HILLWALKING ON SOUTH UIST:  THE FLOODGATE AND BEN TARBERT

In my very first article, I compared myself with the leprechaun in the Broadway musical “Finian’s Rainbow”: My most recent walk is always my favourite. Yet there are some that stand out in memory more than others. The walk across “the Floodgate” to the top of Ben Tarbert is one of them.
	
The path, for there is a path most of the way, although it is sometimes hard to see, begins just to the left of the last house on the Loch Carnan and East Gerinish road. It forks almost immediately, and you really cannot go wrong whichever direction you follow. The left fork leads you zig-zagging, first downhill, then up, to a small eminence just below some ruined cottages. The sea is always visible to the east and the north, while Hecla looms to the south. If you don’t fancy long, arduous walks, this may be the way to go; because it’s a mere 45 minutes there and back, and the only obstacles are some puddles.

I prefer long, arduous walks, the more so the better, and thus I prefer to eschew the left fork and keep walking straight. This path soon swings to the right, past a pair of sturdy old ruins, one of which must be a former factor's house to judge from the size. The path appears to be taking you to the very base of Hecla, but it isn’t, of course; Loch Skipport stands in the way. Instead, it continues curving clockwise, almost 180 degrees, so that whereas formerly you were heading more or less southeast, you are now going west. Another imposing ruin confronts you, even larger than the others:  it is the foundation (complete with gates) of an ancient school, its walls extending to the Skipport shore. With a view like that, the pupils must have had a hard time concentrating on their studies.

Keeping the school to your left (after taking time to explore its interior), continue along the same westerly route. The path will appear to peter out moments later, about 100 yards north of several ruined cottages. But it doesn’t. If you persevere, you will pick it up again on the far side of a bog. You would do well to walk around, not through, that bog.    

When the path resumes, it brings you over open country, with Loch Skiport, now shrunken to a slim estuary, on your left. The landscape is dotted with more ruins, some of them in such excellent condition as to seem initially to be inhabited. At last you come to “the Floodgate”: a tiny isthmus that separates Loch Skiport from Loch Bee. You can cross either the isthmus or a narrow, grooved metal footbridge immediately parallel to it. Choose the isthmus; the bridge can be slippery, and lacks railings.

Then the fun begins. Working your way through heather – there is no more path – proceed uphill till you reach the top of Ben Tarbert (Tairbeirt in Gaelic – it means “isthmus”), about 540 feet above sea level. It is a stiff climb, but well worth doing.  Facing south, you not only get a stunning look at Hecla, but its foothills reveal their secrets: you can clearly see Lochs Bein, Fada and Spotal, and other hidden jewels that are invisible from the roads.  

The walk is about two hours each way. The one even moderately difficult part is ascending Ben Tarbert.  If you don’t have four hours to spare, and want only to take in the view from Ben Tarbert, its peak is 45 minutes from the nearest point on the Skiport Road. But if you’re too rushed to spare four hours, why visit the Outer Hebrides?

I understand that some well-intentioned government and private groups hope to make the hills more accessible, and hence more enticing to tourists by installing directional cairns along the slopes. I respectfully disagree. The cairns, no matter how artfully designed, would mar the pristine beauty of the place. And I doubt they would attract more tourists, because the ones who need cairns to ease their way up mountains are not the sort to venture this far from the mainland, cairns or no. Even if they did come, moreover, they might drive out the present crop of visitors, many of them regulars, who are drawn here by the solitude and the challenge of finding their own way to the top, as well as by the pristine beauty of the place. For the improvement-minded, I suggest, instead, repairing the aptly-named “Broken Bridge” to Bagh Hartavagh and restoring existing paths to their original condition, so that walkers can traverse them dry-shod. Let the hills remain as they are; we should not tinker with the work of their Architect.

Martin Margulies
(Adapted from the newspaper article)