Easter Monday, 10th March, W6D4

 'Solid stone is just sand and water... Sand and water and a million years gone by.'

I make no apology for quoting Beth Neilsen Chapman again, because I found it so very apposite, as I made the transition yesterday from the peat-carpeted hills of Lewis across the geological divide into Harris. It was really like being transported into a different age, or maybe a different planet, with a towering landscape of forbidding mountains crowding in on the narrow roads following the clefts in the ground. It's hard for my little brain to understand how the millennia sculpted this country, producing such variety in so small a stretch of land. Enough of that. 

Anyway, as planned I spent last night by the bay of Losgaintair, but didn't wake to a view of the sandy Bay in glorious sunshine, because the rain persisted through the night. I had to run the engine a bit to warm the cab at first, but eventually settled cosily enough under my warm duvet and slept well. (Apart from my septuagenarian physiology, which demands nightly interruptions, but that's life, I guess, even wild camping!) This morning I drove round to the other side of the bay, where I had seen two other vans camped for the night, one right by the water's edge. The road round the deep inlet ends at access to another wide beach, where half a dozen more were tucked away. The West Harris Trust provide lots of facilities for campers, like the simple toilet at this site, and (I am told - read on) some roadside places with EHU on a first come first served basis. All work either on an honesty donation basis or a few quid charge.

I drove back (past one of the campers just launching his kayak on the bay) to investigate a site for tonight. There are two sites down this coast, one not open until May. The other, Talla na Mara (where I stopped for coffee, though not using the lovely outdoor deck overlooking the beach with a distant couple of surfers) is spectacular but full for tonight. Chiz. They did take my number in case of cancellations, which can happen when the Ferries don't sail because of heavy swell in the Minch. (They never called.) 

Next stop was Rodel at the very southern tip of Harris to look at St Edmunds Church, dating back to earliest Christian times, and the burial place of many of the McLeod chieftains. (I think you've heard about them earlier.) The small church houses many fine sculptures and richly decorated clan panels. Notably there's a memorial to the most famous Gaelic Bardess, Mhairi Alasdair Rhuaid, who, like all bardesses, was buried face down so their songs can't escape to upset the living. (A warning there for some members of DPS?)

I had to pop into the Harris Distillery, of course, and had a taste of the excellent gin, with its kelp sugar botanicals, and a chat about the as yet not matured whisky. It's been sitting now for 7 years in a mixture of bourbon and sherry casks, a treat that will wait for an undisclosed period, possiblh 8 years.

So then to my final stop. I had been advised that at Huishinish there were toilet facilities and a few electrical hookups, but the latter turned out to be untrue. And I will now put my hands up in pained surrender for the last time about the road here. Some old guitar geeks amongst you might remember a track by Duane Eddy called Forty Miles of Bad Road. Well, this wasn't forty miles, but the scariest 30 minutes of my life. If there had been any way to do it I might have given up, turned round and admitted defeat. But no, I could only go on to the end, watching the Google timer ticking down far too slowly. Clearly, Harris has saved its best driving torture for the last. Never again, save of course for the unavoidable return in the morning, when no doubt I will again mutter expletives on cresting each right-angled blind summit on the road just wide enough to avoid the rocks to one side and the sheer drop on the other. That's my last road rant. Promise.

(Oh, by the way, once I got to the stopping place at Huishinish, I found it overlooks another gorgeous beach, where as I sit now with my nightly dram I can hear the incoming waves breaking on the sandy shore. Almost worth the journey. Slainte. )