Sunday morning saw us bid goodbye to Ness as we set a course north to Rona. It was a grey, overcast day, but the sea was calm, which made me smile, as it meant a landing was very likely. Four hours after setting off we dropped the anchor in Geodha a' Stoth on the east side of the island.
Once ashore we took the time to celebrate by posing for a group photo. We had even more reason to celebrate, the forecast was good, and it looked like we'd have all day to explore.
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| From Left to right: Don, John, Maggie, Doreen, Dave, Wolfgang, Nigel, Steve, Leif, and Jan |
It was a warm hike up the central ridge to the lighthouse. It is a relatively new light, built in 1984 to safeguard the increasing tanker traffic in the area. Oddly, the ladder to the roof of the lighthouse is not locked, and some of us took the opportunity to climb to the top. In the below photo of the lighthouse you can see John atop the light, ecstatic to reach one of the most remote lighthouses in Britain.
Next up was a visit to the village, the site of various settlements that date back well over 1,000 years. The walk there entailed crossing bonxie city, and so we had to endure repeated aerial assaults as we descended to the village.
Just above the village we came to the researcher's shack that has been here for several years. I was last on Rona in 2011, and had had a wee nip of Laphroig from its well-stocked bar. In addition to the Laphroig, there had been bottles of Bunnahabhain and Glenfiddich, several cans of Belhaven and Guinness, and an odd-smelling bottle of Zolios Green Nines (Lithuanian) liqueur. But time, and the occasional tourist, has taken its toll. Except for the nearly empty Laphroig, and the mostly-full bottle of Green Nines, the bar was looking pretty bare.
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| The shack bar in 2019 |
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| The shack bar in 2011 |
We spent some time exploring the village. It is an amazing collection of dwellings, the centrepiece being St Ronan's Chapel, which lies inside the Celtic Christian cashel that dates to the 8th century. The chapel, with its connected beehive cell, is one of my favourite places in the Hebrides. It is always exciting to crawl into the cell, wondering if you'll get spit on by nesting fulmars. There were, in fact, two fulmars inside, one on each side of the altar. They were understandably agitated, so I slowly backed out of the cell.
As we were looking at the other ruins in the village, we noticed one of the fulmars quickly exit the cell. With only one bird inside, it was a safe bet we'd be able to get in without being spewed on. And so, one by one, several of us went in to take a look at the surprisingly large cell: the oratory of St Ronan.
Just as we were leaving the village we noticed a runner approaching. Michelle had been given some shore leave, and had run over the ridge to the village. I took her on a short tour of the site, and then we headed back up the hill. (Along the way the two of us managed to deplete (very slightly) the stock of Laphroig in the shack.
After our tour around the village everyone spread out to explore on their own. I slowly made my way back over the ridge to sit for a half hour at the north tip of the island. The local residents were none too pleased to see me, and made a quick dash to get out of the way.
At the north end there was no sign of the
Moray Adventurer, which washed up there in 1996. I'd seen bits of the wreckage in 2011, but all that has since washed away. It would be amazing to see this spot in the winter, when it is awash with seals. But on this pleasant July day, it was just myself and several hundred fulmars and terns, who were not too happy to see me. This spot is about as isolated as it gets, the nearest landfall to the north some 200 miles away: the Faeroes.
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| The north end - next stop the Faroes |
Around 6pm we all returned to the ship for an amazing Sunday roast - always my favourite evening meal on these trips. As we ate, the skipper was pondering a request. Steve had asked if he could spend the night in the village to experience the night-time return of the petrels. The idea had caught on, and soon Dave and Jan had asked if they could join in. The forecast looked good, but things can suddenly change, and Mark might need to pull anchor and get away fast. He agreed to set the four campers ashore for the night, provided that they return to the landing to sleep, so it would be easy to retrieve them in a hurry if the need arose.
After supper the three adventurers, sleeping mats in hand (cushions from the topside lockers), were set ashore. In the waning twilight we watched them climb the ridge to the village. Would they return - or would they be eaten by midges?
I was the first one up Monday morning. It was 6am, and standing in the early morning light, 100 metres away on the rocky shore, stood three figures. They seemed a little agitated: as it turned out they were being eaten alive by midges. Even so, they'd had a wonderful night experiencing the arrival of the petrels at midnight, and their departure back to sea at 3am. At 7am Mark fired up the inflatable, and the three campers were back aboard in time for breakfast.
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| The campers return |
After breakfast the anchor was raised, and we set a course west to the isle of gugas, Sulaisgeir.
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| Sula on the horizon |
Sula is one of those iconic islands I've always wanted to land on. It is well known for the annual guga hunt, when the men of Ness come out to harvest their allotted 2000 guga. (A guga is the young gannet, and is a Gaelic word for a fat, clumsy person.)
My interest in Sula is not so much the guga hunt, but the historic Teampull Sulaisgeir, a beehive-cell chapel that sits on the only level bit of ground: something I would love to see firsthand. But landing here is not easy. There is no anchorage, so even if the sea is calm you still need the skipper to keep the boat safely in place, while someone else gets people ashore, which can require setting a rope.
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Teampull Sùlaisgeir - Photo © john m macfarlane (cc-by-sa/2.0)
Licensed for reuse - https://www.geograph.org.uk/photo/1032175 |
Even though we could not land, the sight of thousands of gannets wheeling overhead made for a memorable experience. We floated underneath this amazing aerial display for the better part of an hour.
After leaving Sula behind we had about 50 nautical miles of motoring ahead of us to reach our haven for the night, Loch Carloway, on the west side of Lewis. Just as we entered the loch the sun came out, shining down as we leisurely motored to find an anchorage near the head of the loch.
There are some interesting walks in the area. Half of the guests wanted to pay a visit to the Carloway broch, the other half wanted to do a walk in Laimisiadair, the beautiful glen on the north side of the loch. So we split into two groups. One headed to the broch, and I went with the others to Laimisiadair. There was something I wanted to show them, something wonderful, something I'd found on my third hike through the glen a few years ago. It was
Tobar Chiarain: St Ciarain's Well.
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| Laimisiadair |
There was a monastery here long ago. The St Ciarain (also spelled Kieran) that the site is dedicated to may be the same Kieran who died in AD 548, and is associated with Kilcheran on Lismore.
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| St Ciarain's Well |
The entire glen is covered with ruins. Whatever structures existed at the time of the monastery have been robbed of their stone to build an extensive township. It was a beautiful way to end the day, and back aboard we learned that the group who'd tried to visit the Carloway broch had failed, as due to falling stone the site was closed to the public.
That aside, we had all been very fortunate. We'd landed on Rona, and safely made our way to Carloway. The next destination on the itinerary was Flannan. Would we be pushing our luck to try for it? Possibly. But what the hell, in the morning we'd give it a try.
