Scaling the peaks of Mingulay: great Scot! – a photo essay
21.07.2023 - 11:31
/ theguardian.com
I thought the sun had blinked, but we had been caught in the shadow of a golden eagle passing low overhead. There were five of them over the hill, Cnoc Mhic-a-Phi, two of them tumbling out of the blue sky, lost in a playful, taloned dogfight.
Golden eagles
I had been invited here to Mingulay (Miùghlaigh in Gaelic) by the celebrated climber and formidable mountaineer Stephen Venables. Mingulay is a small, uninhabited island, the second most southerly of the Outer Hebrides. Four kilometres long and nearly three wide, it has three distinct hills, grassy pasture meadows and virtually no trees. Owned by the National Trust for Scotland since 2000, it is no longer grazed by sheep and the grass grows long. We are part of a group of rock climbers from Northumberland camping and climbing for a week above the ruined village, abandoned since 1912.
Above, looking down the east coast of Mingulay. Right, thrift or sea pink flowers. Far right, Mingulay
In 1988, Venables became the first Briton to climb Mount Everest without supplementary oxygen. He reached the summit alone. Descending late in the day, he decided to spend a night in the open above 8,500m, rather than risk a disastrous fall in the dark, surviving the incredible experience but at the cost of several frostbitten toes.
Stephen Venables climbing at Lianamul Slabs.
“I’ve been to some very exciting places, I’ve done many expeditions in the Himalayas, climbed in Africa, Antarctica and the Andes. Now I want to enjoy being in Scotland and to enjoy what is here. Mingulay is magical. Stupendous wildlife. The Western Isles are unique and special, silver beaches, turquoise sea … it makes me think that I can manage without the Mediterranean,” says Venables.
The island is now mostly frequented by a summer procession of rock climbers, adventurous sea kayakers, sailors and boats full of day-trippers. It still bears the furrows and ruins of a community that clung on for at least 2,000 years. The population peaked in 1881, reaching a congested 160 souls, but after much grievance and injustice at the hands of landlords, by 1912 they had all left.
Above and right, climbers at Hunadudh at Bagh Hunadubh. Far right, Stephen Venables climbing Port Pillar
Eagles, skuas and corncrakes have the interior predominantly to themselves now, but the people’s voices are not extinguished. The naming of the coast and each feature of the landscape – both in Gaelic and in Norse – bears witness to the communities that flourished there over many centuries.
Our group is camped south of Cnoc Mhic-a-Phi, beneath a large pirate flag and beside the old school house. The skull and crossbones is the calling card of our team organiser, Tim Catterall. The Newcastle-based, 55-year-old project manager