The Hamnavay Track and Beyond - Day 3 of 3

The wind died around midnight, which would usually mean the midges would be out in force. But fortunately it was cold, too cold for the wee beasts, so I was able to take my time packing up. The shieling hut had been a great campsite, one I hope to return to someday.

Just as I set out I looked towards the northern hills to see a St Andrew's Cross high in the sky. A sure sign I'd vanquish all foes who'd come my way; be they midges, bogs, rivers, or gamekeepers.

The road at Kinlochrog was five miles to the northeast. My wife was going to pick me up there at 3pm, so I could take my time and see a few shielings I'd not visited before. The most interesting was Gearraidh Uidh Phaill, just to the west of Loch Cro Criosdaig. The loch's name means loch of the Christian enclosure, so there was probably a monastery here. At Gearraidh Uidh Phaill I found the remains of two collapsed beehive cells set at the base of a rocky knoll. 

From Gearraidh Uidh Phaill I set out across the open moorland. It was sunny, and quite beautiful. The last time I had crossed this area was on a bleak, wet, and gray day, and all I'd wanted to do was get across it as fast as possible. But this time it was a joy. The next photo gives some sense of how spectacular this unpopulated, and rarely visited terrain is.

The final stretch of the hike took me to Morgail Lodge, at the north end of Loch Morsgail. From there an easy walk on the tarmac track led to Kinlochrog. Just as I reached the public road my wife drove up. She must be able to read minds - she kissed me, and then handed me a cold beer.

The Hamnavay Track and Beyond - Day 2

In the last episode we spent a windy night in a small tent atop Cleit nam Bothan Aird, the rocky eminence of the high bothies (beehive cells). 

Bothan Aird lies a mile east of the head of Loch Hamnavay. Unless you have a friend with a boat, it is a 12 mile walk to get there via the Hamnavay track, or an 8-mile bog-slog from Morsgail. The previous day I'd made the 12-mile hike via the track, a walk I did not want to repeat, so the plan was to end the hike by heading east to Morsgail over the next two days.

Where the Hamnavay Track reaches the sea

The goal for this day was to make it to Upper Fidigidh, visiting, along the way, the shieling sites of Gearraidh Aineabhal and Lower Fidigidh.

Although it had been a windy night, I was lucky, as it had not rained. So after a bit of a lay-in I packed up my gear, and after strapping the tent to the pack set out to the north.

Re-energized after the night's sleep, it was an easy hike down into the glen between lochs Gruinebhat and Bodabhat.

Then I started north up the pass between the two summits of Aineabhal (the notch you can see at the upper left in the next photo). Visible in the foreground of the photo is the stump of a WWI telegraph pole. A series of them once crossed the moorland from Hamnavay to Kinresort and Morsgail.

After descending from the north side of the pass I came to the shielings of Gearraidh Aineabhal. There are three of them: Gearraidh a' Stigh Aineabhal, Gearraidh Meadhonach Aineabhal, and Gearraidh a' Muigh Aineabhal (Inner, Middle, and Outer Aineabhal). The shielings were all placed such that the residents could see the head of Loch Hamnavay, a mile to the west.

In total, between the three sites, there were ten shieling huts, including three beehive cells. I always like to crawl into these beautiful structures and, if there are no midges, take a short snooze.  It was too cold for the midges, so I had a brief nap.

From Aineabhal it only took 15 minutes to descend down to the Hamnavay River. I was a bit concerned that I might not be able to cross the river, which would mean having to walk a mile west to the bridge near the lodge. But the river was low, and there were several spots where it would be easy to ford. As it turned out there was no need to ford, because I was able to use a board that spanned one of the salmon weirs as a bridge.

Once over the river I turned east to follow the fisherman's path to Loch na Craobhaig. Portions of the path have wood planks that make the going easier across the soggy moorland. Although many of the planks are rotted, they still speed your progress east.

At a point just west of Loch na Craobhaig (the bushy loch) I turned north towards Fidigidh. Here there are several 'false' beehive cells, the grouse shooting butts I described in the April 16th post.

I was now in Fidigidh, and as I made my way north I took a look at each of the many shielings of Fidigidh Iochdrach (Lower Fidigidh) and Fidigidh Uachdrach (Upper Fidigidh). At Upper Fidigidh my quaking legs told me it was time for a very long break, say eight hours or so. The time had come to set up camp. (See the May 31st post where I described how the wind made setting up the tent difficult, and how I ended up pitching it inside a roofless shieling.)

Sunset on that May evening was at 10 pm, and it was still bright at midnight when I got up to take care of some urgent business. The wind died out around 3 am, and I had a lazy lie-in, stepping put of the tent at 8 am to find a calm, sunny morning. I would have an easy day ahead of me, as the road at Kinlochrog, where my wife was going to pick me up, was only six miles to the northeast. Along the way I would visit several of the shielings that dot the moorland near Loch Cro Chriosdaig, the loch of the Christian enclosure. A name that implies there was once a monastic settlement in the area. 

After breaking camp I set out to the east with the sunlight for my load (and the full pack). You have to pay attention to every footstep as you cross this boggy terrain, which was very hard to do. The reason was I was distracted by an amazing sight: the stunning views across the loch-studded moorland to the high hills of Harris.

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.

Shieling of the No Night

In the July 28th post I described spending a night in a (mostly) intact shieling; one that had provided good shelter for a wet hiker on a stormy Hebridean night. The next day, as I was hiking out to Pairc Shiabost, I came across another, and very similar shieling, at Gearraidh Rahacleit.

From the outside the structure looked to be in good shape, its turf covered roof seemingly intact. But a peek inside the door revealed that the ground inside was a swamp. The shieling's timber and turf roof had half collapsed. And I realized then just how lucky I'd been to find decent shelter the previous evening.

In one corner there was a small section of ground just barely above the muck. On it lay a moldering sleeping bag; one that looked like it had been rotting away for several years. There was also a scattering of old utensils; an overturned teapot, and a colorful child's thermos bottle: signs of better times.

From the ruined shieling, above the shores of Loch Rahacleit, it was only a mile's walk north to the water works and the track to Pairc Shiaboist.

With some love, the shieling at Gearradh Rahacleit could be made livable. But it would take a lot of love. So for now, it is an Airidh na Neoni Oidche, a shieling of the no night. (I apologize to my Gaelic friends if I got that wrong).

Shieling of the No Night

Shieling of the One Night

In the Nov 11, 2014 post I wrote that I'd yet to visit an Airidh na h-aon Oidche; a shieling of the one night. So when I was on Lewis in July I decided that the time had come to visit one. The 'one night' typically refers to some scary incident, or how someone died, on the first night a shieling was occupied, and that no one ever stayed there again. See this link for one such story. Another, and more prosaic possibility, is that they got the name because they were halfway houses of a sort. When the community had to travel more than one day to reach their shielings they'd spend a night at one of these in-between shelters. 

The one night shieling on Lewis I decided to visit lies at NB 01971 28500, two miles northeast of Ishlibhig. I first learned of it from an article in the Uig News by Dave Roberts, that you can find on this Comman Eachdraidh Uig web-page.

Mealaisbhal seen from the walk

Visiting the Ishlibhig one-night shieling would be an interesting side trip to a climb of Mealaisbhal, at almost 1900 feet the highest hill on Lewis. But I was about to set out on a three-day hike, so I decided to save my legs and just make the short walk out and back to the shieling.

It is easy to find. All you have to do is park your car near the bridge over the Allt na Gile, a mile north of Ishlibhig. From there, 45 minutes walking due east through soft, grassy terrain, leads to the site.

Looking to the northwest from the one night shieling

There are two ruined shielings here, separated by about 50 metres. I believe the easternmost is the one night shieling. As you can see from the photos, it is a beautiful location. And so I have to disagree with the description in the article referenced above that it's 'not very inviting'. The sea is visible, as are the Flannan Isles, 20 miles off to the west.

Flannans on the horizon

There are quite a few one night shielings in the islands: Benbecula's is a mile southeast of the Market Stance, North Uist has one near the air ambulance memorial at Clachan an Luib, and Raasay's is a half-mile east of Torran. There is also another on Lewis, four miles east of Carloway (see this CANMORE page).

The Ishlibhig site has a great view north over Loch na Faoirbh, and beyond it you can see the Hamanavay track winding its way across the moorland. See the February 17, 2015 post for a description of walking the Hamanavay track.

Looking north - Hamanavay track in the middle distance

Loch Druim Grunavat, the St Kilda visitors centre site, and the Flannans seen from the walk to the one night shieling

For more (but not much) on the Ishlibhig one night shieling see this CANMORE page. Next time I am on Lewis I think I'll camp (for one night, anyway) at Airidh na h-aon Oidche. And if I hear any strange noises in the night, it'll be a short scamper back to the safety of the car. 

Equipment Failure and a Shieling Salvation

I made several hikes on Lewis over the past three weeks. One of them did not go as planned. I had bought a new pack in June, and before heading to Scotland I took it out for a test drive on an overnight visit to Blake Island in Puget Sound. It was a sunny and hot trip, and the pack worked well.

So fast forward a couple weeks to July 16 when, with my new pack, I set out on a two day hike on Lewis from Stacaiseal to Shawbost. A route that would take me by several beehive cells and shielings.

The hike started at the middle of the Pentland Road, eight miles southeast of Carloway. Just after my wife dropped me off, and I began hiking north, it started raining. It was not too bad at first, and I was able to get some good photos of the cells near the summit of Stacaiseal, a hill that rises to 700 feet, a mile and a half north of the Pentland Road.

From Stacaiseal I turned to the northwest to head to Uiseal. It was then that it started raining hard, with a fierce wind that blew the rain sideways. I did not know it at the time, but the rain was being driven into my new pack through its strap-down lid. Around 7 pm, just as I reached the shielings of Uiseal, I noticed my pants were getting wet; the way the pack was riding on my back had opened up a gap in my overtrousers, allowing the rain running down the pack to pour in. I was going to have to set up my tent, and try to dry out as soon as possible, or I'd have a miserable night. 

But the terrain was mushy, soggy, and boggy; terrible for setting up a tent. I have seen many shieling sites in the past that are surrounded by close cropped grass on solid ground, perfect for pitching a tent, and I kept hoping I'd find such a spot. But eight o'clock came and went and no decent campsite came along. I was about to give up looking when I noticed a stone structure on the hillside above me. Maybe it was a ruined shieling, whose walls would give my tent some shelter from the wind. 

As I neared the little building it looked like its turf roof was intact, and the one doorway had been barricaded with an iron crowbar to keep the sheep (and the fairies?) out. Had my prayers been answered? Would I have a dry place to sleep?

Inside the structure I could see that half its turf roof was intact, and under the intact bit was a narrow plywood bench I could lay my sleeping bag on. It was only then, as I opened the pack to get the sleeping bag, that I discovered the rain had got inside. My sleeping bag was wet, as were my spare clothes. There was nothing to do but make the best of it, and so I spread the damp sleeping bag out on the bench.

Inside, next to a fireplace, was a pile of dried peat, along with an assortment of rusted peat cutting tools. I tried to build a fire, but I had no kindling or newspaper. I did have an emergency candle, one I've carried on every backpacking trip over the past 20 years. I'd never used it in all that time, and I tried pouring melted wax from it on the peat, and then lighting it. But it did not work. 

Fireplace

Around 10 pm, in my damp clothes, and with my candle burning on the ledge next to me, I slid into the damp sleeping bag. It would be a long night, and between bouts of shivering I managed to get some sleep. Fortunately I was shielded from the wind and rain. In the morning I packed up as soon as it was light, and then went out to take photos of the many shielings that dot the terrain east of Loch Rahacleit. Around noon I reached the public road at Shawbost where my wife picked me up. Lesson learned: Always test out your gear in miserable conditions near to home, before using it in miserable conditions miles from home.  

Although all did not go as planned, the memory of finding a surprise shieling shelter, on a stormy island night, is one I will treasure.

Wet lens view of my accomodation

Shieling on the Moor

Sometimes you luck out, and end up being blessed with magnificent weather during a hike that you've planned to do for a year. That happened to me last August while wandering across the moorland of southwest Lewis. It was the perfect hiking weather; sunny skies, not too hot, and just enough wind to keep the midges away. One of the surprises of that walk on that picture-perfect day was a beautiful solitary shieling I came across near Loch na Craobhaig.

The OS map does not name this place; the only hint of its existence a little square on the map at NB 0657 2103. I had not planned on visiting this particular spot, but while looking at the beehive cell ruins at Fidigidh Iochdrach I noticed a bump on the horizon a few hundred metres to the southeast. I am so glad I decided to walk over to see it; for out in the middle of nowhere, under a azure sky dotted with billowy clouds, stood a beautiful, solitary shieling, that appeared to be an ancient beehive cell modified into a rectangular shelter.

The interior still retained much of the beehive's circular wall-space, including a dozen nooks for storing cheese and milk.

I was stunned by the beauty of this spot, with its amazing view over the sparkling blue waters of Loch na Craobhaig to the distant Harris hills. It would be amazing to have seen this place when it was in use 150 years ago.