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As usual there was a tremendous turnout for the Boxing Day Port of Ness Hunt.
Hunt members mingled with the sales queues waiting patiently outside emporioalanjohn's. The queues were boosted by shoppers from Shader eager to see how the other half lives since their post office has shut down. Most sales shoppers seemed to have their eyes on nails or hair slides though one shopper hoped to get alanjohn's last tin of Mushrooms. It was reduced owing to some superficial rusting of the lid.
The Ness Hunt is different in that there are no foxes on Lewis ( except for the assortments of biscuits in Cross Stores) and there are few horses to speak of. The last working horse in Ness was roasted at the Ness FC Christmas Dinner of 1972 along with most of the women of Skigersta - it should be added.
The hunt is conducted on bicycle, quad bike or invalid scooter. The hunters must wear red dungarees and supporters follow in the trailer of alec john's tractor. Donald, as village idiot in waiting plays the part of the 'fox'. He is smothered in cod roe and carries a haversack full of mackerel heads. Which brings us to the 'hounds'. In the absence of dogs with any work ethic about them, tom cats fulfil the role. Donald is given a fifteen minute start and runs through each of the villages of Ness. The spectacle of the bikes, the ringing of their bells and the howling of the tom cats is as much a part of island life as rickets and TB. If he makes it, Donald finally throws himself into the Galson River, divesting himself of all the smells leaving dozens of confused cyclists and tom cats wondering whta they are doing in North Galson. Then it's back to alanjohn's where Chrisie Mary hands out champagne flutes filled with Buckie and Cremola Foam . After a communal sing song and prayers it's of to the bochan to get leathered.. Ah tradition ye canna whack it!