Episode 4 Grand Tours of the Scottish Islands

The islands of the West Coast of Scotland are not just beautiful,

they are incredibly varied.

Hop on a ferry from one to the other

and it's like travelling to another country.

And while the islands I'm travelling to

are very different in character,

they each have their own allure -

the romantic idea of escape and sanctuary.

For centuries, the magic of the Scottish islands

has drawn travellers to these shores.

'I'm exploring the remote and fascinating places

'scattered around our coastline...'

Any chance of a lift?

'..and meeting the people who call these islands home.'

Hold on to your hats!

This time, the islands I'm visiting are striking in their contrast -

from the lush and fertile Gigha

to the rugged wilderness of Jura.

Both have become destinations for people

who are looking for a new island life.

My grand tour down the West Coast of Scotland

sees me set sail

for the often overlooked islands of the Inner Hebrides.

My first stop is the beautiful island of Gigha,

and from there, I'll be heading for Jura

and attempting to navigate

the infamous waters of the Corryvreckan

before scaling the famous Paps.

My journey starts with a short ferry crossing

to tiny Gigha.

It's a place of Vikings and saints,

and because of its fertile soils and fair climate,

it was once known as "God's Island."

Gigha is a charming island with a unique character.

In 1773, this was a port of call

for the extremely well-travelled Welsh naturalist Thomas Pennant.

Pennant was on a mission to report and inform -

he believed that most people in Britain

knew more about foreign countries than they did about their own.

So to remedy this, he embarked on a Hebridean voyage.

In his journal, he wrote - "Land on Gigha -

"an island about six miles long and one broad.

"The most eastern of the Hebrides,

"with its vast bed of most pure and fine sand.

"A mixture of rock, pasture and arable land

"with no high hills."

He also observed something else

that is not often said about a Scottish island.

"The weather is extremely fine."

And it's true - it is!

What with its sandy bays and balmy sea air,

at times, it seems almost tropical.

BIRDS CALL, BEES BUZZ

"Gigha" might mean "God's Island",

but God didn't create this Arcadian paradise.

Everything that you see here is the work of mortal human hands,

inspired by the vision of a man

who believed that a good night's rest

was more than just a dream.

Colonel Sir James Horlick was heir to the vast empire

that was built on the world's most famous malted drink - Horlick's.

For Colonel Horlick, sleep was the basis of a vast fortune.

And with the millions he amassed, he bought this island

and set about creating these beautiful gardens at Achamore.

'I've come to meet one of its horticulturalists,

'Helen McBrearty, to find out why he chose Gigha.'

Helen, Achamore Gardens is really quite fantastic -

I feel as if I'm in a sub-tropical forest here.

We're very lucky here.

We've got the Gulf Stream that influences our weather,

which means that it's very mild.

Colonel Horlick came here in the '40s,

-specifically because of the climate.

-Right.

He was an avid collector of plants

and he wanted somewhere for them to thrive

and this was the place he chose.

'The new laird didn't just transform these gardens -

'Horlick also used his considerable business experience

'to develop the island's economy.

'And many visitors, including royalty,

'came to marvel at what he created here.'

-Beautiful in here, isn't it?

-Yeah.

-Lovely aroma, too.

Now, what would this garden have been used for originally,

the walled part here?

The walled garden, the two acres,

were used for vegetable growing and fruit.

Gigha used to be famous for the quality of its fruit and veg.

So the house would have been self-sufficient, presumably.

It would have had to have been,

yeah - if they didn't grow it, they didn't eat it.

Colonel Sir James Horlick died in 1972

and was laid to rest on Gigha.

'Following in his horticultural footsteps,

'Helen came here from England.

'She now helps to maintain the gardens

'where visitors can enjoy the results

'of one man's energy and enthusiasm.'

He was just passionate about plants

and passionate about the island and the gardens

and created what we have today.

In the years following,

the island fell into the hands of a series of absentee landlords.

They didn't have the same commitment

that Colonel Horlick had shown to Gigha.

It was only fairly recently that things changed.

About ten years ago,

there was a quiet revolution here on Gigha.

Disillusioned with the landlords,

local people formed a community trust

and bought the island when it came on the market in 2002.

And since then, the place has flourished.

Local control, it seems, has reversed the age-old problem

of population decline

and attracted businesses

and families to the island.

And I'm going to meet one islander

who came here after the community buyout -

dairy farmer John Earnshaw,

who is now celebrating ten years on Gigha.

I'm originally from Gargrave, Skipton.

Is that Yorkshire?

It is - it's not England.

-LAUGHING:

-Right! OK.

Why did you choose Gigha?

I don't know whether we chose Gigha or it just happened.

-Or Gigha chose you?

-Fate.

We came with two young children

and we thought there was a future.

We came and we gave it a shot

and I would say it's been OK for us.

And what's it like, living on an island,

compared to living in Yorkshire?

Totally different. It's different challenges

and different problems to get over.

You have to either work together with the other farmers

or you're stuck.

John is continuing a long tradition of dairy farming on Gigha.

But the island's position as a significant milk producer

is due in no small part to the work of Sir James Horlick.

As laird, he set about modernising the way that milk was produced here.

Of course, the Horlicks would have had an interest in milk, anyway,

with their milk-based drink!

Yes - I think they were the driving force for Gigha

into dairy and the improvement of the land.

It was a tremendously productive place.

So Gigha and dairy go together, do they?

I would think so, yes.

And keeping that milk production up is certainly important for Gigha,

I think, anyway.

Most of the milk produced on Gigha goes to the mainland to make cheese,

so the next time you're enjoying a slice of Scottish cheddar,

you can ponder that the milk might have come from cows

fed on these fertile slopes,

and perhaps from one of John's 100-strong herd.

Come on, girls.

-They all have names.

-Really?

There's Ina, just going down.

There's Faye, Kirsty, Snowball, Rosebud...

Continuing my journey,

I'm leaving the balmy and verdant Gigha behind.

I'm making the short journey north to the island of Jura.

And here, I find a very different landscape.

Jura is bigger, much more rugged

and huge tracts of the island are uninhabited.

Its 142 square miles

is home to just 200 people,

and most of them live in the only village on the island, Craighouse.

The early travel writer Thomas Pennant also visited here

and the contrast with Gigha was not lost on him.

He described Jura as,

"The most rugged of the Hebrides, composed chiefly of vast mountains,

"naked, and without the possibility of cultivation."

Pennant sketched the rudimentary shelters

used by goat-herds in the summer months.

He remarked upon how the people risked starvation

for the benefits of a dram -

they diverted grain which should have gone to make bread

to produce the spirit they adored.

The islanders could ill afford the luxury of whisky.

But who could blame them seeking a little cheer

from the water of life?

Because their lives were unimaginably hard.

The people living on Jura

had to be resilient and self-sufficient.

And that meant making the most of the island's natural resources.

Life may be easier today, but for some people,

the opportunity to live a simpler existence

is part of the appeal of Jura.

So, what, you're just lifting the turf off just now,

going to lift the turf off the peat?

-That's right, aye.

-So you have to get rid of that

-before you start getting into the bank?

-That's right, aye.

'Neil Cameron wasn't born here,

'but since arriving on Jura 14 years ago,

'he's taught himself one of the traditional skills

'which kept islanders warm and dry for centuries.'

Do many people still cut peats on the island then, Neil?

I think, this year, there's...

-..four.

-Just four of you?

-From a population of 200? That's not many.

-Not many.

We're pretty close to the road, the main road, here,

so I get a toot of encouragement from a lot of people.

-They do, yeah.

-People like to see someone

-carrying out the traditional...

-Perhaps, aye.

-..the traditional peat-cutting way of life.

-Yeah.

Maintaining the traditions.

NEWSREEL: Patiently, methodically,

they cut the peat, they pile the peat,

they carry it away, they stack it up to dry,

to dry and burn for fuel.

I'm actually quite desperate to have a shot at this myself.

-Can I have a go with your peat cutter?

-Yeah.

-Right.

So, I just push in here...

Just follow the same angle, cos otherwise,

you'll end up with an enormous thing.

-Goes through pretty easily, doesn't it?

-Yeah.

Now give it a little twist

up towards you - that's it.

My first peat cut - look.

-There you are.

-First piece of turf.

-That's right.

-And then just repeat.

-Repeat that.

Do you think one of the pleasures, is the fact that you don't have to spend a lot of money?

-I feel obliged to do it.

-You feel obliged?

Well - just to keep the house warm.

Yeah, I mean, I enjoy doing this sort of thing as well.

But if you've got all this at your doorstep,

why give the energy companies a big, fat cheque?

If you do things for yourself...

..it's nice, isn't it?

-Home-made is better, eh? I think so.

-You're absolutely right.

And home-made heat.

-NEWSREEL:

-The unique scent of the Hebrides is peat -

the barren earth grows fuel

and cutting it becomes a family occupation,

almost a ritual.

Stripping the peat is a masculine prerogative.

The women carry it.

It's quite pleasing, isn't it?

-Watching that knife go into the peat.

-Aye.

It's like cutting through a large slice of chocolate brownie.

-It's a monster, that.

-It's a monster, is it?

But it'll dry. It'll get dried. That's fine.

'After the peat is cut,

'it has be dried by the wind in stooks like these,

'and regularly turned,

'before being stacked and taken home, ready for burning.'

-You get into a rhythm, don't you?

-Aye.

-And meditative too, this.

-Mm-hm, mm-hm.

'Neil's main challenge is protecting his day's work

'from some of the inquisitive locals -

'but he's found a novel way of doing that.'

All around the peat bank,

you've got these stakes and wire between them.

And they're blowing in the wind and making this extraordinary noise.

WIRES WOBBLE

The deer will come in and wander over the peat

and knock the stacks down

and maybe the freshly-cut peat, if they walk over that,

they could break them and ruin.

It already happened - I started cutting peat

and then came down the next day and there had been deer in,

so I got these up, pronto.

-Right.

-It's low-tech, but it works!

'And it would seem that there's enough peat on Jura

'to keep Neil going for a few years yet.'

-You're not going to run out.

-No, I don't think so, no.

-You've got...thousands of years left to go!

-Aye.

THEY LAUGH

My day's work is done.

-Day's work is done. Time for a pint.

-Thirsty, yes.

Continuing my journey,

I'm heading up to the north end of Jura

to a stretch of water that has struck fear

into the heart of sailors for centuries -

the notorious Corryvreckan.

WAVES RUSH

It's like sailing across the surface of a boiling cauldron.

And I can feel that force on the boat.

It can actually move the boat round and round in circles,

which, you know, you can feel yourself.

You need lots of power to be able to hang about the Corryvreckan.

Even an experienced seafarer, like local boatman Nicol MacKinnon,

is extremely cautious in this stretch of water.

It's got "unnavigable" on the chart.

It's got "unnavigable"?

You'll get massive standing waves, which could be 15, 17 metres high.

You get circles, you get whirling circles,

right up to 50 metres diameter.

-A 50-metre diameter whirlpool? You've seen that?

-Yeah, yeah.

It can be up to three or four metres deep in the middle.

It must have claimed quite a few lives over the centuries.

Yeah, well, there was lots of boats lost years ago

and you certainly don't want to fall in, anyway.

What would happen if you did?

I think, years ago, they put in test dummies with monitors on them

to see what happened.

And they went down 500 feet and came up four miles away.

This dangerous channel between the north end of Jura

and the Isle of Scarba is created by an underwater ridge

which rises to a pinnacle 30 metres below the surface.

-There's the pinnacle right in front of us now, see?

-I see it - amazing.

That shows you the huge, big channel that flows right down the middle.

So the pinnacle's beneath us?

Yeah, at the moment, yes.

'On an ebb tide,

'as the water flows back into the channel from the Atlantic,

'hundreds of whirlpools can form as the sea rushes over the pinnacle,

'creating a terrifying maelstrom of water.'

And you've got that huge volume of the Atlantic

trying to get through the Sound of Scarba

and it hits that pinnacle.

It just hits the pinnacle and there's nowhere to go but up.

And that's what creates the effect.

'And these whirlpools almost claimed the life

'of one of the 20th century's most famous writers.'

Now, Nicol, I understand

that the writer George Orwell and his son

almost came to grief here.

Yes, that's correct, yeah.

They were trying to pass over from Jura, across to Scarba,

and with the flood tide on,

it was going west, it got too rough for them

and they got caught up in some big waves.

'Orwell became Jura's best-known resident

'when, in 1946, he sought out the isolation of island life

'to create his dystopian vision of the future,

'the novel 1984.

'Taking a break from writing,

'he attempted to navigate this fearsome stretch of water

'in a small boat with his three-year-old son.'

-And Orwell was trying to row across here with his son.

-Yeah.

-In an open boat, through this?

-A small dinghy, yeah.

The waves washed the dinghy right up onto the rock face,

turned upside down and washed them back out,

with George Orwell and his son trapped underneath the dinghy.

The dinghy got washed out

and then got washed back in with the next wave

and they managed to catch the rope off the dinghy

and pulled it onto the island, this white rock face up here.

'Eventually, they were rescued by a passing lobster boat.'

You just think, had they not made it,

the world would never have had the book 1984.

That's right - if that island wasn't there,

where would they have gone to?

-Down there.

-Yeah.

For Orwell, Jura was, in his own words,

"a very ungettable place."

And that's certainly the case for my next destination.

I'm heading to the west coast of Jura,

known as the "Empty Quarter".

This has to be one of the wildest,

roughest stretches of coastline in Europe.

It's unremittingly bleak - and awe-inspiring.

Because much of the terrain on this side of the island

consists of often impassable bog and heather,

the best way to get here is by boat.

I'm landing at beautiful - and deserted - Glengarrisdale Bay.

No-one's lived here now for almost 100 years,

but it's still a welcoming destination

to a variety of adventurous souls.

I've come to what was the last working croft on this part of Jura.

And if you want to get a sense of just how remote and isolated

some of the communities on Jura used to be,

then this is the place to come.

Today, the house is a bothy,

providing shelter for walkers, stalkers, kayakers

and assorted refugees from urban life.

Well, it's a bit basic in here

but I can imagine, with a fire going and...

maybe a drink or two to warm the cockles of your heart,

this bothy would be a really pleasant place to stay.

But I won't be laying my weary head here tonight,

I'm pressing on to meet a couple

who've taken on the challenge of a new life here on Jura.

This is Ardlussa House,

home to Andy Fletcher,

his wife, Claire,

and their four girls.

Now, Claire, you're not a native Jura person, are you?

I'm not, no, I'm an incomer.

-Er, I'm from London originally.

-Uh-huh.

LONDON ACCENT: "Saaf o' the river."

Right, so how did you end up here?

It's a very long story with a little bit of romance.

I used to work for the music industry.

There was a band called the KLF

and they had an all-night rave, basically,

and we were here to film a video.

So an all-night rave here on Jura with the KLF?

Yep. Yep, and that was how I met my husband.

-And you stayed here ever since?

-I have, on and off, yes.

So what's the appeal?

You either get it or you don't, actually.

The wilderness, the quality of life,

the fact that we can live and work as a family -

you can't buy that kind of lifestyle.

There's such a contrast in lifestyles,

compared to what you had before.

It is, massively so.

It was something I never thought for a minute, you know,

on that Midsummer's night in '93 or whenever it was,

that I would end up living here full-time with four kids.

No, not a hope.

The man Claire met that night was Andy Fletcher.

He was born and brought up on the mainland,

but inherited Ardlussa House and the 18,000 acres that go with it.

-How long have you lived here then, Andy?

-Seven years.

Andy's giving me a tour of his domain

and, to get around such a vast area of rough ground,

we'll be making use of his ARGOCAT.

Hold on to your hats!

Whoa!

Unlike Gigha, which is owned by the community,

Jura is divided up into seven separate private estates

and Andy and Claire are the only owners

to live full-time on the island.

It may not be the most fertile of islands,

but it's perfect for deer.

So deer are a very important part of Jura.

In fact, it's part of the name, is it not?

It is, it's the Norse word, Jura, meaning the island of deer,

so that is part of it. They are very essential,

that is a major part of the income of the island.

They're wonderful, special thing in Scotland, red deer,

and this is the perfect setting for them.

Any idea of the number of deer that there are on the island?

There's around 5,000 deer on the island.

So the deer outnumber the people, getting my maths right, about 25-1.

Yep, they do indeed.

-We prefer it that way!

-THEY LAUGH

'Andy runs Ardlussa as a sporting estate

'and deer stalking is very much part of the island's tradition.

'Ever since wealthy Victorians discovered their passion

'for hunting, shooting and fishing, Jura's population of deer

'has attracted people to this wild landscape.

'And that's still the case today.'

-What kind of clients do you have coming here?

-All nationalities.

They are city people who are looking for an escape,

are looking to come to the Scottish wilderness

and see no other people

when we take them out on a guided stalking tour or whatever.

If you've got bankers coming up from London,

what are their expectations, what are they coming here for?

People come here for the space, not just to shoot things -

they come here to see the eagles,

they come here to be part and parcel of the whole thing, the landscape.

I mean, this is one of the few wildernesses left

and it's fabulous.

It's great. People like to get out there and be in amongst it

and see no other people.

But while many people have romantic notions about remote island life,

it's that very remoteness

which can make it a challenging place to bring up a family.

It's the logistics sometimes, you know, are complete nightmare.

The travel to school, it is an issue.

Our eldest started secondary school,

she's got to go to another island just get to high school, come August.

-So it's not easy, is it?

-It's hard.

If you make a commitment to a place like this,

-you've got to put a lot of effort into it.

-You really do

and it's a real privilege to live somewhere like this

but it is really hard work.

And there are times in the middle of the winter when you just think,

"Why am I bothering?" But, um...

I think it is THE most incredible place to raise a family.

They have total freedom

and I think there'll be much more interest in places like this

as the world gets busier and more...complicated, you know?

These kinds of retreats are going to be what people want to do.

Well, standing here in your garden,

-it feels like a perfect place to be on a day like today.

-It is amazing.

Before I leave the island,

there's one final thing I have to do.

There are several mountains in Scotland

with female names and associations,

and some scholars believe that this is a reminder

of an ancient, pre-Christian Celtic mother goddess

with connections to the land.

The hills of Arran are a case in point

and, in front of me, the famous Paps of Jura.

Of course, the distinctive shape of these peaks

could have rather a lot to do with the name!

But there the similarity ends.

What awaits me is a ghastly slog over peat bog, heather

and a purgatory of steep-angled scree slopes.

As my fellow traveller, Thomas Pennant, said,

"It is a task of much labour and difficulty,

"being composed of vast stones.

"The whole mountain forms a vast cairn."

To make things even worse,

the summits of the Paps are shrouded in mist.

Ah. Now, here we are. At last.

The summit cairn.

I'm going to add to this vast pile of stones with one of my own

and a wish for better weather and a view.

As I begin my descent through the clouds,

I reflect on all the people I've met on this grand tour

who've taken on the challenge of island life.

Then, unexpectedly, the weather improves

and I'm reminded of just why people come here.

The mist if lifting and the views are superb!

The great sweep of the Kintyre peninsula

and, in the distance, Gigha - my starting point.

Jura and Gigha are both so very different.

But that's what makes the Scottish islands special -

each one has its own unique character and appeal.

I can't think of a better place

to end this Grand Tour of the Scottish Islands.

From the stony Paps of Jura,

my next grand tour takes me to the rocky Slate Islands.

My route begins on the Argyll coast,

just a stone's throw from the mainland.

I'll be visiting the island of Kerrera before heading

south to the Slate Islands of Seil and Easdale,

from where I venture west to the sublime solitude of the Garvallachs.

And what better way to start my journey than onboard

an icon of traditional west-coast travel.

Puffers like this one are an integral part of the history of the

islands. In the early years of the 20th century,

they were a common sight all around the coast, bringing vital supplies

to island communities and taking goods to markets on the mainland.

These stumpy little cargo ships achieved an almost mythical status

thanks largely to Neil Munro's short

stories about the Vital Spark and her captain, Para Handy.

The man at the helm of the Vic 32 is Alan MacFadyan -

a former puffer deckhand.

I have to say, Alan, I'm really impressed

with this steam-powered puffer.

It's so quiet. It's like a heartbeat, isn't it?

Just a gentle heartbeat ticking away.

It's really nice, actually. It's actually nice.

It may all seem very sedate up here

in the wheelhouse,

but down below, the Vic 32's coal fired engine is working hard.

The first puffers appeared around the 1850s

and they quickly proved to be versatile workhorses.

They were built by the Admiralty for running supplies out to the ships.

They started off in the canals, that's why they're the size...they

were to fit the canal...and then they gradually progressed to the sea.

And what were they carrying?

What kind of goods would a puffer carry?

Coal. Coal and timber,

-whisky back from Islay.

-Ah-ha.

-And things like that, you know?

The beauty of the puffers as well is that they are flat bottomed.

Because of their design, puffers could beach and unload at low tide -

an essential requirement

for landing at the many small islands without suitable piers.

'These dumpy little maids of all work

'carry their cargos right up to the shallows.'

The crews always received a warm welcome from the remote

communities they served.

I think it was always a bit of an event when the puffer came in.

Not only were they getting their goods, but they would knew they

would always get a bit of gossip and a few wee stories, and banter.

Alan's own father and grandfather

both worked on west-coast puffers and would often reminisce.

My father always talked very fondly about it.

He always had a smile on his face talking about the different

places they went to - ceilidhs, etc - they used to go to.

Partied hard, I suppose, and worked hard.

They were always received well in the different places they went to.

-So the puffer men had a wee bit of a reputation?

-I think they did.

Characters.

At one time, these little vessels played an important

role in keeping the islands connected with the mainland.

But nowadays, they are few and far between.

This is one of the last remaining sea-going puffers

in existence.

Just to see a puffer is, you know,

-is a wonderful sight.

-Oh, it is.

-They're icons of the West Coast.

Very much so.

You'll see them passing by and it's just a puff of smoke.

Then you think, "What's that? Some boat on fire?"

And then the puffer comes. And then she clears herself

and she's running, you know.

You can't help but smile at them cos they're lovely looking wee boats.

Leaving the Vic 32 behind, I'm heading just

a mile across Oban Bay to my first island destination - Kerrera.

Often overlooked, this tiny island has a fascinating

and little known history.

Local historian Neil Owen has researched the remarkable role

Kerrera played as an RAF base during the Second World War.

What would it have been like back during the dark days of WWII?

It was a very busy place.

It had been appropriated and requisitioned, in fact,

by the Royal Air Force in 1939.

And this would have been absolute height of activity.

And this was probably the most westerly

of the RAF coastal command bases.

So this was absolutely key in the prosecution

of the Battle of the Atlantic.

During the war, this base was vital for providing safe passage

for convoys making the treacherous journey across the Atlantic.

'Along the vital westerly approaches to the British Isles,

'the U-boats lie in waiting.

'Four, five and six of them together,

'working in flotillas.'

But it wasn't just the location that proved decisive

because stationed here was a very special fleet.

This was the home of the RAF's Flying Boat Squadron.

'An amphibian, equally at home on land or water.'

Looking across the bay here, you'd have seen up to a dozen

very large flying boats moored across here.

112-foot wingspan. It was a very large aircraft.

-Absolutely enormous!

-With a crew of ten.

They could stay in the air for up to 16 hours.

They could forage or range as far as...maybe 1,600 miles

out into the Atlantic.

What they accomplished in those days was absolutely astonishing.

As Churchill pointed out,

if we'd lost the Battle of the Atlantic, we would have lost the war.

'Atlantic Patrol makes few headlines,

'but works and seamen of 1,000 plotting convoys

'know the friendly shadow of their wings.'

The remarkable range of these aircraft would be vital

in protecting convoys from U-boat attack.

Extra strong wings meant they could carry huge amounts of fuel and

there was no need to build runways - the ocean was their landing strip.

'A warship with wings.

'Her sturdy hull is to withstand the roughest seas.'

In 1941, it was the flying boats based here at Kerrera which

were instrumental in the sinking of one of Hitler's most feared

weapons - the Bismarck.

'The Bismarck, the largest battleship afloat

'and called unsinkable by her Nazi builders,

'represented Hitler's challenge to Britain's ancient supremacy at sea.'

The Bismarck was a formidable pocket battleship with eight 15-inch guns.

Now, had that had got in amongst the convoys, the Royal Navy at that

time had very little in a convoy system to match that fire power.

It cannot be underestimated just what a threat

a vessel like the Bismarck would have posed to a very vulnerable

convoy system at that time.

'From the Admiralty, the order went out -

'"Find the Bismarck and sink her."'

Operations were put in place to trace the Bismarck,

shadowing it until surface vessels of the Royal Navy could engage

it and hopefully sink it, which was a direct order from Churchill.

'Somewhere under that mystery of fog, the Bismarck is steaming

'under forced draft for a safe haven.'

Three aircraft were dispatched on the 26th of May to cover vast

swaths of the north Atlantic, looking for the Bismarck.

'Then a rift in the clouds, a telltale wake,

'it is sighted.'

The Bismarck, although it was lost after its first sighting,

was picked up again, and a continuous chain of relief aircraft -

Catalinas - set out to shadow the aircraft until it was closed

by the aircraft carrier Ark Royal

and heavy surface vessels of the Navy.

After a pursuit lasting more than two days, the Bismarck was

finally sunk on the 27th of May, 1941.

I imagine very few people who sail in here

and use this marina have any idea of the significance of the waters

around here to the war effort.

Absolutely crucial.

Leaving Neil at the boatyard,

I set off to explore this intriguing little island.

Kerrera is just four miles long and has a population of around 30.

I'm heading to the south of the island in the hope

of encountering some its other inhabitants,

who, I'm told, also played their part in the war effort.

The story goes that a passing U-boat crew disembarked here under

cover of darkness, in search of supplies and fresh water.

But upon hearing noises which they assumed were sentry patrols,

the crew rapidly retreated, empty handed.

It turns out that this was who they actually heard that night.

Meet Kerrera's very own battalion of wild goats!

Now this is really quite exciting.

I've just spotted some of the famed fascist-fighting goats

up on the hillside.

And the Billy goats, in particular, are really quite warlike looking.

I'm not surprised that the Nazis were scared off!

Goats aren't the only wildlife to be found on Kerrerra.

There's a seal colony, otters, dolphins and porpoises.

If you're lucky, you might catch sight of a golden eagle,

or perhaps even a sea eagle.

Another rare sight is a car!

Any chance of a lift?

Oh, thanks very much, cos my plates of meat are absolutely killing me!

I'm hitching a lift to see some rather exotic creatures

that have been given shelter on the Island.

Nine years ago, Yvonne MacMillan came here from the mainland.

-Welcome to the sanctuary.

-Thanks very much.

She decided this was the ideal

place to set up a bird sanctuary with a difference.

-How many birds have you got in here?

-Just under 100.

Just under 100?!

That's a lot!

It's a sanctuary within a sanctuary.

It's a very, very safe place. The island is wonderful,

the people are incredible.

So we couldn't ask for a safer place for the birds.

And the birds that Yvonne is looking after need very special care

and attention...

Watch my head.

..because this is the location for Scotland's one and only

parrot sanctuary.

Be warned, you may want to turn down the volume at this point!

BIRDS SCREECHING

There are many different species here -

Macaws, African Greys, Eclectus and Cockatoos to name but a few.

Sanctuaries are traditionally places of solitude and quietness

and peace, but it's pretty noisy in here.

You're definitely right on that one.

It is very noisy in here,

especially in the morning, when it's getting up time and visitors appear.

These birds come here when there is nowhere else for them to go.

In some cases, they have been mistreated and are deeply disturbed.

Charlie came to us from a rescue centre down south.

He was very, very badly abused.

Here you go.

He's a beauty, isn't he?

He is now.

-But when he first came in, he was bald.

-Was he bald?

Yeah. He had no head feathers, body feathers.

He was a mess.

But he had been beaten up.

And the gentleman who'd done it

got a £500 fine.

Inca is a ten-year-old Macaw who was agitated and aggressive

when Yvonne first took her in.

I worked with her, and my arms were scarred and she was stressed.

She was biting you?

Yeah. But once we broke through the...the four hours,

she was lying in my arms. What do you say?

-CHARLIE:

-Thank you.

-Good boy.

# Hi-ho, hi-ho It's off to work we go

# We work all day and we get no pay

# Hi-ho, hi-ho. #

Parrots can be faithful, lifelong companions who can

live for up to 100 years.

But people often underestimate just how much care and attention

these highly intelligent creatures need.

They can be ear piercingly loud, hyperactive, and messy.

And when they become attached to someone, they can become jealous

and aggressive.

-These two fellas here...?

-They're fighting over me.

They're two girls and they're fighting over me.

Yeah, stop it. Yeah, she says, "Stop it."

When owners can't cope, the birds can be passed from home to home

before ending up here, where Yvonne tries to deal

with their emotional baggage.

-And how long do you keep them for?

-Ever.

-You keep them forever?

-Yeah. We do not re-home birds.

Do your parrots respond well to this environment?

They watch every day birds flying, trees moving.

They can see everything. And for them,

that's as close as we can get them to the wild.

Want me to blow bubbles?

-SHE BLOWS RASPBERRIES

-She liked that!

For many of these beautiful creatures,

this is their last chance.

Kerrera may not be the tropical climes that is the natural habitat

for these birds,

but what they do have here is love, affection and safety.

Close as it is to the mainland, Kerrera still feels very much apart.

As I make my way back across the water to my next destination,

it is becoming clear that the sense of remoteness and isolation

that islands offer is defined as much by state of mind as distance.

I'm heading now to a group of islands

with a very different character.

And it's a route that involves my shortest-ever island crossing.

To get to Seil Island, I need to cross this wonderful old bridge.

It's called "the bridge over the Atlantic",

although I have to say, the stretch of ocean it actually crosses

is really rather narrow.

This bridge was built at the height of the Industrial Revolution

and it's a gateway to a group of islands

that are very much defined by their industrial past.

They are known as the Slate Islands.

I'm heading across Seil to make another short crossing to Easdale,

which is just half a mile long

by a quarter of a mile wide.

Easdale is such a tiny island that cars are completely pointless.

Instead, islanders use a much more environmentally friendly form

of transport - the humble, but glorious, wheelbarrow.

It may not keep you dry in the rain,

but it's the most convenient way of getting your shopping

from the ferry to your front door.

A wheelbarrow isn't just convenient, it's also extremely cheap.

The running costs are next to nothing

and when it comes to parking,

well, when you stop...you simply drop.

And you don't have to spend too long on Easdale to see why

this is one of the Slate Islands.

This is quite a sight!

There's slate everywhere.

The harbour walls are made of slate,

the houses are made of slate, slate roofs, obviously

and piles of slate on the beaches.

The geology of these islands ensured a plentiful supply of rock

that could readily be split and shaped.

Slate is highly durable,

waterproof and was in demand in the early part of the 18th century.

For some 200 years, millions of tonnes of slate were extracted from

here and the neighbouring islands of Seil, Luing and Belnahua.

In fact, the landscape of Easdale has been transformed

by the slate industry,

which literally dug the heart out of the island.

'Blasting goes on all day.

'And that isn't to be wondered at,

'seeing how difficult and dangerous some of the safe beds are to reach.'

This is a very spectacular location, Iain.

-It's astonishing.

-Yes.

My guide today is Iain MacDougal, who comes from a long

line of Easdale slate quarries.

Once the technology improved,

where they could actually pump significant amounts of water,

the quarries, as you see them now, started.

Now, what depth of water are we looking at here?

There's about 120, 140 feet.

-Good grief! Really?

-Yes.

So the bottom of these quarries was a good 120, 140 feet

-below sea level.

-Yes.

-How would men have gotten down to the bottom of quarry?

-Ladders.

-They climbed down the ladders?

-Yes.

You're exposed to the weather.

It was a dirty, dusty, manky job.

And what kind of life do you think the men had living here?

I wouldn't have thought it'd be an easy life.

The men were paid in company tokens...

-Right.

-..to be spent in the company shop.

The houses had no water, no electricity, no sanitation.

They weren't much better than slaves, really, were they?

But in comparison with life outside, I think they had a good life

because the company actually employed a doctor

to look after the welfare of the families on the island.

One of the houses there was a library.

And there was a school on the island, which was paid for

by the company.

At its peak, ten million tonnes of slates were exported every year

from here all over the world.

But in 1881, production was dramatically halted.

What happened to stop the industry in its tracks?

There was the once-in-a-century gale.

November, 1881.

100 mile-an-hour winds.

High spring tides

coming from the southwest,

which brings the water up the Firth of Lorne,

channels it so the tide's even higher.

And it just literally washed into the quarries.

My grandfather told me that the waves were so big

they were breaking right over the island.

-They must have been absolutely terrified.

-It was terrifying.

They thought the whole place was going to be washed away.

You know, it was in dire danger of total inundation.

-And of course, what was inundated were the quarries.

-The quarries.

What we're talking about here is a post industrial landscape,

-in a way.

-We certainly are.

Although the quarrying industry is long gone,

These huge volcanic-like craters remain,

surrounded by an endless supply of slate.

And islanders have come up with

a novel way of making use of these natural resources.

For the past few years,

Easdale island has become the venue for a world championship event,

which has to be one of the most affordable sports ever.

To show me how its done, I'm meeting local resident Donald Melville.

So, we're heading down here towards the quarry.

Yep.

-This is a natural amphitheatre.

-All right.

This is an arena for gladiators, is it?

It feels like that on the day sometimes, yes.

Do you get nervous when you come down here?

-Big competition day?

-Yes.

You know, people come from all over the country.

And in fact, travel internationally to see us as well.

If you haven't already guessed, Easdale is home to the

World Stone Skimming Championships.

See, that's... Oh, wow!

Now, that was superbly done!

-So, you've got rules and regulations governing this sport.

-Absolutely.

-The stones have to be naturally formed from Easdale slate.

-Uh-huh.

So you can't bring your own stones.

This is one of the regulation size,

it's less than three inches in diameter.

And that forms a perfect skimming stone

-if thrown with skill.

-If thrown well, yes.

And how does the competition actually work?

It's got to hit the water three times,

in other words, bounce twice.

-Right.

-And so it's where the stone sinks out of sight,

and it's the distance it goes, not the amount of bounces.

-So, do you want a shot?

-I'll have a shot.

Now, I've skimmed a few stones in my time, and I reckon

I have what it takes to become a champion.

Oh, no!

-That was pathetic.

-Not the best.

-Would you like to demonstrate how it's done?

-I'll have a go.

Get down as low as you can.

Good, long arm back and spin it as hard as you can.

Well, that's pretty... That... Ooph!

Slowed down towards the end, but it wasn't too bad.

-And what's your personal best?

-My personal best is 47 meters,

and that was at the European Championships in Holland.

-Right, so this has gone international, this sport?

-Yeah.

There are actually competitions in Australia, Switzerland,

Holland and I believe Germany as well.

And what's the farthest someone has managed to skim one of these stones?

Several people have actually hit the back wall.

Well, that's... How far away is that? That's amazing.

-65 metres.

-65 metres?! That can't happen very often.

Every year for the last three or four years, people have hit the back wall.

There's nothing I like better than a challenge.

I don't suppose there's any chance

of you guys ever running out of slate, is there?

Well, we know where there are a lot of them.

Down there.

You could fill up the quarry.

There's something strangely compulsive about skimming stones.

But I'm learning there's a lot more to it than meets the eye.

A big part of it is getting the correct

amount of spin as the stone leaves your hand,

and it's crucial that you hit the surface of the water

at the right angle.

The optimum is 20 degrees, apparently!

-That's pretty good.

-That's good, yes.

-Much better.

-That's a good 30, is it not?

Easily 37.

-40?

-We'll go for 40.

But I've got a long way to go before I can match the experts.

Ah. Oh. Ooh!

Wow, that is amazing!

That was my personal best!

Definitely.

-I'm going to have another shot.

-Go on.

-It's quite addictive, this, isn't it?

-It does get you.

Nice!

Oooh!

I think you hit a fish.

For the final leg of my journey, I'm heading southwest to the

Garvallachs. While these islands are only a short distance

from the mainland,

they were sought out for their solitude and sense of isolation.

My destination is the holy island of Eileach an Naoimh,

which is Gaelic for "the isle of the saints."

I'm retracing the journey of a remarkable Irish

monk from the 6th century -

St Brendan of Clonfert, better known as Brendan the Navigator,

who set off from Ireland in search of the Isle of the Blessed.

With seven disciples,

Brendan embarked on a seven-year voyage in a boat made of leather.

He finally arrived here, on Eileach an Naoimh,

where he established his religious settlement.

Incredibly, the ruins of his monastery are still here.

Now, this is a truly impressive sight.

This is the oldest Christian building in the whole of Scotland,

and was built before Columba arrived on Iona.

And it's a wonderfully preserved example of a type of architecture

that's intimately associated with the early Irish monks who brought

Christianity to Scotland.

They were known as beehive cells because of their distinctive

conical shape. Monks of the Celtic church sought out

lonely islands like this to pray and contemplate the wonders of creation.

Here, they felt far from the distractions of the human

world, yet close to God.

It's been claimed that St Columba himself visited the island.

And on a hillside above the monastery is intriguing

evidence that supports this theory.

This, according to legend, is the grave of an Irish princess.

Now, the story goes that her name was Eithne

and she was the mother of St Columba.

This is reputedly one of the oldest Christian burial sites in Scotland,

and somewhat appropriately,

the stone used to mark her grave is slate.

And what a beautiful and peaceful last resting place she has.

Surrounded by the sea and within sight of the mainland,

I can't think of a better place to end this

Grand Tour of the Scottish islands.

On my next Grand Tour,

I'm heading north to the outer Orkney Islands,

before ending my journey on the Atlantic twins of Coll and Tiree.