Mull & Iona
At first light we slipped our moorings from Corpach and headed for the open sea: past the sleeping town of Fort William, through the narrows at Corran and then along wide sea loch Linnhe. Do you believe in miracles? The sun came out, the sky turned blue, and a cleansing shower produced a newly-minted rainbow bright enough to stop us all in mid-breakfast. On our left the slim, green island of Lismore, a sliver of limestone in land rent by volcanoes. We are headed for the most volcanic of them all: Mull, its high hinterland a towering craggy peak called Ben More, “the big head.”
Once docked at Craignure, we clambered aboard our fast-getaway coach and were soon on the single-track road to Iona, 35 miles of spectacular Scottish scenery past sheltered sea lochs, across salmon rivers, up emerald green slopes, and round the flanks of the ancient volcano until we were gazing down the long glen that leads to the west, a road taken by kings, monks and warriors for more than 15 centuries.
Down the pass of Glen More and along the tartan shores of Loch Scridain, our driver Stewart tickled us with tales of life on the island, the mussel farms, the red deer and golden eagles, the seals and otters, herons and highlanders (great shaggy cattle with horns like spiral spears), lairds and ladies, the great and the good, the scoundrels and scandals. And the sun shone on us.
Ben More was reflected in the lens of the loch and colors glowed, mauve and purple heathers, vivid ginger marmalade in the shoreline seaweeds. The great headland of Ardmeanach opposite showed the terraces of millions of years of lava which overflowed from the cauldrons of Ben More, and beyond, out to sea, the tiny islets of the Treshnish, the Dutchman’s Cap, Lunga and Staffa, the site of Fingal’s Cave.
As we wound our way down to Fionnphort (“fine harbor”) we were crossing the pink granites of the Ross of Mull, the core of a much older volcano 440 million years ago. It is a reminder of just how ancient this landscape is; in the short ferry crossing to Iona, we traveled back a further one billion years to some of the oldest rocks on earth, the Lewisian gneisses. Only a short sunny step to one of the most spiritual centers in Europe: here Columba came from Ireland over 1,400 years ago to a site already home to Irish druids and quiet hermits. In establishing this site as the crucible of Christianity, Columba spread his simple creed north and west like a religious gulf stream, his disciples ultimately taking it back into Europe, preaching and teaching as they walked.
The pedigree of this faith is seen most clearly in the tiny cemetery of St.Oran’s chapel where over 50 kings of Scotland, Ireland and Norway are buried, including the Lords of the Isles, the King of Man and the old foes Duncan and Macbeth.
As we stood before the cross of St.Martin, carved over 1000 years ago, there was much to reflect on. Iona has something to say to everyone, and will continue to attract pilgrims from all over the world, inspired by Columba’s determination to find a new, simpler way of living. An inscription on a beach boulder on Iona repeats Columba’s words: “Neither angels nor holy men did I see, but I heard the sound of the sea, and knew that this island would be my home.”
