A small colony of eider ducks inhabits Canna harbour. They sound
constantly surprised: "Aah…oooh…" I felt much that way myself during
the three days I spent on the island in May 2005. It started the moment
I set foot on the pier.
The Isle of Canna is a fragment of land floating between Rum and
the Outer Isles - the mid-way place, they call it locally. Getting
there from Skye involves two ferries and several hours' travelling
via the mainland. On reaching Canna, you look seaward to catch a glimpse
of Skye in the distance and instead, you get a throatful of Rum, the
cliffs of Bloodstone Hill looming so close you feel you could touch
them. Canna harbour, for all its exposed setting, is virtually land-locked,
a surprise from which I never quite recovered.
The ferry - Caldonian MacBrayne's MV Loch Nevis - is the umbilical
cord without which Canna's community could not survive. As the boat
comes alongside the pier, most of the islanders seem to be here to
meet her. Ropes are thrown, caught and tied, the gangway rattles into
place and a large bag of supplies swings ashore. Here, and throughout
the Hebrides, the ferry is an integral part of the community she serves.
First-time visitors wince at the graffiti-covered rock face abutting
the pier. It seems so out of place, but the rock's colourful collection
is later explained: it's a kind of autograph book, whose every entry
is the name of a boat that has found shelter in Canna harbour over
the years. If only that rock could talk!
The next surprise (Canna is full of them - the eider ducks are not
wrong) is the appearance of two buttercup-yellow umbrellas on the
far rim of the bay. Your mind says "tea room", and so it is. Wendy
MacKinnon's opening hours accommodate the ferry timetable and the
arrival of yachts and regular charter boats. If - as I was - you're
booked into The Bothy and intent on self-catering during your stay,
be warned that the next-door-neighbourliness of the Harbour View Tearoom
will sabotage your good intentions from day one.
It's all hustle and bustle as islanders help the crew offload, hand
over the outgoing mail, welcome new arrivals and residents returning
from a trip to the mainland. As an expected visitor, I'm squeezed
into Winnie MacKinnon's seen-better-days landrover along with the
mail, bags of domestic goods, an ironing board, Winnie's dog and a
heap of BT Yellow Pages (I help load them - are there really that
many telephones here?) The landrover deposits me and my belongings
at the door of the Bothy.
"I'll be back shortly to show you round." Winnie - landrover driver,
crofter, postmistress, i/c accommodation and other unspecified matters
- disappears cheerfully up the track in a cloud of dust, leaving me
to join a small group of people in the shade of the buttercups. On
such a blue-sky Hebridean day, ferry passengers are enjoying an hour
and a half ashore before their return voyage to Mallaig.
First impressions are that Canna seems a kindly place. It feels serene.
The early May weather helps, but the atmosphere goes deeper than that.
Visitors might be forgiven for believing life here to be idyllic.
(If you've ever lived on a Scottish island you'll recognise the deception.)
Your eye follows the perimeter of this natural harbour, protected
to the north and east by Canna itself, to the south by Sanday, the
western approach narrowing and shallowing to give an illusion of shelter
on a still day, though it crossed my mind that a good south-westerly
might turn the gap into an effective wind tunnel. The accuracy of
the notion became all-too-evident later. Serenity in Hebridean terms
is a fragile concept.
A tractor is ploughing a nearby field - preparation for reseeding,
Winnie informed me. Under the National Trust for Scotland (NTS), the
arable ground of Canna Farm is being turned over to permanent pasture,
and very healthy pasture it looks.
Through the trees just behind the tea room I glimpse a solid, grey
stone building. This must be Canna House, erstwhile home of the island's
late owner, John Lorne Campbell and his wife, Margaret Fay Shaw, both
renowned for their scholarly work in Gaelic lore and music. From 1938,
when Dr Campbell bought Canna, they lived here and cared for the island
and its community, up to 1981 when legal ownership was gifted to the
NTS.
John Lorne Campbell died in 1996, Margaret Fay Shaw followed him
in 2004 at the age of 101, and their absence is a tangible vacancy
in the community. The present generation of MacKinnons - who constitute
almost the whole of Canna's electoral roll - grew up during the Campbell
stewardship, a time remembered with evident affection.
"He was interested in everything. When we were wee, if you had a
butterfly and didn't know what it was and you went up to the house,
he'd show you. He never considered himself to be a Gaelic scholar.
He was more realistic than that. The Gaelic, the farm, it was all
one as far as he was concerned."
Between them, John Lorne Campbell and Margaret Fay Shaw amassed a
priceless collection of Gaelic and Hebridean material and sound recordings,
which is to remain here for scholars to consult on site and, possibly,
electronically. The task of cataloguing the "boxes and boxes of papers"
will be huge, and is expected to take several years and much fundraising.
Several organisations are involved, including Sabhal Mor Ostaig, the
Gaelic college in Skye.
Accommodation for those visiting the Gaelic archive is to be provided
in the former Roman Catholic church of St Edwards on Sanday, closed
in 1963 after being struck by lightning. Although it has proved difficult
and expensive to make the building watertight, it is hoped the centre
will be ready for use by 2007.
Of Canna's two other churches, St Columba's (Roman Catholic) across
the bay is a warm and welcoming place, thanks to much-needed renovation
work recently carried out by the community. The building has seen
many changes: from church, to shop and post office, then back to church
when St Edwards closed. St Columba's (Presbyterian) near the pier
is a striking but rarely-used building.
My imagination had not placed Canna House so close to the shore,
with its outlook over the bay to the tidal island of Sanday, home
to puffins, lapwings and snipe, to name a few, wild flowers under
every footfall, rabbits everywhere and a beach of white sand at the
western end.
A significant proportion of Canna's population lives here, separated
from the main island by a narrow channel, which is normally spanned
by a footbridge. However - confirming my wind-tunnel theory - the
bridge has always been vulnerable to winter gales, and in January
2005 the gales became a hurricane, causing havoc along Hebridean shores.
The wind-driven seas swept into the channel and reduced the bridge
to a tangle of wire and planking on the shore, the remains of its
concrete pillars poking up like a row broken teeth.
Four months later, the NTS were still negotiating with decision-makers
in mainland offices over how to finance the repairs. The situation
was finally resolved with a significant contribution from the Highland
Council and further support from Lochaber Enterprise. The Trust will
mount a public appeal to raise the balance. By such slender threads
hangs the welfare of a community.
Meantime, the island's two primary school children were taken from
Canna to the school on Sanday in a small dinghy, weather permitting.
The farm manager and the postmistress had the choice of a boat at
high tide or a slippery but more or less dryshod crossing when the
tide was out. By January 2006 work on a replacement bridge was in
progress but behind schedule, due mainly to adverse weather. Completion
by Easter was anticipated.
From the pier, an unsurfaced track -- the only "road" on the island
-- runs round the bay. It is maintained by the estate. From pier to
road to bridge to telephone to electricity to water; all have at some
point been dismissed by government as being the owner's responsibility.
In 2005, funding from Europe helped launch the Small Isles Pier Project,
which has brought roll-on-roll-off slipways to Eigg, Muck, Rum, Inverie
in Knoydart and, finally, Canna. It gives the inhabitants greater
freedom and independence, and life becomes a little easier. Vehicles
can be driven ashore to collect and deliver livestock, building materials
and machinery. Islanders can take their own transport to the mainland
and bring back their own household supplies.
My arrival coincided with the preliminary visit of the Highland Council
survey party and by autumn, work had begun. The weather inevitably
caused delays. Everything had to be brought in by sea, from the cement
to the workforce. A weekly journey by boat from Skye, all through
the winter, isn't everyone's idea of commuting. Some weeks the boat
simply had to turn back, taking the pier workers with her. However,
by the spring, Canna's refurbished pier was to be finally completed.
Will this mean more traffic on Canna, an end to the peace and a change
in character? That is certainly not anyone's intention. Visitors will
be strongly dissuaded from bringing their cars, as they are on the
other Small Isles. Transport to and from the island - rather than
on it - is the issue.
The doctor, for example, comes by boat. The Small Isles Medical Practice
includes Eigg, Muck and Rum as well as Canna, and the surgery is on
Eigg. Dr Weldon tries to visit Canna at least once a month in the
practice's rigid inflatable boat skippered by her husband. Patients
visit the surgery according to the ferry timetable. Emergency transport
to hospital on the mainland is by air or sea, and prescriptions (the
doctor does her own dispensing) are delivered by CalMac free of charge.
Of course the whole service is weather-dependent so it's as well to
stay healthy if you can, but I hear nothing but praise for the island's
GP. As one patient put it: "She's absolutely fantastic. If she's in
any doubt at all, never hesitate, helicopter and you're out of here."
I meet constant enthusiasm, tempered with the down-to-earth-ness
that goes with being an islander. At present, the community consists
of one extended family (the MacKinnons) and three other residents
- a total of 15, including two primary school children, two at secondary
school and the teacher's baby. It doesn't add up to long-term viability.
The secondary school is on the mainland, in Mallaig. In common with
their Small Isles' neighbours, the two Canna pupils stay in lodgings,
coming home once a fortnight, weather permitting. It's difficult to
keep the young people here once they finish their education, for what
are they to do when the only employer is the landlord, and other options
are few and far between? Winnie made the point: "There's my two lassies
and my brother's two lassies and that's the future".
Everyone is keen to attract more people to live on the island. As
one crofter put it: "We're going to implode if we don't, it's as simple
as that".
But this is not the place to live if you simply want to "get away
from it all". The island needs families and people who can turn their
hand to practical matters in the community, whilst perhaps earning
a part-living through teleworking. Everyone on Canna is a tenant,
and any potential residents will be carefully considered by both the
community and the landlord. Then there's the winter weather.
However, with a supportive landlord and the characteristic tenacity
and enterprise of an island community, the tearoom flourishes, unoccupied
buildings are renovated as visitor accommodation, a central electricity
supply is installed, a water supply, a telephone exchange with broadband
access, all independent of mainland suppliers. The telephone service
is a microlink by satellite across to Elgol in Skye. The electricity
generator is oil driven and small-scale wind power is under consideration.
An electrician or a plumber could find occasional work on NTS projects
and "we could really do with somebody doing bed and breakfast".
The Trust has a list of initiatives in various stages of development,
a vision of a thriving community in a cherished natural environment
with its cultural heritage secured for future generations. Idealistic?
The only obstacle, it seems, is lack of funds and I got the impression
- both on Canna and in the Trust's offices - that although this may
impede progress, it won't be allowed to prevent it.
Work goes on. Ploughing is followed by harrowing in the field near
the bothy; another swathe of rich brown earth appears further round
the bay. The main island is a single farm, run by the Trust in close
collaboration with the local farm manager. It employs three full time
staff - that's three steady incomes. What's more, the farm is successful.
Thanks to the permanent pasture, no hay or silage is needed. "We just
bring in concentrates and feed them to the stock in winter time. All
the stock are out during the winter, even the bulls." Sheep numbers
have been cut and cattle increased. "It's basically the same way we
farmed the crofts and it's been a great success. We've topped the
sales in Fort William for the past two years."
The islanders work their own tenanted crofts on Sanday, and they
find the NTS a helpful landlord. Crofters' cattle and sheep can share
the boat to market with those from the farm, feedstuffs can be brought
in with the farm order, a bull can be borrowed.
The tide ebbs, turns, floods. Flower-strewn grassland, otter spraint
on a stone, marsh marigolds and snipe in a drainage ditch, ancient
stones telling their story to those who listen, the woods full of
bluebells, birds of all sizes from shore to moorland and the high
cliffs.
Canna has always been a stronghold for many important seabird species,
including a colony of Manx shearwaters. However, rats (presumed to
have come from a visiting boat) have wiped out the shearwaters, and
other ground-nesting seabirds have declined rapidly in the last few
years. It is anticipated that the Seabird Recovery Project, implemented
between October 2005 and Easter 2006, will have eradicated the rats.
Time will tell whether the seabird populations can regain their former
strength. Other species thrive and thrill - to see them, you just
need to be here and keep your eyes open.
My last day on Canna. Eider ducks cruise out into the bay, and sandpipers
dance to their own piping about the shore in front of the bothy. Last
night, from the top of Compass Hill (yes, it's magnetic), I watched
the lights of a trawler coming into Canna harbour for the night. By
the time the sun woke me at 5 a.m. the boat was already out at sea.
I gather my belongings. Suddenly, there are so many things not done,
places not visited, photographs not made. I haven't even begun to
explore the west end. I need another day, a month, a year. No, you
need a lifetime.
I buy postcards in the tearoom. Along the track, there's a queue
of two waiting outside the post office. The mail has to be stamped
and bagged ready to go on the ferry.
"Sorry I'm late, I had to wait for the tide." Winnie has waded knee-deep
from Sanday to fulfill her duties as postmistress. The water was too
shallow for boating, too deep to stay dry, and the ferry is on the
way. She chuckles as she tells of phone calls from head office enquiring
about her opening hours. They simply can't grasp the situation.
The Loch Nevis is running late as well. Rum is holding a music festival,
and there were over a hundred passengers with luggage, tents and provisions
to offload en route to Canna. Here she comes now. The bag of mail
is handed aboard and I follow. As the ferry leaves the harbour, the
island closes round itself as astonishingly as it opened up just a
few days ago. Farewell.
It's impossible for a three-day visitor to do justice to Canna. John
Lorne Campbell did that in his book, Canna, the story of a Hebridean
island. You should read it. Then buy a ferry ticket and discover
the place for yourself.