S. Harris, N Harris, Bernera

We had an early start from our mountainous overnight parking place, rushing across the island to Carloway Tweed Mill, the smallest mill making Harris Tweed yarn from raw wool. 

The manager, an Islander who calls himself D.I., told us 33 men used to work there until Covid. Now there are 5 left, and production has dropped enormously as a result. Some machines date to the late 19th C, others from the 1940s. Everywhere there were huge bolts of soft Tweed, stacked in mountains. The raw wool is washed, carded and spun on giant spinning machines to make the finished yarn.

They send away the yarn to 140 manual weavers across the island who weave it into bolts of cloth which go back to the mill for washing and drying, and inspected to get the official Orb stamp of genuine Harris Tweed.

The cloth is then tailored in London into jackets, coats and any number of knick-knacks, and shipped back to Scotland shops. Some were on sale here at factory prices. Lesley went mad and bought a coat, now stashed in an already full cupboard in the van.

Just down the road from the mill was the Garenin Blackhouses, examples of traditional stone built, thatched island dwellings saved from the bulldozer in the 1970s when the last people moved to council houses. There was the delicious smell of a peat fire burning in one of the houses. We found a weaving frame in the fascinating museum there and watched a film of how the Tweed is woven on a loom, and were in open-mouthed awe of its sheer complexity.  Soup and a bagel in the cafe.

Then N enjoyed a long wiggly drive to the Iron Age House at Bosta on yet another island, Great Bernera. (Another bridge.) The 'mainland' of Harris & Lewis has normal 2-lane main roads, unlike the islands to the south. Much faster progress there.

Four houses from AD400- 700 were discovered in the late 90s, after storms shifted the sand from their stonework, close by a beach. They were investigated and sand allowed to cover them again, to preserve them. We crawled into a replica of one house, totally dark at first, then we could see the large interior, as a knowledgeable guide explained the lifestyle of the Pict people who lived there. It was silent and warm, sitting there, imagining how early peoples survived Hebrides' ferocious weather. 

Another long drive on narrowing roads under grey clouds, to the very top of Lewis, Ness, with its small drying harbour and fierce crashing waves. This is the Northern extreme of our journey.

And then back down the same road to tonight's campsite at Galson with the luxury of hot water, toilets and WiFi. Dinner will be takeaway from the local hotel. We deserve it.