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After a quick trip into Bunessan, the closest town, for much needed food supplies, another picnic lunch was packed in preparation for a day out and about.
Paul and Nick were off on their own version of "A Boys Own Adventure" with strict instructions not to fall off, on, or into, anything. Nick will regale you with the awesomeness of this outing in his own blog post.
Nigel, Nicky, Karen and Matt had a much more sedate day in mind. First stop was the Ardalanish Weavers, where Anne (the owner) took us on a tour of the weaving shed, and explained the use of each of the pieces of equipment, the challenges they face training and keeping staff, and their new venture - providing all the power for the site with wind turbines. Here amongst the stone sheds and large industrial machinery, we met Monty, a lovely black English Setter.
Then down the farm track, through a gate and down the hill to the beach for morning tea. Monty dog was more than happy to show us the way, tail wagging and nose to the ground. We passed a field with two huge highland cows (well, one cow and one bull) and even huger horns. Photographing them was simple, as they were more than happy to pose for the camera. So another task crossed off the list, and Karen has the shots for you as promised, Marcella.
This beach was just as sandy and pebble filled as the others we had visited, so soon our hands and pockets were full of even more rocks. It's just as well all three of our bags were 10+ kg underweight coming over, as they will be half full of stones by the time we return at this rate…. Karen also snapped a few shots of sand trees. They are pretty awesome on these wide sandy beaches where the streams fan out and flow to the waves edge.
After a lovely hour or so, and still with Montys friendly assistance, we reluctantly returned to the carpark and said goodbye. Our next destination? Right next door at Uisken Bay.
There were more rocks to collect, and more rocks to clamber atop. A large flat topped monster in the middle of the beach became our perfect sun drenched, if windy, picnic spot. There were two small children on the beach, brother and sister. They too found our large black rock irresistible for climbing. Big brother was heard to give little sister some very handy advice, which even we have used since to great effect - "It's best to take notice of how you climb up, that way you will know how to get down again, OK?" Experts at an early age.
There was a tidal island beckoning, green on top and with sheep grazing on the steep sides. Karen and Nicky went there for a walk, while Matt and Nigel passed the time on a wooden bench at the end of the sand. The young lads advice came in handy right away, as we forgot how we got up, and took a different, far more slippy-slidey way down again as a result. Lesson learnt.
Then home for an early afternoon. Tea cooked (well nearly so) and a note written to advise Paul and Nick of our whereabouts and instructions to finish cooking the tea, Nicky, Nigel and Karen set out once again with only vague memories of directions, in search of the ruinous village of Shiaba. Once home to over 350 people, it was a victim of the clearances in the late 18th century, and now lies lonely and abandoned on a hillside, with only the wind and the odd sheep as inhabitants.
By the time we reached it, the sun was casting long golden shadows across the land. A large group of deer watched us warily from the hill top as we approached. It was quite sad and eerie there, thinking of the lives of those who were forced from their homes to far-fetched places away from the community they had established.
Walking home in the quickly gathering gloaming, we made our own path back, once again via a circuitous route. The largest danger was not being lost but perishing from either hunger or exposure to the bitterly cold wind!
Struggling over the last hilltop, our steps hastened when at last the welcome lights of the Shepherds Hut appeared down the slope below us. Despite having negotiated running streams and shrubby slopes and precipices in the half dark successfully, not to mention wire from half fallen fences attempting to trip us up, it was within 15 paces of the front door that Karen came unstuck - or more precisely STUCK. Over ankle deep in the bog right beside the house! Thankfully Nicky to the rescue. Nigel was far more intent on the beckoning warmth inside and a big plate of dinner with a beer to bother with a damsel in distress it seemed.
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