Lunch at the Butt of Lewis

We went up to the Butt of Lewis today, via Stornoway where we got petrol. Being a Sunday, everything was closed except the petrol station, but we expected that, due to previous experience. The first time we were in Harris I popped down to the shop at Leverburgh on the Sunday morning intending to buy a paper only to find the shop closed and when we went out later even the swings in the swing park were chained up so that they could not be used on the Sabbath. I like the idea of the Sabbath as a day of proper rest, and I remember that in the late 1970s and early 1980s most shops in Glasgow were closed on a Sunday. In those days when I used to go in to my job at the Tourist Information Bureau in George Square the city centre was like a ghost town. And I liked that feeling of Sunday being different from every other day, but of course nowadays we are used to everything being open nearly all the time so it was strange to think that on Lewis and Harris today even the visitor centres and tea shops were closed.
So we took a picnic with us and headed north. It was a fine day and we parked at the village of Ness and walked a circular route along the cliff top path from the Memorial to the lighthouse and back to the village; it took a couple of hours. The views were beautiful and we enjoyed watching the waves crashing against the rocks, which consisted of Lewisian gneiss; you could see swirls in the rock where it must have folded over itself as it formed. White gannets were wheeling around above the spray. In 1999 Ally and Davie were fearless little daredevils aged 3 and 5 and Jamie wasn't much more sensible aged 9, and I remember being absolutely terrified of having them near the cliffs, so much so that when I spotted a memorial to someone who had fallen, I grabbed their hands and cut short our visit! Today was much more relaxing! We heard the most amazing knocking and grinding sound at one point and realised that it was the sound of stones on the beach below as the outgoing waves rolled them over each other, pulling them towards the sea. No wonder they end up so smooth and round! In the far distance to the east we could see the mainland and we could make out the shapes of Suilven and Stac Pollaidh. We had our picnic at the lighthouse ; oatcakes and cheese for me washed down with a flask of coffee. Delicious. On the surprisingly long drive back to the hostel we stopped at Dun Carloway broch; its distinctive tall shape with one side of it sheared away - James called it "the broken broch!" Back to the hostel for showers before tea in Tarbert; as I write this and look out of our bedroom window I can see the rocky islets in the bay all lit up by the setting sun.