On the edge: The battle to save South Uist's coastline

On a calm day, like today, other than the fluttering washing strung on lines and a huge blue sky dotted with wisps of white cloud, there's very little to see. This part of the west coast of South Uist is as flat as a billiard table; between the MacPhees' back door and the Atlantic Ocean there's only grass.

"We never used to be able see the sea from this window," says the retired postman, who's lived on the Outer Hebridean island all his life. "But if it's windy and the sea is white, now we can. It wasn't like that six years ago."

Tragic events leave a mark on the community they affect. They're borne like scars. The impact of the deadly storm that battered South Uist in January 2005, damaging buildings across the island, removing chunks of coastline and claiming five lives - three generations of one family - still hangs over the islanders like a cloud heavy with rain.

The physical signs - the boulder-strewn roads, the houses surrounded by water floating on an island within an island, the roofs wiped clean of their slates - may have disappeared but the memories remain vivid and raw, the sense of loss and shock scarcely diminished. The 12-hour ordeal, in which 150mph winds and high tides combined to deadly effect, was the worst storm in living memory. On that night, the islanders of South Uist felt the full force of nature and the terrifying vulnerability of their island.

• South Uist's residents build a seawall of tyres and fishing nets

Donald MacPhee remembers only too well what lay beyond his kitchen window on that night as the wind howled and the waves pummelling the shore reached up to 40ft. "It was pitch black," he says. "There was nothing you could do. The house was creaking all the time. It was scary. You just wondered what was going to happen next - when was the roof going to blow off, when was the window going to come in? But what could you do? Nothing, there's nothing you can do. That's just the power of nature."

Six years on, it's clear that the events of that night still haunt the island. Partly it was the tragic loss of life, felt so deeply in a community of only 3,000, but it's also because the inhabitants of South Uist fear that what happened in 2005 could quite easily happen again and precious little has been done to protect them.

Talk to islanders, old and young, crofters and those who've retired, hotel workers and hairdressers, and what you'll hear is a sorry tale of the handling of the aftermath of an extreme weather event, in which plenty of promises have been made but few kept, in which elected officials are perceived as out of touch and deadlines for action have come and gone. But you'll also find something else - a growing awareness that if the community wants something done about the perilous state of the island's west coast, then it should probably get on and do it itself. It's against this background, with help from Oxfam Scotland which has been working on the island for a year, that community action to protect the fragile landscape is now taking place. It signals a new phase for the island, three years after the community buyout and represents a sea change in how the island's residents want to be involved in the future of their home.

Climate change may be a nebulous concept to many, a scare story or perhaps an academic argument over which scientists squabble, but in the Outer Hebrides, it is very much in evidence.

The low-lying western coast of South Uist is now one of the most vulnerable coastlines in the UK. The strip of beach that runs the length of the island is backed by grasslands, known as the machair. This natural sea defence is under very real threat. At several spots - Kilphedar and Smerclete most pressingly - the machair, the only thing that separates the sea from the crofting land, has been reduced to a height of only a few feet. As an eco-system it still works, supporting copious wild flowers and a plethora of bird life, but as a barrier against the relentless Atlantic, it's terrifyingly weak.

The Scottish Environmental Protection Agency, Sepa, estimates that by 2080, sea levels around South Uist will have risen by at least 37cm. Winters will also be warmer and wetter. Unless action is taken to bolster the machair, the predicted sea level will swamp the dunes and flood large tracts of the island. If another storm like that of 2005 occurs, the crofters who live along the coast will be driven from their homes, their land lost to the sea and with it a way of life that's persisted for centuries.

Scan the landscape from any vantage point and the most striking feature is water. It's everywhere. Houses sit on slivers of land perched between inland lochs, set against the vastness of the Atlantic. Areas of the island flood regularly and islanders fear that if flood prevention isn't improved, the island could be split in two as inland lochs, Eynort and Olly, join together, creating a water-filled fault-line from east to west.

South Uist's case may be extreme, but it's not the only Hebridean island facing the impact of climate change. Last month, the National Trust Scotland, owners of St Kilda, visible from South Uist on the clearest of days, revealed that the changing climate and coastal erosion now pose the biggest threats to the historic archipelago.

It doesn't take an expert to sense that something very similar is happening in South Uist. "Everybody who lives here, we're all seeing a big, big change," says MacPhee, who was born in Frobost, just a few miles up the coast from where he lives now. "On a day like this you can't understand it but the wind can pick up so quickly, within an hour you can have a gale. There's hardly anything there - you can see that ridge there, that's all that's keeping the Atlantic from coming in."

Islanders, in their quiet, unassuming way, will tell you that they are frightened for the future of South Uist, frightened that their way of life is under threat as the organisations who are supposed to support and protect it struggle to work together endangering the community spirit which exists and failing to recognise the urgent need for action.

There may be only 3,000 inhabitants on South Uist, Benbecula and Eriskay - the islands that were the subject of the buyout in 2007 - but there are seven statutory bodies which have a say in their affairs. As well as Storas Uibhist, the company formed three years ago to run the islands, the Scottish Government, the Western Isles Council, Scottish Natural Heritage, Coastal Adapt and the Crofting Commission, local townships (small committees of islanders who represent their local communities), all play a part in determining what happens on the island. It's little wonder that many locals feel they have trouble making their voices heard.

"The biggest problem is that you have all of these organisations but they don't work together," says Caluna Campbell, an Oxfam Scotland climate change campaigner originally from South Uist, whose parents still live on the island. For Campbell, a key role for the charity is helping the islanders work with the various elected bodies who represent them to make sure that they have their say in determining the island's future. "It's an issue of communication," she says. "Storas Uibhist have a huge role to play. They must include locals in decisions, making sure that they know and understand plans for future development. At the moment they're not doing this."

But according to Huw Francis, chief executive of Storas Uibhist, significant effort is made to ensure that the islanders feel that they can participate in decision-making on the island.

"We've got 36 townships across the estate and we have regular meetings with the various township committees," says Francis. "It's an ongoing discussion and relationship. Each township has its own priorities and trying to manage that and take it forward is always a fine balance."

As far as working with Oxfam goes, Francis says it's been "interesting". As to whether it's been positive, after a pause, he agrees it has.

"Anything that assists in protecting the coastline and moving things forward and getting things done is positive for the island. Any assistance or support or funding that can be secured to help on coastal protection is very welcome."

On a strip of beach at Kilphedar, a cluster of islanders stand around a rumbling truck, its flatbed covered with large used tyres.

"This is where the breach of 2005 took place," Seumas MacDonald says, pointing to a stretch of the machair barely 3ft high. "God knows how much water actually came in before the tide receded again, but the next time it won't just be the small area that was lost then, it'll be more likely 50 to 100 metres."

MacDonald, a former crofter, knows the landscape of South Uist intimately. His family have been on this land for years, this is where he grew up. Like most islanders, he is quietly spoken and reserved but he's in no doubt about the danger South Uist faces. "The waves here can be frightening. We've got to find a way to strengthen the machair in the short-term to make sure we can get through this winter. It's that urgent."

For MacDonald, the island's plight is a community problem and since the island is now community-owned the solution must involve the islanders.

Don MacPhee is one islander who's taken this message to heart. MacPhee and his son Iain, 12, who live in Kilphedar, manoeuvre piles of tyres on a mechanical arm, shifting them from their truck on to the beach.

"The storm triggered a lot of things," he says. "The whole island suffered terribly. It forced people to stop and think, to understand that if we don't take action the consequences are immediate and very serious."

MacPhee describes what he sees as the local council's inaction since 2005 as "pretty disgraceful". But since the involvement of Oxfam Scotland in 2009 he is pleased the islanders have found a way to take at least some steps to protect their homes and land and, perhaps just as importantly, set an example to elected and unelected officials that now is the time for action.

Using old tyres and reclaimed fishing nets, a small group of locals are building a tiered wall designed to stabilise the machair. Each layer of tyres will be filled with sand and tied to the next before being planted with marram grass and covered in the recycled net. As the sand blows from the beach, it will be caught in the netting, naturally bolstering the structure and helping it to blend in with the surroundings.

"By this time next year, you shouldn't see tyres at all," says MacPhee. "We've got the organic fertiliser in the form of the seaweed, there's thousands of tonnes of it, so we just need to shovel it in."

Using seaweed isn't the only efficiency of the process. Hauliers have to pay 10 per tyre to get rid of them, while MacPhee has an arrangement to take them for nothing helping both the hauliers and the coastal protection. It's a similar story with the nets. Fishing nets are considered a dirty material, contaminated with fish waste, so there's not a lot that can be done with them. MacPhee explains that early discussions had explored sending them to China to be recycled but by using them as a coastal defence, the problem is solved.

"If this works there's no reason it couldn't be duplicated elsewhere," he says. "It really is a win-win."

For local MSP Alasdair Allan, the work at Kilphedar is a symbol of how community activism can be harnessed. It shows the commitment of community to ensure that their islands become safeguarded and sustainable.

"There is a school of thought which says retreat," Allan says. "The problem is that on South Uist, where do you retreat to? Some people have said that the changes to the coast of South Uist have been going on for a long time, but the problem is they're going on much more quickly now. It's not an entirely natural phenomenon any more, something has changed."

Twenty-four hours later and the ferocity of the island's climate is only too apparent. The skies which, when clear, reveal Mars and Venus, are clouded and black. The wind is gale force and the rain driving. Ferries from the mainland have been cancelled and the electricity is off in parts of the island. But if there is a storm raging outside, it's easily matched by that blowing inside the public meeting organised and chaired by Oxfam Scotland.

Off the record, islanders will tell you that the relationship between Storas Uibhist and the community should be better. They want to be more involved, they want more participation. The seven board members of the company are elected from the community, but many feel that's just not enough. In the three years that Storas Uibhist has existed it's created a situation where the islands are in the black but the three key development projects pushed by Storas Uibhist - the revamped Askernish Golf Club which is now up and running as well as plans to redevelop the Lochboisdale Harbour and create a wind farm at Lochcarnon - have been mired in difficulties that some say result from a lack of willingness to fully include the community.

But as the church hall creaks in the fierce wind, political spats take second place at a meeting where practicalities are pressing.

"Soon enough the road will be flooded," says local resident Kenny Campbell. "No ambulance could get over to Smerclete, no fire engine. Lives are at risk.

"The waterway was mashed six years ago with the big gale and we're still waiting for the repairs to be done. We were told that the government was going to pay for it, but nothing seems to be happening."

For Caluna Campbell, the fact that these questions are being asked in public is a positive sign.

"People have been empowered," she says, drawing parallels with the charity's international work supporting communities wrecked by the impact of climate change. "Islanders are not very talkative. But over the past few months that's been disappearing. More and more people are coming together and off the back of the Kilphedar township's action, there have been meetings held in Ludag and Boisdale townships. This is exactly what is needed."

Campbell says that the next stage is to create a one-page agreement to which all of the organisations involved in the island will be required to adhere.

For 14-year-old Megan MacDonald, a trainee crofter, who one day hopes to work her family's croft, the need for groups to work together and support the community in their fight to protect the land couldn't be clearer. Walking along the strip of machair that fringes her land, wooden posts of a newly erected electric fence jut out of the grass like crooked teeth. Some are close to disappearing, others stick out at odd angles.

"We put this fence up a couple of months ago," MacDonald explains, "and we've already had to move it. There hasn't been a storm, it's just the sea. I can see changes on this land almost every week."

South Uist's residents are only too aware of the devastating effects of climate change and now they are fighting to protect not just their homes but their lives too.

This article was first published in The Scotsman on December 4, 2010