Original subtitles

PAUL MURTON: The far north-west of Scotland

boasts some of the most spectacular Lochs in the country.

And travellers, be they holy men or warriors,

have sought sanctuary here since the earliest times.

But then, in the 20th century, when Europe was ravaged by war,

the sea lochs of the west coast provided a sheltered anchorage

to convoys of ships heading to the arctic.

I'm on a loch-hopping journey across Scotland,

where it's been estimated there are more than 31,000 lochs.

They come in all shapes and sizes,

many scoured out by glaciers during the last Ice Age.

The great fresh water lochs of the Central Highlands...

..the long fjord-like sea lochs along our coast...

..and the innumerable lochans that stud the open moors,

or nestle beneath high summits in dark mountain corries.

All are both beautiful and mysterious,

sustaining life and firing our imagination.

Distinctively Scottish,

I want to explore just how these lochs

have shaped a people and defined a nation.

This leg of my journey starts in breathtaking Wester Ross,

on the trail of fabled archers,

sunken wrecks, and every politicians dream,

the money tree.

For this grand tour, I'm travelling to three lochs

on Scotland's beautiful west coast.

The first is Loch Gairloch,

just a 20 mile hop from the Isle of Skye.

After a stop-off at a newly-created kingdom,

I journey inland to Loch Ewe

and the wondrous gardens on its shore,

before seeking an ancient cure for madness

at the mystical waters of Loch Maree.

Like many of the earliest travellers who came here,

I arrive by sea.

In the Gaelic language, Gairloch means 'the short loch'.

But when you're paddling your own canoe

against a headwind and the tide,

it certainly doesn't feel that short.

Phew! Exhausted!

Not to be confused with Gare Loch in Argyll,

Loch Gairloch is the name of the loch, the village on its shore

and the scattered communities round about.

I'm paddling to the natural harbour that sits to the south -

Badachro.

Today, there are more pleasure boats than fishing vessels here,

but in the days of old, this was a thriving port

sending its catch far and wide,

a business they had the Vatican to thank.

Traditionally, the Roman Catholic Church

required and expected the devout to abstain from meat on a Friday.

Now, fortunately, the clerics never considered fish to be meat,

which is why Friday remains the most popular day of the week

for a fish dish, even for non-Catholics

and an agnostic like me.

Scottish fish, and in particular cod, was in high demand,

and here, in Gairloch, it was caught, salted and sent all over the world.

Ian McWhinney's grandfather was one of those fishermen.

And today, Ian fishes the same waters in a traditional wooden boat.

But much of what Ian catches these days,

his Grandfather would have thrown back.

What have we got here?

Now, that's a... that's a nice lobster.

Where's this lobster going to end up?

Probably, it'll be in Spain, this one. In Spain.

I want to see for myself

how Gairloch's fishing folk are surviving

in these more secular times,

and in the absence of the cod that once swam in the loch.

Today, Ian depends on this -

a traditional Scottish creel,

designed to make any crustacean feel right at home.

It's called a parlour pot. Kitchen. Ah-ha.

Anything going here has something to eat.

And then, there's this bit, here, called the parlour. Yeah.

A kind of But'n'Ben of the creel world. Yeah.

That's it.

In these temperate waters, warmed by the Gulf stream,

lobsters can be found at about 40m.

But to hit the jackpot, Ian has to go even deeper.

Is that your langoustine?

That's a nice langoustine, there. Great. It'll bite you.

Lovely finger and thumb, just here. Finger and thumb.

Hold that, and I'll show you what I'm going to do with these.

Hello, little langoustine.

Has he come up from 100ft below me? 150ft, yep.

Yeah. That was a surprise, wasn't it, Mr Langoustine?

It certainly was.

I'll pop him in here.

They're langoustines, or prawns, or scampi -

they're all exactly the same thing.

The proper name is Norwegian Lobsters.

It's just if you give them a fancy French name like langoustines,

you can charge twice as much for them, yeah?

Right. So, on this boat we catch prawns and sell langoustines, yeah?

But that's not all he catches.

And what is that?! This is a Scorpion fish.

It's spines, there, tipped with poison.

If you stand on them, your whole leg will swell up

to twice it's normal size.

Very painful.

And definitely not edible.

The beauty of this traditional type of fishing

is that it's selective and sustainable.

Anything that's too small gets thrown back.

Ah-ha. He's still alive.

Each creel has to be hauled up and baited with fresh fish.

Between 300 and 400 langoustines would be a good day's catch for Ian.

Well, I think we're doing very well.

Look at him. He's a beauty!

And he's learned that it pays to keep one eye on the weather,

and the other on the football results.

For one week in the summer, the price shot up because Spain won the World Cup,

and so everyone was eating shellfish.

So, who'd have thought Spain winning the World Cup

would benefit a little fisherman, away on the west coast of Scotland?

Shellfish fiesta time! There you go.

The Germans win it, they spend nothing on shellfish.

Oh, well, they eat sausages! Oh, well, there you go.

Within 24 hours, most of our catch will be

in the markets of Barcelona, Beijing and beyond...

..still alive.

But some are destined for a dinner table even closer.

This tiny island, on the edge of the loch,

is where Ian and his family live.

When the tide is low, it becomes part of Badachro harbour,

hence the name Dry Island.

And I am honoured with a special greeting.

So, we've got a welcoming committee, here.

This is Iona, my oldest daughter. Hi, Iona.

And this is Isla, my youngest. Hello, Isla.

And these islanders are making their own bid for independence.

IONA: This is your passport for it. A passport? Islonia.

It's a mixture of mine and Isla's name.

And then, it's also got four letters of our brother's name, Finlay.

Right, very appropriate. And look!

We've got a crab and the Scottish flag.

The Kingdom of Islonia!

And who's the King?

What, your dad? (LAUGHS) Yeah.

GIRLS: Yeah. So, you're princesses, is that right?

GIRLS: Yes. Thank you very much.

I feel very honoured.

And what better way to celebrate a declaration of independence

than with a royal seafood feast

prepared by Islonia's young princesses

under the watchful gaze of Queen Jess I.

Oh, look at that! Beautifully presented.

And I don't think there's any way I'm going to get through that huge mountain of shellfish all by myself.

You going to come and join me? I'm going to try one of them.

Mmm.

I couldn't eat another thing.

Leaving the good citizens of Islonia,

I get back on the loch.

I've heard about a small island that figures large

in the folklore of Gairloch.

And I find it just a short distance off its southern shore.

Here we are.

Fraoch Eilean, or Heather Island.

It looks peaceful enough now, but back in the 1490s

it bore witness to an amazing and deadly display

of marksmanship.

Back then, Gairloch belonged to Clan Mackenzie,

who were engaged in a long-running feud

with the MacLeods from the nearby Isle of Skye.

Legend has it that a MacLeod war galley

sailed into Gairloch and anchored here, ready to attack.

They were spotted by two brothers named Macrae,

allies of the Mackenzies, and famed for their skill with bow and arrow.

The archers hid behind a rock ledge, which you can just make out

on the mainland behind me,

and rained arrows down on the galley.

And when one of the MacLeod warriors climbed the mast

to see where the firing was coming from,

he was brought down by a single arrow shot,

fired from a distance of over 500m,

which is an incredible thought,

and quite a feat.

To fully understand what a spectacular shot that was...

Looks like an ideal spot to set up my target.

..I'm conducting a little experiment.

To put the legend to the test,

I've set up a target close to where the invading MacLeod

met his fate.

And now, I'm crossing the loch to the exact place on the shore

where the Macrae arrow was fired.

Here we are, beside the ledge of the arrows.

And here is an archer.

Andrew, pleasure to meet you.

I've enlisted the help of Andrew Gray Muir,

who knows more than most about archery.

Andrew, it's very nice to see that you've dressed for the occasion.

Well, it's the formal dress for the Royal Company of Archers.

The Royal Company of Archers.

So, if anyone can hit that island out there, you should!

(BOTH LAUGH)

It would certainly be another feather in his cap.

That's a good...well, 500m at least.

What do you reckon our chances are of hitting that?

I think enormous. (BOTH LAUGH)

Let's put that theory to the test, then, shall we? I think we should.

Whoa. Fire.

(PLOP!) That was pathetic really, wasn't it?

(BOTH LAUGH) It was miles short.

The distance we're attempting is 500m -

the furthest anyone has shot an arrow and hit a target.

Oh!

It seems an almost impossible challenge.

Look at that! You hit a seagull! I hope not. (LAUGHS)

Andrew's arrow falls 150 metres shy of the island.

It makes that Macrae shot all the more impressive.

What kind of bows do you think they would have had?

They were yew bows.

Um, they would have been much thicker and much longer.

They must have been very strong. Just to pull the bow back?

Just to pull it back.

Bow design and materials may have evolved

but the basic principle remains the same.

Making this simple weapon devastatingly effective,

but only in the right hands.

The thumb should be out of the way from those three fingers.

I've got to let go, otherwise I'll skin my fingers. Yeah, yeah.

The real skill is in compensating for wind speed

and judging trajectory.

Oh!

As in life, it's all about aiming high.

It's going, it's going.

Take that Macleod!

150 metres? It's a long way short! (BOTH LAUGH)

Back in the 1500s, this was the shot of that archer's life.

The MacLeods fled, never to return...

..leaving the Mackenzies to reign supreme in Gairloch.

It's amazing to think we're standing on the exact same spot where it all happened.

Where those two archers stood, looking across at the island, and seeing that MacLeod climbing up.

Yep. Saying, "Well, we'll take him down."

It's just mind-blowingly difficult.

Or a fluke! (LAUGHS)

Or a fluke, indeed. A legendary fluke.

Having run out of arrows, I leave one sea loch

and travel inland to the southern shore of another -

Loch Ewe.

My route passes through some very wild and rugged country.

A reminder, perhaps, that we're on the same latitude

as frozen Hudson Bay in Canada.

So, the last thing in the world I would expect to find here

is this,

or this,

or even this.

On the edge of the loch lie 50 acres

of what I can only describe as a subtropical paradise.

This is Inverewe - the impossible garden!

You could be forgiven for thinking that you've stepped into a rainforest

or a savanna.

There's Chilean rhubarb and rhododendron from the Himalayas.

Exotic species of olearia from New Zealand

grows beside Tasmanian eucalyptus.

It's an overwhelming feast for the eyes

and the nose.

Inverewe was the brainchild

of an extraordinary, visionary but contradictory character,

Osgood Mackenzie.

A direct descendent of the great Mackenzie chiefs

who once dominated this part of north-west Scotland,

Osgood lived to a great age.

And when he died in 1922, he left these fabulous gardens

and a memoir, A Hundred Years In The Highlands,

as his enduring legacy.

Osgood was an archetypal Highland gentleman,

but he was actually born in France in 1842.

When he was just a year old,

the family returned to their Scottish estates,

which included land around Loch Ewe.

Here, Osgood grew up speaking Gaelic

and learning how to kill wild animals.

(SHOTS FIRE, BIRDS CAW)

Shooting was a lifelong passion for Osgood.

He was gifted a gun for his ninth birthday,

and spent most of the next 70 years blasting at anything that moved

from golden eagles to pine martens.

It seems his talent for nurturing plant life

was equalled by his pleasure in slaughtering wildlife.

In his memoir, Osgood writes,

"What a big pile it would make

"if all the black game I'd shot between 1855 and 1900 were gathered

"into one big heap.

"Now, alas, there are none.

"And why? Who can tell?"

Really, Osgood?

It doesn't take a huge leap of imagination

to work out the answer to that question, now, does it?

Osgood the huntsman may seem very different

to Osgood the gardener,

but Inverewe became an obsession.

He planted trees to provide shelter,

imported the finest soil

and added a special ingredient, found here in plentiful supply...

..seaweed.

And it did the trick.

Osgood loved to boast about how big his crinodendrons were.

By the time of his death in 1922, he'd created an oasis of peace,

here, in the Scottish Highlands.

With a calm, zen-like feeling,

I head north towards the narrow mouth of Loch Ewe.

Its natural deep water is sheltered by the hills

that run down to the shore,

and it provides welcome respite to shipping

passing across the stormy Atlantic Ocean.

But there's a darker side to this picture postcard place,

one of violence, death and heroism.

During the Second World War,

this tranquil sea loch would play a vital part

in protecting merchant ships from the menace of German U-boats.

These wartime ruins once housed enormous guns

to protect the entrance to the loch,

which was also mined and closed by an anti-submarine boom

stretched from headland to headland.

This amazing film, shot secretly at the start of the war,

shows the extent of the Loch Ewe defences.

The Nazis were determined to stop arms and vital supplies

from reaching the Soviet ports of Murmansk and Archangel.

Protected by a fleet of war ships,

the Arctic Convoys were crucial to the Allied war effort.

They left from Liverpool, the Clyde

and here at Loch Ewe.

By 1941, the whole area had become one vast militarised zone

with roadblocks and documentation checks.

So that only authorised personnel could gain access.

These derelict structures are a tangible reminder

of the importance of Loch Ewe to the Allied victory.

Making my way around the shore,

I find myself suddenly transported back in time.

An RAF Spitfire buzzes above,

while a Soviet tanks blasts into the distance.

Churchill rallies his troops

while the Luftwaffe prepare for attack.

This bizarre version of the past

is all part of a World War II festival,

a chance to celebrate victory and remember the fallen.

For former seaman Geoff Shelton, this all brings back vivid memories.

Geoff, you were the escort for the merchant ships. We were the escort, yes.

How old were you? 18.

Were you ever scared? I was scared that first night.

A swordfish came in

and instead of landing on the ship, it landed alongside it.

And it sank immediately, taking the pilot with him.

And I watched this lad in the dingy.

"Help, help, help!"

And slowly, the hand came down and the voice got weaker.

We picked him up within 15 minutes

and he was dead.

Frozen to death.

The convoy ships made 78 journeys

at a cost of 3,000 lives.

And the people of Loch Ewe have never forgotten their sacrifice,

and in particular, the loss of one of those ships.

It foundered here in Black Bay.

73 years after it went down,

the twisted wreckage of the lifeboats from the William H Welch

is still strewn on the shoreline.

It was 4 o'clock in the morning on 26 February 1944.

The American troopship was battling mountainous seas

and violent winds.

Blinded by squalls of heavy snow and hail,

the captain was desperately trying to find the entrance to Loch Ewe,

and shelter from the storm.

There were over 70 men on board that night

when she struck a rocky skerry just to the north-west of me, here.

And then, as 50ft waves crashed over the wheelhouse,

the ship broke in two and men were thrown

into the tumultuous seas and then dashed against the cliffs.

62 lives were lost that night.

Many tides have ebbed and flowed since then.

But remarkably, after 73 years,

the battered wreck of the William H Welch

still lies beneath these waters.

I've joined divers John Carpenter and Kenny Munro,

and local boatman Roto Maciver.

You know where the wreck lies. How do you know where she sank?

ROTO: Just through local knowledge.

We fish lobsters here a lot, and you get rusty lobsters. Rusty lobsters?

Aye, they all come out covered in rust.

They've been under the metal plates. Really?

From the wreck itself? Yes, and the crabs. Aye.

So, that's how you knew the wreck was here?

Yeah, yeah. 'Cause you were lifting rusty lobsters?

Yeah, a-ha. Oh, yeah. (BOTH LAUGH)

What kind of depth of water is she lying in just now?

We're sitting in 12m to 13m of water, so it's quite shallow.

Normally, they get pretty well broken up, don't they, Kenny? Aye.

A wreck at 12m, it would usually smash to bits within 5-6 years. A-ha.

So, this is where the bough section actually sank.

So, we're going to dive on that,

have a look around and see what we can see.

Because of the length of time it took the ship to go down,

it's believed that most of the crew managed to get clear of the wreckage

only to be claimed by freezing temperatures,

or thrown onto the rocks.

That's why this site is not classed as a war grave.

This is very much for the experienced diver.

(GRUNTS)

So, I'm going to be snorkelling on the surface

while the others plunge to the depths of the loch.

Searching the seabed for fragments of wreckage is hampered

by thick seaweed.

But John spots something...

..some twisted metal hidden under the sand.

And then, a remarkable discovery.

73 years after she met her fate,

this is the William H Welch.

And amazingly, much of the bough is intact.

So, what was it like inside?

(PANTS) Quite dark and eerie. I can imagine. (LAUGHS)

It was a wee bit eerie when you're inside.

Broken piece of the hull.

It was worthwhile getting cold for.

Very worthwhile. Yeah, 'cause it's freezing.

It's hard to believe how anyone could have survived this,

but astonishingly, 12 men did.

And they owed their lives to the locals who ran to the rescue.

One of them was a 12-year-old boy,

who set off across the moorland in a howling gale.

His name is John Murdo Mackenzie.

What was the scene that they were confronted with? What did they see?

Just all the wreckage in the sea, on the...on the shore.

And the oil, lifeboats. A-ha.

All kinds of things. Those two lifeboats are still there.

They're still there. There were three lifeboats, actually, there.

That's all that's left of them now.

Were they used at all? No, they were never used.

No, they never got that chance to use them. They were washed off.

And people that lost their lives, they were lying just at the...

A-ha. Where the sea had left them.

The dead bodies had been washed in, here?

Yeah, that's right. And what assistance did the local people manage to bring?

Blankets, and everything they could lay their hands on.

Flasks of tea and candles, some stuff to light a fire. (LAUGHS)

Really? What, to try and keep them warm?

Yes. Yes, that was the main thing. 'Cause this was the middle of winter.

We've got some photographs, here. Are these some of the survivors?

Yes. They look so young, don't they?

Yeah. So, this is Russell Ross?

In 2005, Russell Ross returned to the spot

where he very nearly died.

Was this the first time he'd come back? The first time, yes.

He was all those years,

and he'd never told his wife, or his family

that he was in a shipwreck in the Highlands until he came up here.

Really? It left such a scar? Yeah.

And he said that a load came off his shoulders.

Before we leave, John Murdo pays his tribute

to the men this community have never forgotten.

Leaving Loch Ewe,

I head to one of Scotland's most intriguing destinations.

This is the mysterious and sacred Loch Maree.

Its 28 square kilometres contain more than 60 islands.

It's also home to, possibly, one of the world's

best-known landmarks - in name, anyway.

These are the famous Victoria Falls,

which, I have to say, are just a wee bit disappointing,

for they hardly compare with the great African falls

of the same name.

But at least Queen Victoria actually came here and saw them.

And as for the views of Loch Maree and the islands,

well, they're just breathtaking.

Not everyone came here to enjoy the scenery.

These are sacred waters,

and many pilgrims travelled here for Loch Maree's healing powers.

It's named after a seventh-century Irish monk, Saint Maelrubha,

also known as Saint Maree, who was remarkably successful

in converting the local people to Christianity.

Historian Ceri Houlbrook has taken a special interest

in the life of the loch's patron saint,

and, in particular, the little wooded island

known as Eilean Maree.

CERI HOULBROOK: It's said to be the eye of the loch,

even though it's not technically at the very centre.

It does feel like it is,

erm, and you can understand why St Maree chose

to build his hermitage on that island.

Special place. It is a special place, definitely.

It's thought that St Maree's success in converting so many

was due to his tolerance toward certain pagan rituals,

including animal sacrifice and other strange customs.

People have been buried here for centuries and centuries.

Yeah.

On this island, where he built his chapel

there's a remarkable example of one such practice.

And this is the famous money tree?

This is the famous money tree.

So, what's the purpose of leaving money here

and pushing coins into the bark?

Originally, it was seen as a cure for, er, mental illnesses.

Er, so, what they called insanity.

The patient would be bound with rope and placed in a rowing boat. Mm-hm.

And then, they'd be rowed around the island three times,

erm, dunked into the loch three times, yes.

That's a brutal treatment. Yes.

And there was, originally, a holy well here. Mm-hm.

At the base of the tree,

the patient would be made to drink some water from it,

and then leave their offering to the saint

by placing a coin on the tree,

or, tying a rag, a strip of clothing to the tree itself.

What's the thought process behind that?

It was believed that whatever clothing you wore

contained what illness you were suffering from.

Oh, I see. So, the patient's illness would be transferred onto the tree.

Yes. Yeah, so that would leave the person cured,

and the tree would take the brunt of the disease.

(LAUGHS) It certainly has taken the brunt of many diseases, hasn't it? Yes.

Because this one has withered away to nothing and it is just sticks now.

Yes, a lot of illness.

One of these coins belongs to Queen Victoria,

who made the pilgrimage in 1877.

Though I don't imagine that, here, in the shadow

of the mighty Slioch, she was tied up and dunked in the sacred waters.

But to take the plunge in this freezing loch,

you'd have to be mad.

Luckily, I know a cure for that.

Oh, it's lovely! (YELPS)

I can't think of a better way

to end my grand tour from Gairloch to Slioch than here,

in glorious Loch Maree.

My next adventure takes me to the wilds of Rannoch

and another chilly swim, where I discover the power of water.

Captions by Red Bee Media (c) SBS Australia 2019