Sunken treasure

Published on Thursday 8 January 2009 10:12

IN 1588 a Spanish galleon believed to be laden with gold and silver plate and a chest of 30 million ducats in gold coins mysteriously blew up in Tobermory Bay in the Inner Hebrides as she fled home following the defeat of the Spanish Armada.

Over the years, numerous treasure-seekers have arrived, the most recent laden with sonar technology, determined to dive to the sea bed and retrieve the riches held in the Armada's paymaster's chest.

The current search mission is being conducted by Sir Torquhil Ian Campbell, the 13th Duke of Argyll, whose family was granted rights to search for the wreck by royal charter in 1641.

None of the dives has achieved their objective and only a handful of gold and silver coins and a few artefacts have ever been brought to the surface.

But about 30 miles away on the south-east of the island another group of young men are harvesting a very different kind of treasure from a deep sea loch.

While less glamorous than sunken bullion, the rope-grown mussels gathered up from Loch Spelve like thick ropes of the blackest pearls provide year-round jobs that keep young men on the island, put children in the local schools and help keep flowing the life-blood of a community that many believe is under threat from wealthy incomers.

Not for nothing is the island nicknamed the "Officer's Mess".

But for now, if you get the ferry from Oban to Craignure on Mull, turn left when you get off and follow the road for about six miles, you'll arrive at Loch Spelve in Inverlussa where Ben Wilson, 26, has taken over the running of Inverlussa Shellfish Ltd, set up by his father, Douglas.

In the nine years Ben has been in charge annual input has risen from approximately 100 tonnes to 600 tonnes due to the combination of growing demand and "getting better at it", as Ben says.

That success in turn means that the number of permanent jobs for local people in a fragile rural community has risen from two to ten.

On one side of the road you may notice a sign lying on the ground with "Fresh Mussels on sale today" waiting to be tied to a post when the mussels are brought in. A few visitors arriving on spec to buy some are told they are "too early" – meaning the mussels are still submerged in the loch and could they wait a while or come back later.

Ben and the crew go out on the loch to harvest the mussels on Wednesdays and Fridays, and while they're away the mussel farm's premises may seem deserted. But one cold winter day Douglas Wilson, who is normally out on his fishing boat, was holding the fort for Ben and puzzling over the non-arrival of a man from "The Scottish Office" due to arrive earlier but who could have got lost in snow drifts on the mainland.

Leading the way along the jetty on the loch, Wilson Snr boards the Killean and heads out to the rows of buoys where a larger ship, the Margaret Sinclair (named after Douglas's granny – a hard-working "typical wee Glasgow woman") is moored.

On board, the crew are pulling up the ropes on which the mussels have been growing for over two years. Looking down into the clear water you can see the 60ft ropes hanging, the mussels clinging to them.

The process starts when spat or mussel larvae anchor themselves to the ropes, growing into mature mussels by feeding off plankton in the sea.

Sometimes this array of tantalising seafood is too tempting for the eider ducks along the loch, who dive down and swallow the mussels. Drastic measures have been called for, including getting a man to buzz up and down in a boat to frighten the ducks, or obtaining a licence from Scottish Natural Heritage to shoot half-a-dozen of the birds – although Ben says the ducks are too fast and live to tell the tale. On occasion, he has also donned a diving suit and plunged down, flicking off the starfish which can cling to the mussels.

As darkness falls and the lights go on in a number of small houses which are still occupied round the loch, the Margaret Sinclair returns to base, giving me the chance to share a few moments with her crew. On board is 28-year-old Cameron MacLean, born on Mull, and typical of the sort of young man the island is keen to keep hold of. Describing the dispersal of the group of eight male friends he grew up with, he says: "Most went to Glasgow for work, though one is in the police in Dunoon. When my mates moved to Glasgow they said it was for "a better lifestyle". But you go to the city and it is a bit of a rat race.

"I've been to visit them a couple of times and it's a poorer lifestyle, to be honest. They say they can't afford to live here but they've gone to the city without getting better jobs. It's sad, because the island loses people."

Mull has a population of just under 3,000 – down from over 10,000 before the Highland Clearances and a potato famine drastically reduced numbers.

Permanent jobs on the island for young men like Cameron and his friends are limited. The main employment comes from tourism, quarrying, construction, aquaculture and fishing, but many tourism jobs are seasonal. Wildlife tours, including those to see the highly publicised sea eagles, while attracting visitors, have not led to a plethora of permanent jobs.

Cameron is very aware of these delicate variables. He says: "If I wasn't working here it would be very hard to get something else. My father was employed by the forestry but then a lot were paid off and there were redundancies.

"Over the past ten years we've had the fish and mussel farms and TSL quarry which employs about 100 people. If one of these went by the wayside there would be a serious loss of young people on the island. It would turn the place into a retirement home. There would be no life."

Lachlan Taylor, 43, also working on the mussel farm, says: "This business is vital. It's family-run and not like the big fish farms owned by big corporations where they exploit you. I worked in fish farms and I just felt like a number, underpaid and undervalued, but they knew there were always people waiting to take your job. Here the work is varied – harvesting, husbandry, maintenance – and you get listened to."

The subject of affordable housing is also close to Lachlan's heart. When he was married, he and his wife were on the housing waiting list for seven years. As well as Mull having a high number of second homes, and wealthy incomers pushing prices up, other incomers may take precedence over locals for council or housing association homes if their need is deemed greater. Young islanders seem resigned to living in mobile homes and a succession of winter holiday lets while waiting for a permanent, affordable roof over their heads.

In terms of young people leaving the island, Lachlan says the issue is not always clear-cut. He would like his 15-year-old daughter, Hannah, who is keen on art, to spread her wings: "I would like her to go, go for a while to broaden her experience. I'd hate to think she was restricted."

But both men are adamant when it comes to what keeps them on the island. Cameron, who takes part in the annual Mull motor rally, says: "For me, it's the freedom of it. You can leave the keys in the car and no-one will steal it." Pointing at the hills around the loch, he explains how the natural beauty is also a magnet, drawing him to stay: "All this in the summer is green, it just happens overnight."

Lachlan adds: "Mull is at its best in the summer. The winters can be pretty bleak – but the scenery does a lot for me. I'm not a city person, to me, this place has a bit of soul."

The islanders are not sitting back, waiting for someone else to improve their lot. There have been four community buy-outs in recent years and a number of innovative and sustainable projects have been developed, such as a community butcher's shop established by the Mull and Iona Community Trust.

James Hilder, the trust's chief executive, explains that the trust has set up a 20-year plan, "2030", looking at what islanders want in the future and compiling accurate figures on areas such as housing, employment and the numbers of families supported by farming, to ensure that resources are properly directed for the good of the island.

One current concern is that while Mull currently has 70 part-time carers, there may not be enough of a balanced population in the future for the island to look after the growing number of incomers who retire here.

Despite such concerns over the age imbalance, none of the island's enterprises has gone so far as the one described by Hugh Foulis (pen name of journalist Neil Munro) in In Highland Harbours with Para Handy SS Vital Spark, published in 1911. Written a few years after David Lloyd George, then chancellor of the exchequer in the Liberal government, introduced pensions for the over-seventies, it would be deemed politically incorrect nowadays but was written with humorous intent, praising the islanders' ingenuity.

Para Handy, captain of the puffer the Vital Spark, is entertaining the crew with details of a friend who has a "pension farm" on Mull complete with 13 pensioners described as "thirteen heid o' chenuine old MacLeans":

"He gaithered them aboot the islands wi' a boat whenever the rumours o' the pensions started...It wasna every wan he would take; they must be all MacLeans, for the Mull MacLeans never die tull they're centurions," Para Handy said.

"He buys their meal in bulk from Oban, and they'll grow their own potatoes; the only thing he's vexed for iss that they havena wool, and he canna clip them."

"Holy smoke!" replies Dougie, the first mate, in astonishment.

But while pensions were welcomed, other government intervention, such as plans for Scotland's first national marine park on the west coast, were resisted by many on the island. Ben's mother Helen says: "We were concerned there would be closed areas for fishing. You know the sort of thing – 'the west coast of Mull is so pretty you can't fish there'."

Apart from complaints about lack of proper public consultation, another concern was that while a marine park would attract visitors, no extra cash appeared to be allocated for badly needed infrastructure.

But late last year a bit of stardust was sprinkled on the island's shellfish industry by a rather unexpected fairy godfather.

Heston Blumenthal, the thrice Michelin-starred chef of the Fat Duck in Bray, Berkshire, chose Scottish rope-grown mussels as part of his re-vamp of the menus at the Little Chef motorway chain.

Stephen Cameron, managing director of the Scottish Shellfish Marketing Group – a co-op set up in 1992 by Scotland's mussel and oyster farmers – which won the contract, says: "Someone acting on Heston's behalf asked us to supply products so we sent some off and he chose us. It's nice to be included on the menu of someone of that standing."

Mussels from Ben's farm also join shellfish from as far north as Sutherland on supermarket shelves nationwide, including Tesco, Sainsbury's, Morrisons and Waitrose, marketed under the moniker "West Coast Mussels". Local restaurants on Mull, meanwhile, buying direct from Ben, list them on their menus simply as Inverlussa mussels.

Before these popular shellfish reach plates on the mainland, however, they have to leave the island.

The final word goes to Ben, who says: "The best part of the job, the bit that gets my heart, is to see a lorry drive away with a full load of mussels. It's a huge sense of achievement.

"It's not the money part. You almost nurture them along for two years, harvest them, and then you think, 'they're going to a good home'."