A Week on Tiree: The Hawaii of the North

I just spent a week on Tiree, and it’s still clinging to me—the salt air, the endless light, the hush of the sea.

Tiree is the most westerly island in the Inner Hebrides, a low-lying stretch of land adrift in the Atlantic, southwest of Coll. It covers just over 30 square miles and is home to around 650 people, but what it lacks in size, it makes up for in soul. The island runs on crofting, fishing, and tourism. Life here feels stripped back, slowed down, and honest.

What surprised me most was the light. Tiree gets more sunshine than almost anywhere else in the UK during late spring and early summer. When the sky’s clear, it’s blinding—the kind of clarity you feel more than see. The water turns shades of electric blue, the beaches shimmer white, and the whole island seems lit from within. No surprise that surfers and windsurfers call it the “Hawaii of the North.” In most years, the Tiree Wave Classic brings pros from all over the world to ride its Atlantic swell.

Everywhere you turn, there’s sand. Real sand. Bone-white, fine-grained, and stretching out endlessly. Balevullin Beach is where the surfers go, drawn by strong swells and a raw, open ocean feel. At the other end of the spectrum is Scarinish Harbour, where the water sits calm and still—perfect for watching boats drift in and out as the sky turns peach at sunset. And when the mist rolls in, which it often does, visibility might drop to a few yards, but the place doesn’t lose its magic. If anything, it gains a kind of quiet mystery.

There’s plenty to see, if you’re up for exploring. The old lighthouse keepers’ cottages at Hynish are beautiful and weathered by time. Skerryvore Lighthouse itself, designed by Alan Stevenson and set out on a reef miles offshore, is a monument to endurance and engineering. Scattered across the island, you’ll also spot an old Scottish thatched cottage—low, thick-walled homes that feel like they’ve grown out of the ground.

And let’s talk food. The seafood is just incredible—caught fresh, cooked simply, and full of flavor. Add in locally baked cakes, and hearty fare served in small cafes, you certainly won’t go hungry. You eat well here, and you eat with a view.

Getting to Tiree is an adventure in itself. You can fly from Glasgow, which takes about an hour, or take the ferry from Oban—a longer but more scenic route, especially if the sea’s calm. Either way, the moment you arrive, you know you’re somewhere different. The horizon stretches forever, the air tastes cleaner, and there's an immediate sense of space.

I came to Tiree for photography. I left with sunburn, got drenched more than once, but loved every minute. The weather flips fast—blue skies one hour, sideways rain the next. But that’s part of the charm. You chase the light, you duck into a cottage when it gets wild, and you keep going. And unlike many spots in the Highlands and islands, one thing you won’tfind here in summer is midges. It’s windy enough to keep them away, which is a blessing no one takes for granted.

Tiree is a place that gets under your skin—not because it’s flashy or dramatic, but because it’s quietly itself. The people, the landscape, the pace—it all works together in a way that feels rare now. You come here thinking you’re just getting away for a bit. But it stays with you. Long after you’ve left, you’ll still feel the sun on your face, hear the wind in your ears, and see that wide blue sky behind your eyes.