Hiking the Hebridean Way
Stand-up paddleboarder, Cal Major lives in the Northwest Scottish Highlands. She holds the record for being the fastest person to travel the length of the UK on a stand-up paddleboard. She’s also a passionate advocate for cleaning up our seas, and founded Seaful, a charity which encourages people to connect to the ocean, with the goal of inspiring stewardship and ocean conservation.
In September 2024, Cal and three of the Seaful team took on the Hebridean Way to raise money to help fund the charity’s activities, which include the provision of water-based experiences, and educational work.
I think my optimism sometimes ignores reality. When deciding to hike the Hebridean Way in mid September, I was totally convinced that we would be trekking the 200 miles of the remote Scottish Western Isles during an Indian Summer - those deliciously warm, sunny, long September days I look forward to every year.
The West Coast of Scotland did experience its annual Indian Summer in September. But it did so in the weeks before and after our trek through arguably its remotest and wildest island chain. It saved up its storms for the exact dates we were in its most exposed locations.
We arrived onto Barra, the Southernmost island, on the last ferry before they were cancelled on account of an incoming storm which brought with it 60 mph winds and a week of the worst weather I think I’ve ever been outside in.
The Outer Hebrides are an island chain off the West coast of Scotland; the Northernmost island, Lewis, sits on the same latitude as Stavanger in Norway and Nunivak Island in Alaska. And yet their white sandy beaches and turquoise sea look like they came straight off a Caribbean postcard.
I have long been drawn to these islands. The Hebridean Way – a long-distance hiking trail, which navigates nearly 200 miles across 10 islands – has been on my bucket list for years. This September, three friends and I packed our rucksacks and took to the trail, in what would be an adventure unlike any of us had imagined.
The first few days were so stormy and wild that we leaned heavily on our hiking poles and feared for the integrity of our tents in the winds. We found shelter in campsites, behind walls, and spent one night in a Mongolian Yurt as we carried our heavy packs up boggy mountains, across causeways between islands and along those windswept, breathtaking beaches. My vision of chilled out camps, stargazing and delicious sea swims was replaced by huddling in sleeping bags and eating as much as we could ration for ourselves to keep warm and fuelled. I missed my daily sea dips so much, having forgone them to ‘stay warm and dry’. One morning one of my pals, sensing that I needed a pick-me-up, asked if I fancied a dip. It’s exactly what I needed, and running screeching into the freezing cold sea together instantly re-awakened an aliveness to the elements that I so needed. What an experience to be looking after ourselves and each other through such challenging weather, how grateful I felt to have the kit we needed to be safe outside, to allow us to explore even when the easier option would be to be indoors. What a relief to have hours on end of beautiful fresh air, rain on our faces, and friends by our sides. What joy to be in the Outer Hebrides with a constant breeze and without a single midge in sight!
Eventually, the storm let up for a glorious day on South Uist, where we walked along a beach for an entire day. The only other souls were black-backed gulls, plovers and shags. The white sand reflected the purple evening sky, and the following morning the sea was pink in the sunrise as we swam. It was a short window: later that day we found ourselves rushing for the last ferry from Berneray to Harris before they too were cancelled ahead of the next storm.
I became aware of how challenging the discomfort of sore feet and legs, a heavy pack and soaking skin was, but how beautifully empowering it felt each evening to thank my body for carrying me the miles through those sights and sounds and landscapes. One day was so wild that I don’t even have the words to describe how wet and windy it was, but we could have poured the water out of our boots and wrung out each layer we were wearing underneath our waterproofs. There were a few sense of humour failures that day, especially after the cafe we had in our minds as the answer to all our prayers (just one more hour until we can get chips and a cup of tea!) was closed when we arrived. That night, unable to face pitching our tents and sleeping in puddles, we found a hostel.
The following day, the rain returned, but so too did our laughter, and the immense gratitude I had for my pals was doubled as we trudged through bleak but beautiful mountain bog to truly breathtaking views of endless lochans and fjordic coastline, accompanied by eagles, seals and otters. That evening we found a vastly overpriced pub and each had 2 dinners.
As the days turned into a week, I became increasingly grateful for all the things I’d left at home. I didn’t actually miss that extra t-shirt that I’d ditched from my loaded pack just before leaving, or the razor or spare leggings which hadn’t made the cut. I was satisfied with the simplicity of my pack. I had everything I needed to be warm, almost everything I needed to stay dry (at least in reasonable rain showers!) and my complex food rituals had been distilled into porridge for breakfast, oat cakes and whatever fresh food we’d found locally for lunch, and a hot Firepot meal for dinner. I love camping for this exact reason - you leave behind all the unnecessary complexities of life and replace them with true connection to yourself, your surroundings, the people you meet and your intrinsic ability to explore and experience the world.
The last 2 days of our hike took a beautiful, unexpected turn.
We stayed at a hostel in an outdoor centre that was run by a friend of a friend. Finally a high pressure system came through that promised to bring sunshine, warmth and light winds. I commented on how it would have been perfect paddleboarding weather and said, tongue-in-cheek, how I would have loved to be out on the sea paddling instead of hiking (I was only half joking), to which our new pal who ran the outdoor centre said “well why don’t we?!” He had kayaks and all the kit we’d need! So we took to the water to paddle the final 2 days into Stornoway. For 4 salty sea women, I could not envisage a more perfect end to our trip. We paddled over kelp forests with eagles soaring overhead, and common seals joined us as we weaved between tiny islands to our overnight camp spot on an island facing into the Minch – the whale-and-dolphin-filled channel between the Outer Hebrides and mainland Scotland. As we ate our final meal together outside our tents, watching the sky turn from pink to purple, a camp fire illuminating our cradled cups of tea as the stars emerged to accompany a huge moon, we were smiling and speechless. I watched the calm water reflect the moonlight, as I reflected on what had been a challenging 10 days, full of laughter, space, soggy socks, indescribably beautiful landscapes, friendship, emotional growth and discomfort. Simplicity. One foot in front of another. One meal after another. A sense of total gratitude that we were all in a position to take the time out, to have the means and the people to do that with. Would I do it again? Hmm, maybe! But the last two days on the water reminded me that that’s really where I’m at home. Will I be back to the Outer Hebrides? Absolutely. My van is already packed with surfboards, warm clothes and a couple of Firepot meals for the minute there’s a good forecast.
Cal, Lorna, Zoe and Sam took 24 Firepot meals with them in compostable packaging. To find out more about the charity or to donate to their important work, click here. There are a number of films which document Cal’s previous expeditions and conservation efforts, which are well worth a watch: Watch here.
