At the side of a small slipway on the edge of Mull, travellers slide a panel on a signal board from white to red to hail the ferry to take them the few hundred metres across the water to Ulva.
Some will have been drawn there after watching Banjo Beale and husband Ro Christopher on television, breathing new life into the faded grandeur of B-Listed Ulva House.
They might head to The Boathouse to dine on fresh shellfish, pose outside Sheila’s Cottage with its thatched roof, or take a wander towards the 200-year-old church designed by Thomas Telford.
On the surface, little has changed on Ulva for decades. Old croft houses in once bustling townships are still in a state of collapse, there are no cars, no supermarkets and few mod cons.
And yet behind the scenes, the island – just over seven miles long and two and half miles wide – appears to be turning a corner.
“This feels like a pivotal time for Ulva,” says Alicja Newbrook of Mull and Iona Community Trust, the organisation which steered the £4.4 million community buyout of Ulva in 2018, and which continues to oversee the island’s rebirth.
“Everything that happens here takes time.
“But now we are seeing a lot of hard work finally coming together. It's a good time to pause and reflect on how far we've come.”
With a population at the time of the buyout of just five – four from the same household – the island changed hands with its 4,500 acres of spectacular Hebridean landscape offset by crumbling properties, ageing infrastructure, neglected tracks and a mountain of work to do.
It was a difficult birth: landowner Jamie Howard, whose family had owned Ulva since 1946, complained bitterly about having been kept in the dark, and there were dire warnings that the ambitious plans to revive the island and build its population would never work.
Overnight, an organisation whose roots lay in managing woodland suddenly became responsible for dilapidated heritage properties like Ulva House – former residence of the fifth governor of New South Wales, Lachlan Macquarie - a reservoir, heat pumps, pot-holed tracks, septic tanks and everything else that comes with running an inhabited island.
The challenges of such a mammoth task were laid bare in a 2024 report by the Development Trusts Association of Scotland, an independent member-led organisation, that claimed relations between the board running the island and community members had “soured”.
There were claims that communications had hit a low point, even suggestions the buyout had been a disaster.
Now, eight years on from the deal, the population has trebled to 15. Six previously uninhabitable homes are occupied after renovation and, crucially, recent weeks have seen the first two private house plots sold.
That is particularly important, for as well as bringing new residents, the sale means much-needed income for the Trust – crucial to easing its reliance on funding and grants.
Elsewhere, plans are gathering pace to transform the weather-beaten church into a community hub.
Highland cattle and heritage Oxford Sandy and Black pigs have repopulated the island farm, new businesses are taking root, a £500,000 landing craft is planned which will make transporting building materials easier and cheaper, and Banjo and Ro’s Grand Island Hotel has helped turn the island into one of Scotland’s tourism success stories.
Indeed, Ulva has become so busy, that the decision was taken to hit pause on Sundays and halt Ulva ferry crossings to help give weary residents a break.
Those who have spent years wrestling with grant applications, leaking roofs, dated septic tanks and failing water pipes, say it feels like the island has now turned a corner.
“No one realises the stuff that needed to be done,” says Alicja, originally from Poland and who arrived on Mull via Northampton and a job in banking.
“Everything is a slow process. But when it starts to take shape and you can see the finished product coming, it’s so satisfying."
It’s still a far cry from the days when Ulva was home to around 800 people. However, the two self-build plots, with tight restrictions for their future use, will see new residents: one plot has been taken on by a family of three.
“We’ve done a lot of work to make sure they don’t become holiday homes,” stresses Alicja.
“We want people who want to come to Ulva to understand what they’re signing up for and who want to become part of the community.”
There have been previous mentions of population targets, including the suggestion Ulva could be home to 50 people within three decades.
Yet at the heart of Ulva’s revival has been the ambition to rebuild a functioning island economy and community.
That now seems to be taking shape: seaweed gathered from Ulva’s shores now hangs drying on washing lines before being turned into skincare products by Ormaig, a cosmetics business named after one of the island’s long abandoned townships, launched by residents Mark Elliott and Brendan Tyreman.
Having arrived from Edinburgh five years ago, they initially ran The Boathouse restaurant, bunking down in a bothy and then at the island hostel while hoping suitable accommodation might eventually become available.
Now living in a cottage to the rear of Ulva House, they have celebrated Ormaig’s first anniversary.
Using the island’s abundant kelp is a particularly poignant link to its past: the township of Ormaig was a hub for Ulva’s kelp industry, where hundreds harvested it for soap and glass, matches and gunpowder.
The potato blight, Clearances the collapse of the kelp market combined, and the township was abandoned in the 19th century.
The ruins of their croft houses were all that was left to show for what once a community of hundreds of people.
As if to symbolise Ulva’s green shoots of recovery, the once overgrown and unused walled garden has been lovingly nurtured back to life by Ulva Community Garden volunteers.
There’s now a polytunnel and shed are now in place, internal raised bed, stone walls have been repaired, drainage works are done and the pond has welcomed its own new residents – families of frogs.
And at Ulva House on the island’s southside, work to turn the building into a functioning hospitality business brings the hope of year-round employment.
None of those who have chosen to make Ulva their home pretend it’s been easy.
At Ormaig, Mark Elliott admits there have been challenges since they arrived from Edinburgh five years ago.
“At first I had a meltdown,” he says. “I thought 'What have we done?' It was a huge shock to the system.
“We are isolated especially in winter when The Boathouse isn’t open and the ferry doesn’t run regularly.
“The scenery is astonishing but then it seems to rain all the time and we have a tin roof - these are the things you just have to live with.”
But now Ulva has started to feel different.
“It feels like we are on the cusp of a new phase on Ulva,” he adds.
“We are seeing housing getting renovated, and these plots being bought for house building with new folk moving here does feel like we’re at the start of a new phase.”
At the water’s edge, Sam Yates, who now runs The Boathouse in partnership with Banjo and Ro, is preparing to launch Ulva Larder, producing charcuterie from the pigs, alongside locally reared beef, lamb and island venison.
Although he is just 24 and reliant on Banjo and Ro at Ulva House for a place to say, Sam has nailed his future to Ulva with a 25-year lease on a site near the restaurant.
The island fits his ‘eat local’ ethos but growing an island business is not easy. “To stay here you need to be resilient and have ‘know how’ or the willingness to get to know things.
“It’s expensive if building here because of the logistics, you can’t just bring a pallet over.
“When something’s broken in the kitchen I have to go to Glasgow to get it.
“It takes time and planning. Anything from Amazon takes five or six days to get here.”
That problem might be eased next year should plans to build a 12m island barge come together.
“If we can rent it out, there’s the possibility of added income stream which the charity needs,” says Alicja.
“But if not thought through properly it could be an extra financial burden, so we need to do it right.”
Like the sale of the plots, the revamp of the church and rethatching Sheila’s Cottage, everything can seem painfully slow - a source of frustration to some.
“There was a lot of work went into the community buyout and once it’s secured is when the hard work behind the scenes starts,” she adds.
“Suddenly you are a landlord and for an organisation that previously managed woodland, it is a whole different ballgame.”
The Trust’s shopping list of projects hinge on getting materials to the island – often at the mercy of the weather - and securing funding support.
“The island tracks are not necessarily good enough for mountain bikes at the moment, so we’ve been securing grants to improve them.
“We needed to buy our own slurry tank, and we’re hoping to buy an excavator to help with drainage and use the stone to fill potholes.
“We improved the water treatment and introduced a pump to improve the water pressure but the pipework needs improved to handle that.
“Not glamorous but necessary.”
At Ulva Hostel, owner Andy Primrose has watched the island’s transition.
“Ulva is unique because technically it didn’t have a community and so you’re creating one.
“It’s also a young project. The lead up to the takeover was just six months and a lot of things didn’t have a chance to be thought through.
“Sometimes there’s been criticism,” he adds.
“But I can see things coming together. There’s a new community with a positive outlook, they’re getting stuck in, working together and trying to solve issues.
“It’s like going through the pains of childbirth, then you have the horrible twos - the toddler stage,” he adds.
“The teenagers get stroppy and then maybe then get into your stride.”
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