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Published: November 26th 2008
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On the high seas
Heading towards the Isle of Mull, from Oban. The distant hills are on the Ross of Mull. The weather was so foul during my stay in Fort William that I didn’t stray far from the hostel. Arriving in the depressing drizzle on Sunday afternoon, I’d asked if there was anywhere in town to rent a movie - and the lovely Czech hostel manager responded by lending me her entire DVD collection. Weather forgotten, I was settling in when invited to partake of the delicious dinner the afro’d South African assistant manager was cooking up for a group of friends. In the midst of such generous hospitality I was in no hurry to leave.
Being at the base of Scotland’s premier mountain range, the hostel was equipped with gear cupboard and a drying room, and served as base for a number of day walkers, cyclists and hard-out trampers. I toyed with the idea of a short hike, but it was snowing up in Glen Nevis, and being in an unfamiliar place and comparatively inexperienced I was not game to walk even that far alone.
Ben Nevis was totally hidden by stormy grey clouds, and although one expedition successfully made the summit, most hikers reported the ascent was out of the question in such weather.
I used my stay
Fort William
The view west over the township from the hostel, which was on the hill sloping up to the Nevis range. to clean and dry clothing still wet from Skye and watch my way through several movies, then lined up for my bus on Tuesday. Working south-west across the country-side, the trip took us past several beautiful lochs and I arrived in Oban in perfect time for the
CalMac ferry to the Isle of Mull.
I’d not booked accommodation on
Mull, as I knew the change of season had probably closed some of the visitor attractions. I wanted to check what was open before choosing my direction - but on arrival in Craignure that evening I discovered finding a place to stay at all would be difficult. I’d have liked to see the northern town of Tobermory, but its bed and breakfasts were either closed or full, and after a plea for help, Helen in the tourist office came up with a bed for me in Fionnphort (pronounced Finnafort) in the south.
During the hour’s bus ride I strained my eyes to get an idea of the scenery, but could only make out vast shapes to the sides of the road, and the occasional sheen of water. In the complete darkness of such a rural setting I was unable
The Ross of Mull
Rolling hills in incredible colours, which unfortunately do not translate in cloudy day photographs :( to get any idea of what the landscape really looked like, and I arrived on the Ross (peninsula) of Mull unaware of my surroundings.
The driver dropped me off right in front of my B & B, and I checked in with an odd landlady who I'm sure would have been more at home in
Royston Vassey. I escaped to the pub, the one and only eating establishment open, and pondered my options for the next day as I enjoyed an excellent steak and ale pie.
After comical attempts to get cash out, I hopped on the second of the morning ferries which cross the choppy strait from Fionnphort to Iona, the cradle of Scottish Christianity and the main reason for my visit to Mull. St Columba (
Colum Cille) arrived from Ireland in 563 AD and founded a community of monks on this tiny island, the forerunner of the settlement which would be established by the saint's later followers: Holy Island in England.
In this windswept, isolated spot, the monks ran a church and a monastery for hundreds of years. Even now there is a thriving community on the island, joined by intakes of pilgrims on retreat courses.
Iona and Fionnphort
Looking from Iona village back across the strait to Fionnphort, which is only a ten minute ferry ride away. There is a huge amount of history in this place, from ruins and buildings to examples of ancient stone working. Numerous gravestones and high crosses adorn the cemetery, some of which are still standing after over a thousand years. Many more have collapsed and been brought inside to protect the remains of the intricate carvings from the harsh conditions.
I wandered north along the road out of the community, and climbed a hill. I was near the northern tip, and could see almost the length of the island lying to the south as I leant into the wind, which made my face wobble like a sky diver’s. A smudge on the horizon was probably Staffa, the legendary island of Fingal’s cave and preferred nesting spot of the puffin. Unfortunately I wasn’t able to visit it this trip - even if it had been the right season, the boats would have cancelled their sailings in such rough conditions.
After my day on Iona I was low on cash, facing a dearth of accommodation and without signal on my mobile. I determined to forgo the rest of Mull and get myself back to the mainland. Calling from the ferry, I
Get thee to a nunnery!
Iona nunnery was built around 1200. was assured of a warm welcome at the backpackers in Oban.
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