I took the month of May off from my stained glass business and totally absorbed myself in the islands…. and it was so good I might even do it every year!




So, on Saturday I took that bus to Tolsta… with the full intention of walking back to Stornoway…. Only, Instead I took the turn to the red beach….and looked at the mainland there. Clear as day. The walk back to Stornoway would have been road for 14 miles. I chose the beach. Walked its length. Then got bus back to Stornoway.
And so I see (now)…. It was all in my hands.
Here…. The diary of my walk. And what I want to share with you ….. now that the walk is done.
The Hebridean Way is a long distance walking route through Scotland’s Outer Hebrides. The route crosses 10 islands linked by 6 causeways and 2 ferries. It is around 155 miles from Barra to Stornoway.
Thursday May 1st. …And I had travelled to Scotland, Oban, the day before with my brother Duncan and his partner Mandy. (It was sailing with Mandy 2 years previous that had planted this germ of an idea within me… although little did I know that then…)
This time I sailed on Caledonian Macbrayne (as their yacht for now, was landlocked). From Oban to Barra, a 5 hour gentle crossing, to arrive in Castlebay at 6pm. My adventure begun….. all toilets closed… all buses departed!!! Ha. but I had the knowledge of where to wild camp!
And so began the pattern of my next few days ….. I wild camped alongside a fellow walker whom I’d only just met. And I would grow to realise and appreciate these interactions and temporary bonds with fellow travellers. … camper van folks, bikers, hikers and locals. Faces that would keep popping up throughout the length of this journey.
I crazily ran up the nearest closest tallest hill. I was hungry for adventure!! And on meeting the Virgin (Madonna statue) on the hill I had the realisation that I’d left the Oban cafe that morning without settling my bill!!! (Yikes)(but bro went and took care of that)(phew).





Friday May 2nd And after a cold first nights camp, where I fidgeted under the flapping fly sheet of my solo tent, regularly checking its anchors, I strolled back to the village centre and had coffee in a china cup n saucer before jumping on the early bus to Vatersay and what would be the start of my walk.
The bus held half a dozen or more excited walkers. All giddy with the newness that faced us.
I chose to leg it to the south south beach (like the guide book suggested!) and I was glad I did. I chose to go off piste up to a first col too (as the guide book suggested) only I wished I hadn’t. The terrain was unfriendly. The slopes steep. And when I could see my new travelling friends move further away from me down on the road I had just a wee (wee!) moment of panic. My rucksack was threatening to topple me … so I elected to drag it for a bit. And In doing so losing my water bottle , my banana and breaking my carabiner mug (and wooden spoon I discovered later). (I retrieved everything after running back up slope. And gave myself a severe talking to!!)
And so my journey had begun.
“Shit happens” said my fellow traveller!
That first day’s walk was tough. Tough climbs, (but I love climbs)… adjusting to my pack and new surroundings. A night’s camping was found at Wavecrest Campsite, Borve. (Tucked behind the hill that I had run up the previous evening).
I would come to the realisation that I would fixate and gravitate upon and around an islands hill for many hours steps and miles of each coming day. It became a comfort to have a familiar shape become your horizon.
Saurday May 3rd. Another tough days walking ahead … route finding, choosing whether to detour to brochs, or not, as the case became, when terrain was tough and air was heavy and damp. But by the time “we” (i walked with fellow walker all today) got to the top of Barra the sun was out. And it was wait for the ferry to Eriskay. Our second island and time to say goodbye to the virgin hill.
Then the decision of where to camp? Some welcome beer n chips gave us the stamina to walk on to South Uist and a site at Kilbride. Showers and kettles in campers kitchens…. How quickly such basic things become luxury items. Was it really only my third night and about 20 miles done.








Sunday May 4th. And today I chose to walk alone. There was a long 18 mile beach section ahead and I wanted to do it at my own pace. And I really really wanted to make it to the Howmore Hostel. This would mean a bed for the night and with each passing mile I began to want that desperately. The nights in the tent had been testing to say the least. Cold cold cold. And, windy windy windy.
Some cyclists I recognised told me they’d visited the hostel…. “About half full” they said. And I pushed myself hard on rhythmic sticks, ignoring my burning feet, to get to that bed. I practically fell into the dorm like some mad crazy woman …. “Please tell me there are beds “. There was. (Silly billy me)
But my feet were broken. Blistered and sore. Then I further learned the camaraderie and support of fellow travellers. Advice and remedies and lotions and tapes were kindly bestowed upon me. Vaseline!!!! A gift from the gods and a treat for wrecked feet. Neat!
I had known these folks only minutes and yet I will remember their kindness always. I had the chance to bestow some kindness the following night too by way of a gift of a fried egg dinner! (Which would be repaid in beer days later at Tarbert). But that seems miles in the future yet…..
Monday May 5th. And with broken feet I was able to come up with a plan to complete the next section by travelling light without my heavy pack. … and restock with food (real food!!)(fried egg type food!!!) to boot. A lovely young couple gave me a lift to the supermarket at the causeway (no buses, bank holiday!)… and from there I walked back to the hostel. A nine mile rest day I called that one! Blisters got no worse. Ankle…. Survived. But I could recognise the effect that the heavy pack was having on my body. I must take care of myself I told myself. I saw two more virgin Madonna’s this day. (I saw no more!)
Tuesday May 6th. …So buses back running. I jumped on a bus to the causeway, bought more supplies, posted postcards home, and walked the two or more miles of road section to the next campsite and the next part of my plan.
Today I would run. Get my body working differently. Get the joints flexing as I am used to and, cover some ground quicker in a familiar and light way. I pitched at Otters edge campsite, Benbecula (4th island)…then hopped on bus for 7 miles and ran back. Enjoying beach running, bird watching and paddling. It turned out to be a short day, but the rest and paddling was invaluable for my throbbing ankles. Salt water and paddling has been a lifetime cure for my problematic ankles and my sisterly correspondence reminded me of this. Paddling would become a daily routine, where I could.
Wednesday May 7th. And this was where I became clever at my logistical creative planning. Other walkers shook their head saying how could I put my trust in public transport and others. But I knew I was listening to my body and putting my trust in myself.
I had 3 days to do 22 miles before my son Tom would arrive to walk with me … and so I worked out how I could do it…. Buses and supermarket, more buses and a campsite. Then bus back to where the supermarket was and run back to where I’d pitched my tent (you keeping up!!). Hee hee. It worked. I even managed to transport some heavy kit for a friend.
It was so great to run over Rhuaval, a rounded conical hill surrounded by a latticework of sea and lochans that makes up the landscape of the Uists. I was blown away by the freedom of the view that opened as I topped out in my running kit. Breathing it all in I set off in the vague direction of a trod and the causeway. A couple on the summit kept a worried beady eye on me and it was no surprise to see them again when I rocked up at the campsite. It is that kinda place I was coming to realise! I told them that despite being ravenous I had kept on running under their watchful eyes until they knew that I’d found the way. They laughed!
I went to my tent. Pitched in the shelter of the barn in the hope it would afford me some shelter and warmth. (Call this a wind, the lovely campsite owner had quipped!) I would stay here at Moorcroft Campsite for 2 more nights. On the second night the owner loaned me a thicker sleeping bag and a rubber sleepmat to compliment my travelling light stuff that I was carrying!
I was super cosy that second night but still on the third I chose to move into their luxury bunkhouse and the comfort of a bed!! (I had young fit Tom arriving the next day)(it was justified!!)









Thursday May 8th. And today I would complete stage 4 to Lochmaddy. About 14 miles. Travelling light, carrying a friends additional sack together with my wee day sack… I would walk to Lochmaddy and return on the last bus. Leaving my friends to continue whilst I waited on Tom arriving.
The days walk was wonderful. Peaty paths passing lochs and cairns and various other prehistoric relics. A welcome bowl of soup was to be found at the Langlass Hotel. A rare luxury to find refreshments absolutely en route, and at lunchtime too! An extra diversion was added to visit stone circles, chambered cairns and woods where bears once roamed! It was said …..
The old road finished off the stage… mile upon mile to Lochmaddy where brisk tired walking caught me just at the final bus stop. Phew. Sweet.
But bittersweet too to say tata to walkers Fran and Jules. Jules I would meet again. But Fran, walking with an artificial lower leg limb got broken and sore in the coming days and sadly had to retire. He’ll return he said. He’s a hero. I said.
Friday May 9th. And my only real total rest day of the entire trip. I had confidently planned on legging it up the mystical magnetic mountain that the nearby Earbhl had become. But the testing previous days walk showed me that this would not be wise. So instead I paddled lots. And planned my days with Tom. And what would become my return to this magical mythical place with my friend at the end of this journey. (The bunkhouse and Eabhal had gotten a hold of me)
Saturday May 10th And Tom would arrive on the 4 pm ferry. I rode the lunchtime bus into Lochmaddy and stocked up on foodstuffs at the local store and on culture at the local arts centre. I feasted at the cafe enjoying black Americanos and cinnamon cake until it was time to watch the horizon and Tom’s ferry arrive. We would be hardcore backpacking for the next 4 days. So, after fish n chips in the Lochmaddy Hotel we hit the trail. The plan was to walk for a couple of hours to find a suitable pitch on the open fell. It was great to be walking alongside Tom. I was brimming with tales but also looking forward to the coming days of wild camping and wild landscapes. We eventually settled on a heathery pitch alongside Loch Portain. My first suggestion of loch side bright green shelf was shelved due to sogginess and the pungent ness of sheep pong. We had a great night. We swapped tents, my solo for the trusty MSR hubba hubba and it’s space and twin porches. Luxury!!! (I would make space in my pack for this more spacious tent going forwards).. And Tom taught me to ‘shop around’ for your pitch… pitch and move. It’s wise. If the first decision was not a good one!
Sunday May 11th. A high level troop across North Uist and Beinn Mhor. We dropped our sacks and trotted up to the trig and were astonished with the watery wilderness we had navigated to get to this spot. On down Beinn Mhor and onto the causeway that would take me to my 7th island and Tom’s 2nd. It was only noon and a ferry could not take us to Harris until 4pm that afternoon. We wandered to one of Berneray’s many white beaches and enjoyed a paddle and a sit around. When the wind got too cold we decamped to the ferry terminal and there prepared our firepot meal that would fuel us for the evenings walk. It was Sunday. And all shops were shut so we were delighted to find a vending machine on the ferry and stocked up on choccie and crisps! Simple things eh. Food. And later we would think about shelter.
It was a grey sky when we docked at Leverburgh on Harris. And from there we faced a committing trudge up a boggy glen knowing that we would only be able to find a dry camp spot once we reached the Coll. It looked a long way. It was a long way. 2 hours of bog trotting and some blister maintenance and we eventually reached the west. There we were met with big Atlantic views. Vast white beaches and a wind straight out of Iceland! We had emerged onto a rounded grassy meadow, home to sheep and more sheep poo. We found a couple of relatively flattish spots and pitched into the wind. It was a wild old night. Once again, I kept checking the anchors.







Monday May 12th Dawn came not soon enough, and we elected to drop the tents and make breakfast at a more hospitable location en route. We dropped down to feel the spray from the Atlantic breakers. Feel the stretch in your calves as you walked thru dunes and soft sand. It was nice to cross the coast road and hit the open fell once again. It was a tough old climb and contour… steps up that wouldn’t usually offer a problem were pretty heavy and high to me! But it was a good feeling. The rocky landscape was magnificent. In a wee sheltered dell we feasted on the instant porridge. I flipping love prepping it on that wee stove with my aluminium wind shield. Happy days.
And so on to the sandy beach setting of the Horgstbord campsit. It was a bit of a hike off route and so we decided to nail a bit of the next day’s route travelling light off the bus. So glad we did! It was technical enough in reverse and with a bum bag. Wouldn’t have liked to do this first thing the following morning.
The camspite owner here very kindly loaned us his electric kettle to aid with our supplementary supplies that we purchased at his shop – noodles n porridge… a lovely young mum upon spying it in my tent asked…. ‘are you really carrying that electric kettle!’
Tuesday May 13th Harris. And the coffin route. (So,so glad we’d pinched a bit yesterday and so had this glorious start.)
A beautiful section of walking. And the sun was out strong and the wind settled. The rocky mountain pass scenery was ace. Some sections of the clipped grassy trod were like a green velvet big dipper chute. The route took us thru ‘The Bays’ area south of Tarbert. Many scenic crofts and lochans and tough climbs around rocky knolls. I loved it. And was super grateful to find a coffee machine at the Harris tweed exhibition in Drinishader. A rare, rare treat en route. And so we notched the 14 or so miles into Tarbert. A long long day but beer n a hostel were at the end of it!!







Wedneday May 14th Tarbert to Stornoway and I’d noticed that the route provided no opportunity for official campsites… only ‘wild’ and I didn’t fancy that in the wild boggy landscape presented. So, I made the decision to stay put at the hostel and use the bus to shuttle me up the stage. With Tom resting his feet as he was going to continue on to Skye I took the bus to Aardvourlie and walked back to Tarbert. What a glorious section. Even more so as I’d left my rucksack behind. What a day. Beauty route. And a swim in the loch too. Then a bit of shopping in the Harris tweed shop. I do love that shop!
Thursday May 15th. And after a recuperative morning paddle I jumped back on the bus and Tom got on his ferry. Today I would walk Aardvourlie to Laxay. A long long day. I hadn’t quite anticipated the long sections of road and the longer long sections of open moorland. .. mile upon mile of raised peat path … and not a soul to be seen. Very lonely sections. I was missing Tom I think in the beating sun. Getting near to the end too…. And so it became a long walk. … 16/18 miles… 7 hours of walking.
And then I discovered the beauty of retracing my steps from the bus window. Quite lifted my spirits. And this landscape became embedded within me and the knowledge that I had walked all these miles was totally humbling and awe inspiring in equal measure. I was amazed at myself!!!
I mean, when in your ordinary life would you undertake such a walk!… like, “mum, I’ll come see you later, but instead of getting in the car I’ll w a L k !!!” You just don’t do it do you. And so I arrived at the remarkable realisation of what I had given myself. Simple things. And time out from the ordinary.
Friday May 16th. Yep. This day would get me to Stornoway. And the official end of the walk (so far!)
Miles of raised peat path again and my mind could wander as I meditatively walked. Could I walk all the way to the butt of Lewis? I hatched a minds plan … whilst getting on with the job at hand.
Moor section over at Achamore I hit the old road to Stornoway. 9 miles said the sign. Yikes. The route was scenic enough, but tarmac, with only shielings (summer residences) and solitary peat digging crofters for company. Who would holler things like “lovely morning “…
Eventually I hit the “suburbs” and the signs directed me into the leafy parkland estate of Lewes Castle. The driveway seemed to go on forever … ah, here’s the castle, but where is my rusty finish plaque?… was it out front next to the canons? No. I wandered on, having to look at the trace on my phone. And then there it was…. Ha. Tucked besides the recycling bins!! A mild anti-climax. But it made me laugh. And wander on. I gazed at the harbour, busy with boats, and the roads, busy with traffic. I said hello to two old ladies sat on a bench …
I’ve just finished the Hebridean way I said.
Nice day for it they said. (!)
How do I get into town I asked.
Across the bridge.. they gestured.
Grounded. I wandered towards town. So? I asked myself.
Ha. Then all was good as I bumped into fellow travellers I had met along this ‘way’ and we went and got that beer.
Happy days. And I daydreamed and gazed out that window all the way home on the Tarbert bus.
Happy days indeed.







Saturday 17th May And I had a mind to carry on walking…..
Is there anywhere I can stash my rucksack I asked myself friendly Tarbert driver? Why not … stick it on the Ness bus he said … do what you have to do out to Tolsta (I’d told him my plan!)… let my big pack ride the ness bus and me be reunited later. A perfect plan! He even chatted to the next driver for me to make sure all was ok!! Happy days.
And so I rode the bus to Tolsta. A fellow riding local encouraged me to come sit back high up.
Look at the mainland he said. That’s Suilven he said.
Wow. I said.
I jumped off at Tolsta and turned down to the red beach. Encouraged by the cliffs and that mainland horizon I sat on the red sand and drew my name in the sand. I stared at the mainland. I contemplated the 14 mile hike back to Stornoway on roads I’d just ridden.
I stayed on the beach. My walk was done I said to myself. I was happy. I strolled the length of red beach. Then sat and ate my oatcakes. One man, his dog and his small autistic boy for company. I found a crab claw and offered it the wee boy. They offered me a lift.
I rode the bus back to Stornoway.
Amazingly, following the aroma of fish n chips I sniffed out Jules, another fellow traveller. And together we shared tales and beer as we scoffed our chips! Happy days. And then goodbyes.
Time to be reunited with my rucksack on the bus to the Butt of Lewis. (Plan worked!)
The bus to the ends of the earth. That was how it felt. Flat far reaching peat lands eventually turning to spatial croft inhabited land. And again, I was struck by this ever changing alien yet homely landscape. The bus driver lowered me off at Uncle’s Croft. My ‘field’ for the next two nights. (And what a crazy campsite… seeing was believing). Surreal. But then again, I’d have been unsatisfied with anything less!
I pitched next to a cuddly tiger peering out from an erected tractor tyre (you get the picture!)
And then I wandered across to that lighthouse. A mile or so distant. The cliffs and the Atlantic waves were exhilarating. I wandered slowly. Taking it all in.
And then I wandered some more … to the surfing beach and another paddle in the breakers….. then navigated my way back to uncles Croft (daft that I should get almost lost at this stage eh)
Sunday May 18th.
And today my friends Angie and Hughie would arrive in their camper van. I woke early and donned my run kit with a half baked idea about running the cliffs back towards Tolsta…. I made it so far…. Then just a little further…. Then…. Stuff it!! And returned to the surf at the port of ness. Enough. I said. Enough.
My friends arriving was very emotional. I almost wept in her big warm hug. Flipping heck.
And then. We strolled out again … revisited the port of ness and then the lighthouse at sunset. By now it had gotten really freezing wind again and the shelter and hospitality of their van was most welcome.
What a flipping epic trip. The following day they drove me in their van back to Tarbert. I thanked them with cinnamon buns!…
Was it all over?
What had I done?








Conclusion
Oh man. It was epic. And even better…. I had even more days ahead. Restful beautiful days in fine finest company. I returned to North Uist. To meet Peter. And we climbed Eabhal. Xxxxxxx
I was on top of my world. And it was ace.




















































































































































































































































