Sunday 20 May 2012

Lundy

I wanted to get as many of the photos I took last year up before going away and taking loads more over the next few weeks, so the Lundy ones are here. I think after we get back from Scilly I'm going to do a full list of the island's we've been to, and start a counter to formalise the process, cos I like things to be tidy, but here is Lundy...

Very early start, with me, Liam and other Liam on board, must have been about six for the drive to Bideford, joined the MS Oldenburg in her berth alongside the quay and set off along the estuary to meet the open sea at Appledore.








 The waters here got a lot more choppy as the Taw and Torridge rivers collide, and pretty much from this point on it was sick bags at the ready for the majority of the two hundred or so passengers. After about two hours we arrived at the landing slipway on Lundy and disembarked








Lundy is a pretty cool place, and a great little island. At 12 miles from the mainland it's far enough away to feel isolated and remote, and this has led to a fascinating history of piracy and intrigue. I'd bought and read the book "The Island of Lundy" by A F Langham before we went, I'd definitely recommend it if you want to get a better understanding of it's past. 

We decided with the three and a half hours exploring time that we should go for a full circumnavigation of the island, which meant not a great deal of time for inspecting everything in minute detail, but we got a pretty good overview.

We started to the south of the island, and after climbing up the track to the top of the island, with fantastic views down to the bay with tiny rat island (which we didn't get to) and the boat at mooring, we passed stately Millcombe house and then rose to the plateau shrouded in mist. In Lundy as everywhere else, religion has pervaded in the past, and St Helena's church is an impressive landmark, standing as it does among a field of sheep and thistles. The final major landmark at this end of the island is the ancient stronghold of Marisco Castle, built by Henry III in an effort to deter the lawless pirates resident on Lundy in the time of his reign.








After this we headed North up the Western side of the island, past the old light, and the area excellently known as "Earthquake", where geological formations have left the earth pitted and uneven, but I don't think it's anything to do with an actual earthquake. From here it's a fair slog to the Northern end of the island, where there is a lighthouse set down in the cliffs, and excellent views out over the channel.








With time against us we thought we would take a short cut scrambling through some ferns on the Eastern side of the island, which turned out to be quite a poor idea, as within a couple of minutes we were five or six feet deep in dense undergrowth and needed to cross quite a deep valley to get back to the path, but it did add an element of adventure to the trip! 

After such excitement some refreshment was required, and so after trekking back past the threequarter, halfway and quarter walls that cross the island where you would expect them to, and past the buildings and machinery of Lundy's seemingly successful sheep farm, we repaired to the wonderfully welcoming and less windswept Marisco Tavern for some cider and chips. It had just started to rain and the boat was leaving soon, so it seemed everyone else on the island had followed suit, but we managed to get a table and take in the huge array of Lundy memorabilia and nostalgia that adorned the walls staircase. 









So that was it, time to head back down the road to the beach, jump on the boat, this time to Ilfracombe due to the tide being out at Bideford (and as a side note I carried a kayak up the Torridge from Appledore to Bideford in low tide a few weeks ago, and it gets very very low!), get a bus back to the car and drive back up to Bristol.

It was, to be fair, a lot of travelling, around eight hours for three and a half exploring, but as a world away from home, with a lot of surprises and loads to learn, Lundy was worth it. maybe we'll go back, once we've done all the rest of course!

Liam and Liam in the bar of the Oldenburg on the much calmer trip back to port

Saturday 12 May 2012

Tidal Islands of the Gower!

There's more pictures from last year to put up, but I thought I would bring things bang up to date with the story of what we got up to last weekend. It was intended as a visit to Caldey Island, but rough seas and bad weather put a stop to that, which was a shame, especially with it turning out sunny and calm on the Monday, but we got to do another five islands instead, which if you're counting (which we are) was a bit of a bonus.

Sunday

I set off on the train on Sunday morning to catch up with Liam in Swansea, where he was staying with the missus (Fran), and after an hour with her lovely horse Blackie, we left her and drove out to Rhosilli, parked up and walked down the cliff path to Worms Head.



Tide times were perfect for the crossing over the causeway to the inner head, and we scrambled with ease across the rocky, barnacled causeway in about twenty minutes. There was great debate over just how many islands exactly make up Worms Head, could it be two, three, or maybe even four? The internet didn't seem to know, but officially we decided to count it as two. 



After a steep climb to the top of the inner head, we descended back down onto the rocky shoreline and over to the outer head. There were plenty of seals basking along the rocks next to the path, and plenty of daytrippers stopping to watch, there were also plenty of birdwatchers, and we decided if we're going to be spending so much time in their habitats we'd better get a book next time so we know what birds are flying around. 



As time was limited, we didn't stay too long on the outer head, but decided to make our way all the way back to the mainland across the jagged rocks, stopping along the way to check out the rockpools (and take some fun pictures!)



After heading back to Fran's we spent the evening in the company of the lovely people from her stables, and discovered that "island people" are where you least expect to find them. Not only did we meet a man who has flown and landed on many of the islands around Britain (and asked him for some lifts), the host herself seemed to understand the appeal...


Monday

This was supposed to be the day of the trip around the coast to Caldey, but after getting up early and preparing for a long day, a check of the automated telephone message told us that all boats were off, and Tuesday was looking doubtful. Not to be deterred (though a little disappointed), we decided that we'd spend the day closer to home on the Gower. From Worms Head the day before we'd seen across Rhosilli bay to what definitely looked like another island at the end, a quick check on t'internet told us not only was it an island, but it was accessible, and it even had a name! This time with Fran in tow, Burry Holms was to be the first stop of the day. 



After a meandering half mile through the sand dunes another little trek over slippery seaweed covered rocks we got to the island itself, luckily we'd managed all the islands so far with the tide on our side, we could see that the water had just receded enough to let us cross, and after scrambling up onto the grassy bank on the top of the island, we saw that it had perhaps more going for it than Worms Head across the bay, with evidence of the 12th Century church of St Cenydd, the ruins of a 14th Century school, as well as Iron Age Earthworks which are clearly visible as a huge dividing line across the top of the island today, it clearly must have been an good place to keep safe and get some peace, away from the hustle and bustle of the busy and overpopulated Western end of the Gower!




After circumnavigating the small islet, and after a long and wistful look out over the sea (cos that's where all the adventures come from), we headed back to the beach and retraced our steps through the sand dunes to the car, and after an inadvertent trip all the way round the Gower (blaming the navigator), finally got to the Mumbles for our final islands of the weekend. 




To be fair I didn't really have great expectations of the two small islands that form (and provided the name for) the end of the Mumbles, the far end of the great sweep of Swansea Bay. With the modern amenities (and overpriced cafe) and so many people in such close proximity, I wasn't expecting there to be the same isolation and "island-ness" that you feel on the more far flung outcrops, but I was pleasantly surprised. After our third stomp over uneven intertidal zone of the weekend, we first ascended the further bit of rock, or Mumbles Lighthouse Island, as the council have seemingly named it. 



There was actually lots to see here, and the presence of the ruined buildings and searchlight towers from the war gave it a feel very similar to Steep Holm, just much much easier to get to. There were far less people here than on the mainland, and the inner island in between us and the pier made it feel very remote, but the tide was definitely starting to turn, and when we saw the fishermen start to pack up and climb back from the furthest extremities of the rocks below, we knew it was definitely time to get moving.



We did manage a final scramble up and onto the inner island, far more just a lump of rock and without any notable features other than what looked like some practically vertical but blocked up cave entrances on the seaward side, but without a doubt our fifth island of the weekend, and more than made up for missing out on a real boat trip to Caldey. Either way, we can save that for another weekend now!










Saturday 5 May 2012

Outer Hebrides! Part 2: South Uist to Lewis

On with the story...

Day 4 - South Uist to Berneray

This was to be the day that we did some actual proper physical exertion. We wanted to get at least one mountain done whilst we were in Scotland, and looking at the timings for what else we wanted to do, Clisham, the highest point in the Outer Hebrides on Harris wasn't really going to be an option. In the end we plumped for Eaval, the highest mountain on North Uist, at 347m above sea level. Hardly Everest, but from the bottom it definitely looked big enough. 




So we set off from Howmore to drive across the causeways to Grimsay and then Benbecula, (past the school at Balavanich where the kids playground is literally right next to the beach, talk about jammy...) and finally to North Uist. 

The closest place we could park to Eaval was about an hour's hike away over pretty rough ground around the shore of Loch Obasaraigh, the deepest loch in the Hebrides. I managed to fall over almost straight away, but we got there in the end, and were only a little tired when we actually started climbing the hill. 






It only took another half an hour to get to the top, but the three of us were completely exhausted, and we'd even considered giving up when we were half way up, such was the steepness of the incline, it was more of a scramble than a stroll. The views, however, were amazing. South to South Uist, Eriskay and Barra beyond, East to the Shiant Islands and Skye over the Minch, and North to the rugged and foreboding Harris. Only to the West did the Atlantic stretch out uncluttered by more islands









The scramble down was much easier, and much much faster, and we got back to the car to finish the journey up to Berneray. We took the road around the West of the island, foolishly missing the opportunity to head to Lochmaddy where we'd heard there might be a pub of some sort, and over the causeway to Berneray. After a long day and lots of photos my camera was by this point dead, which was a shame as it was a fairly dramatic couple of hours.

We arrived at the beautifully located Berneray hostel just too late it turns out, as all the beds had been taken by the pesky cyclists who hadn't stopped to climb a mountain that day, lazy sods. Luckily we'd planned ahead and brought some extremely cheap, small and flimsy tents with us in case of exactly this sort of scenario arising. Unfortunately, not only were all the beds gone, but so were all of the camping spots with any decent shelter from the wind and increasingly ominous black clouds forming overhead as the evening began to draw in.

After wandering around and trying to work out the best place to put the tents up, we eventually decided on the beach, in the lee of some fairly sizeable sand dunes. The tents really weren't as big as we had hoped, and the prospect of me and Liam sharing one certainly didn't appeal. To make matters worse, the wind was getting up, and to make sure they wouldn't blow away we had to heap sand all round the edges, reducing the space inside yet further. We made as ham-fisted a job of it as we could, and made our way back to the hostel to use the kitchen to make some dinner.

Needless to say, almost immediately we got in through the door, the heavens opened and an almighty thunderstorm ripped in from the sea, even the five second dash to the car for bits left our faces stinging with rain. By the time we'd had something to eat and dried off a bit, the weather was showing no signs of abating, and we were left in a bit of a quandary, but in probably the moment that best encapsulated for me the sort of hospitality I'll remember the Hebrides for, the total strangers who had stolen our beds all clubbed together any spare bits of kit, and insisted that we set up camp on the kitchen floor rather than risking another voyage outside. We most humbly and gratefully accepted. I think we even gave them most of our cake. Well you would wouldn't you.

Day 5 - Berneray to Rhenigidale

Anyway, too much writing, not enough pictures. We got up the next morning, found the tents intact, immediately deposited them in the nearest waste receptacle, and after an almost disastrous bit of unintentional off-road exploring in the car, made our way to the ferry 'port' to get the boat to the bright lights of Leverburgh on Harris.



More islands that we didn't go to, possibly Pabbay, or Ensay. More regrets, or an excuse for a return visit?



This day actually turned out to be one of necessities and was in all fairness, a little mundane. Our first stop was our hostel for the evening, at Rhenigidale, supposedly at one point the most remote settlement in the UK, and it certainly felt that way. After the fairly easy distances on the Uists, the drive up through the Southern part of Harris along the Western coast, whilst dramatic at times, was largely shrouded in mist and seemed to take forever. Eventually however, we made it to the turning for Rhenigidale, and then it was only miles and miles of single track road winding down valleys and through narrow passes. But we made it to the hostel, and for once we were the first people there and got the choice of beds. The surroundings were much more rugged here, a real change from the open sandy expanses further south.



Now came the boring bits. We needed petrol, and that meant a drive either back down to Tarbert (the garage was closed when we drove up), or venturing further up into Lewis, spoiling tomorrow's virgin territory. We ended up doing both, and spending the whole day doing it. Tarbert for petrol, closed again, popped in probably the only metal pub in a hundred mile radius for a swift one, station open, overpriced unleaded, then the sudden realisation that we were going to need a meal at some point, and there was nowhere in sight to get one.

It won't matter, we said, we won't have to go all the way to Stornoway to find a decent shop, there's bound to be one on the way. There wasn't. A good hours drive to the Co-op on the edge of Stornoway, ruin the surprise, so we decided we'd do it properly and bought all the bits for some slap-up fajitas back at the hostel. With the weather still poor there wasn't much prospect of enjoyable exploring, so a couple of bottles of half decent wine seemed the only way to do Rhenigidale justice.



Day 6 - Rhenigidale to Stornoway

So up and out at a reasonable hour, and another drive up into Lewis, past Loch Seaforth and into Stornoway. It was something of a novelty to be in such a civilised and urbane environment, I believe we may have remarked with surprise "they've even got a boots!", but it was nice to be able to grab a snack without planning days ahead. We checked in at the hostel and then pretty quickly got back in the car to head out west, to the standing stones at Callanish (don't know what I did with the camera there) and the very top, the Butt of Lewis, but not before a stop first at Arnol Black House, to see how daily life would have looked in Lewis until surprisingly recently.






I have to admit my intermittent vertigo got the better of my at the Butt, trying to peer down into the abyss to see the seals basking in the cove below, but the whole landscape around the Butt and in the villages of Eoropie and Ness on the long straight road up was so peaceful and idyllic, it seemed a shame this was our last full day on the islands.








After that, back into Stornoway, for a late afternoon stroll around the conspicuously lush greenery of the castle grounds, a spot of dinner (bag of chips in the hostel garden), a tour of the local nightlife (couple of dodgy pubs, too tired for the nightclubs!) then an early night before the ferry in the morning.

Day 7 - Stornoway to Chesterfield (blimey, that's a long way isn't it?! Yes, yes it is)

As the early morning ferry left Stornoway Harbour for Ullapool with much sadness we departed the islands, and made good time over the Minch, passing as we came back to the mainland the numerous and tantalisingly close Summer Isles, but again that's another holiday to plan! A highly recommended slap up Scottish breakfast in a cafe along the main street, and then off on the 472 mile drive to stopover at my parent's near Chesterfield. We managed a couple of brief stops at places of note on the way down the highlands, Ben Nevis, Loch Ness, all the usual tourist stuff, but without water surrounding the place it didn't really feel as important. 

It had been all the epic journey we had hoped, we'd been to maybe only six or seven of the fifteen inhabited and countless uninhabited ones, but this was our first go, and we felt we'd done ourselves proud. Would we come back? Definitely, but not until we'd done a good deal other things first...