How I fell in love with Mull
I’ve briefly mentioned my summer working on the Isle of Mull before. What I haven’t really told you about is how I came to love the place. I went there just after graduation to work for a charity running whale-watching tours and doing research on the local whale population. I had no idea what to expect, as my last visit to Scotland had been when I was in a pushchair as a child1, and I was woefully prepared in practical terms. I think that I was also unprepared for how profound the experience would be.
I arrived in a rainstorm, so I couldn’t see much of my surroundings beyond blurry outlines swept away by the windscreen wipers as we bumped along in the Land Rover. At that point, I wondered quite what I had let myself in for. This feeling was reinforced when I found out that because of a slight shortage of space in the caravans, I would be living on the boat on my own. This turned out to be the best thing that could have happened to me.
The boat (a retired gin palace) was moored on a sea loch, and could only be accessed by dinghy when it was moored. In fact, because the loch was tidal, I could only reach the dinghy when the tide was high. Rather than the inconvenience this might have been, it was actually a rather lovely thing; it forced me to slow down and live at the pace of my surroundings. I came to enjoy sitting on a rock by the shore, just watching the water and waiting for the tide to creep up and cover the rocks.
I have a lot of wonderful memories of my time on Mull, which are often a great mental escape when I’m feeling a bit stressed and oppressed. In fact, I often find that I have very vivid dreams about the landscape, which are always a sure sign that work pressures are getting to me. Here are a few of the things that surface in my dreams at such times.
The best time of day was just after dawn. We started the tours early, so I had to get up at the crack of dawn and get ready for the hordes to descend. I would make myself a coffee and a slice of toast, and go out on the deck to eat my breakfast and look around at the world. The water was often exceptionally calm at that time of dayâat times so flat that there were no ripples, just a smooth surface flexing the image of the sky. The clarity of the air was such that every rock and frond of seaweed seemed to snap into sharp focus. I’ll never forget the smell of coffee combining with salt and seaweed and bracken on the shore. It was even wonderful when it rained. If youâve never experienced the silver sound of soft rain falling on a calm sea — believe me, you haven’t lived. At night, the loch and the woods were painted blue and silver by the moonlight — so bright that it cast shadows. I’ll never forget the first time I looked up on a clear night and had a Dave Bowman moment: “My god, it’s full of stars!”
Now and again, a curlew or a flock of oyster catchers would fly over, making their utterly eerie and heart-breaking calls. Aside from the smell, nothing conjures up that view for me like an oyster catcher call. Sometimes a small herd of red deer would venture out of the forest and graze on the shore, seemingly unworried by me watching them. One morning I watched, puzzled, as one of the mooring buoys repeatedly sank beneath the water then rocketed back out again. It took several minutes for me to see that a harbour seal was playing with it — forcing it under the water, then letting it pop back out.
It would take me weeks to tell you about all of these magical moments, but after only a few weeks, I was completely smitten with the place. I fell in love with Mull. I don’t use that phrase lightly; it was exactly the feeling you get when you fall for a lover, and the parting was every bit as heart-rending. I still feel that part of me lives there and calls to me from time to time. There were times when a particular view was so achingly beautiful that it literally moved me to tears, and I was gripped by the feeling that if only everyone could see this, things would somehow be different. Don’t ask me how, it just would.
1 Actually, I was walking by this time, but according to my parents I suddenly went on strike in the ambulatory department, forcing them to bump my pushchair over heather covered hills.
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I visited there briefly around 1987. I took the ferry to Mull, then a coach acorss the island, small ferry (like a world war landing craft) to Iona (I can well see why the monks went there, so peaceful) and was supposed to take an even smaller boat to Staffa. The staffa boat was canelled due to rough seas.
Mull was beautiful, though very wet, when I was there. I spent a couple weeks driving through large areas of the highlands, the drive up the great glen was the most spectacular drive I managed. One can easily imagine why myths of fairies and monsters and wrrior heroes grew up around there.----- I've been reading your site for about a week now, and I just felt I had to comment. Your description of Mull was beautifully mesmerising. I especially loved the turn of phrase "...the silver sound of soft rain falling...".
Well that's enough of the gushiness I think : )
Thank you for the great entry.
by Nick @ 01/10/2003 7:11 am • Permalink •
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On a boat trip out to dive with manta rays in Hawaii last month, we encountered a pod of spinner dolphin, leaping in synchronised fashion, four at a time out of the water. Later, in the dark and 10 meters of water, manta with 15' wingspan were soaring over my skull with awesome precision. Moments like that will remain forever in my head and I too will use them for sanctuary.
by Mr.D. @ 01/10/2003 11:10 am • Permalink •
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just wanted to second what nick said above: a beautiful post. who says geeks can't write eh?
by dvd @ 01/10/2003 12:10 pm • Permalink •
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dave m: Iona is wonderful. On later trips to Mull, when I cycled around the island (once on my own, once with the now Mr. Bsag), I went to Iona for a couple of days. I have another wonderful memory of lying on my back on springy green turf at the northern end of the island, looking at the sky and listening to the sea.
Mr. D.: You lucky thing! That sounds like a mind-blowing experience.
Nick and dvd: Thanks, folks! I'm not sure that I quite did it justice, but then nothing is as powerful as actually being there and experiencing it.
by bsag @ 01/10/2003 8:10 pm • Permalink •
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From the ages of to 2 to 14 I went to Iona every spring. Although the journey was emense (12 hours from Manchester, 2 trains, 2 ferries, 1 coach and a fair bit walking) I loved it every time.
Some years it was so hot and sunny the tarmac melted. Some years it rained and stormed non-stop all week. Mostly it was a good mix of lush and sun.
Iâm not quite sure how you cycled around the island. The south end has few paths. Iâm sure you could walk the circumference in a day if you were quick. In many places (esp. the south) you have to decide whether to walk the cliff top paths or climb around the the cliff faces to do a true circumnavigation.
Iâve probably spent more time passing through Mull than actually being there. Itâs sufficienctly big to have lot to explore. I can recomend visiting Camus as a great place to get away from every day life.
I once sailed out from Glasgow and our voyage took us around the north coast of Mull and we headed for Iona. All day long the sun had been shining and I was on deck in shorts and t-shirt enjoying the speed we had picked up on the steady wind. We were cruising a a steady pace on a south westly and passed the northernmost point of Mull. We tacked south, roughly on a bearing for Iona, sun was still pounding down, I was considering putting more sun cream on. About 5pm the day was darkening, perhaps more than should be expectedd, clouds pulled overhead and soon the wind picked up and rain was falling. The crew on board were quick to adjust, we ensured the deck was clear made adjustments for the change in wind. The sea roughend. Was it time to reduce as the wind was picking up? Well if did that we may not reach Iona by night fall, anyway it was sunny only one hour ago, itâll soon be sunny again. Slowly and without gaining attention the wind gained strength became blustery. Soon the wind and rain increased such that I was wet through. No time to change into water proofs, I could only stay in my shorts and react. There was nothing for it but to furl the main sail mid-storm, if we didnât the mast could break under the ever increasing wind. It was the biggest storm Iâd ever experienced. The conditioned worsened so fast I couldnât plan only react. Fortunately my skipper was well experienced and made all the right decisions. He realised weâd never make it to Iona before nightfall. Weâd have to pull into a port on the north coast of the west headland of mull, no mater of cost or how little money we had. A new bearing was set and the pushed the 34 foot gaff rigger south over the mouting waves, all the while the sea spray wetting my cold exposed legs. Soon before the the last light fell weâd arrived in the shelter of Mull and I could finally go below and chang into some trousers and be thankful of being close enough to shore to chang our plans. That one encounter with a summer storm made me realise just how mean the sea can be. My eyes we opened to the conidtions that the sea does and had emposed on generations of sailors whoâve sailed off the west coast of Scotland.
by David Roussel @ 16/04/2004 10:04 pm • Permalink •
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David Roussel: Great story. You might have heard about the terrible accident that resulted in the death of half a dozen young Ionan men a couple of years ago in a storm, as they were crossing back to Iona after a party.
by bsag @ 17/04/2004 10:04 am • Permalink •
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