We passed the light at Lismore, which
gleamed like an ivory minaret calling the seals to prayer. The island
slid into the distance behind. We motored on, out of Loch Linnhe, and
into the Sound of Mull, a channel narrow enough to see houses on both
sides. Then out to sea. The small islands of Eigg, Muck, Rum and
later Canna were erased and re-written by passing squalls that pulled
rainbows in their wake.
On the open ocean, between Coll and
Barra the ship began to breathe in earnest, rising and falling on
the great lung of the sea. Gannets arrowed into the water from above,
creating spray that rivaled the white caps.
We travelled in comfort and safety,
nestled into the observation lounge couches. A great window offered a
view, and sheltered us from the spray. Mid crossing, I eased from our
booth, and rolled across the cabin and down the stairs, clinging to
the hand rail. I ducked into the coffee shop, and bought tea and
cookies. I balanced the hot water gingerly as I returned to our
seats, still fighting the swells.
As I sat, watching the sea, I thought
of other crossings. The sailing vessel that carried Sir William
Alexander's son to Nova Scotia travelled out of sight of land for
weeks, not hours. He likely travelled in relative comfort, but
salted meats and fish might still have been his fare. And David Scott
who made the crossing in 1913 on a steam ship? His own crossing
lasted a week. How were his seas? How did he travel? What fear lay in
the open ocean for these men, even knowing, as I do that the
destination lay ahead?
And earlier? Saint Columbia and a
small band of monastics, legend holds, washed ashore in Iona, a small
island to the south of Mull, in 563, traveling in a small
skin-on-frame boat, a curach. But
the earliest archeological sites on these Hebridean islands
date to 4000 years BCE. How, and from where, did these first settlers
arrive?
I was glad, at last, to see the island
of Barra rise from the sea, and gladder still, some time later, to
see the lights of Lochboisdale harbor gleaming in the long northern
twilight. We shouldered our packs, disembarked, and, following the
advice of a couple we'd met on the Ferry, sought out the post office,
behind which, they suggested, we might find a small patch of flat
ground that we could call home for the night.
