It all adds up

18 rounds of golf on 18 Scottish islands. I decided to go island hacking. My golf bag doubling as my suitcase. Getting around by ferry, post-bus, foot, perhaps lucking the occasional lift off a friendly local. Keeping an eye out for golfing hazards like bunkers, ditches, midges, cows, sheep, tractors and electric fences. First stop Bute!

The hard life of Riley

Here's Riley. He's in a spot of bother, but he got out of it. He once beat Tiger Woods (this is true). Riley and I played Port Bannatyne on the Isle of Bute, two hours from Glasgow by train and ferry. Port Bannatyne is the only 13-hole golf course in Britain. The course is one big hill. It's like playing golf on a ski slope.

Vertigolf

Not The Flat, nor The Plane nor The Horizontal. No. The Hill. See what we were up against? We were up against a hill. If only I'd worn crampons, I'd have shaved a couple of strokes off my score (not telling you my score).

The hills are alive with the sound of putting

The view from Port Bannatyne golf course is fairly offputting. I kept missing three-feet putts. Here's Riley climbing towards the green having just missed the chairlift.

Departure from the norm

Inverness station for the train to Kyle of Lochalsh. Knocking off six courses in a week: Skye, Harris, North Uist, Benbecula, South Uist and Barra. Got six clubs in my bag (5, 7, 9, PW, 3W, putter) plus clothes and toiletries. Nae bother.

Have a butcher's at this

This is Sconser on Skye. Got dropped off at the first tee by the bus driver. The course is a gentle nine-hole affair with mountainous backdrops. I didn't make it to the butcher's but did scoff a superb fish supper at Portree harbour.

Is that Noble Brian on yonder hill?

Why yes, it is! The wee man with the big swing. Noble Brian is a golf architect. The man knows where to put a bunker. He was up for some island hacking and I was delighted he could join me. The Banter Potential is greatly enhanced when Noble Brian's on the scene. Otherwise I'd just be talking to myself.

You wait ages for a bus ...

... and then one comes along. 7am and Noble Brian waits by the roadside. It's about to start chucking it down. We're on our way to Uig at the top of Skye for the first ferry to Tarbert on Harris. Spent the night at the amazing cliffside hostel at Dun Flodigarry.

Aim for the sand

Harris is incredible. It wasn't so much wind against as gale against. Not getting blown over was my main concern on the tee. But what beauty. This nine-hole course at Scarista is truly special. You can get a lifetime membership for £250! Then you can play for the Harris Tweed Jacket!

Behind the green door

The Harris clubhouse, not visible from the road. Members call it 'The Bunker'. If hobbits played golf, they'd build a clubhouse like this. Noble Brian and I had a good natter inside with club captain Hugh, long-time member Bill and Donald the greenkeeper, none of whom are hobbits. Then we played a highly enjoyable - if gusty - round with them.

We're on the road to nowhere ...

Early one damp morning on North Uist. Dropped off by the post-bus in the middle of nothing. Heading down this dirt track to where we believe Sollas Golf Course to be. It's a 'Brigadoon' golf course. Only appears in the summer, this being crofting land.

Game's a bogey

So. No golf course. Just a ploughed-up field and some old farm machinery. Just to rub it in, the heavens then opened. Noble Brian and I stood under a brolly and cursed the morning. Even the cows were laughing at us. And we'd a mile's walk and a two-hour wait till our next bus. North Uist was a wipeout.

Bad lie on the runway

Benbecula's nine-hole golf course exists on an old airstrip - and next to the current one. Planes took off, but my game didn't. Nice to feel the sun on my back though. Benbecula is very flat. It's a struggle to keep the club going and it's down to the efforts of a dedicated few. We dropped our green fees into the honesty box.

Field of dreams

Noble Brian got a bit sidetracked at Benbecula. He went over the fence and then some. Would you believe it, he made the green from there? What a time we were having in the Outer Hebrides. If you're ever feeling jaded about golf, go there.

Keep your hat on

On the tee at Askernish, South Uist, the 'lost' golf course designed by Old Tom Morris and brought back to life. Whatever the truth, it's a rather special place to play golf. We had the whole course to ourselves too. You can see the Atlantic Ocean. It was an overcast day, so you couldn't see America.

Ups-a-daisy

The dream-like 18th fairway at Askernish. Walking on this carpet of daisies, Noble Brian said he felt like Julie Andrews. At least he didn't burst into song.

Pebbleless beach

Following our skirmish with Askernish, we had to get to Eriskay for the ferry to Barra. After a pint at the Am Politician pub - and some Whisky Galore! - we played across this stunning beach to reach our boat.

Between a rock and a hard place

The first tee at Barra. We'd a heck of a job getting there. Bus driver dropped us off by the cemetery and we scrambled through fields of sheep and tackled a hill till we reached what was our final course in the Outer Hebrides. I'd barely enough energy to swing my club but the epic surroundings spurred me on.

Fore! ... I mean Mooooove!

A difficult tee shot, this. How to avoid cracking a cow off the head. Or a calf. Gulp. I managed. I mean I managed to avoid it. Then tiptoed carefully past the cattle to the green. Barra's bonkers.

Do golfers dream of electric fences?

All the greens at Barra are surrounded by electric fences. Not to ward off the golfers but to keep out the cattle and sheep. You have to open a gate to get in and out. They should add this aspect to The Open. 'After you, Tiger.'

Got those Barra blues

The clubhouse at Barra. Not that you could get into it. After our round, we sheltered from the wind and rain round the back. Then began our descent of the mountain to which the golf course clings. We were cold. We were hungry. We were in dire need of a beer.

Shiskine sunshine

Once Noble Brian and I had dried out from the Outer Hebrides, we took a relaxed day-trip to Arran. Arran has several golf courses but there was only one on our minds: Shiskine, a 12-hole marvel. Here I have just conquered the Crow's Nest and am firing towards the fourth green.

Man in the know

We were accompanied at Shiskine by Colin Bannatyne who's been playing golf 'off and on for the past 87 years'. Here's Colin helping out Noble Brian with another blind tee shot. You can't beat local knowledge and no-one knows Shiskine like Colin. It was a real pleasure sharing our day on Arran with him.

Got that?

There's a lot of signal raising, flag waving and bell ringing at Shiskine, to prevent some unfortunate being cracked on the head by an over-eager tee shot. You have to keep your wits about you on this perplexing course. And follow the instructions.

Land beneath the waves

Took the ferry from Oban to Tiree. Calm crossing on a sunny day. Tiree felt magical as soon as we stepped off the boat. A certain light ... and a certain golf course. You can hit your tee shot here, but would you ever want to leave?

Do sheep dream of electric golf trolleys?

The sheep were a real help on Tiree. They didn't carry our golf bags for us but they did help define the fairways, chomping on the longer grass to our left and right. I worried about hitting them and Noble Brian came pretty close but there were no wooly casualties. They seemed content to share the land with daft golfers.

An open and shot case

Whatever you do when you've completed your round on Tiree, close that gate on the way back to the clubhouse. If you don't, the sheep will get in. Worse than that, you'll be taken out. As warnings go, this is a stern one (though a bit tongue-in-cheek ... I hope).

Noble Brian finds the sand

We'd left the course and were walking along gorgeous Gott Bay towards the pier for the ferry back to Oban - and Noble Brian couldn't resist having a crack. Here's a fact about Tiree: it's the sunniest spot in the UK. The wind can get up too. It's a popular destination for windsurfers. Not a bad place to play golf either.

The journey

An Turas ('The Journey') is a striking piece of architecture next to the pier at Tiree. This outlandish ferry shelter was shortlisted for the Stirling prize in 2003. A work of minimalist art in a stunning location ... there was only one thing to do. Have a putt.

Red flag in the morning

This flag has seen better days. Looks like the sheep have been nibbling at it, climbing on each other's backs to reach, building sheep pyramids. We're on Iona. Noble Brian describes the course as a 'farmyard links'. There aren't really any greens to speak of, but who cares about that? This is crofting land. And golfing land.

The 11th hour on Iona

Iona is a place of pilgrimage. St Columba founded his monastery here in the sixth century. There were a few pilgrims on the ferry over and I hope they found what they were looking for. Noble Brian and I got what we wanted from our visit to this beguiling isle. The golf was rustic, but good for the mind and heart.

The allure of Craignure

Even after Iona our day's golf wasn't over. After a ferry and bus we reached Craignure in Mull early evening. The owners of our B & B also look after the golf course and Mary kindly gave us a lift there where her husband Jim, the club chairman, was out cutting the grass. I promptly got stuck into my second round of the day.

Sailing back to Oban

The morning after our relaxed round at Craignure (Mull being the 11th island in our island hacking adventure), we caught the first ferry of the day back to Oban. It was the calmest crossing yet, simply beautiful. From Oban we were heading to the Isle of Seil on a bus. A bus that crosses 'The Bridge Over the Atlantic'.

Careful now!

You have to watch your step on the Isle of Seil. And watch where you swing your golf club. There are pylons everywhere. And lots of danger signs. It's a haphazard golf course, full of hazards. We tiptoed carefully around the nine holes and emerged unscathed.

Noble Brian makes an important discovery

Well it was worth Noble Brian trudging all the way down there, because he found his ball. The Isle of Seil golf course at Balvicar is on the site of an old slate quarry. The Isle of Seil is one of the so-called Slate Islands. When we'd done with the golf we got the bus back to Oban. And caught the tea-time train to Glasgow.

Going off the rails

Our 13th Scottish island golf course was in Perth. Yep, Perth. There's an island in the middle of Perth, with a golf course. The King James VI Golf Club on Moncreiffe Island is the only river island golf club in Britain (and possibly the world). The only way there is via a walkway on the railway bridge over the River Tay.

An island conundrum

I was struck by the dark beauty of those trees. Then I wondered ... how exactly does this golf club stranded in the middle of the River Tay get vital supplies with no road onto the island? The answer is there's a tidal causeway, which the greenkeepers cross in their tractors to bring back what's needed.

All at sea

Time for Shetland! Mercifully it was a calm overnight ferry crossing from Aberdeen to Lerwick. Here's my brother Herb Clumpy putting on the roof deck of the MV Hjaltland (with my assistance). We'd had a few pints of Dark Island by this point.

Be the ball!

Noble Brian gives me a golf lesson on the ferry to Shetland. He starts with the ball, the object I'm meant to hit. I tell him I know what a ball is. He tells me to shut up and listen. By the end of Noble Brian's impromptu tutorial I have a single-figure handicap. I didn't even have to pay for the lesson either.

Counting sheep (and blessings)

My brother Herb on an impossibly beautiful day on the island of Whalsay in Shetland. Whalsay is the northernmost golf course in the UK and my brother only went and birdied the northernmost hole on the northernmost course! He's an excellent golfer, my brother. Some of it has rubbed off on me. (Only some of it.)

Shetland? Are you sure?

This wasn't how I imagined golf to be in Shetland - but it's how I found it. Whalsay golf course is wonderfully located and this tenth hole is a cracker (even if I did land my ball in the water). We had a super round with club captain Harry who's a fisherman. We were treated to fresh fish and chips in the clubhouse and a pint - and a Highland Park in Harry's hoose before we caught our ferry.

Cliffhanger

The 16th at Whalsay is a stupendous golf hole. It's an exhilarating tee shot and I managed to drive to within two club lengths of the cliff-edge. Standing over my ball in preparation for my second shot I got a touch of vertigo. I couldn't play it, so I moved my ball to a less nerve-jangling spot.

Asta la vista, baby!

Sorry about the headline, couldn't resist it. After sun-kissed Whalsay, we played rain-drenched Asta on Shetland's 'mainland'. We didn't mind the dreich conditions. I like contrasts. Asta is a nine-hole lochside course near Scalloway. The remarkable thing about Asta is that one man, Jim Leask, dreamt up the course and built it himself. Here's my brother, Herb Clumpy, teeing off.

Wee man tackles short hole

Noble Brian gamely attempts the seventh hole at Asta, a 58-yard par three. That's right, 58-yards. With a blind tee shot, the green tucked below the bushes. Noble Brian lost three balls on this hole. The last one served him right. He teed off with his putter.

Hoy a-hoy!

Onwards to Orkney with the ferry from Scrabster to Stromness. My mam and sister joined us on this one. Noble Brian and I played Stromness with club captain Glen and match secretary Kenny. I'm teeing off with the cliffs of Hoy in the background. The building - the Half-way House - becomes a well-stocked bar on match days.

STORMness!

We braved Stromness in wild weather. Battered by the wind and rain, we had to run for the clubhouse at one point. Soothed by Raven Ale and spotting a break in the clouds, we battled on. Here we find Noble Brian and Captain Glen sheltering behind a dyke. Note that Noble Brian has cracked open the Highland Park.

Colonsay calling

Here is Colonsay, the 17th - and penultimate - island of my island hacking adventure. I was holidaying in Islay with my family (The Machrie on Islay would be my final course). Noble Brian and the BFG (big Fraser guy) arrived on Islay and the three of us took the ferry to Colonsay for the day. We were mesmerised by the place.

Noble Brian swings his big club

Noble Brian doesn't really have a driver that size. It just looks that size. The camera lies. Nevertheless, he can smack the ball for miles, despite his pint-sized stature. Colonsay golf course backs onto two wonderful sweeping stretches of sand. And there's also a small runway smack bang in the middle of this unusual course.

A tricky putt

Noble Brian advises The BFG on a difficult putt on Colonsay. It's one of the hazards of island golf that, though you might find the green, your ball might not be, well, on the green. It might sit at the summit of a cow pat or form the pinnacle of what the sheep left behind. Golf can get very dirty very quickly on a Scottish island.

Yippee IPA!

Before boarding the tea-time ferry back to Islay, we dropped by the Colonsay brewery where The BFG bought a mini-keg of their very refreshing IPA. Here's Noble Brian with it at the pier. 'They're taking the 19th hole with them!' cried one of the ferrymen.

I love Islay

Here we were. Playing the Machrie on Islay one mild morning. The 18th island. The final 18 holes. Skye, Mull, Arran ... they all felt like such a long time ago. Here I am lining up a putt with my dad's putter: The Magic Putter. I didn't yet know how this last round would unfold. A calmness had come over me and I felt good.