The Outer Hebrides

By Mathew Botterill

I. Hecla.

“ These delightful Islands have probably never been explored by any climber in search of rock scrambles ….. It seems probable that many a sporting face might be found.” S.M.C. Journal.

This passage has always seemed to me a direct challenge and in 1927 I laid plans carefully to see how far the theory held in respect of S. Uist. Amongst its hills (none over 2,000 feet) is one with a fascinating name, “ Hecla.” This romantic name alone drew me to the group.

An ornithological D.P.C. member wanted to get records in that very area, so the expedition was organized.

Of the feathered aspect of this trip I shall say nothing, my limited knowledge being confined to sea-bird life, but in prosecuting its purpose we had adventure in plenty. I was alone with Molly in Mallaig when the crew arrived, with its luggage, or reverse the order, for the luggage bulked large.

Cinema and other photographic apparatus worth about £50 had to be carefully handled. The crew having travelled all night were sleepy but keen, so we set sail and made Loch Scavaig (Skye), spending a quiet night under the Coolin summits.

The next day–unprecedented effort !–the little canvas boat was carried to Coruisk and we boated on that sublime Loch to its unvisited islets. On returning I tried to float the boat down the Scavaig River. The press of water pinned the boat to a boulder in one place and I got out to push off. The hole I got into was intended for a taller man !

In the afternoon we sailed off in the yacht to Bracadale (Skye). Some time after passing the entrance to Loch Brittle I sailed the yacht “off and on” whilst the crew rowed to a large cave. By the smell which still clung to them on returning I think they only found cormorant. Loch Bracadale has many islets and on the following morning a cinema photo of the swell breaking on one of them was tried. We made a landing on Wiay by a little narrow cove which just allowed a passage for the boat.

I had planned to anchor in Loch Skiport (South Uist), since its waters caress the foot of Hecla. We went in very gingerly ; the place was new to us and strewn with rocks. It was a relief to me when the anchor was let go in the official anchorage, though the place seemed rather too open to leave a yacht untended. I mean of course on account of weather ; I have not yet met a dishonest Islander and only lock up the yacht on the South Coast of England and any part of Wales.

It was late when dinner was finished, but still broad daylight, and a native came out to greet us. He had been in the war and could speak English (many of them do not). He gave valuable information to the ornithologists and I put one question. “ Could we navigate the yacht up the inner recesses and find good shelter ? ” “ We might,” he said, and the following morning we did, almost to a point where a sluice gate barred the sea’s access to a brackish inland lake, Loch Bee. The four of us hoisted the little canvas boat over this obstruction and proceeded to traverse the Island to the Atlantic. On the little islets hundreds of swans nested. We cinemaed them taking flight close to the boat. What a wing spread–four yards ! I had the unique pleasure of seeing a nest with five eggs, like small cocoanuts.

The next day the Mate and I ascended Hecla. It was a perfectly easy stroll without a bit of cliff anywhere! Our sole recompense was the extraordinary view.

To the northward the flat lands, so intersected by arms of the sea and fresh water lochs as to be more water than land, and still further north, the hills of Lewis and Harris looming faintly in the blue distance. We had a good light and the whole of the Western seaboard gleamed golden with its sands ceaselessly fretted by the Atlantic swell. The Monach Isles looked unreal and their guarding lighthouse–a toy.

Eastward the Coolin and the beautiful line of the Rum Mountains hid part of the mainland, already almost obscured by distance, But to the southward lay at our feet Glen Ushinish and some five miles away, partly obscured by the intervening ridges, was the largest hill of the group, Beinn Mhor. Only the last 250 feet was visible but it was fissured with the heads of half a dozen gullies. Surely there was a rock face !

But our trip was drawing to a close and I could not get to the peak to see.

II. Beinn Mhor (S. Uist).

I had the whole winter in which to plan the assault. Loch Eynort opened up to the southward of the mountain, indeed its inner reaches (if navigable) go to its very foot. The sailing directory was frankly pessimistic about this loch and spoke of the ten foot passage to the inner waters as only navigable to local boats. Plainly we could not leave the yacht without attention in the open loch; it was the 10-foot passage or nothing.

Spring came at last, and a stormy afternoon found us taking refuge by the Isle of Canna. The morning dawned with a thick fog which thinned sufficiently by afternoon to enable us to pick up the Outer Islands. By 5 p.m. we were passing Glen Hellisdale and the fog lifted to shew us rocky pinnacles peeping through a misty blanket.

Loch Eynort is fairly open and the underwater rocks easy to place, but right in our course were three ominous black heads. They were not marked on the chart. We held on and found they were fish.

It was calm and the engine running but these fish were not concerned. One swam alongside. I could have touched the fluke of its tail sticking up about eighteen inches, without letting go of my tiller. Further along was its back-fin and almost abreast the mainmast its head. That is to say the thing was over twenty feet long.

I have been told that these are basking sharks and perfectly harmless. This is easier to believe when ashore and I do not like large cruising consorts.

We anchored in a little bay in perfect calm and after dinner spent the evening taking soundings in the 10-foot channel. The matter is complicated by what one naturally expects, a hot tide ; for vast inland areas have to be flooded through this channel. Starting at low water next morning we very carefully worked the yacht into a tiny land-locked basin giving perfect shelter. We were ready for a reconnaissance of the mountain!

My plans had failed, in that I had not been able to get a climbing companion so early in the year and my boots had gone astray. The mountain offered no difficulties we could see, and two of us gaily set off, leaving one man with the dinghy. Almost before we had gone a hundred yards we found ourselves cut off by an arm of the sea.

The dinghy was still within hail and my companion got in and it was rowed along the coast until an entrance to this inner arm was found. I waited 20 minutes or so, a target for the covert glances of about twenty very shy but still more curious seals.

At last we were fairly launched on our climb. The first and only stiff scramble brought us to the lower col, on the further side of which I expected to see a rocky face. There was no rock. We followed up the broad ridge to the summit of Beinn Mhor and there discovered that we had been looking not into Hellisdale but into Glen Liadale.

On the summit we got our first look into Glen Hellisdale and found ourselves over a great rocky precipice.

After lunch I went alone down the furthest gully (it was scree) to the foot of the cliff intending to see the whole face from below. I came to a fine though somewhat short rocky gully and must needs go up a little to see what it looked like. Then I climbed another pitch to see what was beyond. Then came a stiff broken pitch. By taking off my boots I found it could be turned on the left wall. And so, unroped, no nails, and with curiosity as a leader, I eventually found myself at the top again on the summit ridge.

There was no time to go down again for further exploration, and I spent a happy ten minutes, for was it not a first ascent? And there was a wonderful view–crystal clear for twenty miles, and beyond that only a suggestion of haze in the incredible distance.

The Atlantic lay like some sleeping monster at my feet; not dead, for his breathing caused an edging of white lace where he ceaselessly frets the golden sand. Somewhere in the distant haze was the horizon–it seemed very remote, but just within the haze and apparently quite near was a group of islands. Was it possible that between us and them lay forty miles of stormy Atlantic ? One by one I identified the group. It was St. Kilda.

III. Clisham.

Clisham (2,622 ft.), N. Harris, lies near to the road from Stornoway to Tarbert-Harris. lt is flanked by a magnificent cliff in Glen Scaladale and as the said road crosses the entrance of the Glen only two miles from the cliff, the latter cannot have escaped notice. Nevertheless there seems never to have been a rock climbing party in its gullies. The yacht was anchored in Scaladale Bay two and a half miles from the cliffs, and the gullies, particularly the deep cut Central Gully, were particularly attractive, lit by the early morning sun.

Clisham is probably unique, in that the steep cliff is in a comparatively low flank, thus affording a short, almost level walk to the rock climbing, and a grind after that to the summit of the hill–if one wants to go to the summit. This is much nicer than sweating up a Gavel Neese or a Brown Tongue ….

The cliff faces N.E. and is about half a mile in length. From the foot of the rocks at the E. end there rises diagonally a broad grass ledge. This traverses the face completely to the summit of the crag at the W. end.

Sunday,11th May, 1930.–A. H. and I walked up stream until the Eastern Gully showed as a straight line, then crossing the stream we made a bee-line to the foot of the gully which was also the commencement of the grass traverse. We decided to inspect all three gullies from this traverse before trying one.

Ultimately the Central Gully was chosen. It commences at an elevation of 525 ft. above sea-level and presents no great difficulties as far as the grass traverse, save that of avoiding a wetting, and one does that by taking to the steep slopes of heather. The grass ledge is broken by the gully at 650 ft., and here is the first pitch. It may have holds and there may be a belay, but all are hidden by moss that runs with water. We made an awkward traverse up the left wall, most of the holds being clothed in vegetation, and got back to the gully just as the rain came on. It had been so hot and sunny early on that we had reduced clothing to shirt and trousers. With the rain came cold, and accentuated our difficulties. The gully presents the usual stretches of scree with patches of jammed boulders. Some of the scree is steep and ready to go, and some is steeper than it should be, and is held only by vegetation.

The last pitch but one proved difficult. A forty foot slab on the right offered poor holds and no belay. We achieved this slab on the extreme right up to a corner where there was a belay, but could not get back to the gully at that level.

We had to rope down to the foot of this slab, and Skipper made two thirty foot runs out only to go back again. This slab (Skipper’s Slab) would surely go when not streaming with water. During these efforts the rain became snow!

We traversed on to the Western Buttress, meeting a fine chimney (Cox’s Chimney), and so to the summit of the cliffs, thirteen hundred feet by pocket aneroid,

There are two exits to the gully, and the eastern one is in a perfectly straight line from the bottom, so one looks down the whole length with a drop of 775 ft. The eastern wall is sheer and has a second level ledge a hundred ft, down, which runs from the gully on to the face of the crags and is a really sensational promenade.

We threw pebbles down and in their five hundred feet fall they passed a lower ledge where a raven was nesting. Mrs. Raven was very annoyed and screamed ravenous curses. Her cries brought Mr. Raven back into the gully from his sentry-go on the face, to see what it was all about. Presently we heard a terrific whirr of wings followed by Mr. Raven’s cries. Mrs. Raven flew to help to scare off an eagle. This gentleman made a vicious jab at her, but she looped the loop, and he missed. The eagle was driven off. We had a fine view of this first class show from our airy perch.

What the quality of the rock-climbing might be if one could readily get down to it, I can’t say, but it is so grown over that most of our belays had to be dug out with fingers ! This vegetable climbing is very difficult, which makes one realise that the first ascent of Moss Gill must have been a very different problem to the ascent as we now know it. One must never lose sight of the fact that vegetation is frequently attached to very inadequate ledges, and not infrequently comes away at a touch after frost.