Scotland’s Sacred Islands with Ben Fogle (S1E3) | Return to Taransay & the Northern Outer Hebrides

Over 800 islands dot the British coastline, with many of the most spectacular around Scotland. This awe-inspiring landscape has been a sacred destination for over 1600 years. It was here that Christian pilgrims first arrived, establishing a new faith over a century before it took hold across the Scottish mainland. That spiritual legacy is still an important part of these islands today. My name is Ben Fogle. 20 years ago, I lived on a remote Scottish island for a year with 35 others for a TV show called Castaway. Like those early Christian pilgrims, I formed a deep and enduring connection to this landscape. Now I'm returning to discover how their sacred history still resonates today. These islands are steeped in faith. It's in their blood. It's in the rocks. And to explore whether the physical aspect of the landscape makes it easier to make spiritual connections. I am just blown away. Look at this! On this journey, I'm travelling through the islands of Harris and Lewis, in the north of the Outer Hebrides. I'll understand shared values of different faiths. When the Muslim community came here from Pakistan, they were not only Muslim, but they were also very traditional. Explore the holy sites. It reminds you of what's important, maybe, you know? And immerse myself in this unique landscape. Take it nice and easy. Don't run, or you'll end up running straight back out. Join me on a thousand-mile journey across 20 of Scotland's magical, sacred islands. 40 miles off the west coast of Scotland lie the Western Isles, also known as the Outer Hebrides. It's what you might call a fresh day. Bright, but chilly. We're now heading to the most northerly of those Western Isles. This is a pretty remote corner of the British Isles. And we're now getting into territory where religion and spirituality really are as strong as the weather. Three-quarters of the population here describe themselves as religious. Faith is strong. I wonder whether this is connected to the unique location and its environment. I'm beginning my journey on the south coast of the Isle of Harris. Then I'll be heading across to the lush west coast before I travel north onto the adjoining Isle of Lewis. Leaving the ferry, I'm greeted by a rugged landscape of rocks and boulders formed over three billion years ago. It feels otherworldly. And like that, I'm in the moonscape of Harris. I am loving this. Despite the harsh environment, Christians have made this place their home since the 7th century. This church is testament to the strength of faith here. It's called St Clement's and is the grandest medieval building in the whole of the Outer Hebrides. It was built in the early 1500s and fell out of use around the time of the Reformation. Today, the mainly Protestant community of islanders use it again, often for weddings. It incorporates local stone. And I've come to meet two artists, Becca and Nikolai Globe, who use these rocks in a very different way as part of their art. We're nearly here. Becca moved here with her family when she was 11. And although Nikolai grew up in the highlands, it's this landscape that's like a promised land for him. Look at this. It's really pink. Yeah, this is pegmatite. This is what I work with. Nikolai integrates these ancient rocks into his ceramic work. It's the unique geology of this island that inspires him. This is the sort of thing that really excites me about the Hebrides, about Harris. It's so stripped bare. It's planetary here. You know, I think of Harris as a kind of a cosmological landscape. You're looking at billions and billions of years of deep geological time. And where are we in all of this? We're just a blink, not even. But here we are. Some people would describe this as a really hard landscape. I think you have to be tough and resilient to live out here in some ways, because it's an unforgiving environment. There's no distraction. You're forced to examine yourself and your existence somehow. But I just love being out there, exposed, where you can see the horizon all the way around. I think that sense of space, I don't know, gives me a sense of searching and probing and deep thinking. It's very humbling. So we're going to get some... This looks nice here. These ones look good. How much do you need? Not a lot. Just maybe a couple of kilos. This is a nice little cluster here. These rocks are special and incredibly beautiful. At the bottom of this hill, Becker and Nikolai live in a former church that they converted into their studio in 2006. This is where Nikolai creates his magic. Do you want to have a go? Yeah, sure. We're breaking down the metamorphic rock to prepare it for another metamorphosis into one of Nikolai's ceramic discs. Smashing rocks, I love that. That's beautiful. See, these little crumbs will be really nice as well. But first, we need to build up a base of glass for it to sit on. So just sort of a little overlap on each. I wonder what attracted Nikolai and Becker to this remote place. I have a mental freedom here, where I am not constantly distracted by who's doing what and what's happening where, that's all gone and it's been replaced with my own space, my own physical working space, landscape space, mental space. It's very liberating. And now I've got some wire. Or is it copper? Pure copper. Oh, I love copper. And copper gives off this beautiful, intense blue, which is very evocative of the water on the west side. While the disc is being fired at over a thousand degrees, I head inside. The walls of this old church now sing with Nikolai's ceramics and photographs taken by Becker. Is this space still holy? Is it sacred? This building had been empty for a good maybe six or eight years and it was just being used as a shed, basically, for the village, for all sorts of things. Brought it into a new incarnation, if you like. It's also nice that we still share the gallery and our studio with people in the summertime and that's really nice. And the name, The Mission, is that because it was such a mission to build it? Is it of the religious connotations? Well, it's a lovely word, mission, because it's suggestive of a journey, a journey with a purpose, not necessarily a destination, but a vision behind it. And what I've always felt with this place is that we've transformed the building and the building in turn has transformed us and our lives. And that's such a rewarding feeling to be part of a positive transformation. Transformation is such a great word and so true. Becker and Nikolai have given a new lease of life to this building, surrounded by the landscape that they love. What is the relationship between the landscape and those who live in it? When we start thinking about what it is to be an islander, to live on an island, I suppose it's about using and being inspired by the landscape all around you. And for some people, that is in a spiritual sense. For some people, that's in a religious sense. And for many, it's art that comes out. And this is the manifestation of what this island does to Nikolai, and the same with the photographs with Becker. And I think it's a fascinating part of this journey because this is why people are drawn here. Leaving the rocky east, I'm heading to the west coast. It's a very different environment. Here, it's easy to see the allure of island life. A landscape of beautiful white sandy beaches. It's almost tropical. Today, I'm hitching a lift on a Falklands landing craft to a place that's really meaningful to me. On the other side of the bay is the island where I lived for a year. It's pretty special. I'm crossing the Sound of Tarensee to the Isle of Tarensee, where over two decades ago, I was one of 36 inhabitants in the reality TV show Castaway. I haven't returned in years. I can't miss the opportunity to revisit the place that sparked my love for island life and helped shape my own spirituality. I'm home. Tarensee is named after a 5th century saint, Ternan. He was one of the early missionaries who spread Celtic Christianity throughout Scotland. One of the two chapels here was dedicated to him and for generations, the people who lived here worshipped in these buildings. In the 70s, the last of them left, leaving Tarensee deserted until my TV family, as I like to call them, turned up. This long history of habitation does put my 12-month stay in perspective. This island is way bigger than me. I've always felt that my name and this island were quite synonymous. How arrogant is that? But then you look around and you see the gravestones and you see the remains of the houses that were once a thriving population on this island. Their memory lingers on. But the year I spent here, which was fleeting in the grand scheme of things, there's nothing of it left. Ancient islands like this transcend all of us in their significance. And the impact of a visit lingers long after you leave. My time here changed me profoundly. Returning makes me think about why I find islands such deeply moving and spiritual places. My description of the spirituality that I have is that I'm moved by nature. I'm moved by flora and fauna. I'm moved by the clouds changing and the weather as it comes in. And when I say moved, it changes my whole feeling and my heart opens and closes and I feel immense happiness and then suddenly immense melancholy. It's a little bit like going into a church. Sometimes you go into a church filled with happiness and hope and a spring in your step and your heart wide open. At other times, you're drawn there because of a tremendous sadness, the loss of someone. You go for answers. And that's kind of what islands are for me. They're answers. I'm on this journey to discover why these islands are so special. What makes the spirituality here so unique? Having reflected on my own journey, I'm hoping that I can learn how other islanders have had their faith enriched by these isles. I'm now continuing my pilgrimage. So from this island, I always look straight on to Harris and to a beach called Luskintyre that I've got to know over the years. I'd argue it's probably one of the best beaches in the world. For me, this is an amazing, rejuvenating environment. But it's also a working landscape. The majority of land here is used for small-scale farming called crofting. It's a traditional form of management that shaped the way of life here across hundreds of years. I'm off to meet one of the crofters, Angus Mackay. His family have worked these fields for generations. Angus is a practicing Christian. I want to find out how he balances this with a seven-day working week. They've spotted us. At least the shops are selling oil skins. Yeah, exactly. That's what it is, Angus. That's it, yeah. The water will only go as far as the skin anyway. Exactly, as my grandmother always said. Skin's waterproof. That's right, yeah. There's nearly a thousand crofts like this one across Harris and Lewis. I suspect that the island's boulders and sandy soil aren't particularly productive. Is it fair to say this is quite a tough land to work? It is very tough. The land's very poor. It's very, very shallow. As you can see, it's mainly rock, which is not very sort of fertile for the animals kind of thing. Do you ever retire from crofting? No, no, you don't. So it's just, I think it's in your blood and it's just, I think, okay, probably when you get older, you tend to slow down, but you've still got the crofting blood in you. You won't let it go. With so much work, how does Angus fit in his faith and worship? Part of my journey, Angus, now revisiting the islands is to look at them maybe from a slightly spiritual point of view and to understand the role of religion across the islands. In the years I've been coming back here, I understand just how important the Sabbath is. But how does it work if you're a farmer? You don't do anything that's not necessary to do. We go to church every Sunday, but with the livestock, you can't switch off. Although it's the Sabbath day, you can't, you still have to do those duties. Do you dress up for church? Yes, oh yes, yeah, collar and tie. Yeah, it's the only chance I can get for collar and tie. So it gets me out of the oil skins for a wee while. I like that. Church is a good chance to dress up, if nothing else. It's to do with respect. Like Angus, nearly everyone on these islands observes Sunday as a day for rest and reflection. It's one of the main differences between life on the mainland and here on Harrison Lewis. Does this bring people together? Does it create a stronger community spirit? I've come further up the coast to find out. I'm joining a community beach clean. Afternoon, everyone. Can I grab a bag? Thank you. I'm keen to do my bit, but for such a remote place on the edge of the Atlantic, I'm shocked at all the junk that's washed up on the shore. John, it's astounding, the different kind of things. Knife handles. I've seen deodorants, gloves, shoes. Gunshell casings, everything. The Outer Hebrides has nearly two and a half thousand miles of coastline. It's part of what makes this place so special, but it also looks like we need to take better care of it. Look at this. This is about two minutes of collecting. This is truly shocking, but it's lovely to see people coming together to do something about it. These people respect their environment and each other as a community. It's one of the core values of island life, and I think it's one of the most important. Margaret Mackenzie's work as a nurse puts her at the very heart of the community. Island life is very, very different because you see the fishing community, you see the crofters, they work hard Monday to Saturday. Saturday night was bath night. Saturday night was the night that you just started chilling because that was it. Sunday was the day of rest, and nothing got done on a Sunday. My mother's generation, she used to tell me her mother wouldn't wash dishes on a Sunday. Nothing happened. And then when I was growing up, being a daughter of the manse, on Saturday night, everything got... Meaning your father was... He was a free church minister. Okay. But my mother was from Scalpie. So my dad was from Greenock, so he was from the mainland. So on Saturday night, everything got cleared away. Newspapers, knitting. Did she put washing out to dry? Washing out to dry? Absolutely, absolutely no. And I always remember the very first time I went to my nursing in Aberdeen, and I had to go to a shop to buy a pint of milk. And I went into the shop, and I thought, I'm either going to drop dead, or I'm going to come out of the shop with a pint of milk, and fire will come and eat me up. I was so terrified. I just shook all the way back home. And that was the effect of years of indoctrination, that it was a way, I suppose, of controlling your behaviour by the threat of this big bad god in the sky, who would punish you if you did wrong, which is not the god that I came to know in later years. This is a discussion about tradition over progress, and where you retain your cultural identity. And I think of the Western Isles Free Presbyterian Church and religion here as an integral part of the landscape. So would you say that it's important to retain those historical religious values here? I would say it is, because, well, as a Christian myself, I tend to want to go to church on Sunday. And I think it's getting that balance. If you have one day where you don't work, it means that your body can rest. It gives you a better mental health, and that's been proven. And you can go to worship if you want to. If you don't want to, you can walk, find other ways of relaxation. There's no... People come out, they walk, they can relax in other ways. There's a saying, you'll find rest on Sabbath day for your soul. It makes sense. Perhaps in our sometimes frantic lives, we could all benefit from taking a bit of time out for our own reflections. My journey through South Harris has been inspiring, but it's time for me to head on to North Harris, where a cluster of mountains rising to nearly 800 metres dominate the view. These hills have seen people coming and going for millennia, from Neolithic farmers and Vikings to 21st century expats. And with them, different traditions, cultures and religions. I'm stopping off to meet Abdul Gaffar. He's part of a small community of Muslims who live and practice here today. This is a lovely area. Do you come out here often, Abdul? We used to, a lot with the kids. This one and the path going up there. Oh, yes. Abdul moved here nearly 30 years ago. Harris is home to around 2,000 people, mostly Christians. With so few people, I'm intrigued to know what it's like as a Muslim in such a small community. What brought you to the island? My wife's family lived on the island. And once the children came along, I decided to do a career change and said, OK, we'll find a place where we'll be happy. We can raise a family. And Harris seemed to be the choice. Do you consider yourself an islander? A relative newcomer. But I was born in Pakistan. I was 12 when I came to England, you know. But 28 years on the island, this is really home. Obviously, interfaith communities exist all over the world. Yes. But I think there's something quite intense about a very small community like this, especially an island in which religion is so very important. How does the Muslim faith and the Christian faith here work side by side? When the Muslim community came here from Pakistan, they were not only the Muslims, but they were also very traditional. And the local community was also very bound in their tradition. So neither side actually kind of overlapped. So they all just followed a parallel kind of a route. And it doesn't kind of encroach on each other. Why do you think those traditional, almost conservative religious values, why do you think they are still so strong here on Harris compared to mainland Scotland or England? Initially, I think it became so traditional bound because they were cut off. There was very little contact with the mainland. And because of that, you know, they formed their own particular religion that was actually laced with tradition. Do you find yourself drawn to your faith more perhaps than you would have been before you came here? I think the desire to meet up, to get together and to have like congregation kind of thing, you know, is far stronger here. I feel a tremendous sense of belonging here. I feel very happy here. I'm wondering for you what the island means. I think I share your sentiment there. If you're in the city, you always seem to feel that you're living in a like a glass ball or something like that. Here you're open, you know, I think it's a sense of freedom that I feel here on the islands that I'd never feel in the city. I loved meeting Abdul. Smaller communities seem more welcoming to me and perhaps they're more accepting too. I've enjoyed being on Harris, meeting the locals, getting a sense of the special place the island has in people's lives and seeing how their spirituality is something they carry with them almost in their back pocket. Now it's time for me to find where I'll be spending the night. I'm leaving Harris now for its slightly more populated neighbour, Lewis. But tonight I'm heading to a remote boffy on a cliff. I'm intrigued. A boffy is a simple shelter. They're dotted all over the highlands and islands in Scotland and provide refuge for people who are travelling across these remote landscapes. Quiet and often remote, each one is unique. Perfect for contemplation. May in the Hebrides. It's about two degrees. It feels like I'm walking to the ends of the earth. Look at this. I don't believe it. That is where I'm staying tonight. Oh my goodness. I am just blown away. Look at this. I actually find it quite moving. You need to be careful when you go for a pee in the night. Don't want to fall off there. That's straight down. Tucked into the sheer cliff face, 50 metres above the crashing Atlantic waves, this is the Eagle's Nest. Constructed by hand from rocks hewn out of the cliffside with windows, beds and a door made of old fence posts, it's a stunning refuge. This feels like a sacred space. It's a bothy-cum-temple. John and Lorna Norgrove built this remote hideaway as their own little retreat. I think this is the most beautiful building setting I've ever seen. How did this come about? Well, I used to work in Stornoway in an office job and after I'd get home in the evening I would come and sit on a rock there and it was just a great place to get away from everything. Then one day I thought it'd be quite good to have a wee shelter that I could come so I wouldn't get rained on quite as much and we started building something that was just big enough to sit in. I thought, no, this isn't ambitious enough so let's build a proper thing. So that's what we did. How long did it take? Maybe about seven years. We even had one of the contractors out from Stornoway to come over. I drilled the rock and he came over with his explosives to blow it out so I could make a flat floor. Lorna, what did you make of all of this? Well, I thought maybe it was a bit daft to begin with but then once I came over here and we started building and working out here I just loved it and you forget everything out here. You just spend the time building, finding rocks and yeah, I just love it out here. This has always been a powerful place for John and Lorna but now it has a special significance. Their daughter Linda loved this place. She died doing aid work in Afghanistan. Now people who stay here donate what they can to a foundation set up in Linda's name. She loved this place. I mean, on her office wall she had a panorama of photographs from all around the cliffs and this bothy. A lot of my journey up through the whole of the Hebrides has been about how places move you and what they do for you. I'm wondering what this spot and this location means to both of you. I suppose the thing which appeals is the wildness of it. Surely that's the thing. You know, it's just so unspoilt. There's no sign that man exists here. People who come and stay here, I think that they feel that it's a bit like a monk's cell or something like that. It has that elemental quality. It's deeply moving here. So many different levels. I've got this extraordinary weather coming and going. I've got this labour of love, seven years to build this place and then the deep sorrow of their daughter Linda. I often talk about this kind of spiritual effect that I get from nature, from wild places and this is peak spirituality. I feel everything. Happiness, sadness. I want to be with my family. I'm quite like the solitude. Everything. And that for me is what spirituality is about. Good morning. First light brings a room with a view and a brew and time to reflect on my journey so far. I really feel like I'm genuinely understanding these islands more than I ever have before. For me to come to a new place is the most exciting thing and that is the essence of travel and journeying. It's being open-minded and exploring and I feel like the exploring has started again. Time to head east. The scenery is breathtaking. Such a dramatic landscape here on Lewis. Look at this canyon. I really don't know Lewis but I think I like it. I've driven 20 miles from the Bothy to the mouth of the Grimmester River, one of Europe's most prolific waterways for salmon. Colin McLeod has lived and fished here all his life. His lifestyle is rooted in traditional island values. Like the people of Harris, islanders here have a deep respect for their faith. Colin can tell me a bit more about that and give me a few fishing tips. So when you're fishing for salmon in a pool, we fish from the top to the bottom and basically you're casting sort of like 45 degree angle and just letting the current swing the fly around. You make it look so easy. It's a misspent youth. What was it like growing up here? It was brilliant. I loved it. I can't imagine a better childhood than fishing and running around the moors. Is heritage and history and tradition important to you? Yeah, it's really important. I think it's pretty much who I am, you know, where I'm from and like this place, the culture, crofting, being here, being an islander. I was speaking to a resident of Harris who explained to me how actually religion here is deeply ingrained into the island and islanders mentality. Yeah. There's a real sense in the older generation, especially, of you put self last and I think that comes from Christianity and it comes from faith. Oh, you got one. Just a wee tiddler. He's trying to throw me off my religious and philosophical point. I got so excited for a second there. Yeah, and you know, even to the point like my grandfather didn't want a gravestone because he felt that was ostentatious. It was like, you know, we're part of something bigger and it's bigger than us and I think that is a real thing that maybe is gets lost in translation when people talk about religion and things up here. The humility of his grandfather has clearly rubbed off on Colin. He's an internationally successful musician who's played with the likes of Robert Plant, Van Morrison and Sheryl Crow. But he doesn't shout that from the rooftops. This place grounds him. His music is inspired by this island and his life here. You're a big deal, Colin, but is that something that actually you don't really shout about here? It's something to just be quite quiet about? No, nobody cares up here. What do they care about up here? Well, everybody's very proud of me, I think, but it's not about what you do or, you know, how many times you've met a famous person. It's about how well you treat your neighbour and what kind of person you are and how you live your life, I think. That's what people care about up here, you know. Which are what lots of people probably on the mainland would call good old-fashioned values. Yeah, I think so. Is that what you missed when you weren't here? I just missed being here too much that I couldn't really think about anything else. I don't know, like, Gaelic phrases about a Lewis man would be homesick in heaven, you know. I think it's just something that's unexplainable and just ties you to this place. It's weird. I don't know. If you had to write some lyrics about what this place means in your life, I'd be like that song, I don't know why I love you, but I do. I think that would be it. You can take the man out of the island, you can't take the island out of the man. Absolutely, absolutely. Right, you're going to catch a fish? Yeah. Where do you think I want to be going for it? Kind of just across in that pool? You want to aim for that pile of rocks on the other side. Nice. And then let that down. I could probably let out a little bit more. Yeah. See, already I find this really meditative. Yeah. I love this idea, no one is bigger than an island. And if you live here on Lewis or Harris or any of the other islands that I've visited, the island is king. And that doesn't mean you can't be successful, it doesn't mean you can't aspire to things, but you do it in a very measured, understated way. The past is very present here. It's not a foreign place. These islands have been inhabited for thousands of years. At the township of Calanish, ancient standing stones point to the heavens. No one really knows for sure why they were put there by Neolithic people almost 5,000 years ago, but it's believed that they had some religious significance. They were part of an important ritual landscape. From the air, the crucifix shape of the stone circle is almost cathedral-like. It certainly looks like a church layout to me. The 49 enormous slabs enclose a central stone that's almost five metres tall. It's incredibly impressive. Some say that these are petrified giants turned to stone for refusing to convert to Christianity. But further along the coast, I meet a man who can tell me more, archaeologist Ian McCarty. He's looked into the belief systems of the people responsible for Calanish and other sites dotted across the islands. This is a storm-lashed coastline here, isn't it? It certainly is by now. Some of the biggest fells in the world you get in the North Atlantic. Ian's brought me to a remote and rather unusual sacred site, a small steep-sided sea stack. Unlike Calanish, there's no obvious structure here. So what was it used for? Hey Ben, with this piece of kit, we're just going to hold the rope, put it on like that and flick that catch over. It's like a handhold, it goes up and doesn't come back down. Right, shall I see you at the top? Okay. Its inaccessibility only adds to the drama and mystery for me. But it does present a bit of a challenge. This is tricky. We're following a very narrow exposed ledge on the rock face. It's a 15-metre climb to the top. Ian and a team of archaeologists spent two weeks exploring this site in 2005. But why did people 5,000 years ago come up here? So just talk me through what we have here. What did you find? Yes, well, we opened up two small, tiny little trenches. One where you're standing and another little one over here. And this little one over here was only two by one metre. We had 300 pieces of pottery. Wow. Around 300 pieces of amazing early Neolithic pottery. But what this actually is, is an artificial plateau. Yes. And in this area, there was a repeated very hot fire. Are you saying this was a crematorium? It might well have been, but we just found animal bone. But human bone disintegrates faster than animal bone in the heat. So they could well have been a crematorium here. But if there wasn't, why would they bring in all their valuable material and their everyday goods to the top of this place and burning it? There's also a great power in the unknown for me. We know what's across there. But back then, they'd have had no idea if that was just straight off the edge of the world, if there was other land, if there were pirates and Vikings going to come. Yeah, well, for them, they came to this place by the sea, but no one ever knew what was over that horizon, except for the fact that they saw the sun going down every evening and then reappearing over there. So what must they have thought about that, you know? Where did they think the sun went? And we know that the sun gets born at winter solstice and gets bigger all the way through the year, warmer all the way through the year and then dies again. And then it's reborn. The yearly cycle of the sun might well have been a metaphor for life and death. Do you think mortality was a big part of life, much more than it is now? Definitely, more a part of daily life, more a part of everyone's mind and society's minds. And maybe places like this were a way to deal with that, to socialise it and make it OK. Do you find it quite profound and moving when you think about people being here all those thousands of years ago, standing here, maybe looking at archaeological evidence of people even before them, this whole kind of cyclical thing, and it puts us into perspective. Yes, yes, definitely. I mean, I think we get caught up in the modern world, you know, in the moment, in the moment that we're living in. And we fail to see that, you know, as a species, we've lived here for all this time and all these things that were important to us for all that time that we've maybe forgotten in the modern world. It reminds you of what's important, maybe, you know. Saint Columba once said, the wise man meditates on the end of his life. Ian's reminded me how important it is to really cherish each moment. At the end of the island's main road is Port of Ness. Choppy seas pound the coast. It's a thrilling place to stand. But mortality is still fresh in my mind. I love the drama of this. I can feel the reverberations of those waves racing through my body. This is what creates the beauty of an island. You're surrounded by ocean. You're limited with how you can get on and get off. And this is a summer's day, you know. Imagine what this is like in the height of winter. And now let's go back hundreds of years of island life here being shaped and moulded by the ocean, because this gives life, but it takes life as quickly. From the top of Lewis, I've come down the east coast to Holham. I'm visiting a memorial to a tragic maritime disaster that's still raw for the local community. This is where the naval yacht HMY Isle Air ran aground on New Year's Day, 1919. It's under 20 metres from the island's shore. It's hard to believe that 201 men died just here. Most of them were from Harrison Lewis. It was a massive loss for such a small community. I wonder what impact it's had on the islander's faith. I'm meeting Margaret Ferguson, a retired GP and self-taught artist. Using the men's formal naval photos, she's painting all of them. She produced 100 portraits for the centenary and she's now finishing the others. Was it quite a sad occasion when you had all the art in that one room? Oh yeah, I think beyond sad, it was grief. It was acknowledgement of the debt that we owe them and the relatives around them. But my main feeling was just to honour them. For some reason, I've got this ability to capture their faces and I just thought, you know, I have to do this. It was a very strong drive inside me. When you sit here staring at that photograph, for example, are you kind of imagining him alive? Yeah, I am thinking about the stories more. This is John McLennan, for instance, and he walked home to Uig and Shock. And there are many stories. The sea was black with the men in their coats, hats, toys. There are lots of toys found, you know, in people's pockets. They were bringing them back for their children? Yeah, an engagement ring in another lad's pocket. And one of the boys, I think it was John McCaskill, was actually washed up at the base of his own croft. Half of the survivors were saved by the heroic actions of this man, John McLeod. He swam to shore with a rope. 20-year-old Donald Morrison clung to the ship's mast throughout the night. He was shaking uncontrollably, but they couldn't get him to come down off the mast. He was absolutely shocked and scared that he was going to go into the sea, obviously. And he'd seen and heard horrendous sights. Including two people on a mast behind him who were washed away. A man below him trying to come up was washed away. And they coaxed him down, and he was taken to the hospital. And the doctor was saying, you know, you've got to stay. You've inhaled all this water, you're going to get pneumonia. But no, he decided to go off home. And that was the story, just that drive to get home. What a story. How much does the Isle Eyre disaster still loom large here on Harrison Lewis? I mean, it had such a profound impact, I don't actually think it'll ever go away. It seems so unfair. They had all been off doing their duty for the country, and they were so close to home. In terms of a religious context, it could go both ways. You could... You could lose faith. You could lose faith, because you could ask why... How could you let something like this happen? Well, they were already profoundly religious, so they didn't turn away from religion. They turned to it and found comfort in it. Do you think what you're doing now is almost a kind of retrospective therapy for many of the islanders? I think so, yes. Somebody was saying to me, this is my great uncle, we never had his body. And now we feel that you've brought him home. And it just made all the effort worthwhile, you know, just hearing that one comment. I'm honoured to add a few of my own brushstrokes. I'm pretty embarrassed that I'd never heard of the Isle Eyre disaster before. This is a disaster that should really be seared onto the national conscience. It still scars people today, families who were never reunited with those bodies. So what Margaret is doing can't be underestimated. She's creating closure for some families. Margaret's paintings have been cathartic for the people of Harris and Lewis. From my own experience, I know that people deal with adversity in different ways. I've been told that, for some people, this island environment can itself be restorative. I'm making one last detour to meet someone who's embraced the healing power of nature. That's not a bad beach. It is stunning. I've come for a dip at Boster Beach with former competitive swimmer and wild swimming advocate Norma McLeod. Look at this whole beach to ourselves. Where is everyone? Who knows? Hopefully they'll stay away for a wee while longer. Norma grew up on the island and was spotted by an Olympic coach aged just 13. Now she's rediscovered her love of cold water swimming. At the time, I was the only swimmer on the island that was, you know, achieving any national status for competitive swimming. So I didn't realise at the time how good I was because coming from an island kind of kept a lid on it. But I wish I had been a wee bit more, you know, confident. And I think I could have gone somewhere. Do you have regrets that you didn't pursue that professional swimming? Oh, I definitely had regrets. Life happened and, you know, I kind of gave up swimming. Other things took over. Anytime anybody mentioned swimming to me, I just, no, I'm not doing it. You know, so I did that for about 20 years. And what a waste of 20 years, you know, I have to say. But I look at that as a learning experience now, you know, and I am so happy of where I am now. So it brought me to where I am now. How did you get back into swimming? A really good friend of mine who was in the swimming club with me as a teenager, she said, you should do a triathlon. You'd be great. And the first time I did a triathlon, that was it. Changed for me the sense of adventure. Oh, I can't even put it into words, but it got me going, lifted me off. Whatever you have in your mind, work, family, stress, grief, whatever you've got going on in your life, a good dose of sea salt and cold water will blast all that out. Whatever you take in with you, you don't usually take back out for a period of time anyway. Norma's felt the benefits herself. I was diagnosed with breast cancer and when I started chemotherapy, I had to run to the sea to be free and to be washed of just the horror that is chemotherapy. And for me, it just made me feel like me again. Is it almost like a cleansing? That's the way it felt. I've never felt anything so spiritual like that. When you're in the zone, what goes through your head? I would say it's like a yoga experience, very meditative. You're not really thinking about anything. And for me, it empties my mind. If I'm doing a head up swim, it's more about the scenery and the birds and the fish and the seals, you know, so there's great enjoyment in that as well. What would you say to anyone who is a little bit too worried about it or hasn't given it a go? If you're looking for something to change your life, you know, and put it in a different direction and make you happy every day, this is it. Norma's now fit and healthy and she helps people keen to try out cold water swimming for themselves. What's the best approach to the water, Norma? Take it nice and easy. Don't bother or you'll end up running straight back out. These are unfamiliar, potentially dangerous and cold waters, so I'm lucky I've got a guide with local knowledge. If I'm to be honest, it was a bit cold. Even though I was wearing a wetsuit, what a brave woman Norma is. Breast cancer, the chemotherapy, but I love the fact that the island and in particular, wild swimming, cold water swimming has been her therapy. Even my brief swim has been invigorating. Your whole body tingles and there's this immense satisfaction. You feel alive and it's sort of like resetting yourself. It's been an emotional journey through the northern Outer Hebrides, from the southern coast of Harris to the top of Lewis. These islands have an innate spirituality that's endured for millennia, shaping and sustaining the people who live, work and worship here. I've seen how this landscape can inspire deep philosophical thinking, learnt what our ancestors held sacred and felt profoundly moved by this place myself. It's been an unforgettable journey that's challenged my expectations. Given that this is my own island pilgrimage, it's all about self-enlightenment, isn't it? It's about self-discovery. And it's also about looking at things with a different perspective. Having spent a year living on the island of Tarente, I thought I knew these islands, but I've seen a very different side to them on this visit. And coming to Harris and Lewis has been emotional, it's been fascinating, it's been filled with melancholy and happiness. Join me again when I'll be continuing the journey, exploring faith and spirituality in this extraordinary part of the world. Discovering astonishing landscapes. It's very hard to sit somewhere like this and not get a sense of being quite small. And meeting people who inspire me. We feel like we're standing on the shoulders of giants. There's always been a praying presence here.