Barra, a tiny island at the lower tip of the Outer Hebrides island chain, on the west coast of Scotland, has an interesting airport with a fun fact: it’s single runway is actually the beach. Barra’s beach airport is the only beach airport with regularly scheduled flights. There are only two flights in per day, from Glasgow, and they immediately take off again.
barra’s beach airport
We parked early, on the southwestern side of the beach, next to a large van. People were already scattered on the side of the road and on the beach itself, evidently not caring about the sign that said to not be on the beach when the windsocks were up and the airport was “active.” I didn’t really care either; I scampered down the rocks and set myself up on the edge of the runway. The beach at low tide was immense; far in the distance, I could see people digging. Not clams, mussels maybe? I didn’t think too much about them, because there was a plane coming in soon.
The tiny, one-room airport was at the end of the beach, and people were waiting there for the twice-daily flight back to Glasgow. Those of us on the beach were looking toward the mainland, hoping that we would see the plane in time to take a few photos. It was morning though, and all I could see was sun in my eyes.
incoming
Soon, a shout went up, and the small plane came rocketing over the crest of the hill, its silver wings tilting slightly in the breeze, its propellers thwacking at the air. My fingers clicked the shutter button blindly, just hoping I would have a really cool photo. The plane landed gracefully on the sand, sending up a spray of residual water and sand, before coasting to a stop near the terminal.
We climbed back up the rocks; now what? Across the beach, the dunes looked inviting, and we opted to drive around there. We parked on a dune and I walked down the beach. The plane was now embarking its new passengers, and I knew that it would be taking off soon. Finding a comfortable spot, I settled down against the sandy dune to watch the plane. They came in ones and twos, the new passengers. A gaggle of schoolgirls, in their long skirts and blazers, a man in a suit, some women. Fifteen at the most.
time for takeoff
Final preparations complete, the plane taxied out to the end of the “runway” and turned. a hesitating second, and then from my perch I could hear the propellers begin to whir. Wheels spun against the hard sand, sending up another spray of salt water and sand, and then the plane shot off down the runway, picking up speed, going against the wind, and suddenly it was up in the air. A flicker of wings, and it banked once, twice, a farewell to the island.
