Work gets underway on an ambitious programme of projects spanning roads, housing, community facilities, tourism and visitor infrastructure.

The Isle of Rùm Community Trust (IRCT) is celebrating a significant programme of new funding, with work now getting underway on a range of ambitious projects across the island.

With a £350,000 grant from the Scottish Government’s Islands Programme 2026/27 and £50,000 from MOWI IRCT is progressing the Kinloch Village Road & Track Improvement Programme, a major investment in the island’s critical infrastructure. The project will deliver a comprehensive programme of improvements and upgrades to the roads and key connecting tracks in and around Kinloch village, improving access for residents, visitors and essential services.

A further £50,000 from the SSE Highland Sustainable Development Fund and £45,000 from MOWI is enabling IRCT to take its plans for a new community hub building through to the planning stage. Work on developing the project begins now.

The proposed hub will provide much-needed space for a new licensed café, new premises for the existing island shop, office space and additional facilities for visitors. Located closer to the ferry terminal, the new building will help create a more welcoming and accessible arrival point for people coming to Rum, while providing new and improved facilities for the island community.

Meanwhile, funding from The Rhum Trust has enabled preliminary repair work to begin on Harris Lodge, an historic former hunting lodge which IRCT is restoring to provide holiday accommodation and bring another island building back into productive use.

IRCT is also progressing plans for a feasibility study looking at the potential to return some older properties to its affordable rented housing portfolio. With a population of around 45 people, maintaining and increasing the availability of affordable housing is an important part of supporting a sustainable island community.

Other local funding is supporting improvements to the village hall and visitor centre, as well as the island’s Dark Sky Sanctuary events programme, with work on these projects also getting underway.

Together, these projects represent a significant programme of investment in the physical infrastructure, community facilities, housing and visitor experience on Rum.

Fliss Fraser, director of the Isle of Rùm Community Trust, said: “There is a huge amount happening on Rùm at the moment. These projects are about investing in the things that make island life work – our roads, housing, community facilities and businesses – while also improving the experience for people who come to visit.

“We’re a small community, but we have big ambitions. Securing funding for projects of this scale is a real achievement and reflects the hard work of our volunteers, staff, trustees and funding partners.

“It’s an exciting time for Rùm, and it’s fantastic to see work now getting underway across so many different areas of community life.”

Elle Hutchinson, Visitor services manager, said: “This is a really exciting time to be part of the Isle of Rùm’s journey. Rùm already welcomes a huge number of visitors each year, and it’s fantastic to see this investment recognising the importance of tourism to the island. 

“We’re really excited about the package of projects now getting underway and the opportunities they bring to improve facilities and the overall visitor experience.”

For media inquiries, please contact IRCT on: info@isleofrum.com

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After a successful inaugural event earlier this year, we are delighted to share that the Isle of Rum’s Dark Sky Festival will return next year from February 6th-8th.

The weekend’s timetable is yet to be released, but you can expect expert guided stargazing, sessions in a mobile planetarium provided by Aerospace Kinross, as well as astrophotography and arts workshops.

We are incredibly excited to announce our 2027 guest speaker, Professor Catherine Heymans, Scotland’s Astronomer Royal.

Professor Heymans said: ““I’m ever so excited to be joining the Rum community for their Dark Sky Festival.  

“I’ll be crossing all my fingers and toes for cloudless nights so we can gaze up at Rum’s pristine dark skies and see our cosmos just teeming with stars.  For this city-dweller, I know it will be an unforgettable experience.”

Admission to the Isle of Rum Dark Sky Festival is free, and accommodation can be booked at Rum Bunkhouse, campsite & camping pods, Ivy Cottage, and Harbour BBQ Hut.

To enjoy the entire weekend, ferry travel is possible on Saturday morning from Mallaig, returning on Monday afternoon.

The post Isle of Rum Dark Sky Festival 2027 first appeared on Welcome to the Isle of Rum.

Experience this rare and fascinating event surrounded by the wild beauty of Scotland’s Dark Sky Sanctuary. As the moon passes in front of the sun, we will gather as a community to watch the changing light, share the moment, and learn more about what is happening in the sky above us.

Solar eclipse viewing glasses will be available on site for a suggested donation of £1. A solar telescope will also be set up for safe viewing, giving you a closer look at the eclipse as it unfolds.

Whether you are a keen stargazer or just curious, this casual gathering is for everyone.

Safety is important when viewing a solar eclipse. Please do not look directly at the sun without proper eye protection. Only use certified eclipse glasses or the solar telescope provided. Regular sunglasses are not safe for viewing the sun.

We’ll have seating available and some marshmallows over a toasty fire – wear something weather appropriate, possibly a midge net, and enjoy an unforgettable evening with neighbours and visitors alike.

No booking required – just come along and be part of it.

Fancy joining the Isle of Rum Dark Sky Association and being the first to hear about events, news and updates on the sky above us? Join our mailing list

The post Solar Eclipse Viewing Party first appeared on Welcome to the Isle of Rum.

Tippity-tap, tippity-tap, Ella skipped along the path. “Oh no!”, a great river appeared before her. She couldn’t go round it, she couldn’t go under it, but, because this isn’t We’re Going on a Bear Hunt, she could go over it. A very nicely built but rather run down bridge crossed the torrent as it flowed out to sea. This was her way to the shop, and more maple syrup! But – unbeknown to the little billy goat I mean Ella – this bridge was being repainted by a beastly Troll.

“Who goes there?” A voice came from behind the balustrade. “Can’t you see there’s loads of wet paint?” Ella was frightened. But then, she heard the poor troll sigh off camera. “All year long people use this bridge, but no one seems to care for it. And here I am, all alone, fixing it up a glorious red…Woe is me, woe is me, sad thing, etc. etc.”

As it turns out, fairy tale trolls are wildly misunderstood creatures and have been defamed by centuries of literature with creepy woodcut illustrations for little more reason that the fact they are lumpy and like to eat small children. Quite unfair. No one has ever considered their diligent maintenance of community facilities.

Until now. Little billy goat Ella was not eaten that day. Instead, she gave a much needed helping hand to the repainting of the bridge by the sea. It now shines as if brand new, and brightens up her walk to the village shop. The Troll was also befriended, and has joined the troupe of volunteers at the Bunkhouse. Small children, beware.

The other volunteers are humans. They are also quite skilled. Under the direction of our resident professional decorator, Amélie, two local houses are having their bedrooms transformed (not real magic, just painting). The 19th century Lime Kiln has been released from the clutches of the undergrowth, as have pathways around the village. A not very on-fire-bonfire cleared some of the woodland debris. Sanding and varnishing of the campsite shall ensue. Some volunteers are also teaching lessons with the school children. The class about the History of France was very successful, with almost every of the five children reciting the fact that the French kill their royalty.

Keeping everyone fuelled up, we’ve had freshly baked cheesecake, banana breads, sourdoughs, quiche, focaccias, pastas, curries – essentially, anything warm and beige. Life is good.

The post They never warn you about the troll on top of the bridge. first appeared on Welcome to the Isle of Rum.

“Come on giiiiirls! We are the most amazing girls!” Amélie cries, right before she lunges, hip deep, into the bog. The rain cuts down upon us at a diagonal. Such is the pattern of our walk.

It’s a rainy day (it’s winter on Rum). The cloud is low and, after much deliberation, we leave the Bunkhouse mid-morning. The change in the weather brought about a change in our plans and we set out, not for Dibidil bothy, but for Guirdil. The first leg is plain sailing, along the track to Kilmory. A group of hinds scatter in the valley below as we make our worst attempts to bark at them. Things get a big soggier as we take the left turning off onto the path and over the hills. After a little while, we meet another hiker coming towards us. “Are you headed to Guirdil bothy?” He asks. “Yes!” we beam back. “I wouldn’t if I were you” – and goes on to explain that, after the heavy rain this weekend, the river is too swollen to cross. Funnily enough, however, we’re not him. So we will go. Instead of crossing the river at the path’s ford, however, we decide to turn off the path now, further up the valley where it’s narrower and more jumpable, and then hug it down the valley to the bothy.

In retrospect, this call made absolutely no difference to how dry we stayed or wet we got. If anything, we probably all got wetter. We could have simply taken off our boots and socks to cross the big river if we’d stayed with the path.

In any case, we choose the bog-walk and, after much tumbling, stumbling, plunging, and laughing, we re-joined the path on the crest of the cliffs before Guirdil. We all stand still . Looking out over the sea from the cliff tops, the land orange in the dying grasses and the sea grey and blown back white in the rain, it’s so exciting to be so peaceful.

We break into a jog as we see the bothy in the bay below us. Just as we’d hoped: a little house of stone facing the sea. Wild goats and a few hinds lumber about the shingle. We go in. No one is here, but notes pinned on the walls and a guest book on the window sill welcome us into the group of those who have been here before.

Getting the fire going is a little slow at first, but we’ve carried dry wood with us, and the previous visitors have left behind some dry kindling. That’s bothy courtesy – we do the same the next morning as we leave. In a change of clothes, with the fire (eventually) roaring, pot noodles have never tasted so good. We’ve also carried a few beers with us (as experienced hikers, we know only to bring the essentials…) and settle in for a 4.30pm sunset and night ahead of firelight, chatting, and quiz questions from a tattered book propped in the corner. I think the score card might have got chucked in the flames.

8pm. Wood all burnt, the night air cools. It’s officially bedtime. This was probably the longest sleep any of us have had since arriving on Rum. And, up in the mezzanine, it was a very cosy sleep.

Waking up to the sound of no rain, it seems we have a good day ahead of us. Sheer wind buffets us as we find (or don’t) the path between the mountains back to the track towards Kinloch. The clouds tumble over the hills and all peaks are hidden from view, their heights left to the imagination’s freedom. After a brief lunch break of bread and cheese within the shelter of a bridge, we carry on, practically singing, to the village.

Soaked to the skin, smiling from ear to ear, we’ve all finally slept in a bothy, explored a new part of the island, and have built up a good appetite for several helpings of lasagne.

The post The Bog and the Bothy first appeared on Welcome to the Isle of Rum.

It’s 3.24pm and the feeling has finally returned to my toes. Ella’s nose has stopped running. Meike’s body temperature still has not returned. I wonder if she will make it through the winter [insert sickly-Victorian-child cough]. Whatever happens as a result, I think we’re all glad we went in.

Cold water swimming is taken to a whole new depth on the Isle of Rum. Wind and rain compete to make “dry land” somehow more uncomfortable than the wet world of Loch Scresort in November. Add in the 5pm pitch-black darkness of a stormy night, and you’ve got yourself between a rock and a hard place – or rather, between two incredibly wet, cold, and tumultuous places.

“Why are we doing this?”, “When did I agree to this?”, “Am I mad?!” – we each ask ourselves as we gallop in bounces and sprints down the road. We’re screeching with laughter mingled with panic, half dreading and half excited for the piercing cold of the water, trying to imagine it, to mentally prepare ourselves for whatever we were about to voluntarily do to ourselves. We’re jogging partly to get there quicker (and get it over and done with, quicker), partly to keep warm. Besides, splashing through puddles en route is a decent preparation for the plunge.

This is the usual build up to a wild swim. Half-this, half-that. But once in, everything because clear-cut. No more half-scared, half-hyped. No more anticipatory dread. Just pure, overwhelming joy.

It’s impossible not to smile with that first stroke through the waves (even with a mouthful of salt water, timing a dive poorly into a crest). Smiling: at the shock, at the cold, at the pride of doing this, at the ridiculousness of the whole thing, at the closeness to nature. And, privately, we smile at the insane knowledge that we want to do this again, and again, and again. The morning after that night-storm swim with the girls, I snuck off early before feeding the horses and tested myself again in the glassy water. As a group, we’re already planning and fearing our next dip…

The post Swimming in the Rain first appeared on Welcome to the Isle of Rum.

The last few days have been action packed from start to finish. And that’s “action” as in “daily jobs which seem novel and peculiar but that’s just island life”.

As has become my routine, I dragged a fellow volunteer – this time, Ella – out of bed early doors to feed the horses down the lane. Out of routine, however, the horses did not trot over to the fence to get their breakfast. My first thought was that they had, finally, got tired of hay. I wondered what had been the final straw. Then Betsy came gambling over. Where was Athena? Ella and I clumsily rolled the bale over the fence and climbed over after it. We separated out a couple of pinches, and went in search of the absent mare.

“What a nice patch of mud you got there”, Ella joked, as we saw her standing rather moodily in the far corner of the field. “Honestly, of all the grass there is, she chooses to stake a claim to the mud”, I rolled my eyes. Upon closer inspection, however, we were proved too quick to judge the sulking lady.

A tangle of old wire fencing had somehow noosed itself round one of her back legs above her hoof – just on the pastern. She had, presumably, been there quite a while trying to tug herself out, given she now stood patiently waiting for Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dee to come and release her.

And we did just that. Ella stood by her head to comfort whilst I, gently but firmly, got covered in mud. In the process of which, the horse was freed. This required a bit more jollying along than expected as it seemed Athena – despite her heroic name – had resigned herself to this tangled fate. But in the end, all was well, and she meandered away to join her friend for some hay.

Stranded pony saved, it was time for our breakfast and a day’s work.

As it transpired, freeing a pony in the morning was a perfect premonition to my own afternoon situation. After several hours clearing elbow and knee deep grass from the Nature Trail ditch, I came home to find I’d brought back two little stowaways. Ticks are replete on this island – anywhere, in fact, that deer are. They are also, if left in too long or pulled out incorrectly (leaving the head in) potentially rather dangerous and spreaders of Lymes Disease and other such nasty things.

Marching proudly into the sitting room and declaring, “I’ve got TWO!”, I looked around for someone to entrust with a pair of tweezers and stuck out my arm. Dylan seemed the most appropriate surgeon, having previously been a butcher (he is also, we were to discover the next day, a barber. Two professions not to be confused by the practitioner in an absent minded moment).

Other than that, we carried out our tasks smoothly. Amélie led the sanding and painting of the Bunkhouse reception, Meike only got a little bit covered in paint, Dylan stalked the local woodland with an axe, and Ella made her mark burning in the new bunkhouse welcome sign.

Saturday evening was all excitement as we prepared for the village curry night. I made a dahl. Naturally, Amélie made crêpes. Us volunteers were also delighted to discover an-almost-fully-equipped pool table, and a Girls v Boys tournament quickly organised itself (and did not end in tears).

Fuelled up on curry carbs (and crêpes), we saw Sunday morning in planning an expedition for our days off. The armchairs we’re sat in are getting comfier, the rain outside steadier, and the plans more diverse. We will go, though – somewhere.

That’s the amazing thing about Rum: no matter what changes in plan happen, what weather shifts seem to change hearts and minds, you’ll always see something beautiful and unique.

Until next time…

The post On Removing Ticks and Horses first appeared on Welcome to the Isle of Rum.

A perfect combination for a lunch-break! Thanks to our resident French chef/decorator, Amélie, we had a leftover cheese soufflé from yesterday’s team dinner. This was, to everyone’s surprise, a perfect side to Garbanzo bean stew made by Aussie bloke Dylan. Even more of a surprise: next-day soufflé makes an excellent sandwich filling.

It was following this lunch (itself following sanding & varnishing shelves and signs, clearing ditches, painting the kitchen, and lending a hand to polytunnel weeding) that we found ourselves lobbing single-hand axes at an ad hoc target on a rotten tree stump. “It’s a team building activity”, we were assured.

It turns out Dylan can do more than make a mean bean stew: he’s a real pro at teaching, and chucking, the axe throw. More laughs than accidents happened, and each of us – eventually – got one or two blades convincingly in the stump. So all in all, it was a successful team building (not whittling) event.

The volunteer work itself has also proved to be effective for team building. Amélie and I shared our start to the day carrying a hay bale up to the horses and giving them a “good morning” pat. The world grew into dawn, from grey to pink to gold and blue, and the horses stomped and steamed.

When we got back to the bunkhouse the others had risen, and we were ready to set to work in teams. Dylan joined Amélie in the kitchen: filling, sanding and painting. Outside, Meike, Ella and I set off with wheelbarrow and strimmer in hand to tackle the Nature Trail.

This Trail runs for about two kilometres over the island, through fields and woodland, and makes for a very pleasant and accessible walk for visitors during the season. At the moment, however, it is perhaps a bit too much ‘nature’ and not enough ‘trail’. During these winter months, us volunteers set to strimming, lopping, dragging, and all out generally clearing the pathway to enable those summertime sojourns. Occasionally, my teammates had some extra work on their hands as they untangled me from the bramble vines, which I had somehow got in the middle of.

A particularly satisfying section was, for Meike and me, digging out the ditch. Walking along the path, you’d be justified in thinking that safe ground lies either side of you. But, step that way, and you’d fall foot first through a tangle of grass into a waterlogged ditch. Thanks to our efficient German engineer and happy-to-be-muddy Brit, however, you can now walk that path clearly seeing, and steering clear of, a fully flowing drainage ditch.

Work done and axes thrown, we regrouped in the last of the light to take a stroll around the woods behind the castle. Of course, this couldn’t be done without peaking inside said castle. Lurid sights loomed through the murky rooms and dusty window panes. Lion skin carpets with heads posed in muted roar; stuffed eagles permanently at the point of snatching petrified prey; luxurious silk sofas turn dull and rot, and dainty teacups fill with dust. We threw about some very interesting ideas as to what to do with this ruin. Full-scale-ball-pit-adventure-playground was the resounding winner, and as the daylight turned to dusk, we made our way back, happy entrepreneurs, to a homemade pizza supper and fireside chats.

The post Soufflé Sandwiches and Axe Throwing first appeared on Welcome to the Isle of Rum.

That’s what I learn when trying to connect to the WiFi to write this blog. We’re sat at the dining table, looking out over the patch of green before the stretch of blue. A little golden dog walks past on a lead. “Guess what his name is”, Alex says. Meike looks up from her work – burning the lettering into the newly sanded wooden signposts. I’m already starring out, hypnotised by the gentle waves coming into shore. “Biscuit?” I pose. Apparently not. He’s Kevin. This is just one of many things which will surprise and delight you on the Isle of Rum.

The other big surprise we all had was how much you can see in the dark. Last night – our first one on the island – the six of us piled into a borrowed Land Rover and bumped down the main road (really, a track) to Harris and then up to Kilmory to measure the quality of darkness across the island. This is part of Rum’s International Dark Skies application. But for us volunteers newly off the ferry, it was also a chance to get our bearings. And, as it turned out, to see the sites.

Lumbering gently along the road (again, it’s a track) we caught a few stags in the headlights. Some older ones, who stood confidently, gave us a composed stare, and then strolled off into the grass. Then some younger ones, whose antlers were mere twigs and points. They splayed themselves out in panic at the headlights, probably never having been this close to a vehicle before. Zig-zag, zig-zag, then leap! they’d be gone in a flurry of hooves and headshakes.

Eyes would catch the car lights too, off either side of the track. Two – or four – small metallic white circles burned out from the darkness. Several times, we crawled down to a near-standstill, wound down our windows and shone our torches to see what animal these eyes were attached to. Deer, stags, wild ponies. With everyone else asleep in the village, we were probably the only people for miles around.

After about half an hour, we reached Harris. “You’ll never guess what’s out here”, Alex said. And he was right. I don’t think any of us were expecting an early-twentieth century mausoleum resembling an ancient Greek temple. Nor were we expecting to explore the old Lodge right next to it. Ella got chucked the key (sadly not a rusty monster of a key like a Gothic castle would have, but it did the job) and in we went. Wood panelling, a dislodged stove, mattresses and skeletons of sofas furnished the disused rooms. Kettles were strewn throughout the house, as if ready to welcome hikers in need of shelter with a warming brew. Hopefully, the welcome will be a little less ghostly in 2025 when the refurb is complete.

“Guys…!” We were called around the side of the Lodge: the Aurora hummed grey-green in the distance. We stood in silence. Beneath us, the waves crashed into the invisible cliff face, the surf aglow with its own power and light.

The dark sky measurements showed good readings – a very dark sky. But down below it on the ground, the island was lit up for our eyes and imaginations, which our future explorations will reveal.

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