RESTORED COTTAGE, SOUTH UIST.



When I started this blog two years ago, my intention was to give an account of life here from the point of view of an incomer and to provide a running record of the trials and triumphs of renovating an old cottage.
Now that the house renovation is complete, my daily existence has settled down into a generally repetitive and dull routine. It is becoming increasingly difficult to find enough really interesting events to enthuse about and I think the last thing readers want to hear of are my adventures strimming grass, hanging washing out, cooking soda bread and mending punctures. That would bore most people rigid and leave me wondering about the true purpose of life.
I'm also running out of tourist attractions and sights to photograph and write about and there are a lot of books available which do it better.

For those reasons, I've decided to make this my last regular blog and would like to thank all of you who have taken the trouble to read it and send comments.

Tea, coffee and a chat are offered to any readers who happen to be visiting Lewis and fancy a natter. Email address is lewispot@yahoo.co.uk. Bye for now.

STINKY BAY, BENBECULA.




When the wind blows in a particular direction, the Sulphurous smell of decaying seaweed blows all round this bay, hence the name. Apart from the stench, which I don't mind, this is a very beautiful place with lots of wading birds and tremendous views of the hills of South Uist.

Now that the house is renovated, I need to turn my attention to improving the croft. Having had no maintenance for many years, the fencing is in poor condition, with a number of posts rotted at ground level, making it easier for sheep and cattle to force their way on to my land from the adjacent common grazings. Although some running repairs have been done this year, hundreds of yards of fencing needs to be replaced soon, but to avoid bankruptcy, it will have to be done a section at a time. I'm going to look for a local fencing contractor, with the intention of having all the fencing replaced during the next couple of years, as I can afford to pay for the work. No amount of sheep will justify the expense of replacing the fencing, but it can't stay as it is and I don't want my neighbours complaining about my insecure boundaries.
On the positive side though, the fence posts are only rotten at the base and along with the peat, will provide free fuel for the stove for a long time.

While I was away on holiday recently, I missed an important local news story. Some months ago, the Ministry of Defence and the Government Defence contractor, QinetiQ - what a silly name - announced that it planned to operate the Hebrides Missile Range remotely, from Aberporth in Wales. This plan would have resulted in the loss of about 125 jobs in the Uists and would have had a catastrophic effect on the local economy. Fortunately, common sense has prevailed and after some persuasive lobbying by local community leaders, the Government has thrown out the scheme to transfer to Wales. How long the jobs in South Uist and St Kilda will be safe for, is yet to be seen.

Salmon farming has provided a lot of employment here in the Outer Hebrides for a good many years, but has been in decline for some time. Large International companies have progressively bought out the smaller operators and jobs have been lost recently through amalgamations, closure of fish factories and economies of scale. Interesting to hear this week then that one of the biggest Salmon producers has announced plans to develop supersized offshore fish farms in the Minch, which will potentially create up to 40 jobs here in the islands. At present, most fish farms are small, quite close to the shore and the workers go out to them each day. The proposed new fish farms would be much bigger, further offshore and would be staffed by a crew of up to six workers who would live on site, in purpose built residential accommodation . Presumably, they would work 2-3 weeks on the farm, followed by onshore leave, just like oil rig workers do.

There was a curious occurrence this week at Coll beach here on Lewis when a woman out walking came across hundreds of washed up Starfish on the sand and rocks. They were apparently of different sizes and some were alive and some dead. The finder said that most of the Starfish had disappeared by the following morning and she thought they might have been eaten by gulls. Why were the Starfish stranded on the beach?

It's that time of year again when the lambs are sent off to the abattoir and I get a carcass or two as payment for letting my neighbour graze his sheep on my croft. He arrived yesterday with a very large plastic sack containing enough meat to keep me going for many months and it's now in the freezer. The lamb was raised on this croft, on land never contaminated by herbicides or pesticides, but did have to be taken to Stornoway, fifteen miles away, for slaughter.

I do have a problem with rushes, especially at the front of the croft and will have to decide whether to spray or not, next Spring.

There was a Fred Karno moment here yesterday when I was doing some cooking. I got distracted by a phone call, the kitchen got smoky and the mains operated fire alarms went off like the Bells of Hades. Rushing to open windows all over the place, I managed to catch my hand accidentally on a piece of pottery I have had for a long time and smashed it to the ground, where it lay in dozens of pieces. The pot had a value, so I rang the insurance company, who confirmed that I was fully insured for accidental damage and said they would be delighted to pay for a replacement. Before we got any further though, the nice lady on the phone asked me if I realised that the sum total of my insurance excess and the loss of no claims bonus if I made a claim, would come to almost exactly the value of my broken pot. In these circumstances, the nice lady observed, I might not want to make a claim after all.
Oh well.

ASTOR AND THE STORNOWAY FERRY


This picture shows the Stornoway - Ullapool ferry, 'Isle of Lewis', about to pass the cruise ship 'Astor', which was moored in the approach to Stornoway harbour when I took the photo a few weeks ago. The ferry, quite a big boat itself, was completely dwarfed by the 'Astor', one of many tourist ships stopping off at Lewis during the Summer. The passengers are treated to a cursory, whistle stop tour of the sights of the Island, which benefits from income from coach and guide hire and money spent in Stornoway shops.

Having spent almost three weeks away from home visiting family and friends, it was a strange feeling to return here to peace , solitude and almost spooky quietness. Little has changed in my absence. The grass has grown a bit, the Rock Doves were sat on the bird table waiting for my return and the sheep launched themselves at me as soon as they saw me through the kitchen window, in the vain hope that I might have a bucket of supplements for them.

Any hopes that the peace and quiet would continue were dashed yesterday when we suffered high gusting winds all day and night, which kept me indoors, threatened to bring the roof off and signalled the arrival of Autumn with a vengeance.


What a change today though. The sun is shining brightly, there is little wind and I've just taken an early morning walk down the croft. The white horses on the loch have gone, the buzzard is irritating the ravens and the sheep are grazing contentedly again. There are few flowers about now and the landscape is slowly changing from a rich green to a dull brown.


I feel quite exercised about the sheer volume of unsolicited junk mail that has arrived while I was away and which is destined to go straight to the recycling bin, unopened. I make concerted efforts to let these companies know that I don't want their mailings, but still it arrives in ever increasing quantities. A friend I stayed with last week receives two or three unwanted phone calls EVERY evening from people trying to sell goods. That would drive me insane if it happened here. Fortunately, I never get unwelcome cold calls for some reason and long may that continue.

I'm having extraordinary difficulty in motivating myself to do anything constructive since I got back and have been avoiding starting on the long list of domestic tasks that badly need attending to. All I really want to do just now is to sit in a chair in front of the stove reading books. That makes me feel guilty though, so every now and then I have to get up to hoover round, put some washing in the machine, or wash some pots, to justify my existence. Very sad. Goodness knows how I'm going to get my act together to go back to work tomorrow.

Now for nature notes. When I was growing up in England, most houses nearby, including our own, had colonies of House Martin nests under the eaves. I spent many happy hours watching these pretty birds flying to and fro and have had an affection for House Martins ever since. Some time ago, I read somewhere that they don't occur, or nest, on Lewis. I know the first isn't true because I saw two of them flying around the house earlier this Summer. Consequently, on a whim, I've just bought a pair of artificial Martin nests on the internet and have fixed them under the roof above the kitchen window. They ought to be well weathered by nesting time next Spring, so we'll see if they manage to attract occupants.

The reintroduction of Sea Eagles to Scotland continues to be successful and this years survey show that there are now over 200 individual birds throughout the country, with 46 breeding pairs. Ten pairs of Sea Eagles are breeding in the Outer Hebrides, including one new pair which has set up a territory here on Lewis. Thirty six chicks have been raised this year and one interesting snippet I came across is that the Sea Eagles on the Isle of Mull have become such a tourist attraction that they are boosting the economy there by about £2 million every year.

Finally, the drive to protect wading birds from predation by hedgehogs has restarted for the Autumn season. Twelve trappers have been employed to operate hundreds of traps placed throughout Uist and Benbecula in an attempt to catch any remaining hedgehogs which avoided capture during the last trapping campaign in the Spring. As before, all the beasties they find will be lovingly cared for by Uist Hedgehog Rescue prior to release in suitable locations in South West and Central Scotland.

FLANNAN ISLES. FROM MANGERSTA, LEWIS

FORMER FLANNAN ISLES LIGHTHOUSE SHORE STATION, BREASCLETE, LEWIS.

I've always been fascinated by unsolved mysteries and remember being intrigued as a child when told about the disappearance of three lighthouse keepers from a lighthouse in Scotland many years before. All memories of that tale slipped firmly into the back of my mind though until I came to live here and was reminded of the strange events that occurred at the Flannan Isles light in December 1900.

The first picture, which I took last Sunday morning, was photographed from a distance of about twenty miles, from the West coast of Lewis near Mangersta. The lighthouse itself is positioned on the highest point of Eilean Mor, the larger island on the right of the photo and can just about be seen if you are able to expand it on the computer.

The Flannan Isles lighthouse was designed by David Stevenson, built by George Lawson of Rutherglen and was lit for the first time in December 1899. Building it must have been an extraordinary achievement because all of the materials used were hauled up the 150 foot cliffs from moving boats in the turbulent seas below.

The lighthouse, landing stage, stairs and railway tracks cost a total of £6914, no mean sum over a hundred years ago. An additional £3526 was spent on building the shore station at Breasclete, Lewis, shown in the second photo. The lighthouse was manned by three keepers at all times with a rotating fourth keeper who did regular relief duty and like the other keepers, lived at the shore station in between stints on the light. The Breasclete shore station has been maintained in lovely condition and since becoming redundant in 1971 when the light was automated, has been converted into a block of flats.

I digress, so back to the tale. On 15 December 1900, about a year after the Flannan Isles light was commissioned, a ship steaming past the Flannans saw that the light was not operational and reported this when they berthed at Oban. Poor weather prevented the relief lighthouse tender Hesperus from leaving Breasclete pier immediately, but the boat eventually reached the lighthouse at noon on 26 December, when the relief keeper was put ashore. He found the beds unmade, the clock stopped and no sign of any of the three keepers. With the aid of a seaman and the second mate of the relief boat, the relief keeper made a thorough search throughout the lighthouse and immediate surroundings but could find no trace of the missing men. The lighthouse lamps had been cleaned and refilled and the only untoward finding was an overturned chair in the kitchen.

Later on 26 December, the Hesperus returned to Breasclete on Lewis, leaving behind the relief keeper and three volunteer seaman to operate and maintain the lighthouse. The Captain of the Hesperus sent the following telegram to the Northern Lighthouse Board that day:

"A dreadful accident has happened at the Flannans. The three keepers, Ducat, Marshall and the Occasional have disappeared from the island. The clocks were stopped and other signs indicated that the accident must have happened about a week ago. Poor fellows must have been blown over the cliffs or drowned trying to rescue a crane or something like that."

The fate of the Flannan Lighthouse keepers remains a mystery to this day and every now and again, a new explanation or theory emerges. The official investigation at the time concluded that the most likely occurrence was that all three keepers were outside of the light trying to secure a box in which ropes were kept, when they were hit by extra large waves which struck them with immense force and swept them away.

The poet Wilfrid Wilson Gibson wrote a poem entitled Flannan Isle about the disappearance of the keepers. It's too long to print here, but well worth searching it out on the internet.

All well here just now. The temperature is dropping by the week and we've already had some ferocious winds which prevented the ferry leaving the harbour one day earlier this week. I'm off on my holidays in the morning, so it will be about three weeks before the next blog.

WILD ORCHIDS AT THE CALLANISH STONES.



The tourists have almost gone now, although there are still a few people in camper vans parked up in remote places, enjoying the mild weather. This has been a bumper season for visitors, probably because of the big reduction in ferry fares this year. Most of the camper van owners behave reasonably and considerately but for some reason, one of them decided to park in my driveway one night last week without a by your leave to me. I only find out he was there when I went to work early the following morning. He told me that he thought he could park anywhere in the Western Isles, so I gave him one or two suggestions.

No problems at the Towers this week. The car is behaving itself again and the mackerel are biting once more. The weather is changing rapidly and there is a definite Autumnal feel descending on the island. Even so, there are still plenty of flowers on the roadside verges, including the bright, cheerful and poisonous Ragwort, the striking orange Crocosmia and pretty blue Scabious.

I now spend more and more time working in Uist and Barra, which means that the croft is not getting as much attention as I would like and bits of it, especially the garden ground, are beginning to look decidedly scruffy. I'm very pleased to have my neighbour's sheep grazing the land, which keeps it in reasonable order, but I do need to replace quite a lot of fencing in the near future to keep it secure and stop it looking derelict. My plans to have a lovely tidy and productive croft with my own sheep and polytunnels seem as far away now as they did a couple of years ago when I moved into the house.
The problem is that the day job is taking up so much time that it's severely interfering with my original scheme to lead a fulfilling and reasonably self sufficient life. Widespread Sabbath Observance here also means that there are only six days available to work outside and five of those are spent away earning a living. I suppose I could have anticipated this when I came to live here, so mustn't grumble.
I'm not proud of my next revelation, but I have to confess that I do spend some time working in the shed with the door closed, on Sundays. I take the view, rightly or wrongly, that as long as I'm not offending my neighbours by making any noise or working on the land, It's my business what I do inside. I wouldn't dream of hanging washing out or gardening, but I do like pottering inside the shed, which is crammed to the gunwhales with rubbish and needs much sorting out. Lots of the junk in there is left over from the house renovation and a few months ago, I discovered Freecycle. This is an online facility where you can advertise goods you have surplus, or seek items that you want. No money can change hands for goods that are offered or sought and the whole idea is that stuff you don't want goes to somebody who does want it, rather than to the landfill site. I've managed to pass on an old stove, a desk and lots of building bits recently and am now beginning to see some daylight in the shed. A few more Sundays and with a bit of help from Freecycle, the shed will be usable again. There are branches of Freecycle all over the UK and maybe round the world for all I know.
I would rather spend my life ferreting about in the shed and growing things in polytunnels, but my full time work is still enjoyable and important to me and it's not an unsatisfying existence by any means. Still, I quite look forward to having more free time in retirement, which is probably a few years away yet.
I do enjoy living in such a beautiful place and whilst It's difficult to manage the croft productively just now, I can't imagine moving somewhere else unless circumstances change drastically.
Also, the house has developed a warm, welcoming and homely feel to it in the year since the renovation was finished and is a pleasure to live in.


In the last blog, I mentioned that some rich bloke had isolated himself on the small island of Scaravay in the Sound of Harris, in an attempt to withdraw himself from a forty year cigarette habit. He was planning to stay in a tent or a bothy for a month but someone has just told me that the weather has defeated him and driven him home early. I really would like to know if he has given up the fags, so feel free to let me know. I can't find anything recent about him on the internet.

GEARRANNAN BLACKHOUSE VILLAGE, LEWIS.

Gearrannan Blackhouse village, which is now a major tourist attraction, is sited on the Westside of Lewis, near Carloway. The village was lived in until 1974 and is thought to have been the last group of blackhouses to be inhabited in the Outer Hebrides.
After lying empty and derelict for many years, a trust was established in 1989 to undertake the ambitious task of restoring the entire village. The project took about ten years to complete and is now a great success. There is a Youth Hostel, a number of self catering cottages, cafe, shop and museum, as well as public toilets. The village sits in front of a pretty cove and there are wonderful views all around. It's a bit of a gem and I suggest you stop what you are doing right now, get on a bus/bicycle/train/ferry/plane/car/walk and come and see it. For more information about Gearrannan, go to http://www.gearrannan.com/.

It's been a bit of a struggle this week. Most things that could go wrong have done. My car decided to break down with gearbox trouble and is now sat in a compound at the garage waiting for some obscure spare part to arrive from England. Goodness knows when it will be mended. There were no hire cars available, possibly because of the sheer volume of tourists we have on the island at present, but the garage staff came to my rescue and have loaned me a car until mine is fixed. That's very nice of them and they will get a Christmas card from me.

Went fishing a couple of nights ago and caught absolutely nothing, but the ten year old boy fishing with his dad at the side of me managed to pull enough fish out to feed the five thousand. Oh the shame of it. To rub more salt into the wound, he came over, told me my weight wasn't heavy enough and offered me his spare. Still caught diddly squat and then went home after thanking the boy nicely.
Have bought a pack of Icelandic cod fillets ( line caught and on special offer) at the co op tonight and I'm going to pretend I caught them when I eat them tomorrow.

Lost my wallet containing money, cards, driving licence etc a few days ago and slipped into blind panic mode until I found it some hours later, in the kitchen waste bin where I'd thrown it. Then discovered an empty baked bean tin in the kitchen food cupboard, so assume I must have descended into a fugue state at some point as a means of avoiding stress caused by expensive broken cars and clever boys who can fish better than me.

In a further off message moment, I managed to fill my petrol strimmer with diesel, but in a stroke of good luck, spotted my deliberate mistake before any damage was done. It's time for a lengthy holiday I think.

That fine provider of fascinating facts, the Registrar General, has published statistics showing that the population of the Outer Hebrides has dropped by about 5% during the last ten years and continues on a downward trend. There is much wailing and beating of breasts about this in the local press and I rather suspect that in ten years from now, if the doom mongers are right, there will only be me, the harbourmaster and my neighbour's cat left on the islands.
A local councillor blames it all on "the general downturn in the economy and migrant workers leaving the islands in the wake of the contraction of the fish farming sector". All the Polish plumbers, including the one who walked out of my house renovation leaving me in the lurch, have gone home because life is now more agreeable in Poland than it is here.
Do you know, that in 2008, there were 346 deaths here and only 256 births? Perhaps the way to develop the economy is to turn the Islands into one huge Las Vegas style gambling venue and develop a side industry of coffin making.

On the other hand, there might be a future in promoting the Outer Hebrides as a world centre for retreats and alternative therapies. Scaravay is a tiny uninhabited 40 acre island in the Sound of Harris which seems to be owned by a man who is marketing 'associate ownerships' and various 'heritage artefacts' connected with the island, to romantics with spare money. If desperate to fritter away your fortune, go to http://www.scaravay.com/.
Last week, a man described as a retired millionaire banker, cast himself away on Scaravay for a month as a means of doing cold turkey to withdraw himself from a thirty a day, forty year cigarette habit and to lose weight. There are no houses on the island and he is apparently living in a tent, eating tinned food and jogging regularly. He has taken a guitar with him to learn to play and is dispelling boredom by listening to books on his Ipod and playing with his mobile phone, both of which are solar powered.

News headline of the week - ' Unstable plane hits Benbecula airport runway.'

Must have been very upset to take such drastic action.

OLD WHALING STATION, BUNAVONEADER, ISLE OF HARRIS.

This chimney, a few nearby ruins and some scattered whale bones are all that remain of the old whaling station down in Harris. It was operated by the Norwegians between 1903 and 1920, when Lord Leverhulme took it over and it continued to be run by his soap and detergent company, Lever Brothers, until it closed down in 1929.
The whaling station was successful for quite a long time, but in common with other more recent fisheries, became a victim of over fishing, leading to total collapse of the whaling industry locally.
When the station was fully functional, the whales were harpooned out at sea and then taken individually to the shelter of Village Bay at St Kilda. They were then towed, four carcasses at a time, back to this whaling station for processing. Boats took the whale products to Glasgow and returned full of coal for the whaling ships and the whaling station boilers.
The whaling station reopened between 1950 and about 1959, but the venture became uneconomic again and the operating company concentrated its efforts on catching whales around South Georgia in the South Atlantic.

Now we're on a whaling trip, we'll continue on the same theme for a while away from the Hebrides.

OLD WHALING BOAT, GRYTVIKEN, SOUTH GEORGIA

Having taken a couple of years to master the fairly basic skill of loading several pictures at a time on to this blog, I'm on a bit of a roll and thought I would dig out some other relevant photos I had tucked away and show you these.

As a child, I read Moby Dick again and again and was always fascinated by the adventures of explorers such as Scott, Amundsen and particularly Shackleton.

A few years ago, I decided to get off my backside, take myself to the verge of bankruptcy and go to Antarctica and all points South. I had an unfulfilled ambition to pay homage at Shackleton's grave at Grytviken, South Georgia, was quite keen to see a penguin in the flesh and was interested in the wildlife and recent military and social history of the Falkland Islands.

Well, leaving day came and with a fresh crease in my trousers and newly polished shoes, off I went skipping gaily to the airport.

Grytviken is an amazing place. Many Hebrideans have worked in the whaling industry there. The whaling station is now abandoned and is just decaying very slowly. The whaling boat shown above, one of several along the shore, looks as if the crew simply walked away one day and left it to its own devices. Which, I think, is exactly what happened. The whaling stopped and the men went home, leaving South Georgia to the penguins and seals.

SOUTH GEORGIA WHALING STATION

Whale boat propellors. Elephant seal snoozing in the middle.

WHALING STATION, GRYTVIKEN, SOUTH GEORGIA

I'm not absolutely sure, but I think these engines powered the boilers which rendered the blubber and purified the oil.

SHACKLETON'S GRAVE, GRYTVIKEN, SOUTH GEORGIA

A very moving experience to see where the great man is buried, but spoiled a little because these other tourists from a different ship refused to move to allow me to get a clear shot. There were a lot of visitors that day and my boat left first so this was the best I could manage.

CASUALTY OF WAR.

A very sad story to this picture. The grave, a few yards from Shackleton's last resting place, is occupied by Felix Artuso, a young Argentinian sailor. He was a Petty Officer on the Argentinian Submarine 'Santa Fe' during the Falklands conflict. On the 25 April 1982, the Santa Fe was sailing close to South Georgia when it was attacked by a British naval anti Submarine helicopter with depth charges. The Santa Fe sustained extensive damage in that attack and limped into the jetty at King Edward Point, Grytviken, where the crew abandoned ship and surrendered to British forces. On close examination by the captors, the submarine was found to be in a dangerous condition, primarily because it was leaking oil and chlorine gas and was losing buoyancy. There were also ready to fire live torpedos on board which were a concern.

A major headache for the British was that the submarine was moored at a jetty needed for other ships from the British task force and it was considered imperative that the vessel should not be allowed to sink at the jetty.

During the next few days, essential maintenance was carried out on the Submarine by some of the Argentinian crew, including Petty Officer Artuso, under armed British guard. The guards were not familiar with all the equipment on the sub and at some point during 30 April 1982, Felix Artuso was seen to move swiftly towards a valve which the guard thought was used to flood the boat with water. Believing the Submarine was about to be scuttled by the Argentinian sailor, the British guard shot him dead. When the valve was then examined, it was found to have a completely innocent purpose and could not have allowed water into the submarine.

The enquiry that followed found that the guard, acting under great pressure and with wrong information about the purpose of the valve, had killed Petty Officer Artuso mistakenly.

Felix Artuso was confirmed as having acted completely innocently and he was given a funeral with full military honours by the British and buried in the little cemetery at Grytviken, where he remains. Twelve of his comrades were present at the burial.

The Santa Fe was later towed out to deep water and sunk by the British.

I have been unable to find out if the Argentinian Government accepted the findings of the enquiry and have no idea why Felix Artuso's body has not been repatriated closer to his family in the Argentine.

The full Board of Enquiry Report into the death of Petty Officer Artuso is published on the Internet and provokes thought about the pressures and circumstances faced by participants in wartime.

In the background of this photo can be seen old whaling ships, whale oil boilers and the Norwegian whalers church, which is maintained in pristine condition and is used regularly.