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.

IRCT own the village of Kinloch and surrounding land and assets on the Isle of Rum in the Small Isles, and work in partnership with the island’s other owners, Nature Scot to secure a sustainable future for the island and its community.

IRCT have a Board of Directors mostly comprised of community residents, with additional Director roles being available to Nature Scot, MOWI and the Highland Council.

More information about IRCT can be found here. In recent years the Trust have undertaken several major development projects including the development of a 20 bed bunkhouse through its subsidiary Rum Enterprise, and developed 4 new houses which has brought new people to Rum and protected key services on the island. The island population is c40. It is currently engaged in projects to develop a community hub and build more new housing to continue to grow the
population.

More information about Rum can be found here.

The Chair role

IRCT have an active Board of Directors supported by full and part time staff. This team work closely together in the running and shaping of the activities of the Trust towards our goal of supporting and developing healthy community life in the village of Kinloch on the Isle of Rum. Since its founding, IRCT has often had an off-island director who has acted as an independent Chair. Day to day operational decisions are usually led by island directors and operational staff. The Trust currently employs one full time Development Officer based off island, and one part time Administrator/Company Secretary who is an island resident. We also contract two financial/bookkeeping advisors who are based on mainland. The Chair role is to lead the team of directors, staff and other contractors/advisors, ensuring robust decision making and good governance, and to provide skills to support the Board/staff team and to act generally as an ambassador for Rum and the Trust.

Directors have line management responsibility for staff. Currently, a Director also acts as Treasurer and liaises with the off-island bookkeeper and accountant.

What skills will a Chair have?

As a small organisation, this role would be excellent grounding for someone wishing to gain Board experience in community and business development. The following skills would be useful, although not essential.

1. Experience and understanding of supporting and leading a team comprising of a voluntary Board and full and part time staff

2. Experience at managing meetings, setting agendas and working in a Board situation

3. Experience of running a small business, social enterprise or community development trust

4. An understanding of accounts (noting IRCT employ a book keeper and accountant.)

5. An understanding of rural development and the issues facing communities like Rum

6. Experience of rural housing development and management

7. A good network of contacts in Scotland and the ability to act as an ambassador for Rum

We are looking for a Chair who is articulate, passionate and engaging and can represent Rum to a range of stakeholders. This includes the community on Rum. They must be able to work collaboratively and consensually.

Time commitment

The Chair role would require the equivalent of 2 days per month, but this could be spread over the month. This could include travel to Rum for which expenses would be paid. However, as is usual today, most meetings are undertaken remotely. Board meetings are held every 6 weeks or so. The Chair would be expected to travel to Rum at least 3 times a year.

The role is unpaid although reasonable travel and subsistence expenses would be paid.

For expressions of interest, please send us an email here.

The post Advertisement for Role of Chair – The Isle of Rum Community Trust 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.

The post There’s a dog called Kevin on Rum first appeared on Welcome to the Isle of Rum.

There is also a school on the island, which has a population of about 40, making the opportunity possible for a young family.

Steve Robertson, development officer at the trust, said the shop was “the hub of the village”.

“It’s really a centre for the island,” he said. “It can work as a pub, with people buying alcohol and drinking outside. But it is also the pharmacy and the post office as there is nowhere else to buy anything.”

There are also potential business ventures for those feeling a bit more entrepreneurial. Mr Robertson spoke about the trust’s ongoing plans to build a new, nearby “community hub” in the next three years.

He said the plans would hopefully include a new shop and cafe, depending on how much funding the organisation can raise.

“It means whoever takes on the shop can maybe look ahead to working with this development in about three years’ time,” he said.

Mr Robertson said Isle of Rum’s venison was “under-used” and gets shipped over to the mainland.

“There’s an opportunity for whoever takes on the shop to process the venison we have here, of which there is plenty, and make it more widely available to locals,” he said.

Mr Robertson said the ideal candidate or candidates would be comfortable with the idea of running a small business for a community. And, of course, enjoy island life.

“It’s a challenging place to run a business, with it being the only shop on the island” he said. “But for some people, it is the ideal sort of environment and exactly what they want.”

Three years ago, Mr Roberts said the trust received about 4,000 enquiries and 400 applications for new houses that were built on the island at the time.

“It was a phenomenal response,” he said. “I don’t think we’ll be short of interest for this.”

To apply: Email irct.shopapplication@gmail.com with a CV and covering email detailing why this opportunity is perfect for you and your family. We will then send you an application form for further information.

Application closes 5th May 2023.

The post Opportunity to run the Isle of Rum shop first appeared on Welcome to the Isle of Rum.

Please complete the short survey here

The post CalMac Summer 2023 timetable Survey first appeared on Welcome to the Isle of Rum.

Visitors are asked to avoid Barkeval, Hallival, Askival and Trollaval above the 450m contour line until 14th October 2022, by which time the Manx Shearwater chicks will have fledged.

Further information is available on the NatureScot website here

The post Access Information for the Rum Cuillin – August 2022 first appeared on Welcome to the Isle of Rum.