Armadale and Eilean Donan
Early in the morning we ventured out from the shelter of Tobermory Bay to make for the Isle of Skye. This is the most exposed part of the voyage, involving a transit around the most westerly part of the British mainland at Ardnamurchan. For a short time we were exposed to the Atlantic swell which, fortunately, had laid down considerably after the stormy weather that had extended our days on the Isle of Mull. We were soon sheltering in the lee of the Small Isles, with their improbable sounding names of Eigg, Rum, Canna and Muck, names that conjure up the prospect of an undrinkable local cocktail.
En route we kept an eye out for marine life and were rewarded with a group of eight basking sharks, an unusually high number, as we approached the Small Isles. Basking sharks are the second largest shark in the world; some have been recorded at 40 feet in length. We estimated the length of these varied from 10 to 15 feet, giving them an estimated weight of five to six tons. Between the end of the Second World War and sometime around the beginning of the 21st century, 100,000 basking sharks were killed through the activities of a number of shark fisheries around the western coast of Britain, but in the twenty-first century this fascinating fish has achieved protected status.
By mid morning we had berthed at Armadale and were braving the torrential rain to walk or ride to the Clan Donald centre where the excellent museum helped tie any loose threads from the rich history of the Highlands with which we were now gaining familiarity. Konia offered a garden tour and Ian a “wild walk” along the ridge that provided protection to the property.
During lunch we repositioned to the mainland at Kyle of Lochalsh, our starting point for an afternoon excursion to one of the most photographed castles in Scotland, Eilean Donan. The castle occupies a protected island site in the loch, a dramatically beautiful location that was used by the eponymous Celtic saint Donan for a hermitage in the sixth century. It subsequently became a clan stronghold, before its demolition by government forces following a romantically doomed episode in Jacobite history following the failed rising of the ’15 when a Spanish armada once again fell victim to the vicissitude of British weather. We toured the castle and walked around the tiny island fortress drinking in the scenery, for the day had cleared away nicely, as Jim’s mother would say.
Finally, fond farewells, which on the Lord of the Glens require the eating of haggis. This Chieftain of the Pudding Race as Robbie Burns described it, was piped in by a kilted bagpiper and addressed in verse by our National Geographic expert, Jim Russell.
