Much is made of Barra being this encapsulated summary of all that’s good about the Hebrides: beaches, history, scenery, great hikes, friendly people, etc. So where to begin? Excited by the prospect of piles of rocks thousands of years old, I made my way north up the island, past the airport that uses the beach for a runway (nice), to Cille Bhara, a little church where all the MacNeills are buried (even the overseas ones). From there, I’d make my way towards another, newer church, up a hill to, theoretically, an old dun (cairn), overlooking the bit of water between Barra and the next island up the chain, Eriskay.
The stunning view from the wrong hill
With the only bus servicing this part of the island making its last run soon, I had to go. Down the other side of the hill was a nice looking bit of beach facing west towards the North Atlantic that would lead me back past Cille Bhara to the bus stop. After a good slog, I arrived at the beach, dropped my camera bag, turned around, and scrambled back up Wrong Hill because I’d left my gloves up top. After searching Wrong Ledges 1, 2, and 3, I find them with little time to spare. Sprinting down the hill, I notice the waterline’s moved a lot closer to where I’d ditched my gear.
Swish-swishing my way down the beach, watching that ominous tide, I made it halfway along the nice, dry beach before, in an instant, I found myself up to my thighs in North Atlantic seawater. Not the biggest fan of water at the best of times, in full-on panic-mode I scrambled madly across whatever rocks I could find above water level, dragging my gear, my ridiculously unuseful tripod, and my sadly waterlogged but increasingly comical “waterproof” pants up a cut in the dune and into a field.
At this point, I fancied I deserved a rest, given my near-fatal encounter with a cruel sea in my race against tide. Two things made me get up and sprint across the field for the bus stop:
Scraped, fatigued, drenched and with half a barnful of hay clinging to my trousers, I arrived at the bus stop, heaving but fiendishly proud to be right on schedule.
The bus pulled up, 15 minutes later.
I still love Barra, though.
