Moving on again – over the bridge (754363) and ENE, or 24-degrees, to be more precise, then northwards, I felt I was on a profoundly unremarkable route for two and a half kilometers. Then turning right (757386), I followed the straight track-cum-road eastwards to Stilligarry – or Stidhlaigearraidh in Gaelic – which looks a frighteningly long place name; but breathe it out with a gentle Gaelic lilt and it sounds much the same. Continuing straight over at the main road, east another 100 metres, right at the first house (772386), then where the track forks left as though up a drive I followed it for a moment to find a farm gate on the right – not quite what the map showed, but what the map showed wasn’t quite what was there on the ground. I wanted to follow the mapped path leading me south - in the “right direction” - to find Loch Druidibeg on my right (772384), but the field was impassable with boggy ground that way. The passable route was across to the left approaching another part of Loch Druidibeg on my left. I was on a peninsula , hopefully taking me to a causeway (775383). A mute swan cruised by and two circled me twice, making as if to land but then aborted their landing and made off flying north. I picked my way, seeking the less soggy ground south to the causeway, then east across it, following the shore for a short distance. According to the map, I should have been able to follow a path wavering between 100-degrees and 90. What I found was bits of track that appeared and disappeared again. My sympathies go out to those who followed the track disappearing into the sphagnum bog that led into the unfathomable man-eating peat swamp.
Following caution, instead of the map, I trod further to the south, aided by hints of track, to meet a well-made gravel track. I’m not sure where or what it connected with in the south-easterly direction, but it took me with easy walking to the parking area on the Loch Sgioport road (790383). At this point there were nature trail information and directions. As I turned back to the north-west, along the road, two swans rose from the loch, white wings whistling as they flew with their wing beats in unison with each other; one swan tailing immediately behind the other, then splash landed further up the loch. After maybe three quarters of a kilometre (785387?) I noticed a hint of a track heading north. Since I had one and a half hours before a south-bound bus was due along the main road, I decided to follow this ‘path’, hoping for a reasonable route onto higher ground – perhaps giving a better vantage point to see over Loch Druidibeag, taking me directly to the communications installation and view point (784395 to782398 to780405 to776407).
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| I noticed a hint of a track heading north.... |
This worked out reasonably well, not easy walking, plenty of knee-bending and leg-lifting, but no foot-swallowing bog. Sundew longifolia (insectivorous sticky leaved plants) predominated in the de-oxygenated water-logged ground. Just below the ridge on my left, a thud of a hoof surprised me - I had unwittingly startled two large deer. They were males without antlers, having discarded their weighty weapons. How weighty I was soon to discover. About fifty metres further on, I found one half of a pair of antlers on the ground. I picked them up and walked on, stick in my right hand, antlers in my left. I soon realised the weight pulling on my shoulder was too much, and also realised that to have a pair of these weights on a forward tilted neck would be extremely tiring – good reason to shed them as soon as they were no longer needed, and also the good sense in building up the muscles to carry them, by starting off with small antlers one year, and progressively bigger in succeeding years. The rain increased, but I felt so warm that I continued for some time without adding my cag. Eventually the rain became too heavy and too risky for camera and binoculars, despite them being on my front and the rain on my back.
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| Loch Bi backed by indistinct hazy outlines of Benbecular and N Uist |
Approaching the communications facility, I looked out over the wet landscape surrounding Loch Bi, with the main road causeway through its centre; Griomasaigh and Fuidhaigh Island off the east of Benbecula; and over to North Uist, the wedge shape of Eaval, and Li a Deas, standing behind as shadowy ghosts, each receding by stages further into the haze and mist, alongside a variety of minor misty humps ranged across North Uist. The facility being high security is surrounded by a high fence. This I circumnavigated on the east – fence on my left, open views on my right – until I reached and joined the road leading down past the view point towards Geirinis. Pausing at the view point, I absorbed the calmness of the mosaic of water, the wet flat-land and totally flat wetness north, west and south - a gentle blend of dull greens, browns and greys; with stripes and patches of silver-grey lochs, and with grey sea indefinably joining with grey sky.
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| The coastal plane south from the communications facility |
I reached the road at 4:55, expecting to wait in Geirinis, half a kilometre north, until the timetabled 5:31 pm of the scheduled bus – time to spare, and being on the road, no chance of the bus passing me without me noticing. Standing at the roadside, I was able to get a good view of Loch Bi but I was tempted to amble down the road to it. Noticing that the eastern edge was dotted with white, my binoculars revealed at least ninety swans, some at ease, some bottom-up and feeding. With nothing else to do, but wait for half an hour, I thought I’d try hitching a lift – sheltering from the rain in the bus shelter when there was a complete absence of traffic, and then moving out to the roadside whenever a south-bound vehicle approached - three quarters of an hour were passed in this way. The bus time had come and gone. Car drivers had exercised their facial expressions of distrust and disapproval. I was wondering about the prospect of walking 12 kilometres back to my van, when, to my relief, a white car with a kind lady and two children pulled in. With the front-seated child banished to the back, we chatted all the way back to my van. Gathering that I’d been walking off-road, she wanted to make sure that I carried a mobile phone – “You can always get a signal for emergency services, even when there is no network signal” – and that I knew the dangers of ticks carrying Lyme’s disease – “the highest concentration in the UK for incidence of Lyme’s disease is here on the Uists, due to the uncontrolled deer population” and “the local vet is suffering from it.” Yes, I was aware of the first two of those, but I wasn’t prepared to change my mentality from ‘almost able-bodied capability’ to ‘fear-filled disability’. I would continue with care, not ‘be stopped by a scare’.
Reunited with my van, I drove back to West Kilbride, and was relieved to find my forgotten cutlery, dish, mug and plate. Then in order of priority: mug of tea, sausage in beans, banana and fruit-cake, cocoa, shower and laundry in the washing machine – writing myself a note about remembering to collect the washing in the morning.
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