The Road to Barra

Calmac knackered our Monday
We went via Skye to Lochma’y
A five-hour drive
Missed our ride
Not back on course till Eriskay.

Late to the bunkhouse last night
Getting four of us in was quite tight
A reminder of camp
The dark & the damp
We wake to a cuckoo in flight.

The morning is calm and serene
Barra’s landscape is gentle and green
The miles roll by
As we search the sky
For species so seldom seen.

The airport is well within reach
There are signs, for the tourists, to teach
When the windsocks are out
Then don’t hang about
‘Cos the runway consists of the beach.

On we pedal to Vatersay
Thinking “What a brilliant day”
Lunch at the turn
And then we burn
Back to the ferry for Eriskay.

From there it’s a good run to our base
We get “home” as if in a race
A shower in moist air
We cannot stay there
So it’s off to the pub at a pace.

The Politician’s a peculiar name
Connects it with scandal and shame
The locals can bore
About “Whisky Galore”
It’s the pub’s only claim to fame.

In the end we went to the Borrodale.

North Uist