A retrospective blogpost, as I was off internet on 16 November.
Fifteen years ago, I started my stint in the tiny township of Cearsiadar (Kershader) in South Lochs, 9 miles southwest of Stornoway by wing. I stayed in a youth hostel, adjacent to the local convenience store. An austere place, run by an austere woman. I gather she has since retired. I traipsed the moors of South Lochs, and became familiar with all the lochans and hillocks in the district. The five mile hike back from Gravir was usually in darkness, as night falls early in winter in Lewis. I would carry a torch, but not to light my own way. In near-total darkness, torches will dazzle yourself. I only switched it on if I heard or saw a vehicle coming in the distance. The B8060 is a far cry from the M25, and I sometimes completed the trek without any traffic in either direction. On my first night in Kershader, I encountered a fellow called Joe who kindly cooked me food. He left, and he was to be the last company in the hostel that side of New Year.
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