five go wild on eagle island

We're just back from Mull, a trip with family and friends. Here's one take, another follows in the next issue of OE

The crossing was calm

There is nowhere else like the west coast of Scotland - a mix of the familiar and offworld. Even the shorter water crossings feel like stepping over a threshold.

At Pennyghael the weather was neither here nor there

We spent the night at Uisken beach, I put the kettle on for Ben. The eclipse was not watched but felt. An involuntary rising anxiety as the light diminished, a sense of relief as it returned. The sea stilled.

I met this woman on Iona. She'd come from coast to coast, from Worthing to be precise. Here she is going into the oldest chapel on the island, her very own pilgrimage.

The mighty burg, the eagle's lair, from the Abbey garden. St. Columba was apparently the first to use St. John's Wort as a curative for the disturbed. Iona is marginal, and well described by my friend Tim as 'a thin place'.

Golden hour was pretty golden on our return from Ben More. The straight up and down way... but all for one and one for all, everyone came through the inversion. The little one snored all the way up in the backpack.

At the head of Loch Na Keal, looking towards the Ben, a photo snatched on the way to somewhere else.

Like the bow of a ship on the edge of the world. Rugged coastal walking to the Whisky cave.

The Treshnish Isles, the Dutchman's Cap on the left. We knew we'd arrived at the correct inlet for the cave when the centre of the cap aligned with the tip of the island in front of it. The Whisky Still was still in place, sunk deep enough to hide the fire from prying eyes, now surrounded by a salad of washed up plastic. Crackaig must have been the best party town in the north until Typhoid ruined their day.

Beached giants on the road to Craignure under bright spring skies

And Eagle Island's parting shot - a Duart Castle silhouette taken from the ferry, another shower on the hills behind.