Barra Grand Tours of the Scottish Islands

The Outer Hebrides -

among the farthest flung of Scotland's many islands.

For centuries, they have supported a vibrant culture,

yet, to outsiders, they once seemed to be remote Atlantic outposts.

These are the most westerly habited islands in Scotland and the next

landfall is the icebound coast of northern Canada 3,500 miles away

across the wild Atlantic.

My first destination is the Isle of Barra,

home to about 1,000 people and the ancient seat of Clan MacNeil.

Barra was granted to Clan MacNeil in the 15th century

by the Lord of the Isles and remained in the family

for the next 400 years

thanks largely to the impregnability of Kisimul Castle,

which was home to the great MacNeil chief himself.

-RECORDING:

-From the top of the tower,

MacNeil's trumpeter once cried,

"Hear, o ye people, and listen, o ye nations.

"The great MacNeil of Barra, having finished his meal,

"the princes of the Earth may dine."

And there's one local delicacy that the boastful MacNeil chief

would certainly have dined upon.

This wonderful stretch of beach is reputedly the best place

in the entire country to find cockles and, to do the job,

you need nothing more sophisticated than an old plastic bucket

and a garden rake.

So let's see what's lurking beneath the sand.

'Cockles are small clam-like creatures

'that were once popular in seaside resorts.'

Here we have an empty cockleshell.

Not much use.

'They lie just under the surface of the sand

'and are best harvested between autumn and early winter.'

The harvest of cockleshells from this fantastic beach

found their way to tables throughout the country

usually via a jam jar full of vinegar.

'Given their abundance around our coast,

'it's unfortunate that they have of late fallen out of favour.

'But during the dark days of the Clearances, these tidal sands

'would have been dotted with the silhouettes of hundreds of people -

'whole families raking through the wet sand to find something to eat.'

The great cockle beach covers eight square miles.

One man with a rake patiently gathering cockles.

A man contented with life.

'A man who is doing a lot better than me!'

I might be going hungry tonight cos I can't find anything at all.

There's something beneath the...

Oh, look at that! Yes!

I will be feasting on that tonight.

Another one.

There we go.

I have to say that it's a very peaceful place to spend

an hour or two raking the sands for your tea.

# Through streets broad and narrow

# She wields... #

'But cockle picking on this beach is not without its dangers...'

one of which is, rather surprisingly, low-flying aircraft.

The prospect of being hit by a plane on this vast expanse of sand

might seem an unlikely one, but the hazard is real.

Because this is the runway of Barra's airport,

the only airport in the world where scheduled flights land on the beach.

It first opened in 1936

and has been voted by pilots as one of the top airports to fly into.

Every year, 10,000 passengers arrive here.

Neil MacLean is the man who ensures aircraft land safely,

a task made more complicated by the fact that, twice a day,

when the tide is high, the runway is underwater.

So, what are the hazards associated with landing on sand?

Dead seal, dead dolphin, dead birds, some barrels.

The fire service go out twice a day

and they check the beach to make sure that there is none of

the rubbish left behind that might cause problems with the aircraft.

So the runway could be closed because of a dead dolphin.

Not for long. We'd shift it.

If we had a whale, I think we might have an issue.

That would cause a bit of a problem

because the tractors aren't that big.

I had one occasion where somebody had built an enormous sandcastle

with a moat and they were quite put out

when we went out on the tractor flattened it.

I kind of felt sorry for their children, but, yes.

Conditions on Barra can change quickly.

Landing here can sometimes be very challenging for pilots,

and passengers, too.

We've had one gentleman on one occasion,

as the aircraft was coming in,

who thought the aircraft was in fact crashing and he proceeded to

start working on the emergency exits to try and get out,

which is probably disconcerting for other passengers,

but luckily he never managed to open the door or the window.

-I think he had quite a fright.

-I'll bet he did!

The reward for a landing on Barra is immediate.

Visitors can enjoy some of the most stunning scenery

anywhere in the world and Neil has offered to show me around.

Today, tourism is a vital part of the local economy, but in the past,

islanders had to rely on crofting, the traditional way of life here.

Like a lot of islanders, Neil chose to leave Barra to see

something of the world, but returned home to take on the family croft,

making him the archetypal multitasking islander.

What do you actually do on the croft?

Well, sheep, pigs, dogs, geese, turkeys.

I grow carrots, onions, leeks, I've got some apple trees,

I've got a couple of plum trees and I've got a couple of pear trees.

Crofting is unique to the Scottish Highlands and Islands.

Traditionally, tenant farmers worked small

and often poor-quality plots of land to eke out a living.

Is crofting still quite important here in Barra?

I would say it's very important.

It ties people to the land and a lot of people fail to understand how

important, for people on the edges of the Hebrides,

how important land is.

When you look at the history of these islands

and how the population suffered in the past

when others owned the land...

It was always controlled by somebody else

and now we've got land, people like to keep it.

Over the years, Neil has turned his hand to many different things.

But his latest project is something not traditionally associated

with the Hebrides - making his own wine.

I've made 50 litres of wine off this one vine.

What's it like, your Hebridean wine?

Well, it's a work in progress, let's say.

Well, I'm impressed.

It's this kind of resourcefulness

and hard work that has kept crofting alive on these islands.

I'm heading south across the causeway that links Barra to

Vatersay, a place with the locals had to fight for the right

to make their homes here.

Back in the 19th century, hundreds of people lived here

until they were forcibly evicted by an absentee landlord

who wanted the whole island as a single forming unit.

For more than 50 years, the owner of Vatersay refused to allow

anyone from the overcrowded neighbouring islands to settle here.

Desperate and defiant, the islanders began to return,

led by a group of men known to history as the Vatersay Raiders.

The Vatersay Raiders were a group of ten crofters

determined to stake a claim to this land.

In the summer of 1906, they landed here on Vatersay

and invoked an ancient law whereby they could claim ownership of ground

by building a wooden dwelling and kindling a fire within a day.

That might have been the islanders' way, but in the eyes of the law,

the men were criminals and they were arrested and jailed.

But in urban Scotland, where there was an increasing sympathy

for their plight, the men were seen as the heroic victims of injustice.

The case became a cause celebre and although the men

spent two months in prison, they ultimately succeeded.

In 1909, the government bought the island for the people

and divided it into 58 crofts.

Today, the raiders are hailed as heroes

and many of their descendants still live on Vatersay.

But it's not just the land that sustains this island community.

Fishing has always been a hugely important part of life here.

And so, donning my traditional Fair Isle fishing hat,

I'm joining skipper Neil Sinclair,

whose grandfather was one of the Vatersay Raiders,

and fisherman Paul Maguire, on their lobster boat.

Would you say, Neil, that it's a dangerous job,

being a creel fisherman?

One of the most dangerous jobs you can get, fishing.

You know, the tides and the winds.

And hidden rocks beneath the surface.

There's plenty of those around here, I guess.

Yeah, you can talk to your dad and other fishermen,

and, you know, they keep you right.

The older fishermen keep you right.

Kenny learns how the lobster pots work

and is shown how to handle the creatures.

Many of the Vatersay fishermen learned their skills

from their fathers and grandfathers.

But that's not the case for Neil's shipmate, Paul.

No, I'm actually from Cumbernauld.

-Cumbernauld?

-From Cumbernauld, yeah.

-Landlocked Cumbernauld.

-Landlocked Cumbernauld!

-How did you get into fishing?

-For a laugh.

What's the appeal of bobbing around in a small boat

-in the North Atlantic?

-Every day is different.

There's a bit of a challenge to it and it's quite rewarding

when you catch things.

-Is that conger eel?

-Yeah.

My goodness me! Look at this.

An enormous eel.

Amazing.

This is quite exciting, isn't it?

You never know what you're going to pull up.

A lot of crabs, there's a lot of crabs. Do you keep the big ones?

Just the decent ones, yeah.

The lobster man is the most precise of fishermen

and if the waters he fishes are dangerous,

he still has to place each part if he's going to make a living...

..for there is one way into a lobster pot and no way out.

-We've got another creel coming in.

-Yeah, that's a nice one.

Oh, look, we've got a beauty in there!

That's an absolute whopper, look at that!

Wow, those are powerful claws, aren't they?

Hey, I must be lucky!

You're coming back!

Another beauty, look at that!

So, what's the biggest lobster you have ever caught?

-Seven or eight kilos.

-Seven or eight kilo lobster?

-Yeah.

Must have been about the size of the dog!

Yeah, they're huge things, you know.

Look at the size of that one! That's a beauty.

And so, with our catch safely landed,

I continue my journey heading south to my final destination -

the tiny island of Barra Head.

Passing the neighbouring island of Mingulay,

I'm greeted by a simply stunning sight -

hundreds and hundreds of seals.

That's incredible.

There must be hundreds of them.

I've never seen so many seals in my entire life.

But they're going crazy!

Oh, that is amazing.

Barra Head, also known as Berneray,

is just 1.5 square miles of rock.

One 19th-century travel writer described how it sits

"far out into the Atlantic, exposed to its fullest fury,

"and generally inaccessible."

Yet these ruined buildings prove that the island once

sustained a population.

In fact, people lived here until the early years of the 20th century.

Reflecting on my journey so far, it occurs to me

that the people of these islands, despite the odds,

have held on to their culture and traditions.

But sometimes the struggle proved too much

and that seems to be what happened here.

In 1911, the last residents abandoned the island.

But before they left their island homes for the last time,

the scene was captured with a lens of the camera.

These images seem to belong to another time entirely.

The man who took these pictures was called Robert Milne.

Almost nothing is known about who he was

or why he took these photographs.

But they are the only remaining visual record of life here

and a fascinating insight into the people who once called

these ruins their home.