The Hogg Blog

April — the time of year when new life appears, the days stretch out, and the birds are singing fresh every morning…

Not for the start of this April!

Gales and incessant driving rain have us clinging tightly to the old saying: “in like a lion, out like a lamb.”

I read a stat the other day that said we had 176mm of rain in March and only 77 hours of sunlight. Like I’ve said before, it’s been extremely tough on man and beast. But the clock and calendar wait for no man, so the show goes on.

Our Eallagro flock of Blackface ewes, due to start lambing on the 3rd, decided they fancied getting started on the 31st of March instead. Most of these ewes will lamb within 6 to 8 days, so it’s a very concentrated time period. These lambs, we hope, won’t just be the future bloodlines of the flock, but also produce the tup lambs we’d aim to sell in October — so there’s plenty pressure on. It’s a bit like sitting your exams, applying for the job, and planning your pension all in the same week.

And I have to say, it’s been the easiest lambing I’ve had to date.

I can say that because… I’m not even on the island!

We always try to coincide this lambing with the Easter school holidays, and with Noah away at his own lambing job, Bethany is in full command by herself — with things run her way, and free rein to sort things as she sees fit. To be honest, she’s probably loving not having her dad nagging in her ear.

It’s a step up for her, and a lot of responsibility, but if I didn’t think she was more than capable, I wouldn’t have put that pressure on her.

I’ve been off the island for the past three days, away sorting our overwintering hoggs, who’ve been in the Black Isle since last October. For anyone not fluent in sheep farming, hoggs are last year’s lambs that we send off-island to better pasture over the harsher winter months. It helps them keep growing well, while also taking some pressure off our own crofts and moorland.

I suppose in human terms, it’s a bit like teenagers heading off to Ibiza to live the high life with no responsibilities.

They’ve had the good life all winter — but now it’s time to come home, and like any young ones after a long holiday, some have thrived, some have filled out nicely… and a few look like they maybe enjoyed themselves a bit too much.

The hogg wintering generally ends on the 1st of April and is a vital tool for crofters on the islands — not only to improve the flock, but also to generate some much-needed income when the surplus hoggs are sold at Dingwall Mart. A welcome cheque at the end of winter, just in time to disappear again into feed bills, ferry fares, and all the other joys of crofting life.

It’s becoming something more and more people on the islands are doing, which means a sort of annual pilgrimage — crofters emerging from hibernation and descending on the dizzy heights of Dingwall to spend a day or so sorting hoggs before the sale the following day.

And much like the hoggs themselves, for those two days away from home, some thrive… and others maybe enjoy themselves a little too much.

As with a lot of crofting ventures, we’re far better when we work together. A number of crofters will winter hoggs with the same farmer and coordinate things together, which makes dosing, shedding, and transport far easier.

That sort of collaboration is something I’ve probably taken for granted over the years. It’s not always perfect — and we certainly don’t all agree all of the time — but island life has a way of tying folk together whether they like it or not. Maybe it’s because we all know each other, or at least know of each other. Maybe it’s because when you live in a small place, you know that sooner or later you’ll need a hand — and just as likely be the one expected to give it.

Once the farmer has gathered the hoggs, they’re sorted back into the batches belonging to each crofter. The sale hoggs are separated off, while the ones heading home are loaded up and make their way for the ferry — crossing the sea back to the island of their birth, and back to the crofts where, in time, they’ll become the future of each flock.

The sale hoggs, meanwhile, head for the auction ring, where trade this year was very strong. The ring was full of buyers from all over the country, all bidding for island stock — and that’s a great thing to see. For us as crofters, it’s something to be proud of: that stock bred on our islands, raised in our conditions, and shaped by our way of farming is sought after and judged worthy of such strong demand. In a world where so much can feel stacked against small-scale farming, it’s no bad thing to be reminded that there’s still real value in what we produce.

Now I need to get myself back home — partly to see how Bethany has got on, and partly to make sure she hasn’t decided lambing runs better without me after all. As I write this, I’m enjoying another of our island joys: the age-old wait to see if I’ll actually get on the freight boat. Nothing quite sums up island life like standing beside a lorry full of sheep, trying to get home, while the weather — or CalMac — decides what side of the bed it got up on this morning.