Memorable Iona, Argyll, Scotland

Dear All
I must, must, must post this one photo from Iona at least. Spent a few days there last week and enjoyed some of the best weather ever. We also saw some rain, but no matter. More pix to follow later, I hope.
And yes, that crystal clear water did tempt me to go for a swim. 't was brief, mind, because the water hereabouts is fairly cold. But the sand was warm, the rocks were hot, the sun was even hotter -- fantastic!

A kind of anniversary

Hiya again
It's been exactly four years to the day that I met someone who was to change my life in unexpected ways. One of them was being introduced to the joys of blogging. I resisted for a while but, as you can see, I have since become quite seriously addicted (I'd like to say "developed to a fine art", but there are so many blogs out there that are much better organised, much more aesthetically pleasing, much more like what I'd have if only I really focused on this -- but there you go: I'm me, a bit chaotic, a bit obsessive, but basically quite harmless).
Even if comments to my musings and photos etc are sparse, I do know that there are quite a few people out there who click into this blog from time to time.
I thank you for your interest, and I thank R.A.E. for having inspired me to take up this hobby, for helping me stretch my wings as a photographer further, and for being a great friend since those chance encounters on our way by CalMac ferry and bus across Mull to and a week later the same way back from Iona.
To you all I dedicate this photo showing my favourite flower, ever, the elusive fritillary, which I first encountered on Iona in April 2004, two years before I took this photo.

Iona – some souvenirs

Iona is just a tiny island off the west coast of Mull, which lies off the west coast of Scotland. But Iona is a universe, ever changing, ever surprising. Not least the weather, especially at this time of year.
For now, just a few impressions from the past two or three days.
The North End of Iona is stunning, with a beautiful, white sandy beach. Day before yesterday, the waves rolled in from the north-west and created inky turquoise tunnels (above).
Yesterday, towards the south end, the sky looked at itself in a wet rock:
The wild sea rolling in wave after wave after wave, one more impressive and beautiful than the next. I spent at least an hour up on a heathery hilltop, looking down into the churned-up waters and across the sea. If you click on the photo above and look at the horizon, you should just be able to make out a fascinating island called Dutchman's Cap. It's one of the Treshnish Isles, uninhabited, almost impossible to land on, and I've long wanted to sail out there -- because that's where it is...
On my way back, I came upon this view:A couple of days earlier, nothing was where the lochan reflects the sky. And a bit to the left (or west) in the picture above, that's what you would have found yesterday as the evening drew in:
The beach was ankle-deep, knee-deep in the foam spewed on land, natural soap from the churned-up seaweed. The roar was unimaginable, wave upon wave came thundering in.
The night was interesting: gales rattling the rafters and banging doors all over the hotel where I was staying -- my beloved Argyll Hotel, rain pelting the window-pane like hail. Five minutes later, the sky sparkled with stars. Another ten minutes later, the rain was back. It was a see-sawing night and I slept lightly, yet woke well rested.
Everywhere you look, lambs so young their coats are still too big for them. I don't know what makes them jump up high into the air, but that's what many of them do a lot. Standing stock still one minute, all fours in the air the next. And they can run.
More later. Cheerioh!

On and on and on... -- three weeks later! (part one)

Very large camomile flowers adorning the ground above Fingal's Cave on Staffa.( © MPJ, July 13, 2008)

Hiya everyone!
Time just flies. I hope all's well with everyone and look forward to hearing from you -- either by your leaving a comment on this blog or by sending me an e-mail. :)

I've been very, very busy working -- and entertaining my dear friend T. from Switzerland for five days, which was lovely and made a wonderful change. Just a week ago we took a tour from Oban -- lying lazy and sleepy in the early morning light --

… on foot, by ferry, …

A detail from the Isle of Mull, one of the two ferries that make the regular trips between Oban on the mainland and Craignure on Mull.

... by bus, boat, on foot, ferry, bus, ferry and again on foot -- that took us to Mull, Staffa and Iona. The weather was the usual Scottish mixed bag, but fine for most of the day.

On the voyage from Oban to Craignure (on Mull) a black-backed gull accompanied
us most of the way, simply hovering on an upstream probably generated by the boat.
He was quite a cheeky fellow, occasionally dipping and diving close by our heads.Actually, we enjoyed the trip, sharing cameras with fellow travellers and marvelling at the many different nationalities on board.A physicist would be able to explain to me, I'm sure, just what it is that causes these fascinating wave patterns in the ferry's wake. I was most intrigued.

Staffa was bathed in glorious sunshine (most of the time, anyway), ...

Approaching Staffa; Fingal's Cave is the gaping oval-shaped darkness to the right of the two
whitish striations of guano left, probably, by nesting black guillemots.
Here's one of them, fluttering back to the nest in the cliffs below me.

Staffa: a glimpse of Boat Cave, to the "left" (or west) of Fingal's Cave. I'd love to be able to
explore in the company of just a small party, and perhaps take a kayak into the caves.
Last Sunday conditions would have been near perfect -- very calm sea.

This must be my very favourite formation – the small island(s) of The Herdsman or Am Buachaille, to the east of Staffa, with the narrow channel through which on a rougher day the sea comes rushing in great white breakers
(see one of my very first posts for those photos -- just type "Staffa" into the search thingy at top left on this blog and you should soon find them.

According to a note in a leaflet, no sheep have grazed on Staffa for a couple of years,
which allows the tall grasses and wildflowers to bloom in great profusion (it will also, probably, allow some of the more annoying
weeds to flourish that have been kept in check so far). Anyway, never having visited Staffa in the summer, I was awe-struck with the
colours -- the yellow of buttercups, the white of very big camomile, the pink of the flowering grass, and
perhaps a kind of campion or other. By the way, on the horizon: Iona.
While everyone else rushed to Fingal's Cave, my friend and I (and a handful of others) climbed the steep
aluminium steps to the top of the small island. I took myself off to the south face, to see what I would
find there. And I gathered all my courage to crawl to the very edge of the cliffs and have a look down. Worth it, don't you think? This
must be Boat Cave, as Fingal's Cave has a base of broken-off basalt columns at either side of the entrance.
But yes, at last: this is THE cave, one of the Seven Wonders of the World, I shouldn't be surprised. The colours are stunning, even more so on a wettish day, when the water brings them out more. And a calm day really does not do justice to the musical qualities of this cave, which resounds with booms and ululations caused by the wind being pushed through the very thin cracks between the columns, and by the surf crashing into the farthest end of the cave which reaches about eighty feet into the depth of the island. Totally impressive!

… the boat ride up from Fionnphort on Mull and back to Iona village was as smooth as you can hope for and we even managed to march across the island to the Bay at the Back of the Ocean without getting rained on. It was only when we were almost at the Martyr's Bay Café on Iona that a Scotch mist started drizzling on us -- walking in the clouds does that -- so we got a little damp.
Here we've had a very cold and wet July so far, following on to a cold, wet June. People have told me it's been one of the most dreadful summers. I've not found it unpleasant as I'm no longer so well able to cope with heat. And whenever the sun does come out, which it does at least once a day, it's lovely and warm and very summery. Also, after a very warm, dry six weeks beginning in mid-April, the wet weather has replenished the water table, flushed out a lot of gunk from the gullies, streams (which they call "burns" here) and rivers.
The wilderness at the bottom of my garden (actually just the "drying green", which is a big patch of grass that I try to keep as tidy-looking as possible by going over it with a little electric lawnmower about every two weeks) is looking wilder and wilder: a bright pink-purple-flowered stand of tall Canadian fireweed lifts itself out of nettles, brambles, chokeweed and burdock.

I know, this is not the Canadian fireweed, but a beautiful clematis that graced the not very beautiful wooden fence.

I would really like to be able to go in there to chop down some of the nastier things that are all but choking my honeysuckle and a pretty pink-flowering shrub (whose blossoming time now seems to be over, but it was glorious for weeks and weeks), but there's a wire-mesh fence separating my bit and the wilderness, and a tall wooden fence separating the wilderness and the adjacent footpath, so I've not actually dared go across lest I hurt myself -- the undergrowth looked very messy and uneven...
The Council and management of this estate have long had plans to turn the wilderness into a wildflower/bird sanctuary with a few benches. That would be very pretty indeed, especially if the burn (called the Black Lynn) was also cleaned up. Right now it is rather strewn with rusting things that people have just tossed into it, and shrubs growing into it, making it very prone to flooding.
The trash and litter everywhere is appalling. I pick up bags full every week, despite a chap coming by with his pick-up thingy and a bin on wheels. Even in our "close" (the common entrance and stairway), the kids visiting the ten-year-old upstairs simply toss their sweet wrappers and sticks and things on the floor. But most of the kids here are fine, polite and I'm slowly becoming friends with some of the wee girls in this house and the house next door.

Otherwise, I've been settling in quite nicely. The noise problem persists and I don't know how that's going to be resolved. I live in hope; sometimes I get all of three hours of sleep a night, which is not enough. And as there's quite a bit of noise during the day, it's not easy to catch up. I've been going to friends' houses to get a good night's sleep! This shouldn't be necessary and I hope the worst of my neighbours will learn to be more considerate.
There is one set of neighbours who cold-shoulder me when they're not actually actively nasty. It sounds like doors are slammed deliberately to make me jump very early in the morning or very late at night -- that kind of thing. I don't think I'm being paranoid here -- the young man downstairs tends to shout some pretty colourful obscenities through the ceiling when I make my wish for peace and quiet heard like "Mrs Meier" from Mani Matter's song...
Otherwise, I've been getting quite a lot of smiles and explicit messages telling me that my presence is appreciated and that I've been making a positive difference to the place, which is really gratifying.

All in all, Oban is a very good, friendly place to live. I like the nearness of the sea and the harbour; I like the idea that I could be in Glasgow within three hours if I wanted to; I love riding my bicycle around town …
…and into the outskirts -- there are many lovely, lovely spots I have discovered.

So it goes. With much love to you, my friend!
Until soon. Peace!

PS: Next post about the second trip with my friend, T.

My first "real" visitor :)

Hello again

Time flies when you're having fun, and the last few weeks have not been all work and no play at all, although the ratio of work:leisure has been less than well balanced...

Last Friday evening, my new friend from Oban, E.C., offered to assist me in meeting my old friend from Switzerland, T.B., off the bus from Glasgow. We were expecting a full bus and people scooting across the street to snatch taxis from under each other's noses. The bus pulled in right on time, and its two passengers (!) disembarked. T. was all smiles and so was I. But I felt comfortable in the July non-summer, while T.'s teeth were soon chattering with the unwonted frigid temperatures -- after all, that morning she boarded her plane in Zürich that was groaning under a heat wave!

E. drove us to my still-rather-new home in an old house (creaky, draughty, and noisy, but it's got character!) and left us to catch up with each other.
Five nights later, we have just about managed to tell each other all the stories we had saved up for this occasion. Weather wise, it could have been better. Poor T. has had to wrap up warmer than she would have liked. Still, it could also have been worse.
We had a good Sunday, which we spent on what's called a "Three Islands Tour": some 40 minutes by ferry from Oban to Mull; then some 90 minutes by coach in the sunshine along the southern arm of Mull to Fionnphort; from there by boat to …
… Staffa (duration of the crossing: approx. 30 minutes). The sea was calm, Staffa lies aslant as always -- this was my fourth visit; I'm getting hooked, would still love to visit by sail boat.

… a quick hop and skip up the steps, snapping at some of the quirky basalt formations to the right before reaching the top of the island in the sun; a quick explore the beautiful grassy , flowery meadows … … a look down onto the Staffa end of the Giant's Causeway that begins over on the northern shores of Ireland… … and back down again to visit Fingal's Cave behind those basalt steps when almost everyone else had left; …(Photo: Th.A.-Bi.)

... back south by boat, …
… landing on Iona; about two and a half hours on Iona, where the first hour was lovely, warm and sunny, with the Argyll Hotel organic garden sporting a superb flower medallion:Glorious! I enjoyed a generous cup of tea at the Argyll, where I was gratified to find J. still working; she's a very friendly waitress who has been there for the past six, seven years. When T. was finished giving the Abbey a quick look, we marched to the Bay at the Back of the Ocean (western shore) …
…and made it back to the coffee shop with only our hair wet from a sudden bout of Scotch mist, very fine drizzle. The trip back to Mull by the big ferry (Loch Buie) and back to Craignure by coach was completely uneventful, not to say boring: everyone was quite tired by then, and the wet weather and grey sky didn't exactly brighten the spirit.

The small island of Kerrera, to the south and west of Oban; the monument is in memory of David Hutcheson, the
man who established the first ferry service in the Western Isles of Scotland, which is now CalMac (Caledonian MacBrayne Ltd.).

But the whole trip was well worth it: I saw nesting and chick-rearing seabirds galore (black guillemots they were) that dipped and swooped and screeched at me from very close quarters. I saw three gannets arrowing into the sea. The flowers and grasses stood tall and fragrant. Staffa is a glory of a very large variety of camomile. The ubiquitous Canadian fireweed hasn't quite made it there, yet, but there were a few foxgloves here and there.

Remembering Pia, remembering Iona

Hello again

Yes, it's that time of the week, fairly late on a Friday afternoon, and I'm kind of marooned at the office waiting for it to be time to head out to celebrate a friend's new flat and birthday. Should be a good party. I look forward to seeing some of my Colombia-connected friends after a spell away.

Mind you, I don't feel much like celebrating just now. Had to attend the final farewell ceremony of a long-time friend who died last Saturday, a month and two days shy of her 57th birthday.
Pia and I were close friends back in the seventies, when we spent many an evening together while our partners were off playing handball or hanging out in bars and she had to stay home to mind her second baby boy. Seems like yesterday.
We lost touch over the past few years, but I was recently aware of her being very ill with cancer and of no-one expecting her to live to the end of this year. Perhaps her husband of thirty-seven years and her sons and daughters-in-law were hoping that she would make her 57th birthday come December 19, but it was not to be.

Pia was a wonderful, energetic, life, sports and fun-loving woman. A great mother and wife and partner. A dedicated, enthusiastic teacher. A generous, warm-hearted friend. A gifted painter. A ...
I am quite sure that everyone in that church -- which was full to capacity this afternoon -- choked up at the sight of her last paintings, which were lined up in the choir where her coffin was not. Those colourful canvases are her legacy, and will remind us all of her lovely presence.
What an outrage that such a wonderful person had to go through so much suffering, and for so long (she received her cancer diagnosis in September 2004)!
But what a gift her life was to everyone who had the privilege of knowing her.
Thank you, Pia, for having touched so many lives. Let me dedicate this photo to you, which was taken just about when you were painting those very last pictures of yours...

As I have no images of Pia, I would like to post some visual memories of my short trip to Iona of just over a month ago. Here they come.
This lovely garden belongs to the Argyll Hotel on Iona. It is an organic treasure that reveals itself to visitors who walk up to the Abbey.

A striking new feature that was barely under construction during my previous visit in April 2006, Iona's new fire station:
Just a few days before my visit, someone had run his car into the door, blocking the fire station and leaving the island unprotected in case of fire for a few hours (for details, see The Oban Times, Oct. 19, 2007, http://www.obantimes.co.uk)
No visit to Iona is complete without a tour of what's left of the Nunnery, founded in about 1200. Those beautiful granite walls are still impressive.
Although the day was quite dismal, grey and damp -- driech, in one word -- the sun did manage to burst through the cloud.
And the sky was gorgeous as we boarded the ferry back to Mull:

Scotland, the Hebridean island of Mull, 2005

Hello again

I'm looking back to spring 2005, when I visited Iona for the second time. After a week on that lovely little island (see my other post), I toured Mull for a few days.
The next few photos show Phionnphort harbour and a few coastal areas on Mull. I took the long, leisurely way round, ambling up to Calgary Bay, which I had to visit because of a close friend who is deeply homesick for Australia. Now Calgary Bay is not Ozzieland, of course, but the beach there is something else. But see for yourself.
As I was leaving Fionnphort, the last stop on Mull before one takes the short ferry ride across the Sound of Iona, the little boat Iolaire was chugging into the bay, back from a fishing trip, or more likely back from the one-hour trip up to Staffa:
I've never had a chance to talk to the fishermen on Iona or at Fionnphort, but judging from these lobster creels, there's still plenty of wildlife in these beautiful clear waters.
Now the tour of Mull proper begins:
Looking along Loch Na Keal.
It didn't take too long -- maybe a couple of hours -- before I reached Calgary Bay. The weather was good enough, despite some impressive clouds overhead, for a good ramble all over the beach:
This mountain, according to my map, is called Mornish Hill:
Nature, as ever, is a great artist:Back on Calgary beach. After Iona, which remains my gem, I couldn't get enough of this wide expanse of sand, and the surf in the distance.
Simply spectacular!
I discovered a beautiful woodland next to the Calgary Bay hotel, full of the most mysterious, funny, weird, beautiful artwork: ropes snaking down from trees, benches, woodcarvings, whale's teeth, massive slabs of rusting iron -- I'll have to create a separate post for all these images.
Of course I would have loved to stay at Calgary Bay and Beach but I had a reservation at a B&B up in Dervaig, so that's where I drove next. But I made sure that they'd have a bed for me at Calgary the following night -- what a delightful place!
First, however, a look at the striking church of Dervaig -- a bit of a lighthouse, don't you think?
No, I wasn't drunk when I took the next picture... :)
I wish I had known then about the Little Theatre at Dervaig. As it was, I spent a very rainy night indoors, chatting with the hosts and other people staying at the B&B (which I believe is no longer, the owners having decided to sell up and retire).
Dervaig is a beautiful little village, well worth the visit.
Loch Cuin by Dervaig.
The morning before I drove down to Calgary again, I went on a bit of a wander along a track that led me to Loch Cuin and the Quinish Estate. The gate was shut but not locked, there was a stile, so I felt entitled to having a quiet look around. What a magical place it turned out to be, too! Odd how some rubbish can acquire an air of landscape art -- but odd, too, that in a nature reserve it should be possible to leave useless stuff to rot away and perhaps leach poisonous substances into the environment.
No comment -- this is well within the bounds of the Nature reserve. Funny way of preserving such an otherwise pristine place!
Interesting collection of rusting farm implements -- nature art with a twist...
A brief rainshower, more like Scottish mist, brought a shine to this otherwise quite nondescript woodland path.I was just too slow with my camera, but there was a rustle, a flapping of wings with a flash of cream -- I'll swear I saw one of the sea eagles said to be nesting out there.
A huge tree's limbs had come crashing down and were spread all about, like a giant's fan.
I can't get over the fact that in early April this far north, camellias should be in full bloom. Absolutely delighted to see this gorgeous bunch of blossoms.
Nuff said for now. There will be more in a different post.