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.
