Hebrides adventures - when you think your tent will blow away and literally can.

I sit in my tent wondering what the bleeding heck I am doing here. Alone, cold, deafened by the rain and wind, trying to understand what processed me to embark on the latest project. Trying to understand why it is that I choose to continuously punish myself with deciding to put myself on photographic crusades to help save industries by introducing new audiences to trades and skills that are often forgotten.

Is there some subliminal undercurrent distilled upon me that says, “You must sacrifice yourself for your art,” or “only good art comes from a perilous existence” I don’t know, seriously I have no idea what it was that suggested to me that making a book about the weavers on the isles of the Outer Hebrides, would in any way make for my exempt of the solitude that is inflicted upon me regularly.

However, I am here, it IS raining and it IS windy and still I continue on with the topic at hand. (I must admit getting rather worried that one weaving shed might indeed look another weaving shed when all is said and done) and I AM indeed in my tent whittling away on my laptop trying to make sense of it all.

Whilst I listen to my tent pegs wiggle in the peat, and the fly sheet start to pull further away from the ground, I come to realise that there are a considerable number of people like myself here on these islands; craftsmen who enjoy making their work, enjoy making something from nothing which often requires the solitude to achieve this. It is a certain mentality that is needed. Not everyone can work like this, of course not everyone has the gift of making, but for those who do own this eye, it is indeed something of a gift in itself to carry the determination and self-belief that something can indeed be made from their hands, eyes and their dreams and in isolation.

The rain pours and wind gushes through my bones, I am thankful that my wind defender of a tent is accompanied by another 30 or so wind machines on top of this Brae, in a croft near the village of Shawbost. Eilean Froach is run by a delightful couple, Iain and Mary Macleod. The campsite has a plug, or rather has a room with a plug and a kitchen adjacent to the washrooms and across the way a laundry shed, which on further inspection must have been the weaving shed, but all here for the latest in the ‘festival’ season.

The Hebrides (particularly Lewis and Harris, as these are the only two islands I have visited), is home to a number of festivals each summer, called festivals in this modern age, they were of course, harvests, or summer solstice, and other such non-commercial events in earlier times, today however, such as sheep dog trials, Highland flings and here on Lewis, the Hebcelt festival, something I think, has completely overloaded the campsites and B&B’s on the whole island.  

On a closer look at all of the simple abodes, whilst driving around the various villages, there is a shed out the back or to the side in each croft, where every three homes once you might have heard the clickety click of the single width Hattersley looms, where now, one would be lucky to find one or two whirs of the double width (bicycle) loom in each village.

Still, the ‘festival’ along with the fabulous outdoor delights of these Islands brings interest from Europe and here on this croft, from Bolivia. I stumbled across a beach today, just before the rain set in, just north of Shawbost and south of the village of Borve. As with all, it seems, these ‘places’ here, it was not sign posted to the beach, it did not have a Mr Whippy in the distance, and it did not have a stream of children walking back from a hard spent day working their play by the sea.

Instead I spotted a lone Motorhome on the horizon, sitting there, waiting for the sunset (actually it was parked up for what looked like a considerable time, certainly to ride out the foreseeable storm). So with that in view, I took advantage of my 4 wheel drive and went off road onto a moorland track and hoped I would be able to return before the now voluptuous clouds in the sky broke. On reaching the pebble beach I literally leapt out the car and ran towards the sea. A ‘perfect’ surf, I thought, if not a tad cold today and views over to the west, where if one were to wait for a sunset on a clear evening, this would most certainly be the spot. A ruin of a black house stands proud, as I look south over to towards a village by the sea, near or almost opposite Shawbost. I found myself wondering what life would have been like living there, on the cusp of the sea and land, on the waves of the gods and to the detriment of the winds. What could it have been like to actually have lived there?

The islands of Harris and Lewis to day have a few villages dedicated to the preservation of the ‘Black House’. Only in 1972 did the last inhabitant leave a Black house in the village of ‘Garanan’ (SP), and she only left if she was housed immediately opposite or could at least see her old home. To this day the village is now used as self -catering cottages, an information centre and there is still an original Hattersley in one of them along with a working weaver.

There is an historical society in Stonoway and the Library and Arts Centre are a hive of information if that is your bag, but sometimes just investigating the sites on your own, is such a thrill and reading up on the history afterwards is sometimes the fun way to spend your holiday.

On return to the campsite earlier I realised that a variety of families, travellers, and general tourists frequent these islands and the only thing I think that we have all been talking about in the past few days is how many layers are you wearing, what wind proof clothing is the best and is Port of Ness really the most north westerly point in the European Union?

The Outer Hebrides, is a fascinating location to spend your holidays (although I am working here). It truly does have a vast range of mountainous vistas and dramatic moorlands and an abundance of lochs and rivers to go wild fishing. If you would like fresh salmon or crab each day, simply get a fishing kit and go for it. One thing you will need for certain is a good set of walking boots, (I swear by my ‘Brashas’ and my hand knitted woollen Hebridean socks) an extremely good quality set of waterproof outdoor clothing and a towel.

I listen to the voices of the wind and I trust in the stitching of my tent, I can only hope and pray for sunshine tomorrow. After all, I think I have punished myself enough thank you very much,  it’s time for a little play don’t you think?