For our foray to the far west of the island the weather was dark and moody. Had it been warm and sunny I wouldn't have appreciated the sturdy and snug little cafe at Loch Croistean, so as far as I was concerned, the weather was perfect. This little place stands out in my memory, it was so unassuming, comfortable and homey. The food was wholesome and delicious. And it was warm and cosy.
For me, the weather was perfect for everything we saw and did that day. I asked Graham to stop the car so we could photograph the scene below and now I'm trying to figure out why it appealed to me. Walking back down the road from where we parked the car with my jacket zipped up to the neck and my scarf firmly in place, feeling the cold biting against my face, helped me to appreciate the beauty of the place. I kept thinking the landscape on the island was desolate but that's the wrong word. It's not dreary and dismal although there is a grim-ness about some places. I suspect those places would be bleak and horribly depressing in winter. As a farmer, my heart would go out to those who were trying to make a living from the land. The little boat sitting forlornly against that rocky shore looked abandoned until I saw the little orange floats close by. That scene reflects how I felt about the countryside, I think. It looked deserted, forsaken until you look closely. Because of the limitations of my background I couldn't see what was really going on. I'm hopelessly failing at expressing how beautiful I found the landscape. And how surprised I was to find what I would have otherwise thought of as dull, featureless, nothingness was in fact very beautiful.
Over the road from the little bay were stockyards, community yards I'd say as they were too big for one farmer, especially as there were so few sheep around. My guess is the old microwave is used to keep paperwork dry. I suppose that, like here, livestock go to market with paperwork.
Out on the west coast the weather added atmosphere to the wild Atlantic rolling on to that isolated beach.
At the Information Stones at Breanish I followed the rocky little path in the direction Graham pointed. The wind was getting a bit serious so I didn't linger for too long. Each of the rocks you see in the photo has a place name and how far that place is from that point, Nova Scotia, North Pole, etc. And New Zealand, the most distant at 11,288 miles. A long way from home for sure.
I'd seen quite a few stunning beaches during my few days on Lewis and this was one of the finest. The threat of bad weather meant not a single soul was to be seen.
I feel sad all over again now that I've finished my posts about my Outer Hebridian adventure.