The Ferry, The Isle of Lewis, The Callanish Stones

I think I’ll let you relish my first magical day as I did.

You can imagine my excitement as we crossed the North Minch, the strait separating the Northwest Highlands of Scotland from the Outer Hebrides. I’d already fallen in love with Inverness and now we were headed off to some of the least inhabited, yet oldest inhabited, places in all of Great Britain, or the world, for that matter. I’d forgiven Graham his lack of a Scottish brogue, at least temporarily, not that he said much to me on the drive. The minute he parked the van on the ferry, he vanished. I didn’t see him again until we prepared to disembark. Once we reached the Isle of Lewis, here are some of the sites we stopped to visit on our way to the farmhouse where we would spend the night.

The Standing Stones of Callanish - probably built around 3000 B.C. The stones might be a calendar, but a tomb was added later. That’s my honey badger next to the headstone. Sorry to say, the stone did not send me back in time into the arms of Jamie Fraser. But I have my own so…

A Broch - an iron age stone fortress found only in Scotland.

The interior of the circular Broch and again, my honey badger.

View from the Broch looking toward one of the many fiords.

A Blackhouse - There are no windows. The house is made with only a very few timbers, stone and sod. Heated with a peat fire.

The smoky interior of a Blackhouse.

A Whitehouse, what a Blackhouse eventually morphed into.

Our first day ended at a farmhouse in the middle of beautiful nowhere. The farmer welcomed us on this dark rainy night with a bottle of his favorite Scotch whiskey and a meal of the local salmon, turnips, greens and wild mushrooms he’d gathered himself. The lodging was rudimentary, but more than adequate. The farmhouse was ancient and haunted, of course, but what woman doesn’t love a Scottish ghost.

Late that night, as we nursed our Scotch before a roaring fire in the antique hearth, Graham began to talk politics, American politics. To be honest, he didn’t want a discussion as much as he wanted to disparage our political system. We all have issues with politics, but I didn’t come to Scotland to discuss American politics or trash British politics. I would never presume… Fortunately the rest of the group had little interest in politics. We wanted to exchange vital statistics plus the guys began talking medicine. So Graham excused himself, saying, “I’m off to my quarters in the stables.”

Oh so sorry. Poor you. Ciao.

Our travel companions were like…Vikings. The sisters were both over six feet tall. No kidding. Blond, strong, you know, real Zena-type warrior women, while Mrs. MacKenzie and I are, well, Jewish. Even though my mother’s ancestors came from Sweden, and I should be a Viking, I got stuck with the ubiquitous short Jewish legs from my father’s mother’s side of the family. Damn peasant-farmer legs!

The older sister’s husband, the physician, was also over six feet tall. We learned he was quite well-known in London and Cambridge. The younger sister’s husband, the geologist, was just a few inches taller than me. He was also famous. Apparently he’d climbed all over the world, including Annapurna and K2, so for him this trip was small potatoes. I soon learned he was the quiet man in the group.

Fortunately we Americans had The MacKenzie on our side, all imposing six feet seven inches of him, which gave us cache with every Scot we stayed with. Plus our sir name IRL is Scottish. As you’ll see, it came in handy on Skye.

Tomorrow - climbing Mealisval. References: http://www.ceuig.com/archives/186

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Brenish

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Outer_Hebrides