So we planned our trip to the islands of Mull and Iona today. And, as the curse would have it, we had a lovely drizzle to start the morning.
The daytrip, put together by Bowman's Tours, is a 45-minute ferry from Oban to Mull. Mull is the third largest of Scotland's islands (excluding the fact that Scotland itself is part of an island). The ferry was less windy and cold then others we've been on, so I appreciated being able to go on deck to see the coastline and the castles with minimal frigidness (and only a few Germans). Alex was giddy, pointing at islands saying, "Can we go there?" Clearly another location we have to return to.
We got to Mull, and got on a bus to take us across the island (maybe 40 miles). The driver, Alastair, was a local, having grown-up on the island and raised his kids there. He slowly chatted throughout the hour-and-fifteen bus ride to the next ferry. We were told to look out for otters, seals, and deer, but on the way there, the only thing we saw was sheep.
Around noon, after trying not to drift off during the bus ride, we got to the ferry to Iona. In the first three minutes, we saw a seal disappear around the bow. And then we just watched as the ferry coasted back and forth between the islands. It didn't tie up to a dock when it got to the slipway, so either the gangplank (which was big enough for cars) or some underwater anchor held it in place as we got off on the island.
Iona is about 3 miles by 1.5 miles, so instead of touring the abbey, as most people were apt to do with their 2.5 hours ashore, we started walking north.
Staffa Island was nearly in sight, through the haze that covered everything. Fingal's Cave, with basalt columns and puffins is that islands claim to fame, but neither could be seen, even when we walked through a sheep pasture at the far north end of the island.
The pasture was treacherously covered in sheep and horse droppings, but the wind got intense once we got out of the shelter of even the few buildings and up on a knoll in the middle of it. My raincoat hood was snapping at my ears, and the rain became driving. On the west side of the island were sand dunes with sea grass and crashing waves over black, sharp, volcanic rock. We stood there as long as we could before heading back.
The rain had picked up, and the light sprinkle had developed into sharp droplets that pelted through our jeans and hoods. The mile or two back to the village was head-down, hood-up. We fell bedraggled into a hotel for some warm drinks and a bit of slow Internet. We felt human again before heading back to the village for some browsing and ferrying back to Mull.
Our bus driver welcomed us back, chatted a bit, pointed out some deer, and then let us nap for a bit. I was trying to stay awake to watch for otter and waterfalls, but did my fair share of nodding off. We got back to the original ferry, and waited in line (with me jumping for warmth) to get back to Oban.
We were actually nearly dry (except our feet) when we got back to Oban around 6. The thought of going out again wasn't appealing, so we looked at half a dozen places for dinner before choosing an empty Irish pub. It seems that every menu has to have macaroni and cheese and lasagna on it. We split some nachos, a burger, some lasanga, and had probably our final Scottish beer of the trip, a nice smooth Belhaven.
After chatting with the owner of our B&B, Margaret, and her dog, we dried and went to bed. I think I was asleep before 10:30pm.
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