Storm-tossed and isolated, it has been hailed as one of the world's best five islands
The strange, two-year saga of "the Old Lady and the Horse" had just reached an unsatisfactory conclusion as the Calmac ferry delivered its passengers and cars to Tarbert pier last Thursday. Thus visitors to Lewis and Harris in the Outer Hebrides received a delightful presentiment that this may be an island like no other.
The old lady, a lively Lewis soul called Stephanie Noble, had been fighting neighbours and the council for two years for the right to keep her beloved pony in her own living-room, following a dispute over grazing rights. When the predictable denouement was reached – the council confiscated the beast – we were left to ponder two questions: why did it take the authorities more than two years to evict the nag, and if you can't keep your horse in your front room in Lewis, then where in the world can you?
That this, the biggest rock in the Outer Hebrides archipelago, is an island like no other has also just been officially acknowledged by international travel site TripAdvisor. On the basis of millions of reviews worldwide, Lewis and Harris has been declared the finest island in Europe and among the top five in the world. Yet it remains largely undiscovered territory for most Scots, let alone other Britons. Its remoteness on the map, though, shouldn't be a deterrent: three or four flights leave Glasgow daily to the island, while the eight-hour, car-and-ferry journey from Glasgow is like a day out in itself, taking you through some of the most stunning terrain in Europe.
Heading north from Tarbert in Harris on the road to Stornoway, three jagged peaks are upon you and, in an instant, they are enfolding both you and the road in their misty embrace. Around every bend you expect to see a French camera director wearing sunglasses and filming the latest Audi commercial. Today they are glimpsed through sweeping curtains of rain, all moody and magnificent. Then the landscape changes as dramatically as when you first encountered it and you are in Lewis. Jaggy summits give way to bleak, windswept moors, but even these heaths are lovely in their desolation.
The beauty of these places is not landscaped or manicured, nor does it provide easy sustenance for those who live here. You won't see many trees, while the terrain is harsh and not easily given to a productive agriculture. Pictures of hillsides stretching down to the water with little white houses clinging to them are asking to be photographed, but this land has had to be worked remorselessly to yield any return. Nor do they provide much shelter from the North Atlantic's armoury. "I don't mind the winters here, it's the summers I can't abide," I was told.
Local people are pleased at the accolade from TripAdvisor. "It should encourage people to visit and holiday here," the man at the Harris tweed shop said. Yet this is no island Xanadu populated by people who exist only to serve tourists. It is home to 21,000 souls and is increasingly reliant on a large public-sector infrastructure to compensate for the decline of crofting and fishing. There are no luxury hotels here, nor will it ever be a golfing destination, as its two existing courses shut on the Sabbath. "This is a largely working-class community and there are not many high-paying jobs," said Michelle Robson, chief reporter at the Stornoway Gazette. "But it's a safe place and ideal for raising a family."
The past few months, too, have shown how vulnerable an island community is when the weather becomes truculent. Writing in last week's West Highland Free Press, Brian Wilson, a Lewis resident and former Labour minister, said: "There are few more important decisions in the life of an island than the ones taken about the ferries which serve it."
The bad weather, exceptional even by North Atlantic standards, has combined with technical mayhem on the ferries to create a measure of economic fragility. For the first time since the 1960s, according to Wilson, islanders have been missing their daily newspapers. Thus the retail outlets which sell them have suffered from the absence of ancillary trade which a newspaper purchase may bring. "It has helped to kill Stornoway town centre for much of the day," he adds.
Few other places in the British Isles possess such a sense of time and place as Lewis. It is a place whose location in the ancient sea lanes, and bounty of fish and seaweed, have attracted the influence of Celts, Picts and Vikings.
On a corner near the harbour on Friday afternoon, the wind carries snatches of a conversation in Gaelic between two older people. I realise it is the first time I have heard the old language spoken naturally and spontaneously, rather than on television or film. The effect is both startling and emotional, and I wonder why that should be. The Stornoway Gazette publishes an elegant, paid-for monthly supplement called Back in The Day. "People in Lewis are incredibly interested in their history and heritage," said Melinda Gillen, editor of the Gazette. "There's such a deep sense of belonging in this community, and the Gaelic is a huge part of it." The Free Kirk minister and academic, the Rev Donald Macleod, also talks of time and place. "Faith, language and the soil have helped to define Lewis," he says, "and it continues to do so. This, I think, deepens our sense of belonging. This is still largely a churchgoing community and that includes young people. I moved away to begin my ministry in 1958, yet Lewis is constantly calling me home. Sooner or later the island calls us all back."
Yet he dreads the day when the island's population goes into irreversible decline. "Most of our young people aspire to go to university and college," he says. "And most of them don't return for work. What you do see is exiled islanders returning once they have retired." Hopefully, though, that day may be some way off. The 2011 census showed a 5% population increase, not all of it down to old, returning islanders. There are more children, it seems, and some evidence of an increase in newcomers.
The importance of Harris tweed to the island can never be overestimated. This woollen fabric, whose pigments and dyes mirror the colour of the island's flora and fauna, has received a new lease of life in recent years and production is healthy once more, firing imaginations in Milan, London and Paris. A new mill accounts for 90% of global production and employs 70 people, while engaging with 100 local independent weavers.
Uncompromising Christianity, Gaelic and the old art of weaving; all of them bound up with each other and all still flourishing here, despite what the 21st century has thrown at them. They define this steadfast and obstinate place.
On Luskentyre shore, south of Tarbert on Friday evening, the last of the daylight is disappearing and with it the image of a beach and water unrivalled in beauty anywhere else in Britain. Already it is calling me back. Reported by guardian.co.uk 4 hours ago.
The strange, two-year saga of "the Old Lady and the Horse" had just reached an unsatisfactory conclusion as the Calmac ferry delivered its passengers and cars to Tarbert pier last Thursday. Thus visitors to Lewis and Harris in the Outer Hebrides received a delightful presentiment that this may be an island like no other.
The old lady, a lively Lewis soul called Stephanie Noble, had been fighting neighbours and the council for two years for the right to keep her beloved pony in her own living-room, following a dispute over grazing rights. When the predictable denouement was reached – the council confiscated the beast – we were left to ponder two questions: why did it take the authorities more than two years to evict the nag, and if you can't keep your horse in your front room in Lewis, then where in the world can you?
That this, the biggest rock in the Outer Hebrides archipelago, is an island like no other has also just been officially acknowledged by international travel site TripAdvisor. On the basis of millions of reviews worldwide, Lewis and Harris has been declared the finest island in Europe and among the top five in the world. Yet it remains largely undiscovered territory for most Scots, let alone other Britons. Its remoteness on the map, though, shouldn't be a deterrent: three or four flights leave Glasgow daily to the island, while the eight-hour, car-and-ferry journey from Glasgow is like a day out in itself, taking you through some of the most stunning terrain in Europe.
Heading north from Tarbert in Harris on the road to Stornoway, three jagged peaks are upon you and, in an instant, they are enfolding both you and the road in their misty embrace. Around every bend you expect to see a French camera director wearing sunglasses and filming the latest Audi commercial. Today they are glimpsed through sweeping curtains of rain, all moody and magnificent. Then the landscape changes as dramatically as when you first encountered it and you are in Lewis. Jaggy summits give way to bleak, windswept moors, but even these heaths are lovely in their desolation.
The beauty of these places is not landscaped or manicured, nor does it provide easy sustenance for those who live here. You won't see many trees, while the terrain is harsh and not easily given to a productive agriculture. Pictures of hillsides stretching down to the water with little white houses clinging to them are asking to be photographed, but this land has had to be worked remorselessly to yield any return. Nor do they provide much shelter from the North Atlantic's armoury. "I don't mind the winters here, it's the summers I can't abide," I was told.
Local people are pleased at the accolade from TripAdvisor. "It should encourage people to visit and holiday here," the man at the Harris tweed shop said. Yet this is no island Xanadu populated by people who exist only to serve tourists. It is home to 21,000 souls and is increasingly reliant on a large public-sector infrastructure to compensate for the decline of crofting and fishing. There are no luxury hotels here, nor will it ever be a golfing destination, as its two existing courses shut on the Sabbath. "This is a largely working-class community and there are not many high-paying jobs," said Michelle Robson, chief reporter at the Stornoway Gazette. "But it's a safe place and ideal for raising a family."
The past few months, too, have shown how vulnerable an island community is when the weather becomes truculent. Writing in last week's West Highland Free Press, Brian Wilson, a Lewis resident and former Labour minister, said: "There are few more important decisions in the life of an island than the ones taken about the ferries which serve it."
The bad weather, exceptional even by North Atlantic standards, has combined with technical mayhem on the ferries to create a measure of economic fragility. For the first time since the 1960s, according to Wilson, islanders have been missing their daily newspapers. Thus the retail outlets which sell them have suffered from the absence of ancillary trade which a newspaper purchase may bring. "It has helped to kill Stornoway town centre for much of the day," he adds.
Few other places in the British Isles possess such a sense of time and place as Lewis. It is a place whose location in the ancient sea lanes, and bounty of fish and seaweed, have attracted the influence of Celts, Picts and Vikings.
On a corner near the harbour on Friday afternoon, the wind carries snatches of a conversation in Gaelic between two older people. I realise it is the first time I have heard the old language spoken naturally and spontaneously, rather than on television or film. The effect is both startling and emotional, and I wonder why that should be. The Stornoway Gazette publishes an elegant, paid-for monthly supplement called Back in The Day. "People in Lewis are incredibly interested in their history and heritage," said Melinda Gillen, editor of the Gazette. "There's such a deep sense of belonging in this community, and the Gaelic is a huge part of it." The Free Kirk minister and academic, the Rev Donald Macleod, also talks of time and place. "Faith, language and the soil have helped to define Lewis," he says, "and it continues to do so. This, I think, deepens our sense of belonging. This is still largely a churchgoing community and that includes young people. I moved away to begin my ministry in 1958, yet Lewis is constantly calling me home. Sooner or later the island calls us all back."
Yet he dreads the day when the island's population goes into irreversible decline. "Most of our young people aspire to go to university and college," he says. "And most of them don't return for work. What you do see is exiled islanders returning once they have retired." Hopefully, though, that day may be some way off. The 2011 census showed a 5% population increase, not all of it down to old, returning islanders. There are more children, it seems, and some evidence of an increase in newcomers.
The importance of Harris tweed to the island can never be overestimated. This woollen fabric, whose pigments and dyes mirror the colour of the island's flora and fauna, has received a new lease of life in recent years and production is healthy once more, firing imaginations in Milan, London and Paris. A new mill accounts for 90% of global production and employs 70 people, while engaging with 100 local independent weavers.
Uncompromising Christianity, Gaelic and the old art of weaving; all of them bound up with each other and all still flourishing here, despite what the 21st century has thrown at them. They define this steadfast and obstinate place.
On Luskentyre shore, south of Tarbert on Friday evening, the last of the daylight is disappearing and with it the image of a beach and water unrivalled in beauty anywhere else in Britain. Already it is calling me back. Reported by guardian.co.uk 4 hours ago.