The wildly beautiful island of Whalsay

Whalsay may only be five miles long by two miles wide, but is definitely an island that people love to label. The Vikings dubbed Whalsay as ‘Whales Island’ while the first Scots settlers in the 1400s hailed it as the ‘Bonnie Island’. More recently this remarkable outpost has been nicknamed the ‘Millionaire Island’. I’m on the half hour ferry over now easing across to find out more about Whalsay beyond the labels.

The super trawlers you see today are the fruits of the labours of generations of fisherfolk in these local families. We have over 1,000 years of fishing heritage here and we are very proud of it. Whalsay has always invested and innovated – that helps keeps us ahead in the fishing game.

Chatting to the crew on the way over they confirm you do sometimes get whales in these waters, but today I have to make do with a brace of porpoises and a volley of seabirds. The Vikings actually came up with the ‘Whale Island’ moniker more due to the shape of Whalsay as it resembled a whale. The hump of this stranded island humpback is the Ward of Clett, the island’s highest point at 400ft high.

The ‘Millionaire Island’ tag is an intriguing one. It comes as the island is said to sport more millionaires per capita than anywhere else in the UK. The mystery starts to reveal itself as we round the harbour wall into Symbister and I survey the fishing fleet. There are a gaggle of in-shore creel vessels and the odd small trawler but dwarfing them all is are the hulks of two of the pelagic super trawlers that bring in Whalsay’s real wealth.

The scale of the fishing here is remarkable. These giant pelagic vessels are capable of hauling in around 2,000 tonnes of fish in on one single trip, meaning they only have to put to sea for three months a year to catch their annual quotas. Much of the rest of the year you can view them tied up and I see a local school group hopping on for a wee visit. The work of the creel boats is impressive too, so much so that in 2012 the local brown crab and scallop fisheries became the first in the world to be recognised for their sustainability by the Marine Stewardship Council.

I meet island octogenarian and local history buff Andy Sandison on the quayside. He explains who is behind the big boats who haul in huge shoals of fish as they rise to the surface to feed at night: “The super trawlers you see today are the fruits of the labours of generations of fisherfolk in these local families. We have over 1,000 years of fishing heritage here and we are very proud of it. Whalsay has always invested and innovated – that helps keeps us ahead in the fishing game.”

The fishing wealth has helped keep people on Whalsay by giving them a reason to stay, which is heartwarming to hear. I see the sad spectre of depopulation on my travels to some of the Hebridean isles on Scotland’s west coast, so it is glorious to find the school roll call up to over 150 kids. “People don’t want to leave Whalsay” smiles Andy. “I have six brothers and a sister and none of us settled away from Whalsay.”

It’s not just the fishing they stay for. Back to that ‘Bonnie Isle’ label. Whalsay is bonnie. The first Scots who settled here in the 1400s came to an island resplendent with wildflowers and colour, leading to their appreciative label. It remains bonnie, its low-slung hills spilling down across loch-peppered moorland, and on to a dramatic dalliance with the cobalt waters. The coast is rugged, wild and wildly beautiful, the sort of place you just want to linger breathing in all that bracing fresh salty air.

Views abound on Whalsay, not least at what is not just the most northerly golf course in the UK, but one of its most scenic. The proper 18-hole course at Skaw peers out to the Shetland Mainland, then continues on to take in the moors of Yell, chunky Fetlar and distant Unst, the most northerly inhabited isle in the UK. You won’t forget a round here for the views and the unlikely drive across a loch on the 18th. You’re in good company playing Whalsay as a photo at the clubhouse shows the Ryder Cup’s unlikely visit!

There is plenty else to explore around Whalsay. I resolve to come back and really dig into the prehistory. The chances are you will be all alone as you wander the hilltop burial cairns, prehistoric field boundaries and the nationally significant Neolithic house remains of Yoxie and the Beenie Hoose. There are no visitor centres – just you, the big skies and the indelible traces of our ancestors.

Man’s imprint on Whalsay runs deep. I head to Symbister House, a lavish mansion build by the Scots lairds. It took three decades to build with granite painstakingly rowed over from Shetland Mainland. It nearly bankrupted the Bruce family. It now houses a school, but the grounds are also home to a heritage museum. Here a brilliant permanent collection runs through the rich fishing heritage, showing how Whalsay has managed to adapt and invest down the centuries to make its fishing industry thrive when many other islands have struggled.

There are Viking traces too on Whalsay, but it is the Hanseatic connections that really catch the eye. I pick up a key from another friendly islander, Alastair, at a local shop that offers Shetland meat, seafood and beer. The key is my passport to another world, that of the once omnipotent Hanseatic League. I wander down the old Bremenstrasse to find the only surviving Hanseatic booth anywhere, or bod in the Shetland dialect; Bude in German.

It was German traders who flocked to Whalsay during the Hanseatic days. They brought myriad goods and were in search of fish, which they had dried before shipping it en mass back across the Baltic, often via Bergen. Two floors of exhibits and information boards tell the tales, which sweep from traders to swashbuckling pirates. I learn too how centuries of trade between Whalsay came to an end after the Act of Union in 1707, which brought in prohibitive taxes.

Whalsay is an island that keeps throwing up surprises and more layers. I stumble across the last surviving of Shetland’s five ‘Cross Kirks’, whose story dates back to the when the Vikings adopted Christianity. It enjoys a dramatic location, reclining proudly on a wee slice of land reached by a tombolo. I hear too about the local knitting community, of which Hugh MacDiarmid’s wife was a keen member when the couple lived on Whalsay in the 1930s. The items I see on sale at the local heritage museum recall for me the geometric knits of Fair Isle. You can see the croft where McDiarmid lived and wrote some of his best work, clearly inspired by the charm of the island around him.

I leave Shetland’s island of labels wishing I could stay longer like those Hanseatic traders and MacDiarmid. What label should I give Whalsay? I think I’ll resist another moniker and just settle on telling you it’s an island of myriad rich layers that is well worth a visit. Whalsay so gloriously is.

By Robin McKelvie
Robin McKelvie is an award-winning travel writer and broadcaster who has been published in over 200 magazines and newspapers worldwide.

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