North Eweist

Sorry, I couldn't resist the pun. North Uist looms beyond the Minch behind the Shakespearian ruffed ewe, as Gus and I were looking across from the Waternish peninsular.

I hadn't planned on a long walk in the morning, it just happened as the weather was so fair and there was so much of interest along the way. I took Gus up to the ruined church at Trumpan, scene of what seems to be one of many massacres in the history of the MacLeod and MacDonald clans. As we walked back down the cow parsley lined road, I heard the unmistakeable rasp, rasp call of a corncrake from the hayfields on our left. For me, the corncrake is always one of the prizes of a visit to the Hebrides, though I have not heard one on Skye before, and today, there were at least two birds calling from the fields which are being specifically managed for them. It's hard to believe now that this threatened bird was once so abundant that Mrs Beeton should include a recipe for "land rail" in her Book of Household Management in 1861. But the whole scale conversion of hay to silage, and mechanisation have done for this charismatic bird in all but the remotest corners of Britain.

Then we started the long walk out to Waternish Head, not intending to do the whole thing before breakfast. As we walked there were constant reminders of what is missing now from so much of lowland England: the background music of skylarks from high in the air above, then the strange bottle-blowing sound of the snipe in its drumming song flight. And there were families of wheatears everywhere. There was a monument to another MacLeod lost in a battle with the MacDonalds, and the remains of ancient brochs not far from the track.

More interesting than the lighthouse at the tip of the headland are the ruins of a small community at Unish, and what must presumably have been a later, larger dwelling for a shepherd when the crofters had abandoned or been removed from the land. Of interest for Gus was the large number of rabbits to chase.

So, by the time we had done the return walk and got home, it was time for lunch rather than breakfast. In the afternoon, after another visit to the Red Roof Cafe, we followed a recommendation from Mylo and parking at the end of a remote road at Ramasaig, we walked across to the abandoned village of Lorgill. Set in a sheltered spot, with sweet pastures and a river running down to a little bay, this is the scene of one of the many forced evictions of crofting communities in the 19th century by heartless landlords taking back the land for the raising of sheep. The 10 families who lived here were removed from their homes and forced to board a convict ship for Nova Scotia. This is still productive sheep country, and today the sheep had been gathered in for the annual shearing.

One final outing in the evening - when there was very nearly a sunset - was to take Wifie back to Trumpan to hear her first ever corncrake. A beautiful day with not a drop of rain, and even occasional glimpses of the sun.

This is backblipped, as for the first time this week, the iPad refused to download the photos last night, then strangely worked this morning. My apologies that my commenting has been so sparse and random, I will try and catch up when we get home if not before.