store for Rona. He was retiring and thought the island would be sold. It will be fascinating to see how the new owners will manage this gem of an island.

Sally, Debbie, and I then set out to climb the Burma Road to the top of the pass. After the descent to Dry Harbour, we discovered that the two self-catering cottages were occupied. I was jealous of the occupants, enjoying a whole week of Rona peace. Near the cottages is the ruin of the Rona School. At one time, there were three schools on the island. This had been the largest, with over thirty pupils aged five to thirty. The school closed in 1930. Its windows, doors, and floors are long gone; bushes sprout from the chimneys, and all about lay shards of the slate roof. 

We then made a tour around the scattered ruins of Dry Harbour. In the 1870s, over a hundred people called Dry Harbour home. There are remains of over forty structures: a dozen black houses, a similar number of 'modern' stone houses, and an assortment of byres and gardens. Roughly half the village sits on the northern side of the glen, the rest on the south; between them runs an overgrown track, Rona's Main Street, which climbs its way up through the village. Most of those who once walked this now-abandoned street came from Raasay, whose population swelled in the 1800s when MacLeod of Raasay sold out and moved to Tasmania. Starting in 1846, George Rainy, the owner of Raasay, wanted to reduce the population to make room for sheep. He sent many of the people to Australia and forced others onto the poor ground of Rona.

To end the tour, we visited the museum. When I was here in 2007, Bill had just started putting a roof on an old house to turn it into a museum (first photo below). The second photo shows Debbie and Sally at the museum in 2024.

We then made the steep climb back up the road to the pass. Debbie wanted to continue down the track to explore the area around the lodge. Sally wanted to see Church Cave, so we started down the boot-beaten path to the cave.

It was a sloppy slog as we followed the rain-dappled path to Church Cave. The final section of the path is a steep descent. It had been raining for days, and the route was more river than path, water cascading down to carve deep, muddy pools around newly exposed stones. It was ankle-twisting terrain. The kind of terrain that imparts a sense of dread, impending doom, into the hearts of guides everywhere. To make things worse, due to liability concerns, the estate had removed the ropes and posts that had been there for years, allowing for an easier, safer descent. (The following photo is of my wife in the cave in 2004.)

I didn't want to see anyone sprain an ankle or break a leg, so I decided we should turn back. It was a disappointment, as we were only 500 feet from the cave. After we returned to the track, Sally continued down to the lodge. I decided to stay behind. It was time to get high and live in the past. A short, steep ascent from the track led to the trig pillar atop Meall Acairsaid.

Nearly three decades had passed since I first stood there on a day in 1995 with my wife. I sat against the trig pillar and cracked open a beer. Then, after a long, slow pull, I powered up the mobile phone to give her a call.

Twilight was setting in when we returned to the ship. After motoring away from Rona, we found a sheltered anchorage off Hallaig at the south end of Raasay. The weather was improving, and we set a course for Rum the next day.

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.

* * *

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