Home is where the heart is.: Days on the hill.

St Cuthbert, AD687.

The Isle of Lewis is a favourite haunt of ours, which we have visited many times. The west coast of the 'Long Isle' is particularly beautiful and spectacular. Today we remember the Feast Day of Cuthbert of Inner Farne, as I'm sure he would liked to have been called. He loved the Abbey at Melrose where he was Prior but his particular love was for the Holy Isle of Lindisfarne and the remote Inner Farne where he would go on Retreat to pray and commune with nature for, being a brother of the Celtic Church originally, he had a special relationships with both poor people and God's flora and fauna. He would have been happy here as well, I believe, amidst the machar, seabirds, peat stacks and spiritual, Gaelic speaking people.

I had walked past Baile na Cille at Timsgearidh, Uig, a splendid former Manse of the Kirk which has a sad history of years gone by. Then on along the coast passing Ardroil and looking along the sand dunes to the bay where it is reputed that the famous LewisViking Chessmen were found. Another report in the historical archives of the locality locates the find at Tigh nan Caileachan Dubh, Brenis. Ardroil used to be a flourishing township up until the Clearances. A few crofts and houses remain including an old schoolhouse recently re-painted in a hideous dark green paint. I struck off across the peat hags, following the tracks made by peat cutters between drying stacks and thought I was completely alone. Then I was aware that I was not alone. A Gold Plover eyed me from the top of a peat stack and flew off as I approached. Then he appeared again, behind me, eyeing me with curiosity and interest. I kept walking and another appeared, then another, all atop peat stacks for a better view. This seemed to be a game. They were all in winter plumage for Spring and the nesting season was still to come. Above, a buzzard slowly wheeled on the thermals, letting out a bleat now and again as he searched the terrain below. Then another appeared and they did aerobatics on the thermals; a joy to observe. Soon I was passing through Islivig hamlet and the ruined Naval Air Station Radar installation, set up to watch the Western Approaches during the war. Islivig interests me as in the Sagas a Bishop Islif of Iceland sent monks to set up a Seminary here as of course it was a Viking settlement and part of the Old Norse Kingdom. Whilst there is no direct trace of the Seminary now I did wonder why the RNAS cookhouse with its water tower was perched on a hill to this day. The answer lay in the availability of drinking water from a well there. Just beyond Islivig (the inlet of Bishop Islif) by Brenis lies Tigh nan Caileachan Dubh ( House of the old black women, or convent), lying between the road and the sea, with a lovely beach and a natural rock amphitheatre.
Now why would there be a convent here in this remote place? To serve the nearby Seminary of course! The ruins show that there was a community of about say 20 here with a chapel, individual houses, a hospital and a dining hall. The beach afforded access to fishing and it is in walking distance of Islivig.

I sat on a stone in the amphitheatre and said a prayer, for this was a continuous house of prayer, and imagined the Holy Eucharist and the the sermon being delivered from the largest stone, like a pulpit. Then I was drawn, as may be the nuns were to the diving of the gannets between the shore and the Isle of Mealista. Mealisval stood high above the landscape, with a hint of snow on the tops. I resumed my walk beyond the end of the road, passing the final gate marked 'Grazing' and met some young men in climbing gear. We stopped to pass the day. They were climbing Mealisval. I was able to tell them that I was there early this morning on the top and it was pretty boggy in places. They looked quizzically at me, an old(er) man with a walking stick. I had to laugh to myself for earlier my friend from Baile na Cille's wife who is a helicopter pilot, had collected me and flew both my wife and i to the summit and had set down briefly on the summit. We alighted and could honestly say we had been on the summit and described it as stated!

Later in the day I had driven to Gisla, left the car and walked for a while, passing the Keeper's cottage and struck off across the moor to see the beehive huts marked on the OS map. On the skyline I spotted McDonald, the Keeper waving to us. We changed direction to meet up and chat. We explained where we were headed. He said that they were not much to see but suggested we change direction to another site nearby not on the OS map where the beehives were better preserved. We thanked him. He asked if we had been to Harris and we said that we had. He said: 'The folk of Harris are strange folk; black haired, unlike us Norsemen. They are from Denmark!' To this day Harris folk rarely visit Lewis, and vice-versa, as they are ethnically different peoples. McDonald was over 6 ft tall with a shock of reddish hair. He asked for my mother's maiden name and I replied Sutherland, of Halkirk. 'Ah', he said, 'Sudrland, so ye are Old Norse too?' "In part yes, but my paternal family name is Vahey - or O'Fothaidh." 'Well, ye canna help being part Irish, but many of the Irish are Old Norse too ye know!' We then chatted about the grouse season and the predators he has to keep an eye on. He concluded by saying that he was also the Stalker as the Estate has a good herd of red deer on the hill. He swung his telescope case from under his arm, crooked it onto his Lambing Stick and sunk to the heather, focussing on the moor opposite. 'There they are; have a look for yourself', handing over the stick and telescope. After a few seconds I was able to see them just below the skyline, oblivious to us as we were downwind. He invited us for a cup of tea if we passed his house and bade farewell, striding off across the moor towards his house. We moved on and found the beehive huts and wondered at their occupants from over two thousand years ago and why on earth they had chosen to live here.

Returning towards Gisla we marvelled at the majestic scenery and could see why the Viklings loved it here as it was reminiscent of the Icelandic scenery, but warmer. A whirring noise made us both look up and scan the sky. Then we saw a number of Jack Snipe diving and rising again. When diving the wind rippled through their flight feathers. This diving and rising is a peculiar habit of all snipe and this was certainly their preferred terrain. They were difficult to spot as they are so quick.
Leaving the moor and taking to the road towards Gisla we passed a bus shelter which reminded us of the beehive structures high on the moor. Sensibly yet simply constructed one could hide from the rain and wind, even if the elements changed direction. Then to Gisla and the wood carver's house. There is a Gisla in the Vestlands area of Iceland but during the Clearances the English overlords cleared the sizeable township of everyone and put them aboard ships and sent them to Canada. Most Gisla folk ended up around Quebec. Modern Gisla is as remote and as sparkly populated as its Icelandic counterpart.

A bus shelter, or modern beehive hut!