A steep descent leads to the quay at Valtos, with the broken shells of old black houses to the right. Their turf roofs long gone, but their thick dry-stone walls still stand, a reminder though of how solid things once had to be.
Fishing sustained Valtos—Bhaltos in Gaelic—for generations. Lobster pots and hand lines, worked from small yawls, were the tools of daily life. It was not prosperity, but it was survival.
In the 1800s, the landlords saw money in it. They provided boats and curing sheds—on credit, of course. The loans hung over the villagers like mist over the sea.
The cost was not just financial. The sea does not forgive. Boats went out and did not return. Families waited, and then stopped waiting.
By 1828, there was talk of a pier. Surveyed, costed at ÂŁ150. Nothing came of it. The Seaforth Estate claimed Loch Roag was shelter enough.
Decades passed. The losses mounted. At last, in 1899, after a formal petition, the Government funded a proper quay. The figures were precise: thirteen “first class” boats, thirty smaller ones, 130 men fishing, a village of 1,027 souls. Ten boats had already been lost. The pier cost £2,000, with locals providing labour and stone.
It was finished. Too late. The fish were gone. The moment had passed.