Up sharp this morning, feeling pretty good considering the exertions of yesterday.  It’s worth saying a big thanks to the retained Firefighters of Lochmaddy at this point as they clubbed together to make a generous donation to our cause. Thanks very much guys.

So the day kicked off with a 10 mile bike up to the beach on Berneray, which in all honesty is one of the nicest in Europe. Admittedly, my perception might be slightly skewed by a lack of sleep and a genuine sense of relief at the calm paddling conditions but it is still an unbroken stretch of white sand, flanked by dunes and the blue water of the Sound of Harris. Amazing.
Lee and I paddled out with the half-way halt in sight; approximately 6k of paddling takes you to the uninhabited islands of Ensay and Killegray, which stand like a couple of grumpy nightclub doormen in the middle of the Sound of Harris, impervious to mad tidal flows and wild weather.
From there it is a similar distance to the harbour bay on Harris, but this half is punctuated by many small islands and reefs. We meet the safety boat as we pass (rapidly) through the straight between the two islands and Neil’s cry of “Christ, you must have an outboard on those two!” confirms what we suspected that we are moving well across this potentially dangerous stretch of water. I’m chuffed, as the end is in sight. The safety crew boys are mildly grumpy as they believe we’ve been ignoring their increasing desperate sounding radio communications but a quick check confirms that my VHF handheld is receiving but not transmitting. These things happen and the lads are quickly over their little tantrum. Toys firmly re-instated in the pram.
It has been fantastic to have the security blanket of the safety boat but, again, we are both delighted when the increasingly inconsistent depth forces the guys back out the ferry channel: this is type of scenery, tides and territory that requires no chat, no engines and just the regular plonk of paddles on water. It is remarkable; if you get the chance… go.
We paddle up to the deserted ferry terminal around mid morning, knowing we will have a wait for Jo to bring the van, trailer and bikes across on the ferry. Lee and I successfully negotiate with the owner of the “Butty-bus” (a converted bus, selling butties… but you could have worked that out) to provide us with a couple of bacon rolls, with the promise of payment from our “friend on the ferry”. It is a welcome rest after a decent effort and we sit in buoyant mood (excuse the nautical pun) awaiting everybody else, but most specifically our bikes!
As Neil and Ross bring the safety boat into the harbour, the look on their faces is clearer than the lighthouse behind them; something has happened. What transpired is that a pinnacle of rock on the massively tricky route into the harbour has won it’s “square go” with the propeller and the boat is now limping more than an NCP car park attendant. Not good. Phone calls are made, replacements are ordered and the rueful “what-ifs” begin. Overall, fortunately, the general consensus settles on “today is still a good day, nobody died… nobody even got particularly wet!”
Once back on the road, Lee quickly remembers why he hates biking, and the miles begin to tick by. We reach the Clisham (899m) around late afternoon and this proves to be a quite grotesque climb taking even longer than the hour and a half we had allocated for it. Never mind. As a reward we have one more hill and three more hours of biking to complete after it. Good times.
We finally call it a day some time between nine and ten by which time we are about 15 miles West of Stornoway, the end might just be in sight! But that’s tomorrow’s problem…

Garry Mac