Northern Exposure: The North Isles and Out Stack Grand Tours of the Scottish Islands

There's a group of islands, lying to the far north of mainland Britain,

that's as much Scandinavian as Scottish.

They fly their own flag, have a language all of their own,

and, at one time, were part of Norway.

These islands boast a proud and distinctive heritage

that's set them apart from the rest of the country.

To the Vikings who once ruled over them,

they were the first and the last places in Scotland.

In this series, I'm continuing my island grand tour,

visiting the most northerly of the Shetland Islands,

exploring the Western Isles

and discovering the secrets of some of the remotest places in Europe.

To see them through the water like this, it's amazing.

Scotland boasts a wonderful array of islands.

In fact, there are nearly 300 of them.

And that's not counting the myriad of stacks,

rocks and skerries that surround 6,000 convoluted miles of coast,

from the Atlantic Ocean to the North Sea.

For this grand tour,

I'm heading to the islands of Scotland's northern frontier.

There are three islands lying to the north of Shetland

that are almost as close to Norway as they are to mainland Scotland.

They are collectively known as the North Isles

and are distinctively named Fetlar, Unst and Yell.

My journey through them will take me to my final destination

and the most northerly place in Britain.

I begin my route here on Yell.

The second largest island in Shetland,

Yell is a place covered almost entirely in a deep bed of peat.

A place of about 1,000 inhabitants, who are well used to

leaning into the wind to make headway.

It's also a place that seems familiar, and yet,

at the same time, foreign.

And that's down to some pretty unusual place names.

Take Yell, for a start.

It doesn't actually mean you have to yell to make yourself

heard above the wind, although it may do!

Then there's Gutcher, Limbister, Hascosay,

Nev of Stuis, and not forgetting, Gloup.

These exotic-sounding names hark back to the Viking era

and a dialect of old Norwegian called Norn,

which was widely spoken here.

For the mostpart, Norn died out several generations ago.

But there's a group of islanders

who are keeping the language alive - in song.

THEY SING FOLK SONG

These are The Shanty Yellmen,

who came together to celebrate their Norse heritage.

THEY SING IN NORN

Until the 15th century, these islands were still part of Norway,

and like most Shetlanders,

the people of Yell are immensely proud of this part of their history.

-Well, that was fantastic.

-Thank you.

Now, I understand a little bit of Norwegian

and there's a similarity, I think,

between the Norwegian language that I'm familiar with and some of the

words in this, because you're singing... HE QUOTES LYRICS IN NORN

-..which, in Norwegian, would be "sterke vinder vestlige"...

-Yeah.

-..which is about the strong west winds.

-Exactly.

In Shetland, if you ask about the weather,

you're asking about what's the direction and strength of the wind.

Can you stand up straight? Will your hat blow off?

How heavy will the sea be?

Knowing the words is one thing,

but singing them is another thing altogether.

But I still can't resist auditioning for this uniquely Shetland boy band.

THEY SING IN NORN

But musical stardom will have to wait.

I'm heading down to the shoreline to hopefully catch sight

of another of the island's big attractions.

I've arranged to meet a local man, Brydon Thomason,

to track down Yell's most elusive residents.

What are you looking for?

Well, this path, this little track you can see going through,

you can see it leads all the way through, across the moor.

-So, they stick to their own little tracks.

-They do, yeah.

They're kind of creatures of habit in that respect.

They keep to their little path.

This little pile here,

you can see all the green-stemmed grass around it.

This is a brenton point.

-Basically, a pile of poo.

-Basically, a pile of poo!

But this isn't any old pile of poo,

this is a clue which tells us that we're closing in

on Lutra lutra, better known as the otter.

Apparently Shetland is one of the best places in the world

to catch sight of this beautiful creature.

When we're following the course of this,

it's always really important to keep scanning ahead,

so scanning along the shore, you know, up to maybe 50 metres or more

off the - that tends to be

the kind of distance offshore they'd be foraging.

I really hope that Brydon's expert tracking skills will lead us to them.

We've got the wind direction working well for us here

because it's blowing our scent inland.

That's crucial because their sense of smell is really sharp.

-So, we're really stalking them.

-Yeah.

But what we'll have to do here is get down low below the bank,

because although they've got really poor eyesight,

silhouettes on, you know, along the bank, they'll see really easily.

-So, stealth is the secret.

-Stealth is the secret, yeah.

Brydon was born and bred here in Shetland and, for him,

otters have been a lifelong passion.

When did you get into otters?

Young. Right fair when I was, I mean, eight, nine-year-old,

I was following the runs and looking for their holts,

and just anything I could to find out more

and, you know, learn more about them.

Eventually, our patience pays off.

See the far rocks there?

Just beyond these jaggedy rocks on the shore.

Brydon spots something in the water.

So is that the mother and her two cubs?

It is, yeah. It's a male and a female cub.

These guys are about nine or ten months old now.

I've seen otters before but never at this close up.

They're a wonderful sight.

What makes Shetland such a great place for otters?

You've got the pristine waters but also access to fresh water,

close to the shore, for washing the saltwater out of their fur.

So, they go for a shower after being for a swim?

Yeah, they've got to do that.

That's their only real defence mechanism against the cold

temperatures of the water is their fur.

So, you've got all the ingredients

-necessary for a successful otter habitat.

-Absolutely, yeah.

The seas around Shetland also provide a plentiful source of food.

Oh, my God! They've got something. She's got a huge catch.

-Is that an octopus?

-It is an octopus.

-That's amazing.

-Look at that.

Up onto the shore. Look at the size of the octopus, it's brilliant!

That's huge.

It's quite a dramatic catch because it's all legs everywhere.

It certainly is all legs.

But yeah, you can see, I mean, that cub's really getting stuck into it.

But the octopus was just a starter.

What's he bringing in now, then?

-It looks like a velvet swimming crab.

-Good God.

-Yeah.

-HE LAUGHS

-That's superb.

Have to be careful not to be nipped by those claws.

A dangerous meal.

He seems to have been startled by something.

That's him away.

Fantastic sight, though.

You're a lucky man. Not a bad job you've got.

It's not a bad job at all.

It's a new day and another island.

I'm making the short crossing to a place

known as the Garden of Shetland.

This is Fetlar,

which in the language of the Vikings means "fat island",

and that's not, as far as I know, because people tended to

be on the large side, but because, by Shetland standards, this is a fertile

island and the people here were able to live off the fat of the land.

When the Vikings first set foot on Fetlar, they would have

found a population who had been here for thousands of years.

There is little evidence of the existence of those ancient

islanders today, but if you look hard enough,

you might just stumble upon something.

This is Finnigirt's Dyke,

an ancient wall that still crosses the island,

dividing it in two.

I have to say, there isn't an awful lot left of the dyke,

but, then again, it is over 3,000 years old, and most of the stones

that made it up have long ago been plundered for other uses.

But the fact that it exists at all implies that, at one time,

there must have been a very sophisticated society here, one that

was capable of organising communal effort on an impressive scale.

The builders of Finnigirt's Dyke were probably farmers,

and agriculture has been the mainstay of the island down the ages.

When the Vikings arrived here 1,200 years ago, they brought with them

an animal which they bred to make Shetland famous throughout

the world, becoming one of the island's most valuable commodities.

This is the Shetland sheep. Prized for the quality of their wool,

they're closely identified with these islands.

And there are some crofters who are determined to

rear them in the traditional way.

Joanne Bell and her husband, Les, have 250 sheep on their croft.

I've arrived at one of the busiest times of the year,

right in the middle of shearing.

-So, you're hand clipping?

-Yes, this is what we do.

-We like to leave a bit of fleece on the ewe.

-Uh-huh.

-So it's not completely shaved...

-Yeah.

-..freezing cold in this wind!

-So, one fleece.

-One fleece.

-Beautiful.

So, these sheep here are purebred Shetland sheep?

No, I would say 95% of them are purebred Shetland.

What's the difference in quality between Shetland fleece

-and other fleece?

-Shetland fibre is very, very fine.

And you can spin it so it's, well, very fine and cut it really thin.

Joanne and Les arrived here five years ago,

having made the move north from County Durham.

-What brought you up here, Joanne?

-Freedom, space.

We were tired of the hustle and bustle back south.

-Had you been here before?

-I'd never been here.

-You'd never been here?

-No, it was my first visit and I fell in love.

And we crossed over, and as soon as I landed on Fetlar,

I knew that this is where I belong.

-Really?

-I just fell in love with the island.

In their previous life, Les was a maintenance engineer

and Joanne worked in education.

Now, they're turning their hand to sheep farming

and they're doing it the hard way.

There's not a pair of electric shears in sight.

-Keep all your fingers.

-Oh, yes!

Thanks for reminding me! It's getting dangerously close.

Trying to hold a sheep in one hand while brandishing sharp clippers

in the other isn't easy.

Yeah, well, I'm more frightened than she is, I think.

To stab myself in the leg.

Or cut the sheep's throat.

I'm stressed.

I'm like you, Paul, I don't like shoving the clippers into the sheep.

-Yeah?

-I've done it but I don't like clipping.

You take over, Les. I've given up.

So, while Les does it his way, Joanne shows me her preferred method,

the traditional Shetland art of rooing a sheep.

Normally, you start from the neck.

And it's a case of just taking a small piece and easing it.

-You're try to pull the whole thing off as one fleece...

-Yes.

-..rather than handfuls?

-Uh-huh.

It doesn't hurt them,

-although it does look as if you're tugging it.

-Yeah.

He's not entirely convinced this is a good idea.

-Right, just like a comb, use your hand as a comb.

-And just pull?

-Yes.

-Sorry, sheep.

-Can you feel it?

-Well, something's coming away.

Handfuls of flesh!

In the past, this was how all Shetland sheep were shorn.

The wool that was produced quickly became renowned

for its quality and warmth.

At one time, every woman on Fetlar would have been adept with

a spinning wheel and a set of needles.

The importance of Shetland wool was recognised in 2011

when it was given protected status.

Joanne may not be a native Shetlander,

but she's enthusiastically set about learning how things were done

the traditional way.

Well, I never thought I'd end up with a ewe clamped between my thighs!

Rooing may not be as fast as shearing,

but it's definitely more fun.

-Right, she's all done. She's free to go.

-Beautiful.

-Look at that.

-Yeah.

-He's quite impressed.

Joanne, do you never rue the day that you started doing this?

SHE LAUGHS

Having almost exhausted my repertoire of puns,

I make my way sheepishly across Fetlar.

This landscape is dotted with deserted crofts,

testament to the challenges the island has faced.

For many years, keeping people on the islands has been a constant struggle.

Each change of season brings its different task.

The seed is quickening in the shallow earth,

and now the crofter turns from his fields

to rest from the peat banks on the moor -

the only fuel that the islands have.

This 1933 film dramatised the dilemma

facing many islanders, forced to choose between eking out

a living on Shetland or emigrating to the New World.

Shot entirely on location in Shetland and starring local people,

the film tells the story of a young couple who are given

the opportunity to leave the rugged island for a new life in Australia.

But torn over whether to stay or go, they quarrel.

The climax of the film takes place along a dramatic coastline,

where the heroine's pet sheep, Cuddy, is trapped by the incoming tide,

and only a dramatic cliff rescue

can save the pet and the couple's troubled relationship.

The rescue is an impressive piece of filmmaking,

even by today's standards.

And dangerous, too.

The hero saves the day and the pet sheep,

and is reconciled with his girl.

But standing on the clifftop,

the couple still face an uncertain future.

So, did they go or did they stay?

Well, we're left to make up our own minds about that,

but, as they walk off into the sunset, whatever the future holds,

they will face it together.

The time has come for me to leave Fetlar,

and head to my next destination, the island of Unst.

To get there, I'm hitching a lift on this fishing boat.

The sea has always been an important part of life on Shetland.

And islanders have fished these waters for centuries.

I arrive on Unst at a place that was once one of the busiest

ports in Scotland, Baltasound.

Today, this is a sleepy village.

But, 100 years ago, thousands came here from far and wide,

following the migrating shoals of silver darlings - herring.

When the catch was landed here in the harbour, teams of women gutted

and packed huge numbers of fish each day.

-I imagine this would have been a very busy place at one time.

-Yes, yes.

Turn-of-the-century, it was a thriving industry here.

Local historian Rhoda Hughson has researched Baltasound's past

and has come in full gutter girl garb.

Now, what are these foundations I can see?

These are, if you like,

the footprints of the herring fishing industry.

They were the wooden huts where the gutter girls lived.

Mm-hmm. So, this would have been their accommodation block?

-They would live here?

-Yes.

-So, what you see in the centre there...

-Uh-huh.

..is chimneys for four little stoves.

Each stove in the corner of their hut, and this is

the dimension of the hut, so there's one, two, three, four huts.

Four huts, and how many girls in each hut?

Four to the hut and they would have had a corner where

they hang up their smelly stuff when they came back from the gutting

for the day, so they had to keep it all very tidy and clean.

Quite cramped. Very cramped.

Yeah, but then they were used to cramped conditions

wherever they came from.

They would have big families in small houses so,

to them, this was fine.

-And I'm guessing they spent most of their working day outside?

-Outside.

-So, this is really strictly for sleeping, then.

-Yeah.

By the time they were, from six o'clock in the morning to

probably six o'clock at night, they didn't have long in here.

And there would have been lots and lots of huts

-as far as the eye can see?

-Yeah, yeah.

And what was the population during the herring season down here?

It went up to 12,000.

12,000!

-This was a city!

-Yeah.

It's hard to imagine.

On being landed at the quays,

the fish is gutted by very skilful girls,

graded and packed into barrels, ready for export.

So, how many herring would they be able to gut in an hour?

Well, 60 per minute.

-60 herrings per minute?

-Yeah.

-One a second?

-Mm.

-The hands would have been a blur.

-Yeah.

-They would bind their fingers...

-Mm-hmm.

..so that they didn't get a cut,

and if the cut went septic, then they wouldn't be able to

work for the rest of the season and they wouldn't get paid.

To show me how it was done,

local fisherman Andrew Magney Thomson gives me a lesson.

And the second one. All right?

-So, I'm bound up here. In case I cut myself.

-Uh-huh.

So, you grab the silver darling.

So, I need to get the knife under?

HE LAUGHS

Yeah, right.

Sorry about this, Andrew. This is a bit embarrassing, isn't it?

-The gill's still in there.

-If you've got one...

-Put the knife in behind.

-Yeah.

-So, it's really just two strokes of the knife.

-Yeah.

But when they're really good at it,

-so a lot of the women could do it in one.

-Just one?

That's why they were doing one a second.

Find the gill.

Here comes the death movement.

HE STRUGGLES

-To the front again.

-To the front again, this way round.

-A-ha!

-Yeah.

So, that's my first gutted herring.

And I managed to keep all my fingers.

But it took me over a minute,

so I don't think I'd have lasted long as a gutter girl.

Leaving Baltasound, I head inland to explore more of Unst,

and to visit what must be

one of the most unusual tourist attractions in Scotland.

Now, this is the world famous Bobby's Bus Shelter.

A few years ago, the council decided to scrap this bus shelter,

but a campaign by a local schoolboy called Bobby gained huge support.

Not only was the shelter saved, it also became famous.

It does boast the proud distinction of being the most

northerly bus shelter in the whole of the UK,

affording the weary traveller all the comforts of home.

And now islanders can enjoy the long wait for a bus in luxury.

It's got everything you could possibly hope for at a bus stop.

Except, it would seem, for a bus.

So, on foot, I'm heading back to the coast to meet an islander

who's indulging in another popular Shetland pastime.

-Hi, Cheryl.

-Hi.

-They told me I'd find you down on the beach,

-beachcombing.

-Good to meet you. Yeah.

-What are you looking for?

-I'm looking for driftwood.

Cheryl Jamieson is a local artist.

Shetland is a...in the history,

there have always been beach-combers here,

because that's what they had to do...

-Really?

-..because there were no trees here,

so any kind of wood that they got was what they could find washed up.

So, you're part of a long tradition, in a way,

-but you're just using wood for a different purpose?

-Yeah.

-That's a bit...

-A true tree, yeah.

-That's very rare, isn't it?

-That'll not have come from Shetland, I don't think.

-I don't think so.

-Maybe from Norway.

-Could be.

-So, from the beach up to the studio, then?

-Yeah.

Cheryl was born here on Unst and, like many islanders,

left to study on the mainland.

But the pull of Shetland proved too powerful and, when she returned,

she took the bold step of starting her own craft business.

Using the driftwood we collected, and under Cheryl's guidance, I'm going

to try my hand at creating a Shetland-inspired artwork of my own.

-So, do I need to start from about there?

-I would start about there, maybe.

-Yeah.

And I'll just...use these...pliers.

-Oh, look at that.

-Perfect.

-So, that will fit there.

-Yeah, that's good.

And I've got so much inspiration all around here on Shetland.

Yeah, Shetland is so rich with the heritage, the archaeology,

the geology. Our Fair Isle patterns,

our Shetland ponies, it's all here.

-You are a proud Shetlander, I can tell.

-Yeah, a very proud Shetlander.

We've got our own kind of traditions.

You've got almost like a language of your own.

Because I can't understand an awful lot of what's happening

-when I overhear two Shetlanders speak.

-Yeah, we have our own dialect here.

I can understand you quite clearly.

-Yeah, that's because I'm cannaping to you.

-Cannaping?

-I'm cannaping.

-What's that, being dead posh?

-Yeah, the best Queen's English.

-So, cannaping's something you only do

-when you're speaking to someone who's not from the islands?

-Yeah, yeah.

Sometimes you might be nearly thinking one thing in Shetland

in your head and having to translate it into English.

It can be quite hard,

if you're in a group of Shetlanders with one person that's not,

and you've got to try and alter how you're speaking for one person,

but you're aware the Shetlanders are listening in!

-That's even more embarrassing.

-"Oh, listen to her. Hark at her.

-"Cannaping away!"

-Cannaping, yeah!

My fused glass landscape will spend about 12 hours in Cheryl's kiln.

Just how it all kind of melts together,

the different colours get diluted.

And when it's done, hopefully, it will look something like this.

-That's beautiful.

-The wood, the glass. Glass set into the wood.

But I don't have time to find out

if my finished artwork turns out as well as Cheryl's,

because I'm heading towards my final destination

and the tiny island of Muckle Flugga.

The island's lighthouse was designed by Robert Louis Stevenson's

father and his uncle.

When it was manned,

the keepers were the most northerly residents in the British Isles.

Today, its beacon is automated and the lighthouse empty.

But even Muckle Flugga isn't the most northerly point in Britain.

That title belongs to the appropriately named Out Stack,

or Ootsta, as it's called.

It lies just 600 metres to the North of Muckle Flugga,

and that is the very last point of the British Isles.

This rocky outcrop has never been inhabited,

and attempting to land here today would be far too tricky.

If you head directly north from here, there is nothing

until you reach the North Pole.

But, for me, this is the end of the line.

Ootsta has been described as the full stop at the end of Britain,

and with no more islands to the north of me, I can't think of a more

appropriate place to end my grand tour of the Scottish islands.