Hebridean Long Distance Cycling Route

Day 5 - Rodel, Leverburgh, Port na Long, Traigh Iar

I woke to the intermittent rustling of the sleeping bag produced by a fitful wind, which had swung round to the north in the night. But I was warm, and looking out the sun was shining. I moved down the headland to a sheltered spot to cook breakfast, and ate it admiring the clear blue sea splashing against the grey rocks in bursts of white foam. After breakfast I summoned up courage to plunge into the sea for an exhilarating freshen up, before packing things up and turning again back towards Leverburgh.

This time I stopped at the famous church at Roghadal (Rodel - St Clements Church) to have a quick look round. From the church it was on once more over the low pass to Leverburgh, where I arrived in the mid morning and was pleased to buy an ice cream at the well stocked stores. I bought a picnic too, and after a short chat with a cyclist whom I had met back at Gearannan and who had also turned up to wait for the lunchtime ferry, I cycled round to the coast road again. There I found a pleasant spot, cool in the shade of a stone pier, to sit and read and sketch for the rest of the hot morning.

As one o'clock approached, I headed back to the ferry terminal, where a small queue of cars and cyclists was building up. This was a little ferry, and I thought at first that it might be one of the Kyle of Lochalsh ones reused. Once on, however, I asked the chap who came round for tickets and although similar it apparently was not. The waters here, he said, were so shallow that it had been necessary to build a jet driven boat (by which I presume he meant the propellers enclosed in a tunnel) because of the risk of damage to propellers in the not unlikely event of going aground. Thus enlightened, I hastened above decks to peer over the side looking with interest for the bottom! It was indeed very shallow, and in many places the sandy bottom, fronds of seaweed reaching up towards the surface, could easily be seen. And it was by far the most erratic ferry trip I have ever been on, the boat making frequent sharp turns to left and right as it wove its way among the many little islands and shoals of this gorgeous, blue stretch of water.

All to soon, for it was an interesting trip, we arrived at Port na Long (Port of the Boat). I cycled off the boat, dawdling a little to let the crowd of other cyclists sweep past. I stopped shortly, anyway, to go and explore Dun an Sticir, a quite well preserved dun, or prehistoric fort, in the middle of the loch and approached by the characteristic causeway. This was interesting, but it was hot work tramping around the moorland and when I came to the main road, I rather guiltily turned right rather than backtracking a little to see Dun an Thorcuill, which I had read was probably the best preserved of such forts in the islands.

I had been chatting with another cyclist on the boat who had volunteered that he was aiming for Traigh Iar (West Beach) for the night. This long strip of sand and dunes had caught my eye on the map as well, but it was only a couple of miles from Port na Long and I rather snootily replied that I was hoping to get a little further myself. "Oh well, maybe I'll see you there anyway", the other fellow had replied, and we left it at that. But he was right. It was extremely hot and humid, and after a few miles I came upon a small shop, providing me with some drink and removing my only necessary reason for continuing. By then I needed no further prompting. A track opposite the shop led away into the dunes, and I followed it to the beach. There, high on a hillock of sand, overlooking a vast, long and empty sweep of sand and clear blue water, I set up camp before running down to the sea to swim.

"It was an awe inspiring sight..."

As the sun set, a change came over the weather. The sky was light blue, tinted with orange clouds over the sea to the west, but inland it was turning an incredibly inky black. The wind swung through 180 degrees and freshened, before dying away again fitfully. And low in the distance, I heard a quiet rumble. I climbed to the top of the dunes and peered east. It was an awe-inspiring sight as the lightning flickered in the clouds over the island and the rumbles of thunder echoed among the hills. Before long, however, it was clear that it was coming this way. I hurried down to my camp, and just had time to stuff the sleeping bag into the polythene survival bag and rig up my coat as a small tent over my head before the rain arrived. The sea was flattened by the usual torrential thunderstorm rain, and as the beach was lit up by intermittent flashes of lightning, the thunder following ever sooner after, it was an amazing, half frightening, half exciting experience.

Eventually the storm moved on and I settled down to sleep with a damp freshness having replaced the heavy humidity of the afternoon.