Winter Warmers Pt.2: Wild Ones
Planning a trip to the Outer Hebrides in the middle of winter? It’s easy. All you need is a few hundred quid and an eye for a classic bargain
The PC team drives sub-£1000 classics to the end of Britain.
We at Practical Classics always encourage use, for without it, our cars become ornaments. This annual test proves that, whatever your classic poison, with the right preparation you can enjoy it whatever the time of year. Through winter on a big adventure to any place of beauty you will find the roads empty, the accommodation cheaper than ever and the challenge yet more invigorating. To prove what a good idea it is to take your classic on a winter jaunt, every year we put our money where our mouths are and each member of the team buys and prepares a car for a big winter test.
This annual event is now something of a Practical Classics tradition and this year we are heading for the most extreme and remote destination yet – the Isles of Lewis and Harris in the Outer Hebrides.
Will we make it there and back? Read on to find out what happened.
MATT TOMKINS: PANDA Alnwick-ullapool Distance 303 miles Fuel economy 45mpg Breakdowns Two: one stuck carburettor float, one flat battery & multiple bump-starts Panda purchase price £32 Total cost £545.22
The trip north has gone swimmingly so far, we muse over breakfast in the sumptuous surroundings of the RMS Olympic’s first class lounge, incorporated into the White Swan hotel after the ship was broken up in 1936. The journey to Ullapool will, therefore, be no bother at all and we’ll be sipping cocktails by teatime. We check out and, as we exit the car park, it quickly becomes apparent that my Panda has other ideas. Although starting and idling fine, it lacks gusto and ‘kangaroos’ as we approach the castle gates. I diagnose fuel starvation and pop the bonnet. The fuel filter is full, so I reverse a screwdriver and ‘thwack’ the carburettor float bowl hard. Immediately, full function is restored.
James forges the path up the A1 with the Saab looking truly superb against the icy backdrop. Before I know it, we’re pulling into a layby alongside the Scottish border. While we snap photos, Theo swaps the rear wiper on ‘Muffy’ the Micra and I leave my lights on. I hadn’t replaced the battery during my recommissioning mission, and this would be the start of a series of problems caused by insufficient volts. One reverse push-start back into England later, the plucky Panda is purring once again – then Matt George’s Peugeot refuses to start. A wiggle of the battery terminal has that bursting back into life and James and I lead the assembled convoy back onto the open road. A convoy that becomes a pair moments later, as we lose Matt, Danny and Theo. The dodgy battery terminal, as it turned out – a strange French thing with a quick-release thumb screw atop it – had disintegrated just as two lanes of traffic became one, with no hard shoulder.
Percussive adjustment from Theo got it up and running again and, in the next layby we meet up, source a new M8 nut and restore functionality once and for all. Another Panda bump start later and we’re back in business. We make our way across the Queensferry Crossing and follow Danny in the Sierra to Slochd summit on the A9. The scenery is starting to get really spectacular now, with snow-topped mountains the signposts of things to come.
As we motor past Inverness and onto the A835, I can scarcely believe that we’re on the same piece of rock we started on this morning. We stop and look over Loch Glascarnoch as the sun sets – our tyres treading on snow for the first time this trip. The final push to Ullapool follows in inky blackness as the road begins to ice up. Tomorrow morning we’ll get the ferry across to Lewis, but already we’ve covered 528 miles and I’m besotted with my Fiat.
THEO GILLAM: MICRA Ullapool-stornoway Distance 52 miles Things pointed at in an excitable fashion 25 Micra purchase price £200 Total cost £470
Having been billeted overnight in one of the frostier pockets of Ullapool, the four of us who enjoyed chillychaleting warm ourselves as dawn breaks with some bi-directional Panda pushing in the icy car-park.
The Laurel and Hardy theme plays in a loop as we intersperse broken-car heaving with an impromptu game of failed-component bingo involving the 309’s battery, some string-like jump leads, and a dead jump pack, leading to a final diagnosis of high-resistance in the Panda’s main battery cable.
Aboard the MV Seaforth ferry, our cars look very nervous due to the proximity of salt water and before long the captain aims the less-blunt-end towards the Outer Hebrides and makes a marvellous smell of diesel fumes. If you enjoy pointing excitedly at things, you’ll be in your element on this voyage, there being a truly impressive amalgam of sinusoidal and pointy topography, giving way to the promise of whales, dolphins, seals and even sharks en-route. The most used phrase is, ‘wow, did you see that?!’, closely followed by ‘no’.
Nestling on the east coast of Lewis and Harris, Stornoway is the island’s great metropolis and home to some 8000 people, many of whom appear to own a classic car. Although the sea is a cruel mistress, we are delighted to find that none of our cars have dissolved, the Panda self-energised, and all are disgorged from the ferry straight into the town’s heaving bosom, where we are thankfully met by Malcolm Macleod in his beacon-red Jaguar XK150 who leads us through the hustle and bustle to Lews Castle. There are four classic car clubs on the island, Murdo
‘The final push to Ullapool follows in inky blackness’
Macleod of the Western Isles Classic Car Club being instrumental in gathering a surprisingly large number of enthusiasts willing to take time off work on a Tuesday afternoon to congregate with a diverse array of classic cars from an Austin 7 to a Dax Cobra.
After mingling for a bit, we become intimately acquainted with Stornoway using the full-immersion method, embarking on a road-run back to the harbour that inadvertently causes the town’s roads to become constipated with classics, creating virtual seizure. Such was the issue that we rate a mention live on air during Bobbie Pryor’s traffic bulletin on BBC Radio 2, thereby making history by bringing about Stornoway’s inaugural flow-breakdown.
DANNY HOPKINS: SIERRA Lewis and Harris Distance covered on islands 70 miles Views enjoyed during stay Countless Sierra purchase price £450 Total cost £1084.80
Starting bright and early this far north in winter actually means starting dark and early, but nobody really minds. We are ready for a day out exploring one of the most remote and beautiful places on the planet – we are in old cars and the roads are empty. Even in horizontal rain, it’s an extremely exciting and exotic prospect. I’m entirely game and so is my Gwyndaf Evans-spoilered Ford.
Driving south out of Stornoway the mountains loom through the gloom. As the road encourages speed to increase we switch wiper speeds to fast (less slow) and set ourselves up for the twisty stuff. Pure enjoyment.
It’s remarkable really, we have
‘After Tarbert, the views on offer go from full of wonder to just plain weird’
had a great drive up, with a couple of fun breakdowns, and all five cars have delivered us here without serious issue.
A textbook classic winter adventure, and yet, tell people what you are doing and they look at you as if you’re completely mad.
Bring on the madness then. As, at the moment, blasting up into the big hills on the A859, the Sierra enjoying the sweeping bends and excellent tarmac, I’m in classic car heaven. Up past Loch Shobhall, the clouds begin to break and the views open up…
I’m now torn between really enjoying the drive, or slowing down to marvel at the scenery.
For a bit the scenery wins. It’s like I’m riding a metal horse through a scene from Lord of the Rings – truly extraordinary. It’s really big stuff, for a while, almost clichéd in its beauty. Just when you expect a huge view over a remote loch with, in the background a hidden valley disappearing down to the sea to appear, IT DOES. Golden Eagle swooping down from an unfathomable crag – tick. Sun bursting out from behind a cloud to cause the flanks of a Nissan Micra to ‘glint’ like a gold bar? You got it baby.
After Tarbert, the views go from full of wonder to plain weird, as the mountains give way to a bizarre, rock strewn moonscape. We have moved from Lewis to Harris and the terrain is completely different. There are also beaches. Beautiful golden crescents around every corner. If it wasn’t winter, I’d be grabbing my trunks and enjoying the gulf stream.
But it is winter, and the amazing roads, accompanied by a complete lack of traffic, demand the swapping of cogs on the Type 9 and the all-consuming hunt for a the perfect power band.
Marvelling at how much pokier the Pinto is in EFI 2.0 trim than my old carb-fed Sierra 1.6 (Winter Warmers,
2017) I am approaching man and machine Nirvana. ‘Sideways’ is achieved (safely) on more than one occasion and, as we park up at Seilebost, I am suddenly gripped with remorse. I have just had a message from Skarry Morrison to tell me the Sierra is something he’d be willing to pay my asking price for.
More of that in the next issue, when we reveal the winner of our five car adventure challenge, but for now it means that this evening I’ll be driving over
‘A shimmering red backdrop forms behind distant silhoutted peaks’
to the other side of Lewis to say farewell to a great, great car. The light has disappeared and the darkness rolls in over the mountains as we head back to Tarbert.
Matt Tomkins says farewell to the Panda (he is the first to sell his car) and jumps into the 309 alongside Matt G. Then we set off in convoy, taking to the sweeping curves and mountain passes of Lewis once more. Is this the best ever PC winter adventure? Today has certainly been one of the best driving days I have ever enjoyed – well worth the two days it took to get here.
JAMES WALSHE: 900 Stornoway-fort William Distance 211 miles Mishaps Only one: Windscreen washer failure Feet toasted thanks to Swedish Arctic heater blower Two Saab 900 purchase price £250 Total cost £1912.24
Our reduced convoy of three joins the queue for the ferry on a dark and blustery Thursday morning at the port of Stornoway, where a couple of the classic car owners from yesterday – workers at the ferry terminal, as it turns out – wander over to wish us well. Hebridean hospitality has been undeniably warm, but any sadness we feel about leaving is soon replaced by the allure of a jaw-dropping Scottish dawn. The ferry hums calmly eastward across The Minch with a pod of porpoises leaping playfully just off the bows, as a shimmering red backdrop forms behind distant silhouetted peaks of the mountain range our three old motors are about to negotiate.
Our journey home commences with a fuel stop in Ullapool and one final wistful glance back towards the Outer Hebrides. We’re due in Fort William before nightfall, but there’s time for something of a detour, so we choose the A832 from Gorstan, which winds its way through the valley floors of Western Scotland via Strathcarron to Skye. There’s an occasional pause, for no particular reason other than to take in whatever view takes our fancy. If snapper Howell was using film, he’d be at serious risk of running out.
The windscreen washers have packed up on my Saab, which is especially annoying, as I had only recently replaced the washer motor. A few more miles of squirting the windscreen with my drinks bottle and I decide enough is enough. The bonnet swings open for the first time on this trip. Smartie-pants Tomkins immediately diagnoses a bad earth and the washers spurt into life again. You just don’t realise how useful they are in
winter until they fail, do you? We cross the Skye Bridge and rest for a few snaps in Kyleakin. A 400-year-old ferry service across Loch Alsh was replaced by the bridge in 1995. On the horizon, the jagged peaks of the mountains around Portree are tantalisingly close, but we’ll have to wait until next time.
More disappointment dawns as we realise the epic coast roads through Mallaig and Glenuig must also be left behind. Our aim is to reach Fort William before dark and we do so, after our final stop of the day, in a layby in the western Grampians just south of Loch Lochy. We stand in silence for a moment, soaking up the sight of something none of us had previously experienced: The majesty of Ben Nevis on a near-cloudless evening. At 1345 metres, the highest mountain in Britain is rarely visible and – along with the wood-fired pizza at the Black Isle Bar in Fort William that evening – it marked the best possible end to a stunning drive. Our final act of the day was to deposit a now Sierra-less Danny on the sleeper train home (so he could get to his daughter’s birthday the next day). Meanwhile, having mentioned online that my Saab might be up for grabs, I appear to have a buyer. However, she’s in Perth – and that is literally nowhere near where we’re supposed to be heading.
MATT GEORGE: 309 Fort William-peterborough Distance 426 miles Breakdowns Zero Genuine film locations visited One Peugeot 309 purchase price £250 Total cost £688.90
Up bright and early the following day, the remaining members of the team have one thing on our minds – Skyfall. Released in 2012, the much-lauded film of the same name was the 23rd instalment in the storied James Bond franchise. As the film approaches its gripping climax, Bond takes M to Skyfall, Bond’s childhood home in the Scottish Highlands. Scenes from Skyfall were shot in Glen Coe as well as in nearby Glen Etive – so this is were we are heading. In a driving sequence filmed just off the A82 near the striking peaks of Buachaille Etive Mor and Buachaille Etive Beag, the secret agent’s iconic Aston Martin DB5 manages to get upstaged by
the stunning atmospheric scenery. As the three cars left on duty, our Saab, Nissan and Peugeot might not stand out as much as the legendary Aston, but we get some great shots in a stunning location nonetheless. For the umpteenth time on this trip, we are treated to a striking vista, as the skinny, pock-marked blacktop weaves from left to right and back again as it winds its way through the centre of a sumptuous, heather-rich, gold-tinted valley. Scotland – we salute you. After a brief stop to channel our inner Daniel Craig for the benefit of snapper Howell’s camera, we hop in the cars once more and retrace our steps back to the A82.
A few miles down the road, we pull over at the historic and latterly tastefully renovated Kingshouse Hotel to enjoy a round of cream teas. As we’re all warming up and taking in the surrounding views through huge panes of glass that span from the floor to the ceiling, James suddenly disappears without warning. When he returns ten minutes later, with a sheepish grin on his face, he explains himself. ‘That was Lydia in Perth – and she wants to buy my Saab.’
He doesn’t seem to know whether to laugh or cry, but our lucky colleague has now got an appointment some 90 miles west, so we head outside to remove the remainder of Howell’s photography equipment from the Saab and distribute it between the Peugeot and the Nissan. But before we reach the cars, we’re met by a full-blown Stag – and it’s not a Stag of the Triumph variety. No, what we have in front of us now is a living, breathing male Red Deer, complete with a sturdy set of antlers. He’s an absolutely magnificent specimen, but he’s also not afraid to get up close and personal. We respectfully keep our distance, content to simply enjoy the sight of such a remarkable beast, in the wild and doing its thing.
Buoyed by our brush with nature, we wave James off in the direction of Perth, leaving Matt’s Tomkins and Howell, plus Theo and I, to carry on with our journey south to the border. We skirt around the outskirts of Glasgow and thankfully manage to avoid the worst of the rush-hour traffic, before we pick up the M74 and slog our way down the A74 and M6 motorways, with the Micra in particular proving itself to be surprisingly capable of such sustained action. After a steady three-hour cruise, we peel off the M6 and find our way to our final overnight halt – the impressive Roundthorn Country House hotel.
After a well-deserved night spent in the lap of luxury, we rouse the 309 and Micra for the final time during the trip and embark on the last leg back to reality. After dropping Tomkins off at his place in North Witham, I finally arrive back at my home in Ramsey in the early hours of the afternoon. While the 309’s trusty XUD diesel engine ticks and pops as it cools down, I check the odometer. Having been zeroed at the beginning of the trip – which seems a lifetime ago now – it currently reads 1314.
Yes, there have been a few thrills and spills along the way, but not many as anticipated. All five of our cars have done us proud and we’ve all had a brilliant adventure. Now, where are we going next year?
‘The road winds its way right through a sumptuous, gold-tinted valley’