Lines from an Island I: Connections and Cutoffs

Since 2020 has been named the ‘Year of Coast and Waters’ by Visit Scotland, I thought it would be a good idea to adopt this theme for my first blog post, particularly as it is also a recurring theme in much of my work.

Living on a small, remote island which is just 5 miles by 3 miles, the coastline is an intrinsic part of island life. The coast is our connection and our cut off, our calm and our chaos. Last week it was more cut off and chaos than anything else simply because we endured gusts of up to 75mph which wreaked havoc with the Ferry service and the Doctor’s boat - both of which provide lifeline services to our small island community of just over 100 residents. During these tempestuous winter months, weather apps seem to be more frequently checked than social media posts and provide endless debates on which one has the more accurate forecast and the opportunity for wagers to be placed on the likelihood of a boat (carrying our food, supplies, mail, and loved ones), making it across…or not. Making plans to go off the island at this time of the year is always a gamble as while there may be a window to leave, the chances of being stranded on the mainland and not able to return are also very real.

I found myself in this offshore limbo just last week when Storm Brendan decided to breeze on in tussling with the seas, taunting the trees and causing my roof to leak. My hope of attending the opening weekend of Celtic Connections in Glasgow and in particular its festival within a festival, ‘Coastal Connections’ were looking decidedly iffy. With only 4 ferries to Eigg a week in the Winter, just one cancellation has a knock on effect and limits the window of opportunity to make it off the island in time to attend whatever appointment, engagement or social occasion you have scribbled in your diary. On Monday the Calmac service status displayed a full house of cancellations to the Small Isles, Skye, and the Western Isles - something I’d not seen before in the 2 years I’ve lived here - with any future sailings liable to cancellation or disruption at short notice. The same was repeated on Wednesday which only left me Friday’s ferry to make it off in time to get down to Glasgow. The ever hopeful and exceptionally patient mainlander I was accompanying to the festival remained on standby. An amended timetable was posted Thursday night but due to changeable weather conditions it wasn’t a guaranteed passage - more a case of definitely maybe.

Thankfully, after much hoping, waiting and weather app scrutiny, a window of fairer weather dawned and I was on my way to Glasgow.

Ironically, as we made our way to the Royal Concert Concert Hall another Storm was preparing to make waves and headlines. However, this was not one that descended from the skies, this one rose from the sea in the form of a giant Sea Goddess puppet made from recycled and natural materials (including iris leaves gathered here on Eigg by resident basketmaker Catherine Davies). This was her first public appearance as part of Scotland’s Year of Coasts and Waters. Standing at 10 meters tall, the puppet’s name ‘Storm’ couldn’t have been more apt…

One of the things that stood out about the performances at Coastal Connections was getting to hear the stories and inspiration behind the various sessions. These ranged from songs, music, storytelling, films and exhibitions all of which seemed to be underpinned by a joyous mix of folklore, history, family ties and traditions all inextricably linked to the sea and shorelines; its ephemeral presence alongside its never ending pulse.

Now back on my wee island, the remnants of Storm Brendan remain strewn along the pier and the beaches as new littoral landscapes emerge between the tidelines drawing me and my lens to their ephemeral edges…