By Irvine Butterfield

For further information see the Walkingwild website at: www.walkingwild.co.uk.

"I see you were out on The Clisham yesterday", said the Stornoway butcher to my friend Ron Bailey. True that day we had braved the elements of hard ice and ferocious wind, and I had remarked that no one would know where we were. "How do you know?" Ron responded. "Och well, the boy was down to Tarbert and saw two people on the hill and there's none but you gaugers would be out on a day like that!" Such was a scene in the early 1960's when I had been working in the Custom House in Stornoway. Times have changed and nowadays Clisham sees many more visitors. Gone too are the days of the long crossing from Kyle of Lochalsh on the old "Loch Seaforth". MacBraynes still ply these waters with the latest roll on - roll off ferry making more frequent crossings of the Minch from Ullapool. The island transport system which once seemed to consist of a single daily service between Stornoway and Tarbert is but a distant memory. This suggests the Western Isles are more easily accessible.

And yet one can still capture the atmosphere of the days when time quite literally seemed to stand still. The wild and austere hills remain unchanged, baring their bones of ancient gneiss, where sheep and deer crop still search for a tasty morsel amongst a broken coverlet of tawny grass and heather.

Of the hills Clisham is the highest and as such still attracts the most interest. Most opt to start the ascent from the high point of the road four miles outside Tarbert, close by Loch na Ciste. Slopes of wiry heather give way to a rockier cap guarded on the east by decaying crag and scree. On a clear day views are extensive and most of the main island's archipelago can be seen, with the stacks of St. Kilda away on the western horizon. Visitors to its triangulation pillar are encouraged to keep to the high tops. Seek out the rough slopes to the arete leading to Mulla-fo-dheas and the ridge extending beyond to Mullach an Langa for views to the watery waste of Loch Langavat and the mosaic of lochans in the moorland interior of Lewis. To the north-west lie the crumpled ridges of the Uig District which, only in more recent times, have yielded their secrets to visitors be they cragsmen or seekers of the wilder places. Mulla-fo-dheas steep western walls are mirrored by the ramparts Uigsnaval Mor and Teilesval which create a deep dramatic divide to the west. These western hills have a similar ruggedness again repeated in the ridges further west. On no account should this collection of peaks be dismissed as insignificant merely on the grounds that they do not attain the status of Corbett or Munro. Marilyns are the hill-goers targets here.

Climbers, more alert to the prospects of crag and cliff, still seek out the great overhang of Sron Ulladale. This faces north and surveys a bleak and remote moorland country around the head of Loch Resort. Such isolated corners may be replicated countless times in the Outer Hebrides and are veritable havens for those searching for ideas to get right off the beaten track. Such a place is Rhenigidale at the entrance to Loch Seaforth, remembered as a place where, up until the 80's, the postman provided the only link with the outside world centred on the shop and ferry terminal at Tarbert. Despite its road link the tiny hostel still retains its atmosphere and is an ideal base from which to tackle the shadowing haycock-stack of Toddun, a perfect look-out from which to survey the long arm of Loch Seaforth and the sea lanes of this eastern coast.

Across the waters of Loch Seaforth the remoter hills of the Pairc seem inhospitable and cut off. Closer perusal of the map will confirm that they provide a real challenge purely because of their location in a part of the country as remote as any in these islands. Provision of a boat to tackle them from the upper reaches of Loch Claidh or Loch Shell may be possible for yatchsmen but the many will, of necessity, have to plan. This will be an expedition of considerable proportions, and a major undertaking if all the Marilyn summits are to be attained. There are no guides to the summits such as those of Gormol and Uisneis and their attainment becomes very much de rigeur in the lexicon of those seeking out the more remote summits - stamina and a dogged persistence, combined with favourable weather would seem eminent prerequisites.

Those less inclined to venture into the bosom of the hills, or seeking a carefree stravaig on an off day, should take the road to Leverburgh and beach comb the long white strand of Traigh Luskentyre. Romantics, and latter-day Jacobites, may find entertainment in seeking out the places visited by a fugitive Prince Charles Edward Stuart in the summer of 1746. Having sailed up Loch Seaforth on an abortive foray to Stornoway in search of a ship the Prince was ferried along the eastern coast to an uncomfortable refuge on Eilean Iubhard. This can be seen from the tiny settlement of Lemreway at the terminus of a narrow road from the head of Loch Erisort.

But the real excitement of discovery lies in the many stories which abound of the Prince's sojourn in the islands to the south. The Uists and Benbecula beckon. It was here that I was introduced to a crofter well versed in the traditions of his race. His fund of stories about the Prince's to-ing and fro-ing in the hills hereabouts also provided a tale I had never found in books. This concerned the Prince in the disguise of an Irish spinster and why the name Betty Burke had been chosen. But this I leave you to seek out for yourself on a visit to the Uists.

The soft cadences of the Gaelic speaker drifted across the table - "Yes", said the crofter, "you would see the three white stones to which the boat had been moored".Only then did I know for sure that my visit to the fretted coast at Rossinish had been successful. Earlier, I had looked out to the Minch to see the grey silhouette of a sloop. I had rubbed my eyes to ensure I wasn't dreaming, as I felt trapped in a time warp. The aftermath of Culloden saw such a vessel patrolling these waters under the command of the notorious Captain Ferguson ….. was my imagination running away with me?

At the time I was looking for the secretive creek which saw the departure of Flora Macdonald and a fugitive Prince in their flight over the sea to Skye. The white stones were not something which I could easily identify. The surest guide I was to discover was a small rowan seen growing out of the bank in the very head of one of the many small inlets. And there was only one such creek. My instincts had been correct. And the sloop? ... that proved to be under the benevolent ownership of a gentleman from Crinan.

I was later to climb the hump of Rueval to find the "Prince's Bed" where said my informant there was a small hole in the rock where tradition has it that the Prince stuck his cuttie (the bowl and a short stem of a clay pipe). The Prince had lain there awaiting the return of Flora from her home at Nunton. There were other stories to be told of the Prince's sojourn in the Uists and Benbecula and such is the oral tradition of the Gael that these were recounted as if at the first telling.

My search later led to a traverse of the hills of South Uist on a day when the surrounding seas mirrored the scattered cumulus drifting in their own heavenly ocean of azure blue. Beinn Mhor is a must and its ascent often the highlight of those who stay at the cosy hostel at Howmore. As with Clisham a clear day can bring the humps of St. Kilda into focus far to the west. Backpackers have options and should continue the traverse, crossing Beinn Coradale and Hecla to descend to a remote hut beside Uisinish Bay. Return, as I did, to Loch Eynort by the rugged coast and soak up the ambience of Corodale where the Prince hid for two weeks in the early summer of 1746. The descendants of the last inhabitants of its lonely ruin, by the name of MacRae, still fish the waters for lobster from the tiny pier at St. Peter's Port.

The Prince's ill-starred venture started on the beach of Eriskay where tradition has it that seeds of a pink convolvulus attached to his clothing in France were deposited and took root, and still flourish there beside the strand of Cailleag a' Phrionnsa. There too, at the southern end of the strand, you will find the ruin of the croft house where the Prince succumbed to the reek of the peat fire and was cursed by its hospitable occupant for continually going to the door for air. Also associated with the wreck of the ill-fated "Politican" which gave rise to Compton MacKenzie's classic story "Whisky Galore", the island is now more easily accessed by a causeway from South Uist. Another inter-island link is also provided by the boat which runs from Ludag across to Barra, which enables a complete journey to be made down the whole length of "The Long Isle".

Barra, and the scattered islands to the south, also benefit from an influx of more outdoor visitors as they attract those seeking the summits of the Marilyns, or climbers testing themselves on the great cliffs Pabbay and Mingulay. Or maybe your visit coincides with the annual Barra Live festival at the end of July when you can relax and listen to the music and enjoy a taste of Hebridean hospitality. Whatever you choose to do one visit is never enough and like me you'll be back.