The Crossing

As we pulled out of Oban's harbor, I felt the ferry breathe. It rose, I thought, on the small waves of a calm sea. But the breathing began with Mike, his head resting on my thigh, and translated through my forearm resting across his shoulders.

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.