HEBRIDES

A Hebridean Circuit by Fatbike and Packraft, August 1st -16th 2020.

A bikepacking trip to the Outer Hebrides has been on our radar for some time, and this Spring, with our weekend adventuring curtailed by COVID-19 restrictions, we finally looked into it in more detail. We planned a trip for the first two weeks of August, hoping that the islands would be welcoming visitors by then. 

Editorial note: We have, in recognition of the long occupation of these islands and their place at the heart of the Scottish Gàidhealtachd, to a large extent used Scots Gaelic place names for locations on the islands. There are exceptions, chiefly the island names themselves, to aid clarity for the reader.

Fatbikes had featured in our ideas for this trip from the outset, with the beaches and machair of the west coast of the Uists, in particular, catching our eye. Recently though, always keen to expand his adventure “tool kit”, and never short of ideas, Dave had been getting excited by the utility of packrafts. Stumbling across a route on bikepacking.com from Annie Lloyd-Evans and Huw Oliver, circumnavigating Benbecula by bike and packraft, solidified boats as part of the plan. 

We knew Andy Toop at backcountry.scot as a purveyor of all sorts of adventure tools (including Alpacka rafts), and a great enthusiast for all kinds of human powered adventure, so we sought his advice, and after chatting to him about our plans during a brief post-lockdown visit to Aviemore,  we agreed rental of a couple of Alpacka Caribous. These duly arrived from Andy in an enormous box just before departure. Well, truth be told, due to some issues on the part of the post office, we ended up collecting them from the delivery office on our way north…so much for the pre-trip shake down! 

Plan A was to make a South to North traverse from Castlebay to Rubha Robhanais, linked by Cal-Mac ferries and ScotRail trains, however, ScotRail had other ideas, and  we were unable to get our bikes booked on the trains. We deliberated over Plans B through to F, and in a style which would surprise our friends not at all, finally settled on doubling our workload: driving to Oban, buying return tickets for the Castlebay ferry, and aiming for a South to North to South circumnavigation. That said, we had both had a stressful few months at work and wanted a relaxed journey through these remote islands to recharge our batteries, and so set off with few, if any, concrete plans on route or schedule.

We are used to the fatbikes getting some attention but trundling into the Cal-Mac terminal in Oban with them loaded with the boats and paddles took this to whole new level. This was an ongoing feature of the trip and riding a rig like this definitely serves as a fun conversation starter!

After an uneventful ferry crossing, we arrived into Castlebay, Barra, on a beautiful evening. We were both relishing the salt air, and the quietness, after several months of lockdown in the city. We made the short ride south to Vatersay, where there is a fantastic set up for those wishing to camp, with fresh water, and clean facilities funded on an honesty box basis. We found a superb spot on the machair overlooking Traigh a Bhaigh, and it was not long before we were tucking into dinner and soaking up the stunning view of the bay accompanied by the low roar of the waves, and the call of seabirds. 

Setting off next morning, after a brief dip in the clear, calm waters of Vatersay Bay,  we spent the day exploring the west side of Barra at a leisurely pace. For a small island, Barra has wide range of terrain and some very striking scenery. Logical options for escaping tarmac were limited until we reached the north of the island, where we found Traigh Mhor. This, as the name suggests, is a vast beach, and also home to Barra Airport with the runway on the sand. To our delight, the tide was out and no flights were planned so we rode the beach right round to Eoligarry. We found a sheltered spot near an old pier to pitch the tent, overlooking a white sandy beach with clear, turquoise water. With the sun still out and very light wind we figured it was time for that shakedown paddle, so launched the boats for a short drift around in the bay. 

Before setting off we had debated to what extent we should rely on the packrafts for crossings between the islands. Obviously a fully human powered trip was desirable in terms of style points, and eco credentials, but many of the passages here are complex, and highly tidal. Given the lack of previous experience with the packrafts on which to judge their handling and seaworthiness, we decided that discretion was the better part of valour, and planned to use the ferries for the major crossings, and judge more minor crossings as we found them.

Prior to the trip we had identified South Uist as having the potential for some long stretches of beach riding, and we were not disappointed. We headed north on the sand from Pollochara with a strong tail wind, enjoying miles of great riding in increasingly dramatic conditions, as a deep depression approached from the Atlantic. A good friend from university days lives in Bòrnais, and we arranged to visit her. We appreciated the warm welcome Helen gave us, and it was great to catch up over tea and home-baked cake, in her toasty kitchen; such a normal act, which seemed so unusual after the events of this year. We eventually dragged ourselves away from the warmth of the range, and set off into worsening weather, complete with fresh salad and eggs from the croft tucked away in Dave’s framebag. 

Although we knew the Gatliffe Trust hostel at Howmore was closed, we hoped to find somewhere suitable to camp nearby. Unfortunately that was not the case, with anywhere adequately away from homes in the village untenable in the building southwesterly wind. Continuing north along the beach beside crashing waves and under darkening skies was very atmospheric. We stuck to the shore until the rising tide forced us onto unrideable rocky terrain above the sand. Finding ourselves back on tarmac, we had our eyes peeled for sheltered camp sites, but the miles kept rolling by. Eventually, just before Creag Ghoraidh we spotted a deserted, semi-derelict croft. It was definitely one of the creepier campsites either of us could remember, but pitching in the lee of the house would provide valuable shelter, and keep us out of line of sight of the road and other homes nearby. We got the tent pitched, and enjoyed our fresh salad from Helen’s croft before wolfing down dinner. We were both pretty tired after long miles in the saddle, and slept soundly through a windy and wild night.

Tuesday morning we woke to the sound of continued wind and rain, so did not rush out, giving us time to enjoy a bacon and egg sandwich for breakfast. Breakfast in bed bikepacking style! Setting off in dreich conditions, we rode a couple of short beaches on western Benbecula before stopping off at Charlies Bistro in Baile a’Mhanaich for a takeaway lunch of fish chowder to warm us up. Suitably refuelled, we continued north in conditions which varied between miserable, and wild enough to be interesting, punctuating the grey miles with a brief supply stop at the Hebridean Smokehouse. It was fast becoming a theme of the trip that we found great ways to meet our calorie requirements while supporting the local economy! 

Arriving at the turn toward Kirkibost, where we had hoped to paddle and camp, the continuing southerly gale and low visibility discouraged us, and we continued our way north. This seemed a preferable choice to a wet afternoon hiding in the tent, but the weather was tough going at times. We stopped off to admire Hosta beach before the road headed back towards the east. This section was particularly eerie in the weather, the road stretching away through the moors into the clag. 

Stopping to top up water supplies in Solas, the fatbike “magnets” worked again and we got chatting to a German chap who gave us a strong recommendation for a camp spot at Clachan Sands. His enthusiasm suggested we really shouldn’t miss it, but I must admit, riding round the back of the local cemetery on a wet gravel road, I was sceptical. I couldn’t have been more wrong – his enthusiasm was well deserved!  Cresting the hill, a flat grassy shelf opens out just above a stunning beach stretching away to the north, with shallow water glowing an iridescent turquoise, even in the murky overcast conditions. 

The following morning we were greeted by fine weather, so made a plan to paddle over to Berneray. This would be the first paddle of the trip with the boats loaded up with the bikes, so it took us a while to figure out the best way to strap everything down securely, with a balanced boat and space to paddle effectively. We were both pleasantly surprised with how smooth it all felt, and how quickly we managed to get back on the bikes again when we landed on Berneray. This all happened just down the shore from a croft, obviously much to the bemusement of the crofter observing us from his field. Being in no rush we cruised slowly round to West Beach, and found a spot nestled deep in the dunes to camp. We sat above the beach on the edge of the machair while we cooked dinner, and were treated to the most spectacular sunset. 

The early ferry across the Sound of Harris next morning was a fun journey, with some intricate pilotage, and enough evidence of strong tidal streams to reassure me that our decision not to paddle was reasonable. From An t-Òb (Leverburgh) we set off toward Luskentyre, on quiet, undulating roads with stunning beaches sporadically coming into view. It was still only late morning and so instead of our original idea of camping here, we opted to continue on northwards towards An Tairbeart. This is where we encountered our first bit of sustained climbing, hinting at the changing character of the islands as you move along the chain. It was a clear day and looking eastwards over the sparkling sea the views of Skye were spectacular. It is a fun swooping descent down into An Tairbeart (and let’s face it, fatbike tires approaching terminal velocity on tarmac sound mighty impressive), where we decided to stop for lunch. Perched on the harbour wall, we looked out over the hustle and bustle of the building activity around the ferry terminal and decided to crack on for Aird a’Mulaidh, and the shores of Loch Shìophoirt, thinking we would find a suitable spot to camp in that area. 

After a brief stop for supplies in Aird Asaig, we were soon confronted with the pass by An Cliseam. Undoubtedly the steepest and longest climb of the entire trip, the added bonus of a gusty crosswind made for a tough ascent. The peaks of Sgaoth Iosal and Sgaoth Aird may only just top 500m, with An Cliseam just shy of 800m, but riding the cols between them felt like approaching the hall of the Mountain King, and sure enough, on this high traverse, a young eagle landed no more than 25 meters away to inspect the visitors to his domain. 

On the descent we were once again keeping our eyes open for camp spots. We poked into a couple of minor side roads in hope of finding somewhere, but to no avail. As we’d discovered before, most decent spots were too close to occupied dwellings to be reasonable. We continued northwards on very tired legs, as by now we had ridden eighty very hilly kilometers and were very much ready to be off the bikes. Just before Baile Ailean  we turned off towards Loch Èireasort and finally found a little flat spot down near the head of the loch. Perhaps our terrain judgement was a bit off after a long hard day in the saddle, but as we got the stove going for dinner both, we were both doing our best to ignore the wind funnelling round the hillside and whipping aggressively at the tent. 

We sat and ate in silence, but eventually the hammering gusts pulled out a couple of (well secured) pegs and forced us to acknowledge that this really was not a good place to be pitched. So, as Dave went for a walk around the area to see if there was a more sheltered spot in our vicinity, I turned my phone back on and resorted to Airbnb, the tiredness and frustration slightly getting the better of me by this point. Somewhat unbelievably, I found a place in Baile Ailean,  and after a bit of back and forth to find exactly where in the village it was, we found it and stopped the GPS after 90km of riding and a lot of metres climbed; which felt pretty respectable on well loaded fatbikes. Our stay felt slightly like “cheating”, but did provide us with the opportunity to recharge batteries, have a shower, and support a new local business – all preferable to a suboptimal late night roadside camp.  

Our target for the next day was Traigh Bhostadh on the west coast of Lewis, with a detour to see the Calanais Standing Stones. We made a brief stop at Lochs Services as we were getting low on fuel for the stove and up until now had not been able to find white gas (coleman fuel) anywhere. Petrol would’ve been the standard fall back, but after a couple of places declined to sell us just the 750ml we needed, we stopped asking. No luck at Lochs either, but we did pick up a bottle of BBQ lighter fluid that seemed to be a mix Coleman and other stuff, and after a little googling, figured it was worth giving a try (it wasn’t). 

Calanais, home to several sets of standing stones, is quite palpably a site of power, even if the original significance of the place has become obscured in the mists of time. The main group, erected in a cruciform pattern with a central circle, are quite eerie to walk amongst in the mist. Folklore suggests the towering stones are petrified giants who refused to convert to Christianity, somewhat belying their origin in the Neolithic period between 2600 and 2900 BCE. 

The ride out to Bostadh was a pleasant cycle on quiet roads, through varied terrain, and after a brutally steep, but thankfully short hill, ended by rolling right out onto the sand. Always a good way to end a ride. Bostadh is a truly beautiful little beach, and by now the sun had made a proper appearance and it was turning into a glorious evening. 

Selecting a sheltered, yet miraculously midge-free spot amongst the dunes, we realised that we were pitched amongst the buried remains of an Iron Age village - a remarkable place to camp. Watching a spectacular sunset that evening over the deserted beach felt very powerful; we both found it utterly humbling to think that humans had done just that in this spot for at least 2,500 years.  Now a full day ahead of schedule, and finding this a very special spot, we decided to take a rest the next day, enjoy the beach and relax. 

While we enjoyed a leisurely start the following morning, a couple stopped by the tent to say hello. It turned out John and Janice were keen mountain bikers, and had followed our fatbike tracks along the beach. We had good chat about the bikes, the boats, what we were up to etc. They were touring in their repurposed post-office Sprinter van, and had a cottage booked for two weeks at Greosabhagh, on the east coast of Harris, off the Golden Road. After a good yarn, we parted company with a warm invitation to visit if we were passing that way. 

To our delight, we woke to more blue skies, and very light winds, so we committed to our plan to paddle through the narrow gap between Beàrnaraigh Mòr and Beàrnaraigh Beag, then across East Loch Roag towards Tolsta Chaolais. Soon finding ourselves well out into East Loch Roag,  with light winds, and a gentle, oily swell, we decided to make the most of the conditions and to paddle more or less straight across the mouth of Loch Roag, and into Loch Càrlabhagh. This would save us quite a few road miles on the bikes. It really was amazing to be out in open water on such a great day, with close company from diving gannets, seals and porpoise. Travelling by packraft gives a superb perspective, and a real sense of immersion in the environment. 

After pulling out in Càrlabhagh we headed up along the north west coast of Lewis. Truth be told, it felt like a long pull on the road at times after the seclusion of the morning’s paddle, but the views out over the Atlantic provided a welcome distraction and miles slipped by. Remarkably, we saw hardly a single car in 50km plus of riding – only realising late in the day that it was in fact Sunday, and that in this part of the world most would be resting on the Sabbath. Finally, we caught a glimpse of the lighthouse cresting the horizon – we couldn’t quite believe it at first. Riding out to Rubha Robhanais in the warm tones of the early evening light felt like reaching a summit; a sense of achievement, but with the knowledge that more lay ahead – we were, after all, only at the half-way point. 

The views towards the mainland were stunning, with the sawtooth mountains of the far north, and Wester Ross in sharp relief. We retreated a little way south to Eòrapaidh, camping on the cliff tops overlooking another superb beach, with a great surf rolling in under a stunning sunset.

Monday morning. Not usually a cause for celebration, but today it’s Dave birthday!! We started the day with another short ride into Port Nis, where I steered Dave towards the Wobbly Dog café for birthday breakfast. Bacon rolls, strong coffee, and a big slice of cake set us up well for the day ahead, and Mark, the retired lawyer who runs the café, sent us on our way with a carefully wrapped package of his house coffee ground for our lightweight filter!  All the best adventures are fuelled by good coffee!

Riding across the island to Steòrnabhagh under warm sunshine it was hard to believe we were still in Scotland. Logical options to get off road and still make any sort of progress were limited, but at each junction we chose the quieter looking road and enjoyed pleasant riding through Crosbost and Liùrbost, and beautiful views into Loch Liùrbost and Loch Èireasort. Returning to the Lochs region of Lewis, we concluded that options for camping on this bit of the island looked no better than they had on the way north. Fortunately, Aileen, had offered us her living room (all her Airbnb rooms being booked up – clearly her business was making a strong start) if we didn’t mind “camping” there.  So we found ourselves back in Balie Ailean to another warm welcome. Also staying at the B'n'B was a Czech couple, and we all had great craic. When they heard it was Dave’s birthday they produced a bottle of “Becherovka”, which we were informed is the Czech national spirit, and which they always travel with a couple of bottles of, just in case! 

The following morning dawned grey and wet, and uninspired by the weather, we made a slow start. Or perhaps it was the Becherovka? Our plan was to ride towards the Cliseam, then turn off onto a rumoured section of single track down toward Urgha. We climbed slowly in persistent rain, and thick clag. Even the briefest stop resulted in ferocious midge attack. Not the most fun riding of the trip, but we eventually reached the turn for Mharaig, found the single track, and turned off, glad for a change of terrain. Some short steep sections required focus on well loaded bikes, before we had a glorious sweeping descent down to Loch Lacasdail and a rolling traverse along the western shore to Urgha.

With calm conditions, and legs which needed a break, we decided to paddle out from An Tairbeart, around the Direcleit peninsula, and pick up the Golden Road a little further round the bay at Meavaig. The marina manager seemed quite incredulous as we launched in the loaded packrafts, but it was really fun paddling, and as we got out into the bay, the bustle of town faded, and we had magnificent views over to Scalpay and out to Skye. 

We had planned to ride out the road until we found a suitable place to camp, but as we neared Greosabhagh we spotted John and Janice’s red van. John was out in the garden and waved us over as we approached. We stopped for a quick chat, but were soon engulfed in a swarm of midge. He ushered us into the cottage, and before we knew it, we had agreed to stay for dinner and pitch our tent in their garden! John and Janice were so welcoming, and after a hot shower, glass of wine for me and beer for Dave we tucked into a delicious dinner. The banter was great, and the drinks were flowing – we had a super evening with them and slept soundly that night.

The next morning we woke to utter peacefulness as there was not a puff of wind, but  packing up soon became a frenetic race against the midge which had descended in their full might. Brutal! We rode a short distance to a breezy bluff where we stopped off to brew up a coffee and have some breakfast in the sunshine with a spectacular view over Loch Stockinish. The Golden Road swings and dips around exposed granite bluffs, weaving between freshwater lochs and the sea, hugging the east coast of Harris and covering some remote, and sometimes quite alien terrain, and has a very different feel to the west.

We timed our arrival in Roghadal perfectly to get some lunch at Sam’s Seafood Shack, which has a well-deserved reputation. After multiple recommendations as we headed north, we decided to make an event of it, and refuelled with enthusiasm on chowder, scallops with orange salad and lobster on home-made flat bread. It was quite simply amazing, all the more so for being eaten in the sunshine, sitting on the old stone pier in the harbour, as a white tailed sea eagle circled overhead. You really couldn’t make it up! After a brief nap, we took the bikes off road over some fun grassy trails heading back towards An t-Òb, with very fond memories of the Isle of Harris.  

After another good night in the picturesque campsite at Clachan Sands, we set off riding along the beach, before joining the road to Loch nam Madadh. Here, much to our relief, we found a village shop, with a petrol pump, and a more flexible attitude to fuel sales. Consider this a public service announcement; an MSR dragonfly will reliably burn most fuels, but BBQ lighter fluid is not worth the hassle. Fuel bottle refilled, we continued southward, remarking our good fortune to have the stiff breeze coming out of the northeast, not the prevailing southwest. Dave had eyed up a paddle by the foot of Eabhal, North Uist’s highest hill, so we cycled out along the southern side of Loch Euphoirt, into the building easterly wind. 

The saline lagoon of Loch Obasaraigh sits at the base of Eabhal, and we planned to paddle south before making a short portage, and then continue paddling through a complex network of small islands and inlets to pick up the road again at the causeway to Benbecula. The breeze was blowing hard by this point, but the water looked manageable. The initial paddle out from our inlet was slightly upwind, and was tough work. Having turned southwards, with the wind at our backs, we made rapid progress but there was still quite a chop and it felt “sporting” to say the least. We worked up to the eastern shore to try to get some shelter under the lee of the land, and would stop every few minutes to regroup, and assess conditions. All the while Eabhal hung above us, deserted, and its summit shrouded in cloud. This was the first paddle of the trip where the conditions felt consequential, and like good decision making was a necessity.  

We made it to the southern end of the loch without incident, and had a long discussion about the conditions, and the safety of paddling the adjacent sea loch toward Benbecula. Given the wind, which remained strong and gusty, and the orientation of the loch, we decided discretion was required. We were very much in a blank spot on the map, and thus began a long bog trot, riding, and pushing, our bikes over trackless terrain, aiming for Càirinis. When we reached the road it felt good to move more freely again, and we set off down the central road on Benbecula with spirits high again as the tail wind whipped us along.

We continued onto South Uist, turning off the road at Groigearraidh to ride the western beach, aiming for Howmore, where we hoped camping on the machair would be sheltered with the wind out of the east. We arrived  around 8pm and quickly got the tent up on a perfect flat spot set just back from the beach. As the evening light spread over the beach and machair, we were both savouring the peacefulness, knowing that we now only have one more night of this before returning to the mainland, and days when more needs to be done than simply ride or paddle to the next good place to sleep. 

We woke to a slight overcast, and after two rounds of the excellent coffee we’d acquired at the Wobbly Dog, set off down the beach.  Thirty kilometers of beach riding would take us to the bottom of South Uist. There is something special about riding for mile after mile, with the junction between sand and sea stretching into the distance, to the limit of vision, and not another person in sight. We rode slowly, silently aware that the clock was running down on this trip, but still the miles slipping by easily, and we soon reached Pollachara, where the beach ends, and made our way out to the road for the causeway to Eriskay. 

 By now the sun had burnt off the mist and it was a spectacular summer afternoon, so we went down to the Coilleag a’ Phrionnsa for a dip. The sand was pristine, the water crystal clear - and utterly freezing! We had arranged to meet our friend Helen again, in the garden at Am Politician, so headed along there for a late lunch and catch up. We spent a very enjoyable afternoon tucking into a superb meal, with scallops (hand dived by the waitresses’ dad), and crab claws (caught in the bay beneath the restaurant). This felt like a superb way to celebrate a great trip. 

Post Script: It’s not over ‘til it’s over.

We rose early to head to the ferry back to Oban, and were met by an eerie sea fog. Riding up the climb towards Castlebay a few metres behind Dave, I heard a car coming quite quickly from behind, and pulled over as much as I could to give the driver space. I was glad I had, as before I knew it there was a great bump and noisy clatter as their wing mirror clipped my elbow and handlebar. Fortunately I stayed upright, with no real harm done. The driver was clearly quite shocked – too shocked at first to muster an apology – but with no damage done we left it at that,  but did let her get a safe distance ahead before continuing! I could hardly believe that after 700km of riding over the last 2 weeks that I would be involved in an incident like that less than a couple of kilometres from the end of our trip. Never let your guard down I guess. 

The Outer Hebrides are a truly unique group of islands and I think we were incredibly lucky to have such a good spell of glorious weather in which to explore them. Travelling by fatbike and packraft, moving slowly through the landscape, gave us a unique perspective. We did reflect that the bikes would’ve allowed us to travel off road much more than we did, but ultimately, options were limited by geography and sensitivity to the fragile island ecosystems, and the livelihoods of those living there. The roads we did ride were spectacularly quiet, and without the fatbikes the beaches would have been beyond our reach. Lying in the tent each night, hearing the sound of the waves, and waking each morning to the dew on the machair, we felt like we became a part of the environment, fully immersed our surroundings.  I have a hunch we will be back again – hopefully soon.