31 - Borve to The Butt of Lewis

Thursday 25th May - Borve to The Butt of Lewis - 23 km, 277 m ascent
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Waking at 4:45 am, listening to the skylark singing, I was up at 5:00, literally “Up with the lark!” However, since the lark may sing all day, the late riser might still claim the epithet. After breakfast I went to visit the conveniences at Port of Ness but found them locked, so I parked at Europaidh, by the dunes and used my own convenience. Catching the 6:49 am bus left me time to whittle away. I dawdled up to the road and down it to the Lionel school – there were rabbits about everywhere. As I shuffled about and waited, I wondered why the bus would be a quarter hour late at the start of its first run of the day. Would the driver start late because he knows he can make up the time later? Does he dislike waiting for a connection with another bus, so he makes sure he is not there first? Is being a bit late and driving faster more fun? At 7:02 am the same driver as on Wednesday picked me up, dropping me off at Borve church at 7:25 am – by then 15 minutes late had changed to 9 minutes late. He'd soon be on schedule, and I was walking north along the side of an empty road.

An overcast sky of strange clouds in long rolls, particularly over the sea, ran from horizon to horizon, north to south, like a water-colour painting in dark grey, blue-grey, white - each tone merging into the next. Skylarks sang with some enthusiastic assistance from chattering starlings, but on leaving Borve, only the skylarks remained. At 7:45 am, the first snipe drummed as I entered an almost empty expanse of open moor – empty except for a line of electricity poles, a transformer and a wind turbine.

I tried a shorter pace to keep my movement relaxed – estimated by boot-lengths as 70 – 75 cm at 110 paces/minute (4.8 km/h or 3 mph). Finding a seat at the North Galson bus shelter, I stopped for ten minutes to adjust my left boot - increasing my arch support to two of my homemade arch supports carved from closed cell matting, one large and one small, layered together, and then added tightly rolled up tissue, fitted along the edge of the foot-bed. (The insole is not as wide as the boot and digs into my foot along the left edge of the left boot.) 

With so much emptiness around, the few features become more noticeable: quite a lot of geese, not all in sight, but definitely making themselves heard; a line of bright yellow gorse following a stream, running perpendicular to the road; a single house with a large “garden” or back yard full of scrap – rusting cars, a tractor, tyres, metal haulage containers, building materials, window frames; a few struggling wind-broken trees – perhaps intended as a wind break, but held up by blue-rope guy-lines, followed by more emptiness.


By 9:30 am, my left knee was giving me pain, so I stopped a moment to tighten my knee brace. Reaching South Dale (9:50 am), I was getting warm, and with no sign of rain, my cag came off, and then the lighthouse at The Butt of Lewis came into view. This would have caused me some excitement – seeing the end of my trek – if only there hadn’t been that missing section on North Uist. By 10:00 am the sun was out, and I paused to chat with a lady at the bus stop in Dail bho Thuath (North Dale). She was “going to town” (Stornaway) for her shopping, so we talked about the trolley arrangement with Tesco – of course, customers and the store management expect shoppers to take their shopping in a Tesco trolley to the bus station and leave the trolley there. For her, it is a free trip with her bus pass. 

I turned left at the brown pointer sign on the main road (497613) and as I went down the lane, a large empty minibus came up. Then I saw a large number of walkers ahead, so I supposed the minibus must have just dropped them off at the car parking area by the last house (494620). As they went left to the beach at the end of the track (492625), as I had done on Wednesday, I continued straight ahead across the field. It wasn’t trodden like a path, but it wasn’t difficult to pass the odd fence, and I thought this would save me from following the back of a slow group. At the cliff edge, ragged reefs pointed out away from the shoreline and the cliff edges were covered in celandines, primroses, daisies and some violets. 

Traigh Chrois north of Dail bho Thuath

  As I stopped to take some photos, the walking party of fourteen passed by, strung out along the cliff path. I decided to pause a while longer to let them get out of my forward view before continuing. Some midges arrived for their lunch; the sun really came out; sun-cream went on; over-trousers came off for the first time in four days; my warm hat went into my daysack, and my light-weight towel became a bandana-head-protection. 

Traigh Chrois north of Dail bho Thuath

Towards Traigh Chumail

I walked on, going around every headland, twist and crenulation, not missing out a bit, until I reached the start of Traigh Chumail (Chumail Beach at 498633). As soon as there was sand below, I tried going down but slipped on the steep grass, realised that my old Brasher boots hadn’t enough grip left on them, returned to the top and continued along the top until I reached the first dunes (502636), then descended onto the beach. I was soon entranced, exploring a fascinating combination of rocks, sand, rivulets and green sea-weed and algae. After half an hour I’d progressed 100 metres along the beach. 

Between Traigh Chumail and Traigh Shuaineboist

I sat for lunch (12:30 pm) on a fine grass carpet, bonded into a well-drained mound of sand, looking south-west over Traigh Shuaineboist (from 506640). By 1 pm I’d reached the last part of the large bay; five surfers were playing in the waves while one sat on her board looking on. I crossed the beach, walking along the high waterline – the damp sand just firm enough, whereas the soft dry sand would sink under my footfall and sap my energy. From the last beach to the Butt of Lewis could be 2 km, but walking around every promontory, every twist, turn and projecting edge – within the bounds of reasonable care and safety – was a delightful tour – I’d estimate 5 km with my map-measure without the inevitable to-ing and fro-ing, doubling back, crouching and bending to watch the sea-birds and to compose photos of stacks, crags rocks and surf. 

Eroded cliffs north of Roinn a Roidh

The last of the cliff-top walk to the Butt of Lewis - the lighthouse just in view.

The air had become clear. Looking east from alongside the lighthouse, the mountains on the mainland stood out well enough for me to identify Suilven, Canisp and Quinag quite clearly. The hills northwards were feinter, but the outline was clear enough right up to Cape Wrath. After a long chat with a man who took my photo, I left the Butt of Lewis at about 3:10 pm. He was living locally and had received what he regarded as a reliable local forecast: “Good for Friday with a clear sky, but wet for Saturday and Sunday.” The idea of using a clear day to travel south to North Uist, and then, on rainy days, to walk the section that I’d missed out did not appeal. What did appeal was to ascend one of the high routes that I’d bypassed due to low cloud; and what could be better than Clisham on a clear day? And Clisham lay conveniently alongside my driving route south. 

At the Butt of Lewis lighthouse

I arrived back at my van by 3:30 pm, drove to Stornaway, bought milk, eggs, bacon, peppers, yogurt, bananas, muesli, Brie, strong Cheddar, tomatoes, cocoa and seeded bread, and then topped up with water at a garage. Arriving alongside Clisham by 7:00 pm (at what I thought was 180063, but later realised was the next parking place at 174057), I finished off a tub of Coleslaw; reheated and ate the meal prepared on Wednesday, accompanied by a seeded roll and half a red bell-pepper; followed by natural yogurt with a banana and an orange, and then a slice of fruit-and-ginger-cake with a mug of cocoa.