I arrived on Rona in the wake of five days of gales, and the swell
was still marching down the Sound of Raasay as the charter boat Brigadoon
made the hour-long crossing from Portree. It's quite a flitting as
the boat only sails once a week, so all food and supplies have to
be taken on board, as well as the usual luggage, plus the mail, dog
food, coal, and anything else needed by Bill Cowie, the island manager
and the only civilian resident on Rona.
Bill took up his post in April 2002 and, with his two dogs and his
quad bike, he seems very happy with his lot. But he's no isolationist,
and neither he nor the island's Danish owner have any problem with
the inclusion of a human presence on the island. Bill is full of enthusiasm
for his work, his surroundings and the island's future, which looks
brighter than it has for many years.
We tied up at a new-looking pontoon and pier at the head of Acarsaid
Mhor (Big Harbour), and I learned later that these had been completed
in the last 12 months with the help of working parties modelled on
those of the National Trust on St Kilda. Island communications with
the outside world are fickle at the best of times and this development,
funded by the owner, allows boats to tie up at any stage of the tide
- a big improvement on the old stone pier and slipway.
I was to stay in the bothy close by the pier, but the couple from
London who had made the crossing with me were booked into one of the
holiday cottages at Acarsaid Thioram (Dry Harbour), about one and
a half miles of rough track and steep hills from the landing place.
Once on the island, visitors hand their luggage to Bill and the quad
bike, and make their own journey on foot - with breath-taking views
as an excuse to pause and rest on the way.
One meaning of the name Rona is 'rough island', which is an appropriate
interpretation. Away from the few paths, the terrain dictates the
pace and it's a slow one. I spent a lot of time away from the paths
and whilst it was well worth the effort, I think future visitors will
welcome the estate's plans to restore some of the old footways. Theres
nothing like knee-high heather over hidden rocky hollows for taking
the 'intrepid' out of the explorer - except perhaps waist-high heather,
and that too grows well here. I know; I found it.
Rona is about five miles long and on average about a mile wide; its
foundations are Lewisian gneiss - among the oldest rocks in Europe;
the highest point is 125 metres above sea level, and from it you look
east to Torridon, south to Lochalsh and the Cuillin, west to Trotternish,
Harris and Lewis, and north to nothing at all - which makes you gasp
and sends you to the atlas when you get home, where you gasp again
(check for yourself!)
These are the facts, but they are far from the whole truth. The truth
is, Rona is magic - not only for today's visitors seeking relief from
the pressure and noise of modern living, but surely also for the children
of the island's small and now-derelict townships. My first impressions
were of a place made for nature rather than mankind, and that life
on Rona must have been a struggle for its human populations. But the
more time I spent among the old dwellings, the more I felt there had
also been much laughter and happiness here.
Rona's human history is the-all-too-familiar one of hardships, clearances
and evacuations. As I sat one late afternoon above the township of
Doire na Guaile (Grove of the Shoulder), the low October light picked
out one patch of old runprig cultivation ridges now returned to bog,
and then another - pocket-handkerchiefs of hard-won fertility among
the rock. It struck me how quickly nature takes back the land once
the hand of man ceases its work and - significantly - the sheep are
removed, as they were here in 1992 when Dorte Mette Jensen took over
the island.
She has invested considerably in the place since then. Rona Lodge
at the head of Acarsaid Mhor has been renovated and is occupied by
the island manager, and the owner when she is here. It also offers
dinner, bed and breakfast (versatility and boundless energy being
prerequisites for the manager's post), plus showers, toilets, a washing
machine and drying facilities for bothy dwellers, canoeists and the
crews of visiting yachts, all of whom are made welcome.
The former Mission House at Acarsaid Thioram has been rebuilt into
two very comfortable holiday cottages. Electricity generators have
been installed at Acarsaid Mhor and Acarsaid Thioram, the water supply
is well-maintained, and every comfort has been provided for occupants
coming 'home' after long days spent exploring the island. Further
developments are anticipated. Another house at Acarsaid Thioram is
on the list for similar conversion. The school nearby - with a previous
school roll of 30 pupils - is now four walls and nothing much else,
but it has been earmarked for renovation as possible accommodation,
visitor centre and exhibition area for use by visiting groups.
These developments form the extent of holiday accommodation planned
for the island at present. The integration of wise ecological management
with the needs of visitors is so far receiving a sensitive approach
from the owner and her management team. This is a welcome attitude.
Rona so amply rewards those willing to explore the place on its own
terms, that it would be a mistake to over-develop the tourism potential
of the island, for fear of destroying exactly those qualities of remoteness
and wildness that attract today's visitors.
The 900 hectares of Rona are being managed to restore the native
woodland habitat, following the removal of most of the stock of 500
sheep. The effect is obvious and dramatic - the trees are probably
the most forceful and unexpected aspect of the island. I made a personal
list of tree species, which is certainly not exhaustive: willow, birch,
hazel, ash, sycamore, beech, pine, larch, holly, aspen, alder, rowan,
oak. To climb up through the mature woodland at Acarsaid Mhor (planted
in the 19th century and with new growth extending well beyond its
original boundaries), to emerge and look over a treetop scene that
could be Perthshire save for the sea, jolts the mind into disorientation
for a moment. And wherever you go on the island, there are flourishing
pockets of native woodland, taking advantage of the freedom from grazing
mouths.
The introduction of 8 red deer into this equation in May 2003 is,
on the face of it, a surprising move. However, Bill's background of
12 years as a forester and 20 working with deer is a vital ingredient
in this enterprise. He believes that a forest is not a forest without
deer, that in most Scottish situations the balance - like many ecological
balances - has been disturbed by human intervention. On Rona, a deer
management plan has been drawn up to assess the optimum deer-to-tree
ratio in order to achieve a population of healthy deer within a thriving
woodland habitat. Both the Deer Commission of Scotland and the Forestry
Commission are involved in the monitoring process, and Bill's smile
was dry as he commented on the difficulties of combining a deer management
plan with an application to the Woodland Grant Scheme, which gives
financial support for woodland management. Apparently the 'deer and
trees don't mix' view is also prevalent within the corridors of power
and has provoked some interesting discussion!
A small herd of pedigree Highland cattle, with their own bull, roam
the island and I met them several times, grazing the former fields
and cultivated areas where the growth is clearly still sweeter and
more palatable than in other parts of the island. Since their arrival
in 1994, they have helped break up the encroaching ground vegetation
about the old settlements, so contributing to the preservation of
the human story - another important part of the estate's management
plans. When I talked to Bill, he was enthusiastic about the possibilities
of Rona beef as an attractive addition to local hotel menus. With
home-grown produce a high priority in Skye and Lochalsh, this seems
a splendid idea if the practical obstacles can be overcome.
From the point of view of environmental experimentation, isolation
by the sea presents a huge advantage and surely promises a good chance
of success. People management is a more complex thing by far, however,
and the estate is very aware of this. The commercial potential of
Rona is already being eyed by mainland and Skye-based boat tour operators,
and this presents a real problem for an owner whose philosophy embraces
both protecting the island's remoteness and natural environment, and
welcoming those who wish to visit in the right spirit. How to control
the second in order to defend the first without removing the welcome,
is a difficult problem whose outcome will only become clear over time.
Radio and telecommunications mean the island is not completely cut
off from the outside world. A Rona website has been developed (www.isleofrona.com),
where a wide range of information is available, including a newsletter,
some history of the island, details of accommodation for visitors
and dates for working parties. Bill has many email correspondents
and the telephone rang continually when I called in at the Lodge one
evening. Rona is very much part of the 21st century. On a more basic
level, however, I was surprised to learn that the estate has no boat
of its own. It seems a strange omission in an island setting. I gathered
that there is hope of a more frequent ferry connection with the mainland
- by which I mean Skye - but self-sufficiency in this respect would
surely be a good idea.
Bill lent me a thick file of information that had been collected
about Rona. It made fascinating reading. Communication has clearly
always been a problem. One commentator pointed to the lack of an engine-powered
boat as a major factor in the depopulation of the island, the local
boats in the 1920s being driven by sail or oars, and Portree a full
day's rowing away. Incidentally, a chance meeting with a day-visitor
from Staffin brought up the story of her friend's grandfather, who
would row from Skye to Rona to court her grandmother, a native of
the island. He eventually married her and whisked her off to Skye!
I read in the file of a submerged forest on the shallower, west side
of the island at Acarsaid Thioram and that the Church Cave on the
steeper, east side is about 85ft above sea level. Those who understand
such things think the whole island tilted at some point in its history
- imagine! Was it suddenly, so you'd feel giddy and cling on to the
nearest boulder, or gradual and hardly noticeable until it was done
and the journey to the shore seemed somehow steeper than when you
were younger? I sat and imagined, and felt giddy. The fact is, it
all happened long before the place was inhabited by anything, let
alone mankind, but Rona tends to play games with facts.
Church Cave itself is more than it seems. In the 19th century it
was used as a place of worship, with stone 'pews' made from boulders,
a tiny 'font' under a constant drip of water from the roof and a large
'alter stone' near the entrance. The practice has been revived recently
and a number of services held, with boats ferrying the congregation
over from Skye and Raasay. But a 'shell midden' of limpet and winkle
shells at the entrance to the cave bears witness to very early human
occupation, and not a well-nourished one at that. A few hundred yards
away I found the remains of an otter's sea-urchin feast that seemed
to mock the human struggle for survival.
I also read about a widow who kept a light burning in her cottage
window, to guide her missing husband and other sailors safely into
harbour. As I sat reading beside the bothy stove, it dawned on me
that I was sitting in that very cottage and my light was in the window,
shining down the harbour. It was a strange feeling - but if there
is a ghost, she seems quite comfortable with the new and transient
occupants of her home.
And being transient, visitors have to depart, however reluctantly.
Leaving is made as pleasant as possible, with Bill transporting luggage
on his trusty quad bike from the holiday cottages down to the pier,
and providing tea and scones in his kitchen whilst you wait for the
Brigadoon to arrive. Greeting new guests, offloading one set of luggage
and loading up another, there's time for a quick exchange of news
between Bill and the skipper, then it's farewell hugs and handshakes
and you're heading down the loch, looking back as the Lodge and the
bothy shrink into the distance.
You can see Rona almost all the way back to Portree and you're uncertain
whether that's a good thing or not. It's all too sudden. You're really
not ready to leave, you haven't said goodbye properly, you've left
something of yourself behind and, when you get home, you realise that
a part of you will never be the same again.
Life on Rona will never be the same either. Once communities - human
or otherwise - become unviable, regeneration is notoriously difficult.
The isolation that protects the ecological renewal is a major obstacle
to rebuilding a fully-functioning resident human population. However,
I came away with the impression of a place in good heart and in good
hands, under a stewardship that is sensitive to both the environmental
and the cultural importance of the island. I have a feeling the human
story on Rona is not done yet - not by a long way.