Part 5: Those water spouts are really shifting - seem to be getting bigger too

Only porridge for breakfast this morning - minor cock-up on the catering front. We were so impressed with this hostel that we decided to head for the next one on Baleshare. Our original plan had included a stop there for Geoff and Dave to do a spot of fishing so this next hostel would fit in nicely. Mike had the same destination in mind but being better organised than we three, had set off much earlier.

Our first stop was at the General Store in the main village where we bought our supplies for the day. Dave and Geoff had a heated discussion, cost versus carbohydrate value of prawns forming the basis of the disagreement. Dave had just about run out of money so Geoff won - no prawns.

As yesterday's beach route had proved successful we headed for it again this morning and were soon sheltered from what little wind there was by the lee of the dunes. The day had started dry but overcast with a leaden sky threatening us as we made our way north. Seven miles later we stopped for a brew at Ardivachar Point and sat on the rocks admiring the view west to America. The rain downspouts on the horizon were also admired. These were quite well defined and were moving dramatically fast.

"They're really shifting - those spouts you know,", remarked Dave.

"Yeah," replied Geoff, "Seem to be getting bigger too," he added.

Geoff was right. They were getting bigger because they were heading our way - fast! Within minutes we were in the middle of a storm. The rain hit us horizontally and with no overhead shelter we had to make do with huddling in the lee of the largest rock outcrop we could find.

After fifteen minutes or so the front of the storm had passed over and we were left in a steady drizzle of rain that looked, if the pewter coloured sky was anything to go by, as though it might be in for the day. Giving way to the elements we headed west to Carnan where we picked up the single-track road and after only ten minutes - the post bus.

We steamed a bit once inside the bus but at least we were out of the rain and could look at the landscape without getting a face full of rain or wind. The causeway on the road from Carnan to Liniclate separates South Uist from Benbecula. It's pretty impressive with sand dunes on both sides of its mile long length. There are local tales of unfortunates being blown to their deaths off the Uist causeways - particularly from the one that crosses Loch Bee, this is over a mile long and has deep water to both sides.

The common elements to the stories are: - night, walking, strong drink and even stronger wind.

Once on Benbecula we could see the peaks of North Uist in the distance. The islands itself has Ben Reuval to break what is otherwise a pancake flat landscape with only the odd croft on a hill breaking the skyline. The run along the coast from Linclate had more variety until the bus reached its terminus at the Balivanich Airport gates.

Having time to kill before our next bus left we headed for the airport cafe. The airport itself is modern and along with the army base, which is next to it, must provide jobs for a large number of islanders. While waiting for our bacon butty in the cafe we commented on the strong wind and rain.

"Windy," scoffed the guy behind the counter. "Ach, this is'na windy," he continued. "When the sheep fly past you - why then it's windy".

Obviously the wind, if you were an islander, was quite mild today and this left us feeling a bit inadequate, we thought we'd done well in what must have been near Artic conditions. Most islanders we met took a strong interest in the weather, like the little old lady we met on the Post Office Bus. She worked part time at the Army Base, information she repeated at the start of any sentence.

"I work at the Army base and we've never known it so mild for March".

She paid 50 pence for a journey that cost us a pound. Perhaps the islanders are subsidised, she was too young to be a pensioner. It could also be that the drivers are on to a good thing. Other than the school coach, the Post Office bus is the only public transport and regular traffic must be accounted for, but the odd backpacker would not be noticed, particularly when out of the holiday season.

We caught our bus outside the airport and its driver took off on a circular loop from the main road around the peninsular of Grimsay. The scenery here was much closer to our original expectations, the road wound up and down and in and out of small bays crowded with crofter's cottages and fishing boats.

It was picturesque and it had character. Until now the scenery had in general, been a disappointment. South Uist had been flat, dull and full of rubbish. Grimsay, because of the contrast was refreshing, it was somewhere we'd all liked to have seen more of had we the time.

The bus dropped us off at Claddach Baleshare, or Roads End as the driver called it, he also pointed out a bright yellow garage door telling us that this was where the hostel warden lived, so after the mile walk, we had no trouble locating it. The fact that you could see this garage door from over a mile away says a lot for the light on the islands and perhaps less for the islanders colour sense. We knocked at the yellow perils house door and waited, then we knocked again. Coming to the door in her dressing gown the warden gave us the hostel key, whilst apologising for having kept us waiting.

"I've had to take to my bed with a wee migraine," she informed us. She also asked that we keep a look out for a stray dog and to give it a good kick if we saw it. The dog, she went on to tell us, had killed one of her best hens the day before.

See some Pictures from Keith's Trip