4.6.11 Lunga (part of the Treshnish Isles) and Staffa Isle, from Oban, for the day.

What a magnificent day! We caught the ferry, (Isle of Mull) across from Oban to Craignure (on Mull) again today, and waiting at the kerbside was the minibus from the Turus Mara Company to take us out to the Ulva ferry dock (but not the Ulva ferry) for our day in the isles to the west of Mull. The drive took about 40 minutes the first half on the road we travelled the day before, along the east coast of Mull towards Tobermory but this time we turned off at Selena to head west along a very undulating and narrow road with passing bays every few hundred metres as it is only one car width wide.

We arrived at the boarding jetty and our boat was waiting for us, the “Island Lass”. I’m a bit used to the Australian style boat trip out of Port Douglas to the Great Barrier, or Fiordland with large commercial operations and so was surprised (but not at all averse) to see our rather small, I would guess, retired fishing trawler waiting for us. There were about 30 of us (half had made their own way there) for the trip, we filed on and found seats. Initially we sat in the back, it was open, with seats for six on two benches back to back in the middle and then another 20 seats of benches around the outside. It was an eerie to start with experience because the boat is basically a large wooden shell with a tall cabin about midway down the boat which has the bridge in it. The two seating areas (bow and stern) are actually deep set so when you are seated nearly all your body is below sea level!! with just your head above. Obviously there is a side to the boat so you don’t get wet, but it makes for a fascinating view/perspective on the view. The advertising says toilets on board, well there was “toilet”, it even flushed, but it was on a peculiar angle and looked a bit like a museum piece. Highly functional though! Let’s just say the facilities were basic, but that wasn’t a problem, the two blokes who were the crew were friendly if rather reticent, and it meant that the passengers were all a hardy lot and all down to earth, rustic types.

We set off across the ocean, surrounded by isles and mainland Mull, some quite close, others distant shadows on the horizon. We motored for about an hour out to Lunga, a very pleasant trip. We arrived at a pontoon anchored about 50-75 metres off shore. I did wonder about the swim and the temperature of the water, but thankfully they tied the pontoon on to the side of the boat, and floated it up onto shore. The shore was rocky, quite big boulders, no problems for a goat like Antipodean raised on such stuff, but a struggle for some older and nervous looking women.  The captain of the Island Lass had warned us against stopping at the first viewing area/burrows of puffins because he said we’d become so transfixed that we wouldn’t want to move on and would miss all the other sights the island had to offer. We heeded his warning and continued on up the track to the higher levels. We came across a sheltered area with good viewing of a dozen puffins or so, a few black shags, guillemots and razor bills. We stopped here amongst the golden/mustard coloured lichen covered rocks, ate our lunch and observed puffin antics. Some of the writers say they look clown-like with their colouring, but they are far more elegant than that, their behaviour can be at times clownish however. We watched one picking up dried grass and flowers we presume to line its nest. It has a fare sized beak which it seemed determined to fill, sometimes struggling with a particularly well adhered piece of vegetation. It would pull and pull, shake its head  like a dog with a bone to try to dislodge the resistant piece. Then one of two things would happen, it would either lose grip or else dislodge the plant, either outcome would result in it falling on its bottom, looking a little embarrassed and then going back to its weeding.Hilarious!!

A razorbill

Puffin watching

Staffa is the result of a volcanic period 60 million years ago. Apparently (I’ve heard this from a number of sources so it must be true, Scotland or this northern part of it used to be attached to North America (in fact I learnt today (7^thJjune,  I’m way behind) that Scotland was in fact at about 30 degrees south (of the equator)  between 500-750 million years ago) but plate tectonic movement, pull and shove made it all move, particularly Scotland away from America to form the Ocean we now call the Atlantic. With all this pull fissures appeared in the earth’s crust through which lava erupted (over a very long period). Staffa was formed from this lava cooling in basalt columns which are geometric in shape (aren’t all shapes??? But I mean pentagons, hexagons, rectangulons (what is the word for that??) anyway, these columns were shaped according to how quickly they cooled. That is why they are not all regularly hexagonal shaped. All that is one belief held by the geologists and other earth scientists, another explanation is that there was an Irish giant (who’s name I forget just now) didn’t like the Scot giant Finigal, and wanted to beat him up. So he built a bridge or causeway across the ocean from Antrim in Northern Ireland across to Scotland, I’m not sure if he stopped at Mull or what happened, but I do know that over the years most of it has collapsed apart from these two ends, one at Staffa and the other at Antrim at The Giant’s Causeway which we visited in 2005 with grandma. The two areas are very similar so I’m inclined to believe the giant story far more than the geologists because it seems so much more easy to comprehend.

Either way, the result at Staffa is amazing, we could see the organ-pipe like façade of a huge cliff as we neared the island, green grass on the top, a layer of soil and rock, then these huge basalt columns forming 2/3 of the total height I guess, and then a shelf falling into the sea of stepping stones or steps of mostly hexagonal shorter columns. I’ll put in some photos, they show some of the effect but don’t give the immensity of the whole picture. One photo I think has some people on top of the cliffs, to show some perspective, but the camera can’t capture it. I didn’t mention it but on the side of the island we approached from there are two huge caves, one larger than the other, it is called Finigal’s Cave (after the giant). This cave has been caused by the softer volcanic stone and ash being washed away when the sea levels were higher than today.

We were dropped off on the island, we only had an hour on land and could have spent hours there. The island was stunning and could have had us busier for a lot longer, the views great, all around were islands and landscapes, golden light poking through patches of blue sky amongst the grey.  We climbed a high and steep track/rock staircase to the top of the cliffs overlooking the caves. The cliffs were sheer, standing atop them looking down had that nether region clenching effect that heights can bring on in a girl. I don’t mind heights really at all, but I do get that feeling when in significant danger, not that I did anything unsafe, just a warning not to!!! 

We had to hurry back down so that we would have a chance to go around the side of the cliffs and enter Finigal’s Cave.  Many of the people on the boat didn’t go up top but it was certainly worth the effort. The path around the cliffs (not a high path) has been trodden for centuries I believe, this part of Scotland  (specifically the cave) has been a tourist trap for many years. The cave itself was the inspiration for Mendhelson’s  symphony “Hebrides” from a visit he had (whenever he was writing, gosh I have no idea!!), and heard the crashing and notes created by the sea on the rocks, and in the crevasses.  It is quite hard to get photos in a confined space and when the light is so different in different patches of the cave. I did my best, and you can see the results without the benefit of any photo-shopping.

 

Finnegal's Cave on the right

Up above Finnegal's Cave

Inside Finnegal's Cave

We got the boat back to the Ulva ferry landing, mini-bus back to Craignure, ferry back to Oban and then the truck back to our campsite. We were knackered!!!! And slept like babies all night long. The weather hadn’t been too bad during the day, patchy sun and shade, no rain, and only needed our Gore-tex to keep the wind off, particularly on the open boat. We had had summer. We were told the Scots only had two days of summer and we had got through 48 hours with no rain. On Friday the temperature may even have neared 18, maybe 14 or so on Saturday. Sunday……. It was raining, cold (like a Christchurch southerly) and not much chop for doing anything. In the morning and into the afternoon we stayed at the campsite in the campervan doing reading, stitching, Hilary doing writing, maths, recorder practise and other “chores”. About three we headed the three miles or so into Oban to try out a café we had heard about that had really coffee and free WiFi. It was lovely, with a very friendly ex-nurse proprietor and her son who is in his 3rd year of medicine at Glasgow University (he has probably just finished for the summer actually). Anyway they were lovely, very hospitable, didn’t mind us sitting and nursing coffees for two hours while we did internet things. 

Have I mentioned there were chooks at this campsite and a black cat? They became Hilary’s friends. She took great delight in taking our food scraps over to the chooks, named some of the hens, and just generally had a great time with them. She of course took great pleasure in chatting to the cat, and stroking it too. She spent many happy hours observing the poultry over the six days we stayed there, really good for her too I think, nice time out, Zen time.

On Monday we dropped in to the café again for coffee and a quick internet catch up (I have not been so good, mostly too much demand on the one machine, and not enough internet time available). So we had coffee before heading off towards Glencoe which is further north from Oban, on our way to Skye. We stopped at the way at a Sea-life Sanctuary which Hilary had seen a brochure for and was very keen to visit. We did have a 2 for 1 voucher that we had got on the cornflakes package so that was good, but it did still cost 24 pounds for the three of us. It was enjoyable though, quite small really, but we had a talk about sharks and rays, seals and otters and watched them all being fed (not together, and not each other). The bloke at the otters re-iterated how lucky we had been to see our otter over on Mull. Apparently they are usually nocturnal, and though they do have to fish a bit in the early morning or pre evening darkness because of the length of daylight at this time of the year they do have to venture out a bit when they are visible. However it is still very unusual to get a sighting.

From here we drove on to Glencoe, we were too late to visit the National Trust Visitor Centre with the displays and exhibitions about the massacre of the McDonalds by the Campbells at the government’s insistence.  Instead, in the bright now sunlight we went for a short walk into the woodlands up to Signal Rock which is where it is possible the Campbells were given the word to start the massacre. Amazing peaks, mountains all around.  They are not that high, about 3000 feet maximum I would guess, but they are sheer and very accessible from the roads.

We drove back down the glen to our campsite, a mile I guess from Glencoe township at Invercoe. We parked our campervan within stone’s throw of the Loch, the smell of the briny reminding me of New Zealand beaches. The site was stunning looking down the silver loch, with the dark mountains all around.

In the late evening I went for a short walk, I had to fight off midges but I was rewarded by another otter spotting. This time it stayed out to sea a bit more but it was definitely an otter, he did a roll and dive, looking for fish, about 10 times before disappearing out of sight around a promontory.  I tried to follow around the loch but the bush was pretty thick, the shore narrow between the incoming tide and the sandflies/midges prolific!! I gave up and went back to the campsite for a cup of tea and bed.

The next day we woke and had breakfast in the camper over looking the Loch, I’ll put in a photo of the view from our breakfast table, hard to beat really.

After breakfast we drove back to the National trust Visitor centre at Glencoe. There was a very good exhibition about the Glencoe massacre, including a video by a lecturer from one of the Scottish universities outlining the facts and the part the government had to play in it all. There were also many interesting boards with photos and written accounts both of the time and later researched. There were 4 listening posts with stories, some myths some factual, not just about the massacre but about the area, including one about the guy who donated or arranged the fundraising for the buying of the land for National Trust back in the 30s. Sad thing is I can’t remember his name, even though he has made it possible for us all to have access to this pristine and preserved landscape.  There were also lots of displays, touchy looky things about the geology of the area. It is all volcanic/ glacial, and as well as the sttic displays there is a wonderful audiovisual display which for someone like me is a superb way of getting the message across. It showed the plate tectonic movement over millions of years, the resulting volcanic activity and the impact that had on the landscape and then the glacial effect and the later erosion from wind and rain and snow/ice. Really well done and easy to follow.

We went for a walk up the woodland path afterwards, unfortunately most of it was closed due to wind damage from the storm Scotland had a few weeks ago. There were trees down everywhere, huge Scotch pines which had probably been standing for decades, some torn up by the roots (really shallow root base I presume because of the high rainfall they don’t need to grow deep for their nourishment and drinking water. There’s a fault in that system because the high rainfall also makes for boggy not very strong foundations, see my old primary school motto (Lay well they foundation) was right wasn’t it. Anyway, some of the trees were just cracked off 10 metres or so above ground level as well, though the majority had just uprooted and fallen.

From Glencoe we drove to Fort William a reasonably large town at the top of Loch Linnhe. We bought a few groceries, had a coffee at the first McDonalds we’d seen for days, and did a bit of wireless stuff. It was drizzling a bit by then (of course) so instead of a long walk along the Caledonian Canal we instead spent about ¾ of an hour watching 4 yachts negotiating Neptune’s Staircase which is a series of 8 locks on the Caledonian Canal. Hilary was fascinated (as were we), we chattedto a lovely Irishman who was from a huge yacht at the front. He was off the boat holding a large rope which he used partially to walk the boat from one lock to the other and partially to help keep it from banging into the other boats or the walls of the canal. We learnt a lot from this guy, who was very keen to answer Hilary’s questions and told her there was a website all about the canal and the system which she is keen to investigate when we get into civilisation and internet access. The 8 locks of Neptune’s Staircase take about 2 hours to negotiate (15 minutes each), the whole of the Caledonian Canal takes about 2 1/2 days to sail. These guys had come across from Ireland and sailed up the Firth of Lorne, through Loch Lynnhe and were on their way through the canal along Loch Ness (look out for monsters) through more of the canal and into Moray Firth. Then once they hit the sea, two more days would get them to their destination of Norway!! Amazing eh?? Mind you the yacht was huge!! A few euro there. 

We drove back to the A82 rather than continuing on to Mallaig which would have been a quicker option for getting to Skye I think, but we had things to see the other way. We were in search of Di’s McKenzie relatives stomping ground. We turned left at Invergarry headed past some more lochs along the A87 to Kintail and the Five Sisters. Stunningly picturesque the whole way, huge imposing ranges (mountains almost) really sheer sides, again a bit like Fiordland, not that the peaks were rising from the water, but that straight up from the ground to the peak, a rapid rise rather than a gentle slope. Lovely green grass amongst huge slatey rocks. We found a campsite just for us. A large gravel patch with a concrete slab in the middle (hard standing, nice and level, just like at a pay campsite). It was just above a beautiful stream with crystal clear freezing cold water, gorgeous different coloured stones, quartz, volcanic reds, and dark grey with specks of silver shining silica. Hilary played by the river while we did dinner preparation, then it started to rain so our after dinner plans to have another play at the river was suspended until morning.

In the morning there was sunshine, the sound of cuckoos and the babbling brook. We had quite a play at the river, we spotted three red deer across the river, white bottoms obvious, the rest in quite good disguise amongst the rocks. Though they were a long way away, they were very wary of us, looking constantly, and slowly but surely heading higher up the mountains away for the day. I did get a photo of two of them, but as the magnification was so high (144x I recall) it is a bit blurry, very hard to eliminate shake at that distance.

Again we could have taken the easy route to Mull, driving a little further up the A87 to Kyle of Lochalsh and across the Skye Bridge. Did we? No! One of Diana’s third cousin once removed, Ithink it was Jim, recommended a more interesting route turning left at Shiel Bridge and across Mam Rattigan, a very narrow and steep pass to the ferry to Kylerhea. There were stunning views, especially in the sunshine and with a very smooth Loch Duich reflecting the surrounding ranges.

When we got to the ferry (maximum 6 cars) we had to wait for them to start for the day (not long) but the queue was such that we had to wait for the second crossing (partly because of our size, 4 motorbikes and a car took our place). We watched two crazy border collies, a mother and her son (the dogs), they are owned by the ferryman. The mother likes to go on the ferry, the son doesn’t. She sails across and back, he barks as the ferry gets smaller, runs up to a point that is as close as he can get to the other side, barks, and runs around frenetically.  Apparently this is his daily routine.  While we waited for the ferry’s return we watched seals fishing, bobbing up and down floating on a very strong incoming rip.

The crossing itself only took a few minutes, very cool system. The top of the ferry is a platform which turns (2 strong men) on a pivot so it can be put at an angle useful for driving on and off. It also rotates so you can drive on forwards and off forwards too. Just as well because there isn’t a lot of room anywhere.  Speaking of not much room, when we got across to Skye there were at least 20 vehicles probably more actually, parked waiting to catch the ferry the other way. Not a problem except it is a single track road with passing bays every now and then, and a steep ascent as you get off the ferry for the first few hundred metres (well all of it actually). It took a lot of negotiating, reversing, inching our way through tight gaps and quite a considerable time to get past the blockages. Some of the drivers very helpful, and accommodating, others just plain dicks really.

After a few hundred metres we took a turn-off to the otter hide. We did the km walk down to the hide, watched for about ¾ of an hour through supplied binoculars, didn’t spot more than a couple of seals, before heading off again. The next part of the road was very steep and again narrow. Not scarey, just needed to take our time, the truck couldn’t get out of first gear, and her temperature was rising rapidly. She got to the top OK, all of us breathing a sigh of relief. We sat at the summit drinking tea and letting the gauge drop from 100 back down to 50, before heading on again. We stopped for coffee ( and Hilary a huge scone with jam and cream) in Broadford, on through Portree (pronounced Porsht ree Hilary tells me) and on to Staffin where we are staying.