Esther Phoebe Rutter 13/11/2023 Esther Phoebe Rutter 13/11/2023

Books and Knitting

October flew by in a bit of a blur, a blur which became even blurrier towards the end of the month when I contracted Covid on my birthday and the family had to spend much of the following fortnight in quarantine. Fortunately my husband didn’t get it this time, so was able to stay on his feet to look after the rest of us.

But it’s has been a good month for books and knitting - both excellent sedentary activities - so here comes a bit of a round-up of some of my favourites…

Knitting Book:

The Art of Landscape Knitting by Anne Le Brocq is a really exciting new publication from David&Charles which, as the title suggests, marries two of my great loves: landscapes and knitting. Anne is a lecturer in Physical Geography from the University of Exeter who has applied her knowledge of the natural world to design knitting motifs which represent the physical realities of places. Rocks, plants, sand, waves, weather, and many other landscape elements are rendered as a series of 50 knitting designs (charted and written) that can be used to make unique patterns for blankets. Knitters are encouraged to combine motifs in the way that best represents their own loved landscapes, though there are also seven complete patterns that can be followed exactly: Sunny Beach, Summer Mountain, Stormy Beach, Bluebell Wood, Deciduous Wood, Snowy Mountain, and Pebbly Beach.

What I really enjoy about this book is that it has me absolutely itching to make some things inspired by my own favourite places - and gave me the tools to do that, in really clear and well-presented formats (I do love a good knitting chart). It also encourages really close observation of the natural world - what type of clouds can we see, what are the individual shapes of pebbles on a shore, what are the shapes of different types of plant leaves. The accompanying photos are gorgeous - and full credit to Anne for capturing the finished items in the environments which inspired them!

You can order a copy from Blackwells, WH Smith or you lovely local yarn shop (mine is the Woolly Brew in Pittenweem).

Other Books

The Farmer’s Wife by Helen Rebanks is a rarity in that it is a book I picked up at a supermarket - Booths in Penrith, to be exact. I was there because it was half-term (Fife schools get a fortnight) and so me, the kids, my friend Sophie and her three-year-old daughter decamped to Cumbria for some family fun. No, not Centre Parcs, but… Sheep School! This was an idea Sophie and I came up with when we went on a peg looming workshop and realised that, if we bought a fleece, a couple of bits of wood and some dowel, we could help the kids make their own looms and weave with them - and that it would probably take the best part of a week. So that is what we did, in a little holiday cottage in the pretty village of Great Strickland. The kids had a great time turning the raw fleece into dolly blankets, me and Sophie spent the evenings knitting over a couple of glasses of wine, and we all ventured out for some foraging and a slightly truncated trip to the pub (where my daughter threw up - she’s only five and hadn’t even touched my beer, I promise!)

The Farmer’s Wife was a very fitting book to read on that trip, not least because its author and her young family (of four children) had lived in the village next door to where we were staying. Helen’s husband is the farmer-author James Rebanks whose books, The Shepherd’s Life and English Pastoral, detail his family history and personal experience of hill farming in the Lake District, and Helen’s debut shows the domestic side of that life: all the cooking, cleaning, child-rearing and administration that go in to creating an extraordinary nature-friendly family farm. I think it would be difficult to get the full picture of that life if you haven’t already read James’ books, but as I have (and loved them) I was keen to see Helen’s perspective on things, as hers is a view hugely under-represented in the literary canon: that of the hardly-seen but hard-working farmer’s wife.

The Farmer’s Wife is a deeply ordinary book - and I don’t mean that as an insult. Helen does not shy away from recording all the graft that not only she but her mother, mother-in-law, and countless other female family members have put in to make life on a hill farm possible. For those of us who are the primary carers and home-makers in our own families, it is deeply relatable - even if all the land and livestock we have are a few window boxes and a pet hamster. The narrative is interspersed with some of Helen’s favourite recipes, and though I haven’t yet tried any I do know her cooking is good, as a decade ago I took a couple of groups of school kids up to the Rebanks’ farm (as part of a project called Land Keepers) and James showed them his beautiful Herdwick sheep whilst Helen cooked up some delicious ‘Herdy burgers’ for them to try.

Behind the Seams

Esme Young’s Behind the Seams is the complete opposite of Helen’s rural domesticity: the tale of a woman who has spent her whole working life in London, co-founding and running an avant-garde clothing business (Swanky Modes) and having a life full of deadlines, parties, friendship, partners and adventure - with very little in the livestock or babies departments! Esme is just as hard-working as Helen, but in the spheres of art, fashion, sewing, pattern-cutting and, in her 70s, television (you’ll no doubt recognise her from The Great British Sewing Bee, which I have to admit to never having seen). I really enjoyed following Esme on her utterly unique path through life - I imagine that she is just like her prose, sparky and full of irreverent humour.

Making

I am continuing to enjoy re-learning to sew: my Mum did teach me the basics when I was younger, but although I’ve reupholstered a sofa and turned out a couple of pairs of (slightly imperfect) curtains, I had never really got into making my own clothes. So armed with How to Sew Clothes by the All Well Workshop I’ve now progressed from the sleeveless box-top to a long-sleeved, double-pocketed cotton version, which I overdyed to get a deep red colour. It’s now in the wash and I haven’t got a good picture of it, but I did wear it when I was out with my family on my birthday - photo below. I also made a simple fabric storage box and have started a cardigan coat, made from an old woollen shawl that I never wore - which is not quite finished, but does only need pockets and a lining.

This has been a month of not finishing knitted things, starting with my good intentions for Socktober. I joined Sofia’s Tales Mystery Sock Knit-A-Long (KAL), hoping that it would inspire me to finish a pair of hand-knitted socks in a month, as I love to wear them but somehow never quite get round to making them for myself. Unfortunately, I didn’t really like the pattern that came with the KAL, so switched to pattern called Togetherness by Little Home Designs - which is beautiful (and free, if you fancy having a go yourself), but my socks are languishing at the heel turns…

I have also been experimenting with combining a strand of silk/mohair lace-weight (from My Mama Knits) with some lovely Coburger Fuchsschaf (the German breed Coburg Fox Sheep) 4-ply, sent to me by the delightful Ericka Eckles. It has begun to be a cropped Romy jumper, but I have only just cast on, so this is likely to be a pretty long Work-in-Progress.

And there have been some Christmas knits too - but I’m not ready to share these with you yet…

Esther Phoebe Rutter 29/09/2023 Esther Phoebe Rutter 29/09/2023

Sweet September

I love autumn and really revel in the seasonal shift as we move away from summer. I think it’s partly to do with knitting, as there’s nothing nicer than snuggling up with a pile of yarn and a lovely pattern as the nights draw in. It might also have something to do with having an autumn birthday, or maybe it’s the gorgeous colours of the leaeves turning, or the fresh feeling in the air (properly hot weather is not my favourite) - but I also get a burst of energy alongside the ‘back to school’ feel which is much appreciated.

Book: This year a lot of that energy has been taken up with making the final manuscript revisions to my next book, All Before Me: A Search for Belonging in Wordsworth’s Lake District. This is the cover, with original artwork by Holly Acland - do check out her other work too, as I really like her style and use of colour:

I love the leaves and plants, and the way it reminds me of classic mid-twentieth century railway posters - plus the way the background could be lakes, sky, or both. It’s due for publication in March 2024, and you can pre-order your copy here: https://www.waterstones.com/book/all-before-me/esther-rutter/9781783787951

**Makes**: For many knitters, September has become synonymous with the woolly extravaganza that is Shetland Wool Week. I have been to the festival twice - in 2017 and 2019 - but this year, with the five-year-old at school and a babe-in-arms, I’m enjoying it vicariously from the comfort of home in Fife. As well as following #shetlandwoolweek on social media and luxuriating in Wool Week annuals from previous years, I’ve been knitting with Shetland yarn - specifically, West Yorkshire Spinners’ The Croft Aran, produced from 100% British Shetland wool in partnership with Shetland Woolbrokers Jamieson and Smith. Each 100g skein offers 182 yards or 166 metres of yarn, so I’ve been able to get two projects (almost…) out of two skeins.

First up: a pair of **Hyak Socks**. Hyak is a great, simple pattern by Kim Swingle for Tolt Yarn and Wool. These were a present for a friend with UK size 12/13 feet and I used some Iona Wool Aran-weight yarn for the contrast colour at the top, heel and toe (in fact, leftovers in ‘Lichen’ and ‘Silver’ from the Compass Cross Hat inspired by our time on Muck earlier this year.) For most size feet you could get a pair out of just a single skein of the main colour (the pattern recommends 146m for size Large, which I would cover you up to about UK size 10 - plus 106m for the contrast), but I did need just a touch more for this bad boys!

Second: a tiny **Forest Sweater** for the babe-in-arms who turns one this weekend. This time I combined The Croft I had left from the Hyaks with a little bit of leftover Iona Wool Aran-weight in ‘Green’ (a 2017 shade), which I think makes a really successful contrast for colourwork. I love the pattern - a great kids’ knit and superfast and fun - but can’t show you the finished item as it’s not yet complete, and I’m definitely playing yarn chicken with both yarns… sotune in next time to find out if I actually finish it or whether the baby will have to make do with chillly wrists.

Films: This week I have two films to share with you. The first is a short documentary on the Shetland Bus - which of course wasn’t a ‘bus’ at all, but a covert World War 2 operation that saw the British Special Operations Executive support the Norwegian Resistance against the Nazi occupiers in Norway using Norwegian fishing boats and crews from a base in Shetland. I’ve been rereading David Howarth’s autobiographical account of working on the base (which was first at Lunna and later Scalloway), but also enjoying this film, produced for Scalloway Museum:

The other film I’ve really enjoyed is The Nettle Dress, a bittersweet 68-minute exploration of textiles, nature, grief, and life itself. I loved its beautiful, slow, meditative quality and it’s being shown at various arthouse cinemas across the UK, so do have a wee look at this trailer and, if you like what you see, check if it’s coming to a screen near you: https://www.nettledress.org/watch

Esther Phoebe Rutter 25/08/2023 Esther Phoebe Rutter 25/08/2023

Back to Blogging

Travels, makes, books and music from the summer

Hello dear readers - and apologies for the five-month silence from my blog. Since leaving Muck we’ve had plenty of adventures that I’ve been wanting to share with you, but it’s been a bit of a whirlwind as I’ve spent only three weeks at home in that whole period. So it’s only now I’m back at my desk, with our oldest kid at school (she’s just started in Primary 1 and is very excited to be a Big Girl) and the youngest at the childminder, that I’ve finally got the time to share a few snippets of what we’ve been up to since I last wrote. Hold on to your hats…

The first thing we did after leaving Muck was to head straight to Suffolk. Very sadly, two of my aunts had been ill with dementia and cancer, and both of them died in April. Though Jayne died the day after we left the island, we were able to visit Thelma a few more times, both at home and in her local hospital, before she died peacefully one afternoon with her youngest sister at her side. They were wonderful - though very different - aunties: Thelma very much the matriarch, always looking out for her siblings and many nieces and nephews; Jayne full of fun, laughter - and rarely seen without a cigarette in her hand! We miss them very much.

Following Jayne’s funeral we left immediately for Vienna, taking the train all the way from Bury St Edmunds to Austria: me, Tom, my mum, and the two kids (then aged 4 years, and seven months). It took about 18 hours but all went very smoothly, even when we accidentally booked onto a phantom train that saw us stuck in Brussels for an extra two hours. After Austria we headed to the Dolomites, then the Italian Lakes, and finally Switzerland. We had a fantastic time, and thoroughly enjoyed travelling across Europe by train as a family. This was largely due to the brilliance that are family carriages: whole sections of trains dedicated to kids, with space for pushchairs, playing games, and no expectation from other passengers about children sitting still and quiet. Having sampled the carriages of ÖBB (Austrian Federal Railways), DB (German Rail), SBB (Swiss Federal Railways), and Trenitalia (Italian Trains), I can say that the size, style, and comfort of the Familienzone vary, but their existence makes travelling with children a lot of fun and far less stressful - and I hope they are adopted in the UK soon.

We also managed to squeeze in a few visits to family upon our return (including a wedding in London and a trip to the Lake District), and a short holiday in Shropshire just before the start of the school term. Unfortunately we also got Covid (and for me mastitis) so there’s also been some very necessary convalescence and recuperation time as well. And when we weren’t doing any of the above, I’ve been putting the finishing touches to the manuscript (and typescript) of All Before Me, my next book. Due out on 7th March 2024, it’s an exploration of the power of poetry, people, and places to heal us and transform our lives - and I can’t wait to share it with you.

Now I’m back at my desk in our spare room in Fife, with a blank page in front of me and the scent of autumn on the air. I’m not rushing into a new book-writing project just yet, but thought that a gentle return to blogging might be just the thing. I’m aiming to write once a week - which makes sense, as I only have one (short) day when both kids are at school/childminder’s - and to share some of the things I’ve been reading, making, and listening to as we go through the year. Here we go…

Congratulations to Jane Cooper on the publication of *The Lost Flock!*

Book:

Today’s book is brand-new: in fact, it has just been published today! The Lost Flock, published by Chelsea Green, is a real-life tale of ‘rare wool, wild isles and one woman’s journey to save Scotland’s original sheep’. The original sheep in question are known as ‘the Lost Flock’, a group of Borerays taken from their eponymous St Kildan island at some point in the mid-twentieth century but whose exact whereabouts have remained a mystery. Jane Cooper is the woman who - by chance - found them, and The Lost Flock tells the story of how her love for animals, knitting, and good food changed her life, and the lives of knitters, neighbours, farmers, and visitors both in Orkney and far beyond. It is a lovely read, combining Jane’s personal story with that of the Boreray sheep and a history of rare breed farming in Scotland, and Jane is a personable, knowledgable companion that you just want to spend more time with. I can safely say that the ‘real life’ Jane is just the same - she generously welcomed me to Burnside Farm to meet her Borerays when I was researching This Golden Fleece, and gave me some of her first commerically-spun yarn from her flock: undyed St Kilda Laceweight, which went on to become the centre of the shawl I made for my first baby (who, thought I didn’t know it at the time, was actually with me on that trip to Orkney).

If you have an interest in knitting, farming, or life on Orkney then I do recommend getting your hands on a copy of The Lost Flock. Readable and inspiring, it had me itching to start keeping a wee flock of Borerays myself… But even if that isn’t possible, I’m looking forward to knitting with some St Kilda Laceweight (I believe Blacker Yarns are due to release a new batch soon so keep an eye on their website), and maybe even sampling a bit of Burneside Boreray mutton, which you can order from Macbeths for delivery across the UK. For, as I’ve heard many farmers say, the best way to keep a rare breed alive is to eat it! Jane’s website OrnkeyBoreray.com has loads of information about the sheep and what is being made from them and their fleece, and you can order your copy of The Lost Flock from any good bookshop - Blackwell’s currently have it on special offer: https://blackwells.co.uk/bookshop/product/The-Lost-Flock-by-Jane-Cooper/9781915294135

Makes:

My making has to be sandwiched around travel, writing, childcare, cooking, cleaning up, and doing the school run (or rather, walk), so progress is slow. Having always been a product rather than process knitter, I’m learning to savour the joy in sneaking a few stitches where I can. Fortunately most of what I’ve been knitting have been baby-sized, so I do have some finished items to share with you! Four of my friends and family have had baby girls in the last couple of months, and each of them has been welcomed with a woolly: either a Gidday Baby or POP! Cardigan, usually using DK yarn and made in a size 3 - 6 months so they get a bit more wear than a newborn size. Sometimes I’ll add a hat if I’ve got enough left-over yarn…

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So welcome, Èibhlin, Erin, Audrey, and Ada - I hope these woollies keep you warm for your first autumn!

I’ve also been really enjoying relearning how to machine-sew clothes, and I’m particularly proud of my brand-new Box Top. This is an adaptable design from All Well Workshop which I made in Ghost Saltines Goldenrod 100% cotton fabric, made in Japan and designed by Ruby Star of Melody Miller, a collective of five women textile designers. I adore the colour which is absolutely perfect for this golden time of year, and I loved customising the pattern to include a wide boat neck, a little patch pocket, and split hem. I had to adapt the pattern a bit (well, I ended up unpicking and remaking it) as I was between sizes, but I’m really pleased with how it fits and feels, and can’t wait to make another one! This time with long sleeves I think, to reflect the cooler temperatures of autumn…

And finally - I thought you might enjoy a bit of something I like to listen to whilst I’m making. Gulp are a band we listen to a lot in our house: they combine vintage synths and a beat you can dance to (very important for the 5 year old) with gentle psychadelic vibes. Morning Velvet Sky is one of my favourite tracks from their last album and I think it’s the perfect song for this time of year. So sit back with your knitting and enjoy - and I’ll see you next week for some more stories, books, makes, and music.

Esther Phoebe Rutter 05/04/2023 Esther Phoebe Rutter 05/04/2023

Post-Muckdate: News and Knitting Patterns

I am writing this from Suffolk, sitting on the sofa at my mum’s house whilst the kids are asleep upstairs. After leaving Muck on Friday, we made a short stop at home in Fife to unload and repack the car, before driving a further 400 miles south, and we will be in Suffolk and around family for the next wee while as, sadly, one of my aunts has recently died. Dementia clouded her last few years and so, whilst we grieve for who she was and prepare to celebrate a life well lived, our sadness is tempered with relief that she is now at peace.

On the night before we left Muck, I shared the four knitting patterns I have written during my time on the island with the audience for my ‘Inspired by the Isle of Muck’ talk, and it is with pleasure (and a small amount of trepidation) that I am now launching them into the world. These are my first patterns that haven’t been commissions, so please let me know if anything isn’t quite right with any of them. The patterns are all available from my online shop or on Ravelry as digital downloads which can be printed at home, if desired, on a single double-sided A4 sheet.

Small Isle Snood

This striking but simple design was inspired by the stunning views from Gallanach Bay on the Isle of Muck. The smallest of the Small Isles, the island lies about 10 miles off the west coast Scottish mainland. Gallanach is a north-facing bay that looks towards the neighbouring Small Isles of Rum and Eigg. This snood incorporates stylised silhouettes of the two closest islands, working in intarsia and knitted back and forth before seaming the ends together to create a cosy cowl, perfect for keeping you warm in all but the fiercest west coast winds.

Sizing: short (long—can be wrapped twice around the neck)

Finished measurements: around 20 cm in height (or larger if desired).

Yarn: Two contrasting colours of DK weight yarn. Sample shows main colour (MC): Midwinter Yarn Black & Blue in colour Captain’s Coat and contrast colour (CC): The Knitting Goddess 100% BFL in colour Bluebell. You will need approx. 25g each for the short snood and 50g each for the long. If the pattern is bought with the Muck Mitts pattern, both snoods and mitts can be knitted from one 100g skein in each colourway.

Compass Cross Hat

A simple hat pattern which can be knitted flat or in the round, its design features the compass-drawn motif from one of the Isle of Muck’s archaeological treasures, an 8th century Celtic cross, worked into the crown. Sizes are adult Medium and (Large), with the larger size shown in Italicised brackets.

Yarn: 100g Aran-weight yarn (sample shown in Iona Wool Aran, colour ‘Lichen’, 100g = 160m).

Note: Instructions are given to knit flat or in the round. The pattern chart shows the central decrease section in the medium size. For the larger size, please add an additional plain stitch at the start of each row, as shown in written instructions.

Muck Mitts Knitting Pattern

These DK-weight intarsia mitts feature the iconic outline of the Isle of Muck as the main motif on the back of the hands. The mitts are mostly worked in the round, with the exception of the intarsia section, which is worked back and forth before being re-joined for the top of the mitt. The thumb is then picked up from the stitches at the edge of the intarsia section and the remaining gap sewn closed. The perfect companion to the Small Isles Snood; both patterns can be made from two 100g skeins of contrasting colour yarns.

Materials:

Yarn: Two contrasting colours of DK weight yarn, around 25g of each. Sample shows main colour (MC): Midwinter Yarn Black & Blue in colour Captain’s Coat and contrast colour (CC): The Knitting Goddess 100% BFL in colour Bluebell.

Shell Bay Socks

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A straightforward colourwork design for 4-ply/fingering weight yarn that combines the shapes, textures and colours of the Isle of Muck’s beautiful Shell Bay beach.

Materials

• 50g of 4-ply/fingering weight MC yarn (solid or semi-solid)

• 25g of 4-ply/fingering weight CC yarn (variegated)

• 2.75mm DPNs or circular needles (or size required to get gauge).

• 3mm DPNs or circular needles (or size required to get gauge).

• tapestry needle

Yarn: The sample was knitted in West Yorkshire Spinners Signature 4-ply for the main colour, with various small amounts of leftover Regia 4-ply Sock Yarn for the contrast colour. You can use one contrast colour yarn, or work a mixture of yarns from leftover scraps.

Gauge:

38 sts/10cm in stocking stitch on smaller needles.

Sizes S (M, L, XL). Size Small is roughly equivalent to UK Adult 3-5; Medium is 5.5—7; Large is 7.5—9; Extra Large is 9.5—11.

And finally - some lovely news!

For those of you who came to my talk to help raise funds to replace Muck’s former fishing boat, The Little Red Boat, I am delighted to report that the island now has a fishing boat once more. The Heather Belle came to her new mooring on the island last week and, although she is a rather fetching shade of green rather than red, I have been assured that this is only a temporary situation and she will assume her fully rosy glory soon. Her owners have the following message to share with you:

‘At long last we are nearly back in business. The Heather Belle has now joined us on the Isle of Muck.
Thank you to everyone who has helped and supported us over the last few months. It's not been easy but we are finally heading in the right direction again.’

Esther Phoebe Rutter 30/03/2023 Esther Phoebe Rutter 30/03/2023

Muckdate 15: Our Last Week

Our last few days on the Isle of Muck

So here we are: suddenly it is our last full day on the island and we are mere hours away from returning to mainland life (ferries willing). Our impending departure has rather snuck up on me; it feels like only a few weeks ago we were getting off the boat into a snow storm and now here we are, three months later and spring is making her presence felt with daffofils blooming heartily and the first of the island lambs arriving on the croft near Port Mor. The Hebrides is doing it's best to make leaving a real wrench - or maybe it's trying to ensure our return with scenes like this on the headline above the house:

*Sunset looking towards Rum and Horse Island*

We have spent our last weekend revisiting some of our favourite places: a trip to the fish box swing by Fanc Mor, a last climb to the top of the Beinn, a final evening playing down on Gallanach beach. The fish box swing is a particular hit with the younger members of the family - and the sculptures that surround it amuse and entertain us all:

This visit we discovered scurvy grass (Cochlearia officianalis) in flower in the crags, something we hadn't noticed before. Scurvy grass is high in vitamin C (hence the name) and was an important part of the diet for some coastal communities across the UK and northern Europe before the advent of imported citrus fruit in the nineteenth century. I can report that it has a pleasantly tangy flavour rather like watercress, but with a lemony aftertaste - and I reckon would be excellent on roast beef sandwiches...

Since we had an evening swim (or in our daughter's case, splash around) a week or two ago, we've taken to going down to the beach most evenings with the kids. They absolutely love this - the silliness of heading out as the sun is going down wearing your swimming costume, woolies and wellies really appeals to our 4 year old, and it's an excellent antidote (or opportunity to channel?) that Silly Hour just before bedtime. Having a beach on our doorstep is something I am really going to miss - as is waking and falling asleep to the peep of oystercatchers and the burble of lapwings. I am also going to miss the neighbours who I watch every morning from the kitchen window: a family of seals who bob, swim and play in the bay. Sometimes there are perhaps 20 of them out there enjoying themselves, and when we come down to the shore they all pop their heads above the water to see what we're up to.

*Walking down to the beach in woollies, wellies and swimming costumes!*

And finally - I have knitting patterns to share with you! Thanks to everyone who attended my ‘Inspired by the Isle of Muck’ talk this evening - and please get in touch using the website contact form if you missed the talk but would like a recording to watch at your leisure. My next blog post will give you all the details of the patterns including what inspired me to design them and where to get them, but I just thought I’d whet your appetites with a few snaps of my ‘Inspired by the Isle of Muck’ designs:

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Esther Phoebe Rutter 20/03/2023 Esther Phoebe Rutter 20/03/2023

Muckdate 14: Boats and Some Exciting News

Muck’s history and ongoing relationship with marine transport always makes for an epic tale. As those of you who have been reading the blog since the start will know, it took us a couple of attempts to reach the island in the first place back in January, and we are entirely dependent on Caledonian MacBrayne’s fout-times-weekly Loch Nevis service for delivery of all our comestibles, visitors, and mail. Weather conditions play a hug part in whether or not the service will run, and because the island’s harbour faces south west (which is also the prevailing wind direction as weather systems blow towards the island from the Atlantic) there are days when the boat leaves from Mallaig but cannot make it into Muck. This winter has been quite a calm one (since our arrival we have had only one named storm reach the island when Storm Otto blew in 17 February) but there have still been a few missed boats and the dramas that thereby ensue, so I thought I would share with you a little of the island’s boat-based history, combined with tales from the past weekend involving delays, charters, and left-behind passengers!

First, it is worth remembering that Muck has only been served by state-funded ferry service since 1965. Before that, islanders had to travel under their own steam to the nearby Isle of Eigg to collect mail, provisions, deliveries, and visitors, brought from Mallaig on MacBrayne’s Loch Mor (pictured above, which ran from 1930 - 1964). For decades, the island’s postal address was ‘Isle of Muck, Isle of Eigg’ as that was the nearest delivery point. Loch Mor ran on a Monday and called at Eigg, Rum and Canna before heading out to Lochboisdale on South Uist in the Outer Hebrides. The post office on Eigg was quite a distance from where the Muck boat landed, so the island’s boatmen would also have a two-mile return walk to fetch the mail once they had made the sea journey. Whilst this arrangement was undoubtedly time consuming and, in wild weather, unpleasant and even dangerous, it did lead to a rather special outcome for Muck’s boatman, Charlie MacDonald: he meat his future wife Katie on the mail run. Katie, who was born on South Uist and was a native Gaelic speaker, was the postmistress on Eigg, and the two lived together on Muck after their marriage where they were a vital part of the community: the twice-weekly delivery was sorted on their living room floor and was quite the social occasion for the island.

The first MacBrayne boat to call at Muck was the *Loch Arkaig*, a converted wooden minesweeper, which began visiting the island on 12 April 1965 and remained in service until 1979 (when she sank in harbour at Mallaig). In the beginning *Arkaig* arrived on Wednesdays - though when I say ‘arrived’, what actually happened was that the boat laid at anchor off the coast whilst the Muck boatman came out to meet it in the flit boat. Once the little boat waas alongside the ferry (as shown on the left), the bigger boat’s retro-fitted derrick would (quite literally) swing into action, lifting provisions, mail and livestock down into the waiting flit. This was because there was no slipway on Muck and the bigger boats simply couldn’t come in close to the comparatiely shallow harbour. At low tides, even smaller boats struggled to get alongside the little pier and visitors would have to make the final part of the journey by dinghy - or in some cases, carried bodily ashore!

Muck’s main boat throughout most of the twentieth century was Wave, purpose-built at Mallaig on the instructions of Muck’s owner Commaner MacEwen by Henderson’s boatyard. Made from larch and oak, Wave is 36 feet long with a 13-foot hold, capable of carrying around five tonnes of cargo, 15 calves, or about 70 lambs. She cost £1,950 upon completion in 1955 and, for the next sixty-four years, was in near constant use bringing everything and anything to and from the island. As well as meeting the ferry, which happened as many as five times a week during the summer season, Wave also made something in the region of 50 annual trips to the mainland or the Isle of Mull, transporting livestock on several of these runs. She was also used for pleasure trips, taking the MacEwens and other island families to and from meetings, games, and ceilidhs across the Small Isles (and further afield), and on occasion people would sleep aboard her, with a tarpaulin thrown over the top of the hold to keep off the worst of the weather.

In 2004 a long-term project to build a pier with a proper slipway on the south-west side of Muck was finally completed, signalling the end of Wave’s time as the island flit boat. For the first time, passengers could step onto the island direct from the ferry - though this also means the service can be less reliable, as the Loch Nevis (the boat which has run the Small Isles service since the year 2000) frequently cannot get through the narrow, rocky channel into Port Mor in wild weather. Wave continued to be used for everything else, but by 2019 she was showing her age, with the necessary repairs (she had previously had three new engines and a new wheelhouse in place of the engine house and tiller, as well as the necessarily annual anti-fouling and varnishing) making her an uneconomic option for the island. Her last voyage was a trip to Canna for the Small Isles Games, and now she rests close to the shore at Gallanach (pictured below).

It’s not only the weather which can prevent visitors getting to and from Muck, and this weekend was a case in point. My father-in-law had been visiting for a few days and was due to return on the 12.35 Saturday sailing. As always, we’d been keeping a close eye on the forecast, and though a little rain was due to come in, the wind speed and direction looked promising. But just as the time was approaching for Loch Nevis to leave Mallaig, my phone buzzed. Usually this would signal the arrival of the ship’s manifest, a list of freight sent out just as the boat is leaving to let islanders know if they have a delivery to collect, but today it was a CalMac service update: the Small Isles sailing would be delayed due to crew sickness. No timetable was given, and there was also the possibility that the sailing would be completely cancelled. My father-in-law, Jeff, decided to pack his bags anyway, in the hope that the boat would just be a bit delayed, and we headed down to the cafe for the statutory Saturday coffee and pastries. Just before we left, my phone buzzed again: the ferry would run, but wouldn’t leave Mallaig until 14.00 and, as the service would also be calling at Rum and Eigg, wouldn’t return until 7.40pm, almsot four hours behind schedule.

*The Loch Nevis as we had hoped to see her…*

Jeff, who had arranged to stay with friends at Onich on his long drive home to Cumbria, called his hosts to cancel plans for a pub dinner: he would now not be with them until 10pm. Whilst we waited for the boat, now scheduled to arrive at 16.45, we went to play in the community hall, but almost as soon as we arrived an email came through from CalMac: the ferry had now been cancelled, but a charter boat would run instead - not for freight or vehicular traffic, but just for passengers. I opened what is probably my nerdiest app, Marine Traffic, to see the outline of MV Larven, a small catamaran that usually servces as the Knoydart ferry, heading our way. The Larven is much faster than the usual CalMac, and would now be arriving at 16.00 before leaving at 16.05. As the boat had now left Mallaig, it seemed almost certain that the serivce would actually go ahead, so Jeff called his hosts back, updated them with his new arrival time, and we all headed down to the pier to wave him off.

The Larven arrived on time and left without a hitch, but Jeff was one of the lucky ones. One person only received the first of the updated timetables and arrived at the pier 40 minutes after the charter left, unaware that the boat had been and gone. They were now stuck on the island for a further two days, as the next boat wasn’t scheduled until Monday. Because the Larven carries no freight, the tea room was left without many of the items necessary for its planned Mothers Day afternoon tea the following day, and several other parcels and presents also failed to arrive on time. I had another reason for being glad that Jeff was able to get on the boat: he had agreed to act as yarn mule between me and Liz, my very kind test knitter based in Mallaig, so that she could finish test knitting the knitting patterns I have been working on during my time on Muck.

And this brings me to the Exciting News mentioned above: on Thursday 30th March I will running Inspired by the Isle of Muck, an hour-long online celebration of island-inspired craft. Join me to find out how Muck’s geography and history provide a wealth of inspiration for creativity, as well as taking a closer look at a range of arts and crafts practices that have developed on the island.

I’ll be unveiling three exciting new knitting patterns designed in response to the island, alongside a chance to get a sneak preview inside the island's craft shop, The Green Shed, before it reopens for the summer season. All attendees will receive a free copy of one of the new knitting patterns included in the price of the ticket. If you are unable to attend on 30 March, you can buy a Recorded Event ticket to receive a recording of the event to watch at your leisure. Tickets are available here https://www.eventbrite.co.uk/e/inspired-by-the-isle-of-muck-tickets-589393841847 and I’m looking forward to seeing you soon!

Esther Phoebe Rutter 11/03/2023 Esther Phoebe Rutter 11/03/2023

Muckdate 13: Standing Stones and Freezing Temperatures

This week has been a chilly one: temperatures failing below zero overnight (pretty unusual for the island’s comparatively mild climate), but with little precipitation (also unusual for this time of year - all we’ve had are a smattering of hail showers and the occasional flurry of snow). Muck’s domestic water supply is piped to the houses from the island’s springs; the pipes lie on or only slightly below the surface of the ground, meaning that when rare cold snaps do come, the water in them is liable to freeze. This has been the case for the last four mornings, but Colin and Ruth at the farm reassured us that the pipes would thaw again as soon as the sun was properly up - and they did. As long as we remember to fill the kettle and a water jug the evening before, it’s not a big deal to be without water first thing (we also keep a bucket of sea water in the bathroom for flushing the toilet!)

*When the water freezes, all the water freezes.*

These bright mornings are as beautiful as they are chilly, and this week I’ve tried to get out for a walk each day, once all the breakfasting, dressing and general shepherding-of-children-through-the-morning-routine is done. So today I thought I’d take you with me (and baby K, gently bobbing off to sleep in the carrier), out to the headland above our house. Our house is the most northern-most on the island, tucked onto the western side of north-facing Gallanach bay. This forms part of Àird nan Uan (Lamb Point), with Eilean Àird nan Uan (Lamb Point Island) and Eilean nan Each (Horse Island) beyond. There are no other houses here, but there are several interesting ruins, four of which are believed to be burial sites. A small cairn lies not far from our house, but the most remarkable stone monument stands towards the northern end of the peninsula: a Bronze Age circle which, on clear days like these, commands wonderful views of Eilean nan Each, Eilean Àird nan Uan, Rum, and the Isle of Skye.

Dating from almost 4,000 years ago, the outer circle has a diameter of around eight metres - burnt ashes were discovered within in it, proving that the site has long been used for burial. But within the larger enclosure lies a small circle which marks the location of far more recent internments: those of the MacEwens of Muck. Like more conventional churchyard tombstones, the grave markers of the MacEwens record the names, dates, and a little other information about those whose ashes were scattered or bodies buried here. The earliest dates from the 1920s, with the most recent placed there in 1990.

The stone on the left of the picture marks the grave of William Campbell MacEwen, Writer to the Signet, Edinburgh, who was born at Inverness 19 September 1849 and died at Achiltibuie, Ross-shire, 18 June 1939 (aged 89). Writer to the Signet refers to William Campbell MacEwen’s professional careeer as a qualified solicitor. His wife’s grave stone is shown on the right side above: Margaret, daughter of David Croall and Christian Thomson, born at Edinburgh, 2 February 1858 and died ‘returning to this island’ on 23rd May 1944 (aged 86). I do not know the circumstances of Margaret’s death, but there is something haunting about her dying on her way back to Muck. Between the two is the gravestone of their grand-daughter Margaret Dorothea Robarts. She was the daugher of Dorothy Christian MacEwen (William Campbell and Margaret MacEwen’s daughter) and James Forrest Dewar, was born at Lerags, Argyllshire, 11th August 1910, married Geoffrey Ward Robarts, and died at Uvongo Beach, Natal, on 15th September 1936 (aged just 26). Even on a small Scottish island, you are never far from the legacy of colonialism!

These MacEwens are the father, mother, and niece of William Ivan Lawrence MacEwen, laird of Muck from the 1920s until his death in 1967. His gravestone stands to the left of his father’s and shows that he was a Commander in the Royal Navy (in fact, he was generally known as ‘the Commander’); both he and his wife, Edith Alice Traquair Nicol (1903 - 1978), were ‘born in Edinburgh and died in Muck’. In fact, it was Edith (known variously as ‘Babs’, ‘Ma’, or ‘Mrs MacEwen’) who ran the farm on Muck when the Commander was stationed at Lerwick during the Second World War. She was a highly educated woman with a degree in biology who specialised in the brackish water lochs of North Uist and Orkney and who, prior to her marriage to William and the birth of their four children, lectured at the Univeresity of St Andrews. After moving to the island she was able to pursue her passion for farming and by all accounts was a remarkable, strong, and determined person who saw the island through some tough years and left her mark on Muck.

The final gravestone is that of Alasdair Nicol MacEwen, eldest son of the above and the uncle of the current laird of the island. Born in 1939 and died in 1990, Alasdair spent his childhood and early adulthood on the island, before moving first to Hardiston near Kinross and later to Somerset. He was the last MacEwen to be buried on Àird nan Uan; his brother and the island’s most recent former laird, Lawrence Traquair MacEwen (1941 - 2022), lies in the island’s main cemetary at Port Mor, alongside his fellow Muchanach where his beloved cows graze above him. If you want to learn more about Lawrence and his relationship with Muck, a snapshot of his life here has been recorded in the film Prince of Muck (available on BBC iPlayer: https://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/m0016nl1).

It was a beautiful morning to sit beside the graves of people who had known and loved this island, and I smiled to myself when I saw that a lobster claw had also found its way up here. It was a fairly fresh specimen, still smelling strongly of the sea and retaining its bright blue colour - a funny, fitting offering as Muck is known for the quality of its seafood and many of the MacEwens have (and still do) put out pots for lobster on the rocks not far from here.

Baby K was now asleep and after sitting awhile by the cairn, I climbed down the short cliff to the stony beach that, at low tide, joins Aird nan Uan to Lamb Island. The sea was so clear that I could see small fish darting in and out of the seaweed and high above me a skylark rippled the air with song. I noticed that I had a good signal here (better than in the house) so I called my aunt, who has just been released from hospital in Suffolk following, sadly, a diagnosis of advanced cancer. She was too weak to come to phone herself but I spoke to her husband and tried to paint a picture of where I was. He told me it was snowing heavily down there - hard to believe when it was so warm and still 500 hundred miles further north - and that my aunt was tired but glad to be home. As I put the phone down I found myself crying; the distance between us and our situations seemed so great. I wished I could package up my morning and send it down to my aunt, full of sunshine and skylarks and babies and sea, but as she doesn’t have a computer or mobile phone I couldn’t even send a video. But you can enjoy it instead, and I hope you feel yourself a little transported to an early spring morning in the Hebrides, wherever you are reading this:

Esther Phoebe Rutter 08/03/2023 Esther Phoebe Rutter 08/03/2023

Muckdate 12: Weekends on the Island

Our current spell of bright and still weather has lasted for over a week, which has been lovely - not just for us but for our visitors. This weekend we've been hosting some friends from Yorkshire (Stephen, Sophie and their nearly three-year-old), so I thought it was a good chance to show you some of the family-friendly things to do on Muck.

Café Culture

Muck's tea room opens at 11am every Saturday during the winter. Run by Bruce and Pam of Choc-Ness Chocolates, it's a welcoming and important place for catching up with other members of the community, as well as a great excuse to indulge in a little something sweet: sticky cinnamon buns, yum-yums, brownies and traybakes are all freshly made and served with tea and coffee (milk or juice for the kids). Bruce also bakes excellent bread, and there are usually some top-notch savouries goodies on offer too: his steak pies, sausage rolls, and pizza never hang around for long! If you would like a taste of island baking, you can order a ‘Brownies, Bakes & Bites Box' for £25 incl postage. Bruce and Pam are doing a special, limited edition batch for Mothers Day so email them on chocnesschocolates@gmail.com to request one for the Mum in your life.

Wonderful Walks

We usually get out for at least one good walk and this weekend we went to Casteal an Dun Bán, a fortified rocky outcrop that looks over the entrance to Port Mor. Enclosed within the top edge of the rocks are the ruins of a simple stone dwelling, believed to date to the Iron Age (1200 - 550BC). As you can see, it is a striking spot with fantastic views of the Ardnamurchan peninsula - and it’s a great place for kids to play too, as the top of the fort is flat, grassy, and sheltered from the wind as it sits in a slight hollow. Our kids immediately began a sustained grass fight (more of an direct attack on the dads to be honest), delighting in the warm, spring-like air, whilst us mums (and baby) relaxed and watched the clouds scud by.

We also took a picnic (or rather, a couple of Bruce’s pizzas and a few apples) and ate it in the hillfort, watching the Loch Nevis come into port across the bay. We could see our shopping being unloaded by our neighbours: we’d taken their daughter along with us to the fort so in exchange her parents put our Co-op boxes into our car for us to pick up so we didn't have to rush back to meet the ferry. After playing at the fort we then walked along to a patch of woodland where there are some handmade swings and things for the kids to climb on, before heading back into Port and exchanging one child for our shopping.

*Watching the Loch Nevis come in from the hill fort.*

Playing in the Hall

On Monday which, though sunny, was also very cold with snow and hail showers, we headed to the island's Community Hall. This is a great communal space which anyone - islander or visitor - can use in exchange for payment of a small fee: this includes access to toilets, showers and a washing machine, invaluable for those who sail or camp here. It also houses two libraries (one permanent belonging to the island and donated by a former resident, the other stocked and periodically refreshed by the Highland Council), a small heritage museum displaying items relating to the island's recent and ancient history, a well-stocked kitchen and small seating area, plus the pièce de resistance: a huge wooden floored hall lined on one side with cupboards full of games and toys and on the other with floor-to-ceiling windows with great views across the southern side of the island. You can play badminton, table tennis, table football, snooker, indoor football - or simply let the kids loose on the communal toys and watch them scoot, push, crawl or ride their own way around the room with glee. The funding to build it was raised largely by the community and the whole project initiated and overseen by a group of dedicated and tenacious islanders, with the grand unveiling taking place in 2012.

*Fun for all ages at the Community Hall*

Esther Phoebe Rutter 03/03/2023 Esther Phoebe Rutter 03/03/2023

Muckdate 11: Spectacular Skies

Apologies for the delay in Muckdates - my blogging and writing time is restricted to that magical Venn diagram of baby napping/daughter at nursery/not feeding time at the zoo, so because I've been busy working on fifth-round edits for my second book I have had a bit less time to be writing here. I've also been working on my Muck-inspired knitting patterns, and we've had guests to stay, whose holiday also coincided with some spectacular natural phenomena…

One thing we never anticipated seeing during our time on Muck were the northern lights. Tom and I have seen them before, when we travelled to Tromsø in Northern Norway, but even there we saw only a faint pale ribbon in the sky, undulating with a slow, steady pulse. On Saturday night, not long before midnight, our neighbour was wending her way home from a party when she noticed a pale glow in the sky to the north. She messaged us to say she could see the aurora, but we had already gone to bed. Fortunately she was able to capture the lights in this wonderful photograph, taken from the bay outside our houses.

Having missed the action in our first night, we were determined to see the Lights if we possibly could the following evening. The (meteorological and auroral) forecast for Sunday was good, with clear skies and a high probably of solar activity so once darkness fell we kept popping outside to see if there were any visible. Our daughter wanted to see them too, so we agreed that if they came out whilst she was asleep we would get her up so she could see them. Thus placated, she and her baby brother went to sleep so Tom and I hurriedly did the chores and then settled ourselves outside to watch the sky.

*Aurora borealis as viewed from the garden, with our cottage in the foreground*

Almost as soon as we were out we could see a long glowing arc, faint at first but getting brighter, forming over the islands of Rum, Skye and Eigg. As we watched, these got brighter and more vividly green, with individual 'flares' that leaped up like smoke from gigantic candles hanging in the sky. The curtain of greenish-yellow lights waved and pulsed, and after a while we could see some pinkish red lights further to the north-west. It really was spectacular, and although the colours in my photographs show the lights more vividly than they appeared to the naked eye, it was still a remarkable display. Halfway through I bundled our daughter out of bed in a blanket and carried her outside to see them, but she was so sleepy I think she was half-dreaming as she looked at them. It reminded me of when my Dad had been taken outside by his Dad, as a little boy in the early 1950s, to see the lights when they were visible as far south as Suffolk. Dad always remembers them looking like 'a white curtain blowing in the wind', and I hope Rose will also have some memories of her magical night under the northern lights.

*Aurora borealis above the Isle of Eigg*

Days have been as spectacular as the nights, with sunshine, little wind, and temperatures just sneaking in to double figures. When our friends Cat and Robert arrived on Monday morning (having watched the lights from the mainland near Mallaig), one of the first things they did was to for a swim - and I did too! When I got in the cold water felt like knives on my feet, but after a little time spent splashing around and running in and out of the shallows, the actual temperature was pretty bearable (and borrowing Cat's neoprene gloves made things a lot more pleasant.) It was my first swim of 2023, my first since arriving on the island, and my first since having the baby, so it felt like a Rubicon crossed.

We've also had two days without nursery because of teacher strikes (I completely support these, so this is not a complaint), so me and the littles have spent plenty of time down on the beach, splashing about and collecting treasures. My daughter loves drawing so we've been recording our finds and educating ourselves about seashells using the old Ladybird book I had has a child, which my Mum brought up with her when she came to stay a few weeks ago. And the baby has been gnawing on the (washed) scallop shell - think he’s not far from cutting some teeth.

We have more guests arriving today so hopefully this calm, bright weather will hold for them too…

Esther Phoebe Rutter 25/02/2023 Esther Phoebe Rutter 25/02/2023

Muckdate 10: One of Those Weeks

What a week that has been! It's had it all: sunshine, an event for over 100 people, illness - oh, and the police. Read on...

Monday was onto a sticky wicket before it even began. My Dad was scheduled to have a hospital appointment but my Mum, who would usually take him, wasn't able to do so. My parents have been separated for 25+ years, but they have maintained a largely cordial relationship - which is a good job, because when my Dad had a massive stroke a year ago, resulting in cortical blindness and severe short-term memory loss, my (saintly) Mum stepped in to help him navigate this new and terrible version of the world he found himself in.

Dad's disabilities are too severe for him to live anywhere except a nursing home as he requires round-the-clock care and assistance. Although his eyes technically work, the part of his brain that processes images was completely destroyed by a haemorrhage and so he cannot see anything at all, not even light and dark. Add to this further stroke damage to parts of his brain involving memory, spatial awareness, and mood, and what you have is someone who knows that they are blind (although it actually took weeks for his brain to realise this - his memory filled in the gaps at first, just not with accurate remembrances of where he really was), but cannot remember where they are, who is caring for them, or what they need to do to look after themselves. Newly and completely blind, his memory problems mean he struggles to learn new skills (like finding things by himself), remember new people (like his carers), and retain up-to-date information about people he cares about (there have been a lot of questions about why he hasn't seen his parents - the man is 75, so I am sure you can hazard a guess.)

Dad in happier times, wearing the gansey I made for him as part of my book *This Golden Fleece*

So although Dad remembers us, his family, he lives in a world of perpetual darkness and uncertainty. There is also a lot of fear: he relies on his hearing for almost everything, so any unusual noises can be confusing and scary for him. When he's agitated or worried about something, his memory goes on a 1-minute loop as his emotions override any new information trying to get into his brain. So going to hospital for a heart check up, involving a 25-minute drive in an unfamiliar vehicle without someone he knows really well (my Mum), was always going to be a bit of an ask.

My Dad lives in Suffolk, so it was far too far for me to come down to help. One of my brothers lives abroad, and the other has a fairly busy job in central government: neither could be with him to accompany him to hospital first thing in a Monday morning. So we arranged and paid for a private taxi to take him directly to his appointment (otherwise it would be shared hospital transport), and stressed to the care home that he would need an experienced carer who knows Dad well and can manage him in new and difficult situations. As Dad has 24-hour 1-2-1 care (thankfully state-funded), he has a number of carers who help him - some more adept at managing his needs than others. Unfortunately, we can't request individuals for particular days, so it wasn't one of Dad's core team who was with him that Monday morning. But I rang him the night before his appointment and first thing on Monday to talk him through what would be happening, hoping that this might help him to remember what was going on.

The first I knew that something was wrong was when Dad called - or rather his carer did, asking if I could talk to Dad to get him to put on his seatbelt. This I duly did - only to be called back 15 minutes later to hear the carer imploring my Dad to calm down, stop hitting him, and to sit back down. As soon as I heard this, I knew Dad was highly, highly panicked, and gleaned that he was trying to get out of the moving car as it was taking him to hospital. He couldn't remember who his carer was, thought he was being taken somewhere against his will, and didn't understand that the unfamiliar noises were other cars zooming past on the motorway. I talked him thorugh things and tried to calm him, but as soon as I paused for breath Dad lunged for freedom, striking and swearing at his carer as he tried to stop him. Awful, awful, awful - for Dad, and everyone else involved.

In the background I could hear the taxi driver trying to get Dad to sit down down, but to no avail, so after a while he called the police as he couldn’t drive until Dad was sat down with his seatbelt on and they were stuck on the motorway hard shoulder. Once the police arrived they escorted him out of the taxi and put him straight into their car. By this time he was a bit calmer and seemed to respond well to the policemen. After some discussion, they asked me to stay on the phone and talk with him whilst they drove him to hospital, so for half an hour I tried to talk about everything I could think of to keep his mind in a calm space. Porridge, the weather, my brothers, my kids; Dad was pretty monosyllabic but at least he was calm and quiet. I kept asking him what he could hear and whether the car was moving: he told me what he could and eventually I heard the policeman open the door and ask him to take off his seatbelt. The hospital appointment that followed was apparently uneventful.

After this I took the kids (who were being looked by their working-from-home dad whilst this drama was taking place) round to a friend on the island's for a playdate. They provided lots of tea and snacks, exactly what we needed, as well as Disney for the 4-year-old and cuddles for the baby. Thus revived, we were just about to leave to meet the ferry (which was bringing our shopping for the week ahead) when disaster struck (again): I'd parked on a muddy verge outside their house and my wheels were now well and truly stuck in the mud! Fortunately my friend's partner is the island's gamekeeper and it was lunchtime so both he and the trainee keeper were nearby - what luck they were, as they knew exactly what to do. They got the tow rope attached to the front of my car and then to their 6x6 ATV, then one of them pushed the car forward as I tried to drive in second gear. First attempt resulted in nothing but a face full of mud for the head keeper (what a rotten thank you!), but second time around we got some traction and on the third (lucky) try I was away - straight to the ferry to pick up our supplies, which other people had very kindly unloaded from the delivery van for me.

Back home we wheelbarrowed supplies back to the house, got some lunch into everyone, and were just sitting down for stories and a return work when I noticed that I wasn't feeling that great. Achey, a bit hot, tired - I definitely felt like I was coming down with something. So I had a warm bath and returned to bed to try and sleep it off whilst my husband wrote off his working day to take care of the kids. We got through Monday, but it did feel rather by the skin of our teeth. And of course, this week is also the nursery half-term holiday!

Tuesday was a low-key day spent trying to keep away from the kids where possible in case I had something nasty (Covid tests persistently negative) and resting as much as I could. It was much the same on Wednesday - with the exception of my Knitting and the Sea talk scheduled for the evening to prepare for. Fortunately I was feeling much more normal by then, so I was able to go ahead with it - and would like to say a huge thank you to everyone who came, as we had a really good turnout.

By Thursday I was properly back on my feet and the weather had taken a turn for the sunny, so I had some gentle time in the garden and with my knitting (more on that later). And yesterday was abolished fabulous: warm, fairly still, and sunny, so I'm going to end this post about our rather turbulent wweek with some pictures of our lovely afternoon at the beach. Because even when family are far away and things aren’t going quite to plan, this island and its people are a wonderful consolation.

*Playing on Gallanach beach with the Isle of Eigg in the backgroud.*

*Beach-combing on the rocks with the Isles of Rum (left) and Eigg (right).*

Take care everyone and look forward to sharing some knitting news with you soon!

Esther Phoebe Rutter 16/02/2023 Esther Phoebe Rutter 16/02/2023

Muckdate 9: Calm Before the Storm

I never thought much about the expression ‘the calm before the storm’ prior to moving to Muck, but having been here for a month now I tell you that it is very much the case when it comes to the weather here. Today it is dry and flat calm with the sea gently rolling into the bay - but by 6pm it’s going to be absolutely chucking it down and by 4am the winds will be gusting 60 mph from the south-west. This is the prevailing wind direction for the island, bringing weather in from the Atlantic. Since we’ve been here there have been two yellow weather warnings for wind - and one for ice and snow. We’ve also had sunny, still days with temperatures into double figures, and beautiful evenings where all we can hear is the gentle lapping of waves on the bay and the keening of oystercatchers.

*Gallanach Bay at sunset, January 2023, with the Rum Cuillin behind.*

Because of its proximity to the Atlantic, Muck certainly gets a lot of weather - more than anywhere else I’ve ever lived. It’s very different to sunny, steady Fife, with its low precipitation but cold Siberian winds, or the central Lake District, where clouds lid the valleys and rain sets in for weeks at a time. Within an hour, we can have rain, hail, wind, snow and sunshine: it seems to blow across us in squalls, never staying with us for very long. It means that I have rarely left the house without waterproofs, and I have yet to see some of my neighbours in anything but full-body Goretex.

Having the baby with me also means I have to make sure he is warm and out of the wind. Before we came here, we invested in a supersized budget rain coat that is so big we can zip it round us and the baby when he’s in the carrier in his snowsuit. My husband is over 6ft tall so the coat is comically long on me: I have to fold the sleeves up several times and the whole thing balloons above my knees like a ballerina’s tutu. Stylish it certinaly isn’t, but the baby finds being inside it extremely relaxing and usually falls straight to sleep, so I am happy to forgo any complaints on the fashion front! I have also been known to wrap my scarf entirely round my head to keep the wind out of my ears - you can certainly see us coming.

Because neither my husband or I work outdoors (in contrast to many of the islanders, who build, farm, fish or keep game as their primary livelihoods), the main thing that gets us outside during the working week is the nursery run. Or should I say ride - in the mornings, our girl goes down on the back of my husband’s bike, whilst the afternoons usually sees me (with the baby on my front) plodding across the island to collect her on foot. Sometimes I take the pram, complete with buggy board, so that she can get a lift on the way back - though I can tell you that hauling an 11kg buggy, 20kg child and 7kg baby across the island is not for the faint-hearted! These journeys are often great fun, with plenty of time for chatting and playing as we make our way home, but some days the combination of wind and rain is just too much for any of us so then I do go and collect her in the car.

*Battling the wind on the way home from nursery, with the mountains of Rum in the background.*

The lovely thing about walking or cycling is that it gives us time to get to know the island. There’s nothing like coming down the path in the morning to find seven seals bobbing in the bay, all watching us to see what we’re up to. Or walking past the wood to see a sea eagle perched at the top of a tree, master of all he surveys. We often see the familiar hover of a kestrel hunting by the cliffs, before wicking away on the wind with its catch in its claws, and these past weeks we’ve had the joy of seeing baby calves tottering across the beach by the farm, taking their first steps into their island world. Starlings crowd onto the stone dykes and then startle into swirling clouds as our chatter reaches their ears, and the oyster catchers always seem to be out, combing the shoreline for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Our daughter loves to climb the rocky outcrops we pass, and we often spent the entire journey pretending to be boats blown along in the wind (I am the island ferry, MV Lochnevis, and she is the charter boat, Sheerwater. The baby is one of the CalMac’s lifeboats.) Whether it is calm or stormy, wet or dry, a walk across the island always blows away the cobwebs, and the views along must make it one of the most spectacular nursery runs in Scotland!

*Climbing on the way home, with the Sgurr of Eigg just catching the sunset.*

Esther Phoebe Rutter 13/02/2023 Esther Phoebe Rutter 13/02/2023

Muckdate 8: She’s Electric

Today I thought I’d write about something that mainlanders like me completely take for granted: 24-hour on-demand electricity. Except for during the occasional storm or following heavy snowfall, I have never had a time in my life where I’ve not been able to have light, heat, or the prospect of a hot meal at the flick of a switch. For nearly 100 years, this has been the norm for the majority of people in Britain. After all, the first public electricity generator (in Godalming, Surrey) became operational in 1881 and by 1926 a National Electricity Board had been set up to ensure that supply and demand could be managed on a national scale. In 1919 a mere 6% of homes had electricity; by 1939, that had risen to almost 70%, and come the 1960s, almost every house in Britain was supplied with electric power, night and day - except for when politics, rather than technology, has failed the people it is intended to serve.

Not so on Muck. Muck has never been part of the National Grid; moreover, 24-hour electricity only came to the island in 2013. Electrical power of any sort only arrived in 1970, when two 4.5 kilowatt diesel generators were brought to the island - one for the houses at the main village of Port Mor, the second for the farm at Gallanach. The generators ran from 7-11pm and needed to be maintained, filled with fuel, and started manually every night, though they would shut off automatically. When they ran they were very noisy, and the power they gave was limited: enough for lights, but not much else.

In the early years, this didn’t matter too much as the islanders were used to using Tilley lamps and candles for light alongside gas cookers or wood-fuelled stoves for heat and cooking, and most didn’t have many additional electrical devices. This photograph shows the inside of the Macdonalds’ house in Port Mor - a building which later became the island’s bunkhouse - complete with solid-fuel range and a small candle lantern visible above. Eventually, most of the houses had their own generators but even then, these could be unreliable and demand often outstripped supply, so things that had to have constant power - like freezers - were communal, rather than each household having its own.

But as the need for electrical power in every day life increased, it was clear that the island’s meagre supply was going to hamper people’s ability to live and work here. In 1990, the idea of connecting the whole island to a centralised power network, supplied by wind turbines with the generator as back up, started to become a reality. A wind turbine was to be put on top of Carn Dearg, the hill closest to Port Mor, a new generator shed needed to be built nearby, and seven kilometres of underground cable would hae to be laid to connect up the system. Much of the work was done by the islanders themselves, including spending 18 hours pouring concrete to make a secure base for the turbine on the hill. The cable trench was dug using a JCB, then backfilled by island hand - all seven kilometers of it!

Then the wind power company who were to supply the turbine went into receivership, so all work on the scheme came to a halt. For the rest of the 1990s, the generators were still providing the power, though only for limited hours from 8-11am and 5-11pm. People planned their day around the electricity schedule. Washing machines, with their heavy draw on supply, were used according to a rota, and people got up early to do their cooking and baking before the supply went off during the middle of the day. An as the power went off at 11pm, the Muchanach (the Gaelic term for the islanders) often missed the end of films or television programmes that didn’t wind up before their island-specific cut-off!

But in August 1999, renewable electricity finally arrived. The islanders made a successful application to the National Lottery for funds to complete the work begun years earlier, and Scottish Power were appointed as contractors. A bespoke system, this time made up of two Vergnet 20kW wind turbines and a back-up diesel generator, was installed - renewable island-made electricity at last! But unfortunately the system had problems with reliability and output, and required a great deal of maintenance and manual assistance. On windy days there was enough power to meet demand, but at other times the turbines simply couldn’t produce what was needed. By 2011, both wind turbines had become inoperable due to problems with the batteries, inverters and chargers. The 38 residents once again had to ration their use of power to 9 hours a day, sharing the power from one 25kW diesel generator.

This was not a sustainable situation. The island simply could not do without affordable, reliable 24 hour power: computers and other electronic machines were by now essenetial for households and businesses alike. A new power system was required as soon as possible. This time, the company Wind & Sun used data from a similar scheme on nearby Eigg to design a dual system that combined wind turbines with photovoltaic panels to provide year-round electricty whatever the weather - with, of course, a generator for back-up. The aim was to reliably produce 150kWh/day, with enough energy storage for 24 hours’ use. In order to minimise reliance on diesel, each energy source was sized so that it could, in theory, support the island on its own. All properties would connected to a high voltage grid with four transformers supplying 20 homes, a guest house, school, community hall, and 3 workshops. Six Evance 5kW wind turbines were built on the site at Carn Dearg (photograph above), alongside 30kW photovoltaic panels (photo below), and a shed containing a large battery bank. And in March 2013, clean green 24-hour energy finally arrived on Muck. My neighbour, whose first two babies were born before all-night electricity came to the island, describes the joy she felt the first time she didn’t have to do a night feed and nappy change by the light of a torch or candle!

*The island’s photovoltaic panels, with the Sgurr of Eigg in the distance.*

Today one of the islanders is responsible for day-to-day maintenance and running of the scheme, and I am delighted to report that the supply has always been ample for our needs. We did loose power late one January night for about five minutes, but this was after we#’d gone to bed and the supply was restored extremely quickly. All properties are fitted with storage heaters for load control during periods when there is excess wind power : this ‘dump load’ (see photo below) is then sent to properties based on need, so those who are elderly, infirm, or with young children receive it as a priority. The system works - and works well, but every now and again my husband and I still find it hard to believe that if we’d come to Muck 10 years earlier, candle-lit nappy changes and weekly washing rotas would have been part of our lives too.

*The electrical supply box in our cottage. As you can see, our power is coming from the wind/solar grid and both the supply and comms are in fine fettle!*

Much of the information in this post was supplied by ‘The Isle of Muck: A Short Guide’ by the late Lawrencce MacEwen, from information provided in the heritage corner of the island’s community hall, and from conversations with our neighbours here on Muck. Thank you and do let me know if I’ve made any errors

Esther Phoebe Rutter 08/02/2023 Esther Phoebe Rutter 08/02/2023

Muckdate 7: The Sea, The Sea

Today is a very wild day out on the west coast, with a yellow warning of high winds for the area close to Muck. When you live on an island measuing 2.5 miles by 1.5 miles, the sea is an ever-present companion, challenge, or delight - depending on the weather! My Mum was supposed to arrive this afternoon for a visit but because of the weather the ferry’s not running, so instead of showing her the island I thought I’d share a few of our recent adventures around the coast, and introduce a special sea-themed event that I’ll be doing in a couple of weeks’ time.

Muck’s coastline is very varied, with everything from sandy beaches to basalt cliffs, linked by heathery moorland and flat(ish) grassland. Most of the island is made of basalt lava that flowed from nearby volcanoes at what today is Rum and the Ardnamurchan peninsula. Underneath the basalt is ancient limestone, forming a series of ‘pavements’, and the whole island is shot through with dolerite and gabbro dykes - lines of stone that were formed by magma cooling and solidifying underground. You can see these clearly at Camus Mor, on the island’s southern side, where the sea has exposed the different layers. The photos below show (top to bottom): the bay with its basalt cliffs in the background and layers of limestone to the fore; our resident geography lecturer pointing out a raised dyke where the magma had baked the limestone on either side; and finally what looks like a pile of sand but is actually a huge clump of oyster fossils!

Camus Mor is one of six beaches on the island and we are very lucky to have one of them directly on our doorstep. Gallanach (the name comes from the Gaelic Ghallanaich which refers to a type of thick-stemmed broad-leaved plant common here and elsewhere in Scotland) is a sweeping semi-circular bay looking towards Rum and Eigg. The sand is predominantly fine and pale, interspersed with basalt and dolerite fins stretching out to sea. The area is home to a seal colony and lots and lots of birds. We can hear them from the house and I love going to sleep to the sound of oystercatchers peeping and curlews warbling.

*Sunset at Gallanach, with the Isle of Rum behind*

Around the headland from us is another magical place: Shell Bay. As you can see from the photo below, it is well-named. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a beach so entirely comprised of shells!

My biggest little one absolutely loves going there - rain or shine, wind or snow, it’s always a delight for her. She calls it ‘The Land of Sweets’ and we have spent hours setting up our ‘sweet shop’ with its shelly delights.

Though all these beaches are beautiful, we always find plastic waste of some sort or another on them. We try to take the smaller items home to be recycled, but a lot of the bigger stuff has to stay where it is, waiting to be washed back into the sea at the next high tide. So we are really glad that at the end of the week there is a beach clean planned for Camus Mor. It is part of a wider survey to obtain evidence about the type of marine litter coming ashore on the Scottish Isles, and the results will help provide reliable data sets year-round for use by Marine Scotland to inform policies. I’m looking forward to getting stuck in and helping out!

And finally: on 22 February I will be giving an online talk on ‘Knitting and the Sea’, which will explore how the fishing communities of Scotland's west coast influenced knittting traditions across the world. Delivered live from Muck, this hour-long talk will look at how the unique geography, history and culture of the fishing and crofting communities of the Hebrides inspired the creation of iconic knitted garments, as well as a range of knitting techniques. The talk includes samples from museum collections and knitwear archives going back 200 years, along with stories from the communities that developed ganseys, Gairloch stockings, Argyll socks, and more. Afterwards there will be a Q&A and the chance to see historic and replica knitwear in more detail.

All proceeds from the talk will be donated to replace and refit The Little Red Boat, the Isle of Muck's family-run fishing boat which was wrecked in a storm in November 2022. Along with a newer vessel they will need to renew the fishing licence to be able to keep fishing, as well as making sure they have all the safety gear required: Flares, Lifejackets, VHF radio, Fire Extinguishers, and more. The new vessel also needs to comply with new MCA regulations, without months of work and adjustments, and include a GPS, Plotter, AIS system, Fish finder, and more. For more details or to donate directly visit: https://www.crowdfunder.co.uk/p/thelittleredboat#start

West Coast communities like those on Muck can be fragile and livelihoods hard-won, but their contribution to knitting history and our broader culture generally is - and always has been - significant and far-reaching, so let's support them where we can. Book your tickets (a very reasonable £6) here: https://www.eventbrite.co.uk/e/knitting-and-the-sea-tickets-535899528917 and I’m really looking forward to seeing you (virtually) on 22 February!

Esther Phoebe Rutter 06/02/2023 Esther Phoebe Rutter 06/02/2023

Muckdate 6: Hospital and a Helicopter Ride

One of the frequently asked questions we got before we moved to Muck was: what happens if someone gets ill? There’s no doctor on the island and the nearest surgery is the Small Isles Medical Practice on Eigg, three miles away. A nurse or doctor from the practice visit the island once a fortnight for non-emergency appointments, but what happens if you become suddenly unwell when they aren’t there? Well in the small hours of last Sunday morning we found out…

Earlier in the week our eldest daughter had been off nursery with a bug: snotty, coughing, tired, and generally not herself. After a couple of days at home watching Disney films and generally not doing or eating much, she was starting to feel a bit brighter - but on Saturday afternoon we noticed that her baby brother had also developed a cough. Nothing terrible at first, so we put them both to bed as usual and settled in for the night. Then at 3am I woke to hear the baby choking on his own phlegm. I got him upright but because of his age (4 months) he can’t yet cough voluntarily, so I was trying to help him clear his throat by patting his back and massaging his chest. Nothing was shifting and his breathing was ragged and noisy. When he did cough it came with a horrible rasp that didn’t clear the mucus, and all the time he was crying, a funny high-pitched mewl that I’d not heard him make before.

My husband and I took it in turns to hold the baby and Google his symptoms. Because of his ‘barking’-type cough I had suspected croup - I’d never seen a child with this illness, but I’d read about it in Anne of Green Gables and the baby’s choking coough seemed to fit the bill. Oh for some ipecac! Even with him upright the phlegm wouldn’t clear, so I did what you’re supposed to in these modern times and call NHS 24, the non-emergency medical helpline.

After half an hour on hold, during which time the baby had vomitted all over himself but at least didn’t seem to be choking any more, I got through to a call handler, who quickly put me through to the on-call GP. After going through his symptoms and a general medical history, she said that she thought it was croup - which should resolve on its own, but sometimes develops into a secondary infection like pneumonia in very young chidren. Because of his age, she wanted a doctor to see him straight away - and would send an ambulance. I had to tell her that although that would be appreciated, unless the ambulance included a ferry charter it wasn’t going to be much use to us!

Having explained to her about our island location, she then put the wheels in motion for a different pathway. We were handed to the emergency services coordinator in Glasgow, who explained that that the Coastguard would send a crew with a paediatric-trained paramedic to check the baby over before transferring him - and me - to hospital. It would take about forty minutes for them to assemble and prepare for the call-out, and then they would be with us about half an hour after that. I assumed that, because they said Coastguard, that they would be coming by boat. When the coordinator asked where was the nearest large, flat space to our house, I realised I was wrong. The paramedics would be coming by helicopter, and we should pack an overnight bag as we were now looking at a hospital admission.

By now it was 5am and the baby, though still coughing badly, was breathing more normally. He didn’t want to feed, presumably because his throat was so clogged, and though we thought about giving him Calpol we didn’t want to add to the sticky fluid in his throat. My husband packed our things whilst I did everything I could to try and calm the baby down enough to take a bit of milk. Eventually he became more settled and after a small feed, finally fell asleep. Now we just had to wait for the Coastguard - and before long three head torches came bobbing along the path to our house: Muck’s on-island Coastguard team, equipped with emergency first aid kit and VHS radios. Two of them went to take coordinates for two possible landing sites - the moor above the house and the field below us at the farm - and one stayed with us, keeping us calm by telling us how many of the island kids - and grown-ups - had been airlifted off before, for everything from broken ankles to high temperatues. ‘Because of where we are, they don’t take any risks’, she explained, and we were greatly reassured that, even though the baby was now much improved and the immediate crisis had largely passed, we were still doing the right thing by getting him seen by a doctor.

We all had a strengthening cup of tea, and then out in the darkness we saw bright lights in the sky and heard the thwack-thwack-thwack of the helicopter’s rotor blades. By now it was nearly dawn and I’d rung the farm to let our neighbours know that a helicopter would be landing nearby: the Coastguard had already been down and helped them move the tups off the allocated field. Then along the cliff path came the Coastguard winchman, dressed in an orange flying suit and carrying a huge rucksack full of kit. He did a quick check of the baby to make sure he wasn’t in any immediate danger, and then escorted us - dressed warmly as instructed by the emergency services coordinator - down from the house to the farm, stopping en route to swap my mucky wellies for more normal boots so that I wasn’t stuck in hospital in my wellies.

By now it was clear that we weren’t going to fly to either of the nearest hospitals - Belford in Fort William or Raigmore in Inverness, where island casualties usually find themselves. The wind was really picking up, and apparently its speed and direction, combined with the increased risk of turbulence from nearby mountains, would make it difficult to land at either mainland hospital. The Coastguard crew had come down from Stornoway on Lewis in the Outer Hebrides - over a 150 miles away - so that’s where we would be going. The island coastguard had told me that when her daughter was airlifted off the island, she had fallen asleep to the sound of the helicoper rotor blades, and that is exactly what our son did, sunggled on my chest in the papoose and zipped inside my jacket to keep him extra cosy.

The Coastguard walked me to the helicopter and gestured to me to duck and wrap my arms around the baby as we got closer. The helicoper was huge - a Sikorsky S-92 I believe, for those who like to know these things - and the noise and wind coming from the blades was incredible. The grass around the helicopter was pushed flat to the ground and in the early morning half-light, the whole scene felt utterly unreal, like something from a Hollywood film. Before long we were being strapped in to our seat, yellow eardefenders in place to block the noise, and after a few minutes waiting for the all-clear, slowly rose into the sky. One of Muck’s coastguard took the following video of our take-off:

I had never been in a helicopter before, though I knew a little about them as my husband has occasionally used them to get to remote spots on the Greenland ice sheet as part of his research into glacial melting. This one, though, was quite different from the small commercial aircraft he’d experienced. For a start it was enormous: the call handler had checked my weight in advance of the flight and we were sat towards the back, but there was space for at least 15 more people. Inside was quite bare, with fold-down seats rowed along the sides and headsets dangling from the ceiling, and the centre was a field-medicine stretcher bed, complete with spinal board and canisters of what I assume were oxygen and/or nitrous oxide. Stornoway Coastguard provide a 24-hour year-round Search and Rescue service for the north and west of Scotland, so they have to be prepared not just to transfer croupy babies from tiny islands (in their capacity as secondary Air Ambulance for the Western Isles), but also to find and assist climbers during accidents in the mountains, as well as recover and treat sailors taken ill at sea. To them, this was probably a very easy and straightforward mission - though it felt rather different to me!

As we left the island I felt the wind buffetting the helicopter, and as we came above the cliff that backs our house I felt the whole aircraft lurch to one side. I knew that it was likely that we’d keep fairly close to the ground as that’s what the island Coastguard had told me usually happens in strong winds, but as the winchman showed me the route on his iPad it was clear that we’d be flying over the sea, tracking between the West Coast and the Outer Hebrides. It was too loud for conversation, so we communicated by gesture and writing on a tiny whiteboard: at one point the winchman wrote ‘170 mph’ on the board, before adjusting it to 175mph and adding the epithet ‘the fastest I’ve flown’!

I could feel my heart thundering in my chest and my head was swimming with half-formed worries, but I knew that the best - indeed, only - thing I could do was sit tight and trust the people who had climbed out of their beds before dawn on a Sunday morning to help my baby and get us safely to hospital. From the windows most of what I could see was the sea, tinged a weird purple colour by the sunrise as it filtered through low cloud. Waves crashed on rocks and, far to the west, I could see them lapping on the shores of the southern-most Outer Hebrides. When the wind caught the aircraft and the sea was suddenly replaced by the sky and scudding clouds, I changed my focus and kept my eyes on the shoulder of the winchman. A large fabric patch on his sleeve told me his name was Norman ‘Nam’ MacLeod, and that seemed like a good Hebridean name, belonging to someone who would know this part of the world and its weather better than most. (I later found out he is a very experienced paramedic who has been involved in some pretty tricky rescues - read here for more: https://www.cicerone.co.uk/helicopter-rescue-in-the-hebrides)

Thirty-five minutes after leaving Muck we were touching down on the helipad at Stornoway. I was helped down from the aircraft and lead straight to a waiting ambulance which drove us the short distance to the hospital. The baby, who had slept through all the excitement, now woke up and, clearly refreshed by his nap, bestowed all of his best smiles on the A&E team as they assessed his condition. Throat swabs were taken and he was given a full health check; they confirmed that a viral infection in his chest was behind it all, and we were to stay in hospital overnight in case it developed into brochiolitis or pneumonia. Swabs for Covid and RSV came back negative, so the precise nature of the virus remains a mystery. After receiving excellent care in our own en suite room in the hospital, we were discharged the following afternoon. And there began the next stage of the adventure: getting back to Muck…

Without a helicopter or even a car, it was clearly going to take some time: we needed two ferries (Stornoway-Ullapool and Mallaig-Muck), two buses (Ullapool-Inverness and Inverness-Fort William), and one train (Fort William-Mallaig), plus at least two nights’ accommodation along the way. Fortunately there were plenty of spaces on public transport and options for places to stay as almost no one comes to holiday in the Highlands in January, but I can’t imagine how difficult - not to say expensive - this journey would be in the summer. So five days after we left the island in dramatic fashion, we finally came back to Muck as foot passengers on the MV Lochnevis and were reunited with the other half of our family - along with most of the island - at the pier. Now let’s hope we get through the rest of our stay here without further high jinks!

I would like to say a huge thank you to everyone who helped make sure our little boy stayed safe and received the best medical care possible. The Coastguard provides a lifeline service for island communities and I am hugely grateful to Muck’s team (Sandy, Vicky and Barnaby) and the Stornoway Search and Rescue crew (Norman MacLeod and colleagues) for everything they did that morning. Thanks too to our neighbours Colin and Ruth for the loan of their field and to the wonderful nurses and doctors at Stornoway (particularly Rebecca, Doreen, and Dr Mallick) who ensured we had the best care and medical support during our stay.

Esther Phoebe Rutter 26/01/2023 Esther Phoebe Rutter 26/01/2023

Muckdate 5: Shopping, Sunshine and The Little Red Boat

Getting to grips with shopping on an island

Yesterday started at 6.30am - not with a wakeful baby, but with a call to the Co-op in Mallaig. Because there's no shop on Muck, supplies have to be brought from the mainland, so for daily groceries the only option is the Co-op (no shopping around, click& collect, or doorstep delivery here!). What happens is that the day before you think the CalMac ferry stands the best chance of making it into Muck's harbour, you email the shop with a list of what you want. I'm sure that as you get to know their stock you get adept at requesting quite specific things, but as we're new here we don't know exactly what the Mallaig branch has (there's no list or online shop to check) my list included some fantastically vague items like '4 bottled ales', '1 bottle of red wine', and 'a bag of apples (organic if possible)'.

Then on the morning of the planned delivery, you need to call the Co-op before 7am (but not the night before) to pay for your order. We think this early start is so they can be fairly certain that the sailing won't be cancelled, but still gives the staff time to pick and box up your shopping. Then it's loaded into the little white service van that visits all the islands, driven onto the CalMac and sets off across the sea, calling at Eigg on the way. When the ferry's due (usually around 1pm on Muck, but can very depending on the tides) you need to be down at the ferry terminal to collect your order, along with any post that might also have been dropped off. This isn't the case with Royal Mail items, as there is a paid postman on the island who will deliver to your door, but anything sent by a different courier needs to be collected in person. If you can't make it down in time to meet the ferry, deliveries are left by the pier and you come and collect them when you can.

*MV Lochnevis waiting at the pier - with splendid views of Ardnamurchan peninsula behind.*

It was a gloriously sunny and fairly still day when I went down yesterday; the boat had already arrived and my order was sitting on the quayside. Two boxes (that had previously held Monster Munch and Bacon Rashers) were waiting for me, with my name written on the top. A neighbour helped me load them into my car, and after a quick chat and check of the mail delivery, it was back to Gallanach to unload the shopping. And this is where the fun really starts.

*Tom demonstrating his wheelbarrowing-over-rocks-and-mud technique*

As previously mentioned, our cottage is perched on a little cliff above a sandy bay at the northern end of the island. To get anything bigger than a bag to and from the house requires strength, determination - and a wheelbarrow. So our shopping was loaded into the barrow and Tom wheeled it up to the house, over the rocks and across a series of boggy puddles. Then it was time to see if what we’d ordered was the same as what the Co-op could supply. Most things were what we wanted - though there was an absence of marigold gloves and sunflower seeds - and we were pleased with what ‘4 bottled ales and a bottle of red wine’ translated to!

*A pleasingly local selection of ales and a promising Rioja*

Though a lot of things have to be brought over on the boat, there are some things you can get direct from the island. As we were walking home from nursery on Monday I bumped into the gamekeeper for the first time, who handed me a bag of pheasant breasts, with the promise of a meat pack (sausages, burgers, kebabs and the like) to come. The island runs a pheasant shoot, and the keepers also facilitate stalking on neighbouring Rum, so there's plenty of game to be had And as the gamekeeper says, each pheasant in the freezer is one chicken we don't have to pay for (and I would add, farm intensively. The pheasants have the run of the island and there are two which seem to be resident in our garden - clearly they have more than the usual amount of common sense.) The farm supplies lamb and eggs - I dropped off our empty egg boxes on my way to pick up R from nursery - so we look set to be well-supplied with locally grown sources of protein.

*Muck Tea Room, also home of Choc-Ness artisan chocolatiers*

Yesterday was also Burns Night - which coincided with Pizza Wednesday. Muck’s tea room (pictured above) is run by Bruce, a trained pastry chef and chocolatier, so the standard of food is very high! On Saturdays he sells beautful sourdough bread - though you have to get there early to secure yourself a sought-after loaf - along with a coffee morning, where delicious baked goods including exceptional brownies and iced cinnamon buns are on offer. The pizzas were exccellent - and of course, there was haggis included as a topping.

Usually you can also buy fresh seafood from The Little Red Boat, Muck’s own shellfish and seafood supplier, but at the moment the Little Red Boat is hauled up by the pier with her stern hanging off - victim to a vicious November storm. This means that there is no working fisherman on the island - something I believe to be almost unprecedented in its history - and that one family is without its main source of income. So if you'd like to help to replace the Little Red Boat, there is a Crowdfunder running at the moment and I know that all donations will be very gratefully received: https://www.crowdfunder.co.uk/p/thelittleredboat

Esther Phoebe Rutter 24/01/2023 Esther Phoebe Rutter 24/01/2023

Muckdate 4: Greetings from Gallanach

We've been on Muck for a week now so I thought I'd give you a little insight into how our day-to-day life is shaping up.

First of all, if you'd like to see a bit more of exactly where we live on the island, have a look at this episode of Weir's Way from 1982. If you've not encountered it before, Weir's Way was a programme by the Glaswegian climber, writer, presenter and outdoor enthusiast Tom Weir which featured a different place in Scotland in each episode. In this one, Tom sailed to Muck and interviewed Laurence MacEwen, owner and farmer of the island, along with a few other residents. Though the video quality isn’t great, it gives a really good snapshot of Muck - albeit it in balmy weather we’re yet to experience, having arrived in January.

There are some differences between the island in the 1980s and today - for example, now there is a bigger pier that can accommodate a CalMac car ferry, though the small pier Tom alights at does still exist - but a lot more similarities. The road Tom walks to cross the island is the one we take to get to and from nursery every day, and the farm where Laurence lives is now home to Laurence's son and his family. The beautiful sandy bay lies directly outside our kitchen window and the views of Eigg and Rum are just as glorious now as then.

If you want to skip to the part that specifically features where we're living, watch from around 7 minutes. Fisher- and ferryman Bryan Walters, his wife Clare, and their three children lived in Gallanach Cottage for many years, which (from the outside at least) looks much as it does 40 years later. Tragically Bryan died at sea in September 2003 and his family have since left the island, though we have been told they return often to stay in the small extension they added onto the northern end of the cottage.

*Gallanach on the 1903 Ordnance Survey Map.*

Today Gallanach Cottage is a T-shaped building, and we occupy the oldest two-thirds of it. The oldest part has great thick stone walls that are whitewashed on the outside and pine panelled within, and was once a smithy. We don’t know when exactly it was built, but presumably in the 1870s or earlier, as you can see it on the 1877 Ordnance Survery, and it is still marked as a smithy on the 1903 edition. Today this part contains our bedrooms: a large double with views across the bay for me, Tom and baby K; a cosy bunkroom for R; and a spare triple at the back which Tom uses as his office and R refers to as 'Hilda's room' in anticipation of a certain little friend coming to visit.

At right angles to the oldest part is a two-roomed extension, which we think was added as part of a expansion in property and improvement in living conditions across the island in the post-War period. With fabulous views of Rum, Eigg and Gallanach bay, this part of the house contains the bathroom, kitchen, living room, and a small pantry. The house has gas-powered central heating (supplied by large propane canisters) as well as a wood-burning stove, and the electricity is supplied by a mixture of renewables from the island: photovoltaic panels and wind turbines. Below are (left to right) the living room, spare room, kitchen, and bedroom. Spot the sleeping baby…

The cottage is bright, cosy, and comfortable, and I think the views from the windows will spoil me for life! I like knowing that other families have lived here, that their babies slept in blankets here as mine do now, and that their children trekked acrros the island to the school just as our daughter does. There are three children (including her) in her nursery class, plus another four in the primary class; when the children reach secondary school age they either have to board at state or private schools on the mainland, or the family has to move away. There are currently four households with school-aged children on the island (out of fourteen in total), plus one with a baby on the way, so it feels nice to be joining a community of young families.

Our routine is much as it was at home on the mainland: up around 7, then breakfast and getting ready for the day before my husband leaves to cycle R down to nursery for 8.50 (though for the first couple of days she went down on the neighbours’ 4x4 ATV as the road was very icy). Then he goes to work in the spare room and I have the rest of the house to use for sorting out the washing, drying, cooking, cleaning and taking care of the baby. Once the baby’s down for his main nap (usually quite a lengthy one) I can crack on with writing. We recovene for lunch around 1 and by 3pm I’m off down the road - baby in the carrier on my front - to pick up R from nursery. When we get back R has some down time (TV, drawing, playing with her brother) whilst I get tea ready and Tom finishes work, and we all eat together. Then its time for a bit more play and stories before the children’s bedtime, leaving the adults with a (in theory) peaceful hour or two before turning in (ha ha). We have good internet here (thank you HebNet) so we can watch all the usual TV options, and there’s a well-stocked cottage library too - plus of course I’ve brought plenty of yarn with me…

*Here you can clearly see the three sections of the cottage - and the wonderful views beyond!*

Esther Phoebe Rutter 22/01/2023 Esther Phoebe Rutter 22/01/2023

Muckdate 3: Here at Last

Snow and ice greet us on Muck.

*Snowy* *Port Mor on the day we arrived, with the school playground on the right and cafe to the left.*

It's a wild, wet and windy day so I'm back in the sofa with my sleeping baby and my knitting. My 4-year-old is pretending to be Moana sailing across the sea in her bunkbeds (with help from Maui - I mean Dad), so I've got a bit of time to finish the story of our arrival on Muck before I have to go and get lunch ready.

After we had to turn back because of the weather last Saturday, we decided to make the most of our extra day on the mainland with a morning of beach-combing (we found the heart of Te Fiti, Moana fans), a trip to Mallaig leisure centre (we were the only people there and had an hour of fun in the floats followed by a very welcome steam in the sauna), and wound up with dinner and drinks at the lovely Chlachain Inn. Then it was back to the bunkhouse for what we hoped would be our final night on the mainland - and this time the weather omens were distinctly promising, with hardly any wind and what little there was coming from the north, ideal for getting in to Muck's south-facing harbour.

When we opened the bunkhouse curtains we were amazed to see that it had snowed in the night - a fairly rare occurrence on the west coast seaboard. So it was time to scrape the car and check the ice conditions on the road before heading carefully into Mallaig and reversing into the ferry queue ready for our second attempt to make it to the island. The hills around Mallaig looked spectacular with their sprinkling of snow and ice and as we steamed out of the harbour we saw the Skye Cuillin regal under heavy mantles of snow. Before we left I'd called our landlady on Muck to let her know that we almost certainly would be arriving around lunch time, and she said that they'd woken to ice and frozen puddles on the island, something which almost never happens because Muck is so low-lying and has a maritime climate.

*Scraping the car at Arisaig in the early morning snowlight.*

This time it was all plain sailing: a quick stop at Eigg first to deliver supplies, visitors, and those returning home to the island, before a short, calm hop to Muck. As we approached the harbour we could see snow had now fallen on the island too - what an exciting way to be welcomed to our new home.

The pier was busy with people coming to meet the boat, though we didn't linger as our 4-year-old was itching to go and have a play in the snow. We also wanted to make a quick stop at the nursery to say hello to our landlady (who also works as the school's clerical assistant) and to introduce our daughter to the other children. We were warmly welcomed by the teachers (1 each for the nursery and composite primary class) and pupils (all six of them, ranging from four to eleven years), and as we'd arrived during their lunch break everyone had a play together in the snow.

After a little while our daughter was showing signs of being hungry and a bit overwhelmed by all the excitement, so we said goodbye and made our way back to the car, ready to drive across the island to our house. There's only one road and it runs south to north, connecting the main village of Port Mòr (home to the school, café, pier, bunkhouse, craft shop and community hall) with the hamlet of Gallanach, where the farm, hunting lodge and a couple of cottages nestle round a sandy bay.

We hadn't got very far along the road when we encountered an obstacle. Another vehicle had slid on the ice (no gritters on the islands) and was partially blocking the road, meaning that no one could get by until the farm tractor had come to tow it up the hill. So my husband carefully turned the car round and we went gingerly back to wait it out in Port until the road was clear.

By now the snow had started to fall heavily and both children were complaining of boredom and hunger so we headed for the community hall, a large modern building above the school which we had visited briefly on our one previous trip to the island. The place is available for anyone to use and consists of a kitchen and seating area, a big wooden floored hall for ceilidhs, games and big events, and a smaller upstairs room with a small display about the island's history alongside not one but two lending libraries (one supplied by the Highland Council, the other donated by a former resident). I was able to sit and feed the baby whilst my husband and daughter (after a bit of refuelling) played sliding and racing games on the hall's polished floor. Outside a blizzard blew and I was so grateful for this shelter before we'd even made it to our house).

*Following the tractor back to Gallanach.*

After an inch or two of snow had fallen the clouds parted and the sun came out. The whole island shone in the winter sunshine and, as we made our way outside again for anothere quick play in the snow, we saw the farm tractor coming down the road. The way ahead was clear and the farmer (who is also our landlord) came over to welcome us, advising that we followed him back to to the farm so that he could rescue us if we had any trouble in the snowy conditions. Fortunately we made the journey without incident, but we felt protected and safe in the knowledge that there was someone just a few metres away who could help us if needed.

Once we’d got to Gallanach it was a race against the dying daylight to unload the kids and three months’ worth of kit from the car into the house, 100m or so away up a narrow, rocky path. Fortunately a sturdy and capacious wheelbarrow was provided for the purpose, so after a sweaty hour or two we and our wordly possessions had traversed this final obstacle and we were home and - miraculously - dry. Our life on Muck had begun.

Esther Phoebe Rutter 20/01/2023 Esther Phoebe Rutter 20/01/2023

Muckdate 2: Not Quite Getting It (or rather, There)

The one where we nearly get to Muck

*Friday morning, looking towards Rum and Eigg - what a corker!*

I am writing this with the baby asleep on my lap on an absolutely breathtaking Muck morning - still, clear, cool but not too cold. Opposite the living room window the mountains on Rum are snowy white against the pale pink sky which is slowly fading to creamy blue with the sunrise, and if I turn my head slightly to look out of the kitchen window the sgurr of Eigg is sprinkled with snow, backed by the same beautiful sky.

It's a week since we left our life in Fife - though only five days since we arrived on Muck! In theory, the journey should take about 7 hours - 4 hours of driving to Mallaig followed by 2-3 hours on the ferry - but ours was rather longer. In fact, it took us from 1pm on Friday to 1pm on Monday, a 72-hour epic that gave us our first salutary lesson of island life: the weather is in charge and there's nothing you can do about it.

Before we left I'd been warned that strong winds from the Atlantic make it difficult for boats to come into the harbour on Muck, as it is a narrow channel lined with rocks angled to the south-west. For the preceding week I'd been obsessively checked the weather and shipping forecasts, and it wasn't looking good for our booked sailing on Saturday. Friday, however, was looking lovely and calm, with winds from the north-west, so on Wednesday I telephoned our landlady and asked if she'd mind us arriving a day early. She thought that was a good plan, and advised that I call the ferry office straight away to see if there was space for us on that sailing. The MV Loch Nevis, scheduled to call at Muck 4 times a week, can only take a very limited amount of vehicular traffic. Unfortunately, the Friday sailing was fully booked, and there's no boat on a Sunday - and so we had no choice but to press ahead with our original plans.

We left Fife on Friday lunchtime, car absolutely laden to the gunwhales with everything we thought a family of four (including a rapidly growing baby in nappies and an artistic 4-year-old who can get through a box of paper in a week) might need in the coming three months. As Muck has no shop, we also had a fair amount of food - a normal week's shop for the four of us, plus a few extra bags of long-life store cupboard essentials in case bad weather meant that the ferry couldn't bring supplies from the mainland. We'd been warned that the island can be cut off for up to a week by winter storms, so having a spare week's food in hand seemed like a sensible precaution.

We arrived at the bunkhouse in Arisaig about 5pm, and set about making dinner (a hungry 4-year-old makes nothing easier) and getting everything in place for the one night we thought we'd be staying. Our daughter was pretty giddy about sleeping in a bunkbed, and spent most of the evening climbing up and down the ladders pretending she was on a sailing ship. Nevertheless, we managed to get everyone into bed at a reasonable hour and set the alarm for 7am, giving us 3 hours to get dressed, fed, repacked into the car and drive the 10 minutes to the ferry terminal at Mallaig. Before I fell asleep I heard my phone ping with an automated notification regarding tomorrow's sailing to the Small Isles - 'Service will be liable to disruption or cancellation at short notice due to adverse weather.'

Nevertheless, by the time we were sitting down to breakfast the ferry was still showing as running, so we packed up the circus and headed to Mallaig. I collected our tickets from the ferry office, then popped into the nearby Co-op to stock up on food items that wouldn't last long out of the fridge: milk, yoghurt, meat, fresh fruit. We were set to go, and as my husband reversed down the ramp to join the vans and pick-ups on the car deck, we all felt a thrill of excitement - we were actually going to Muck!

Coming through the sheltered bay between Mallaig and the islands was calm enough, but from the bow we could see white horses out in the sound and the boat's flag was flapping ferociously in the wind. Nevertheless we made steady progress towards Rum, and made a plan to eat our lunch whilst we were at anchor there, ahead of heading in to stormier conditions in the Sound. Breakfast baps devoured, we settled down in the centre of the observation lounge and braced ourselves for a livley crossing to Muck.

And lively it was. Having got talking to the harbourmaster on Rum, who was heading off the island for the weekend, he reckoned that the swell was about 6 metres and he'd only once made the crossing in worse conditions. Our 4-year-old was giggling with delight at all the rolling about, whilst the baby seemed to find the whole thing very relaxing and spend the voyage alternately sleeping on my lap or smiling at other passengers. My husband started to feel a wee bit queasy as we got to the middle of the Sound and the bow-to-stern roll really began to hit the high notes. But on we ploughed, and amazingly neither me or the children felt even the slightest bit sick.

*In the Sound of Rum, battling the swell.*

Then, as perhaps the hundredth huge wave smashed into the bow, the tannoy crackled into life and the captain announced that the weather was too dangerous to attempt to get into the harbours at Muck or Eigg. The winds were gusting at 66mph and the shipping forecast had been correct in its prediction of a 'very rough, occasionally high' sea state for Malin and the Hebrides. Instead we were heading back to Mallaig - and after a spicy couple of minutes turning the boat around in the middle of the Sound, that is exactly what we did. Though the turn itself was a little lively, the difference once we had the wind to our stern was amazing: the rolling all but ceased and we quickly steamed back into port.

The next crossing to Muck was on Monday morning, so as soon as we were back on dry land I raced to the ferry office and fortunately they were able to squeeze us on to that sailing. The bunkhouse had space for us for the intervening two nights (in fact we were the only guests booked in for the whole time - another piece of luck as usually they don't allow infants to stay in case they disturb other visitors), and so with good weather forecast for Monday - including a light wind from the north-west, hurrah - we decided to make the most of the enforced stopover and headed to the pub to reward ourselves for coming through our first west coast adventure.

Esther Phoebe Rutter 18/01/2023 Esther Phoebe Rutter 18/01/2023

Muckdate 1: The Big Five

First update from our life on Muck

Hello dear friends, new acquaintances, and casual observers - warmest greetings from the Isle of Muck!

This is my third blog (the others have been about knitting and reading), but I haven't kept one in recent years as life has been fairly busy with having babies and writing books. I am still pretty occupied with both, but 2023 has brought a new adventure to our family: a temporary relocation to the small Hebridean island of Muck, so I thought I would restart blogging to share it with you. A friend suggested I call these 'Muckdates' and who am I to argue with a good pun?

I'll begin by addressing the Big 5: the Who, What, When, Where and Why.

Who?

Esther (a freelance writer and Honorary Research Fellow at the University of St Andrews), my husband Tom (a Lecturer in Geography at the University of St Andrews), and our two small children - our daughter R who is 4, and our son K who is 3 months old.

What?

Have relocated from Fife to the Isle of Muck, one of the Hebridean Small Isles on the west coast of Scotland.

When?

We will be living on the island until April 2023.

Where?

*Gallanach Cottage, Isle of Muck, with Rum (left) and Eigg (right).*

Muck is the smallest of the inhabited Small Isles, measuring roughly 2.5 miles west-east and 1.5 miles north-south, and lying about 10 miles from the western edge of the Scottish mainland. Around 40 people live on the island, which takes about two and half hours to reach on the ferry from Mallaig. We are staying in one of the holiday cottages - the island doesn’t get much off-season tourism, which means we are able to rent Gallanach Cottage at the island’s northern end over the winter. As you can see from the image above, it is a pretty spectacular place to stay!

Why?

This is the biggie - why have we left our comfortable, familiar home in Fife for a tiny island where we know no one? There's no succinct answer to this - other than for the sheer joy and challenge of experiencing a different type of existence. The move is possible because my husband is on paid research leave from his teaching work at St Andrews University, which means we are free to be away from home but - crucially - still have our staple income. I am simultaneously on maternity leave (or at least in receipt of Maternity Allowance, being self-employed means there's no official period of leave) so as long as baby K is with me, I also have the freedom to be away from home. We did a similar thing when our daughter was a baby, moving to Tromsø in Arctic Norway for a summer so Tom could work at the Norwegian Polar Institute. The kids are still little enough to not miss friends or home life too much, so we thought it was a good time to have one more family adventure before the restrictions of school make this more difficult.

*Watching the MV Loch Nevis arrive on the Isle of Canna, summer 2021*

The reason we are on Muck specifically is a mixture of choice, chance and opportunity. We have had several lovely holidays on the west coast of Scotland, including stays on nearby Canna (2021) and Eigg (2022), and always leave wishing that we could stay for longer. The combination of research and maternity leave gave us a window of opportunity to try this, and a bit of Googling threw up the option of longer-term, off-season lets at reasonable prices on Muck.

The other critical factor is that Muck has a state-funded nursery, meaning that our daughter can not only continue her education, but also have other children to play with, something which is vital for her development (and, if I’m honest, my sanity). With her at nursery I have time to squeeze in a bit of writing (baby K is still at the sleepy stage), and that is how you find us on this blustery January day - typing this in the kitchen table with K asleep beside me, R at nursery, and Tom working at his desk in the spare room.

*Snapshot of home life - there are some very distracting views out of that window!*

I’m hoping to post semi-regular updates about what we get up to whilst we’re here but if you have any specific questions you’d like me to answer feel free to leave them in the comments below.

The header picture shows our cottage, perched above Gallanach Bay, catching the sunlight.

Esther Rutter