South Uist: one of the UK's last great wilderness regions

Next time, we'll be better prepared. We'll pack warmer clothes, invest in some Gore-Tex, take an insect repellent to fight off the midges, and learn to take each Hebridean day as it comes. But go again we will, despite the demanding journey to reach South Uist from almost anywhere in the UK.

The Outer Hebrides are never the easy option. The Vikings, who inhabited the islands tenuously connected to north-west Scotland for a while, called the archipelago Havbrodoy, meaning "islands on the edge of the sea". And you really feel that you are living on the edge: to the east the islands of the Inner Hebrides and mainland Scotland, to the west 2,500 miles of Atlantic Ocean before you hit the next land mass, the Americas. This is a place exposed to the elements, where the wind and sea rule, and where man is still at the mercy of his environment. The first time I visited the archipelago, spending a few days on the island of Lewis, my reason was surreal: I was researching an idea for a television documentary about the UK's most northern curry house. The location (or at least it was 15 years ago) is Stornoway, capital of the Western Isles. The idea never made it to the screen; actually it never made it beyond half a side of A4. However, I got to eat a lot of curry and spend a bit of time in Stornoway. In Hebridean terms it is heaving: 8,000 people live there.

By comparison, South Uist has a population of just 1,800 spread across an island that is 22 miles long and 10 miles wide. It seems that everyone has owned this land except the islanders themselves: the kings of Norway, the kings of Man, Clan Ruairi, the Lord of the Isles, Clan Ranald, Colonel John Gordon of Cluny and the present-day landlords, a group of nine families living in London. They own the fishing, shooting and mineral rights to countryside still populated by tenant crofters.

The landscape here is dramatic, spectacular and unspoilt. To find the best beaches in Britain, head for the western coast of this Atlantic buffer: 20 miles of soft white shell sand. The shore is backed by dunes covered with springy grassland, known as machair, which is ablaze with wild flowers in summer. The beaches are usually deserted; at least, they were when I visited. I saw no others apart from a couple of walkers embalmed in Gore-Tex. You see, I was a guest of a very hardy family who have been holidaying here for the past 30 years. Regardless of wind or rain there is a daily picnic on the beach and a swim. I found myself in a social situation where it would have been rude not to. So I went for one swim. Admittedly, it took a large glass of wine consumed at the nearby Polochar Inn to get me into that sea. And what a sea - you have this huge Atlantic surf crashing in with enormous force and violence. You don't exactly swim in it, more duck and dive. It is, as you would expect, extremely invigorating, but also surprisingly warm, courtesy of the Gulf Stream. My moment in the ocean left me with a huge sense of achievement - as though I'd passed some initiation rite to holidaying in the Outer Hebrides.

On the edge of these awesome beaches, preserved among the sand dunes and machair, are some of the most impressive archaeological remains to be found in the British Isles. This coastline is littered with sites dating back 5,000 years, although few have any formal public access and can be difficult to find. To get to the site we visited - an Iron Age wheelhouse at Cille Pheadair - we had to drive along a machair track and then walk. On the east of the island are mountains, hills, fjord-like sea lochs, freshwater lochs and a deep-water coastline. I declined the seven-hour climb to the twin peaks of Beinn Mhor and Hecla. It is worth noting, though, that although the guidebook said you need to be fit to undertake the challenge, members of our holiday group - not the fittest team that ever embarked on such an expedition - safely made it there and back.

To the south of Beinn Mhor is Loch Eynort, where we spent a glorious day. The weather worked: no wind or rain, just sunshine and a gentle breeze. The midges stayed away and, for young children, the blanket bog that covers much of this area provided an adventure playground.

As I sat next to the loch, eating the most delicious fish I've ever tasted (flaky salmon, caught and smoked locally at the Salar Smokehouse), it seemed that nowhere on earth could be so beautiful. Fishing, both industrial and recreational, is big here. I was in the company of some not-so-serious anglers. We took a boat out for a couple of hours and cast homemade lines with hooks on. Within minutes of casting our bits of nylon thread there were mackerel and pollock biting all over the place. Within half an hour we had caught plenty of fish for supper.

It is said that South Uist is one of the last great wilderness regions of the UK, a haven for wildlife such as puffin, golden eagle, basking shark, whale, dolphin, otter and corncrake. And it's true; you are surrounded by elemental beauty - mountains, beaches, lochs, streams, wildflowers, and wildlife. So much so that it takes a bit of time to notice what's lacking: trees and people. Trees, because of centuries of deforestation and, latterly, grazing sheep; and people, because of centuries of emigration, in part caused by grazing sheep. South Uist lost many families in the 18th and 19th centuries with the "clearances", when landlords evicted tenant farmers from land they wanted to graze sheep on. Some families emigrated voluntarily; many were forced away. They were loaded on to boats at Lochboisdale pier and packed off, largely to the maritime provinces of Canada. To a lesser extent, the exodus continues today, as young people seek better-paid jobs on the mainland.

In recent years, there have been few newcomers to South Uist. Those who live here all year round do so because their families have been on the island for many generations - usually on the same piece of land. Evidence of this is everywhere: next to modern pebbledash houses and bungalows stand the crumbling remains of thatched houses. This is where the family once lived: in small cottages made of thick stone walls, built low with rounded corners to deflect the wind, and thatched roofs held down with stones and mesh. At the township of Howmore, some of these thatched houses have been restored, and the largest has been turned into a youth hostel.

I walked around a few dilapidated cottages close to where we stayed in South Lochboisdale. It was fascinating trying to imagine life in one of these houses, or their architectural predecessor, the Hebridean black house. But lest you are tempted to romanticise this picturesque era, the nearby Kildonan Museum is quick to remind you how tough it used to be. There you are urged to "consign fake nostalgia to the bin" and note the poverty and disease associated with these dwellings.

Would I go again? Definitely, especially now I know what to expect. If you wake up in the morning and it's pouring down with rain you know that, within an hour, chances are there will be glorious sunshine. If the wind is howling at dusk it could be still by dawn. And only if you abandon the Southern wimp within will you really appreciate the full glory of this island on the edge of the world.

TRAVELLER'S GUIDE

GETTING THERE

You can fly to Benbecula from Glasgow with Loganair on behalf of British Airways (0870 850 9850; www.ba.com), with connections from other UK cities. To reduce the impact on the environment, you can buy an "offset" from Climate Care (01865 207 000; www.climatecare.org)

By sea, Caledonian MacBrayne (0870 565 0000; www.calmac.co.uk) sails from Oban to Lochboisdale. The Island Hopscotch deal is usually the best value if you plan to travel with a car.

ATTRACTIONS

Siobhan Mulholland and family stayed at Lochboisdale House; Victoria@gabrieli.com

Other options: Polochar Inn (01878 700215) and the

Lochboisdale Hotel (01878 700332; www.lochboisdale.com)

MORE INFORMATION

Contact Visit Hebrides on 0845 225 5121 or at www.visithebrides.com