Lewis to Harris

The next morning I packed up and bid goodbye to Clare and some of her pets, and a fellow traveller. Pablo, whose bed for the night was in the turquoise double decker bus, is a true digital nomad, cycling the world with a laptop for work and a guitar for entertainment.

I was heading down to Harris, with a long day ahead and a strong headwind to contend with, so I stopped early at Lochs Services. A minor miracle – the cafe was open. It was takeaway style, but with seating. I sat there, revelling in the small luxuries: a bacon roll, hot coffee, and the local paper.

Lewis and Harris are often spoken of as separate islands, but they are in fact joined by a low, watery landscape scattered with lochans. It felt like a kind of no man’s land, yet the road carried reminders that this apparent wilderness had once been fiercely contested.

The Pairc Raiders monument marks the 1887 land raid by crofters on the Pairc deer forest, part of wider struggles over land rights in the Hebrides that helped shape later reforms to Highland land laws. I’d passed a similar memorial cairn the previous day on Great Bernera. Further down the road I stopped at the Bonnie Prince Charlie monument, marking the place where he landed after his defeat at Culloden, before crossing “over the sea to Skye.” I wondered whether he’d had any better luck finding an open café on his travels.

Shortly after passing the sign welcoming me to the Isle of Harris, I reached the Scaladale Outdoor Centre. Thankfully, they let me top up my bike’s battery again, as I could see the road winding upwards and around the flanks of Clisham, the highest mountain in the Outer Hebrides. Once rested, I set off with trepidation, but it wasn’t actually that bad, just a steady pull up. Unfortunately, I rode straight into mist and missed out on what I imagined must have been fabulous views. Still, it was a pleasure to take advantage of the freewheel down into Tarbert.

Tarbert is the largest settlement on Harris and the main transport hub, with a ferry terminal to Skye, so I had high hopes for it. Maybe it was just the wrong time of day. No cafés open. Turned away from the hostel…

Can I have a room?
You’ll have to share a mixed dorm.
Can I see it?
No.
Is there somewhere to store my bike?
No.

It was another 11 miles to the Horgabost campsite, which meant another climb, but I decided to carry on as far as I could and wild camp if necessary. Although shrouded in mist, it wasn’t quite as bad as I’d originally thought and I had a real wow moment when I caught my first sight of Seilebost Beach.

A couple of miles later, with the battery flashing red, I rolled into Horgabost campsite. There was, of course, no shop or café. Still, I’d caught on by now and had stocked up at the Services earlier in the day, so I was glad to pitch the tent, have my tea, and then go for a stroll along the stunning beach. It had been a tough 50 miles with almost 3,000 ft of ascent.