Island — Scottish Seascapes

Years ago I facilitated an art group for people with dementia. It was such a privilege and taught me a lot. Working with one lady, I found myself feeling at a bit of a loss. Six weeks went by of me asking then answering my own questions, desperate to have some engagement with her. Then one day, whilst looking through some images she dropped her hand on one and said “that reminds me of Colonsay.” Trying to hide my shock that she could in fact speak, I casually asked when she was on Colonsay. What unfolded over the next few weeks was truly remarkable. This image had tapped into memories that had been untold for years and yet were as crisp as yesterday. Since this day, I have wanted to visit Colonsay.

As the ferry approached the pier, a mysterious sea mist lightly moved over the white houses that welcomed weary travellers. I had in that moment, a knowing that I would like Colonsay.

Heading straight to Kiloran bay that evening, I found that the fog had thickened to something akin to pea soup. It enveloped and disoriented me as I waded ankle deep into the water. The elements are not to be messed with, so I ventured back to the hostel where warm chat was shared and hospitality of existing guests ran into the night.

Over the next four days, I crammed in as much as possible. I tried out paddle boarding, turns out I’m pretty hopeless. My desire to be in the water conflicts with the aim of staying out of the water. I visited some lovely local galleries and of course found the local cake and coffee hang out.

My highlights included a walk across the Strand to Oronsay. Although I didn’t make the walk to the priory, I did find myself a stunning beach. The sun was splitting the sky and I was warm. I’m not good at travelling light and felt like I had been walking for days. I was grateful for the swim to cool me down. The sand was white and blue and lilac swirls of water stretched across the sand between Colonsay and Oronsay. Being a tidal island, I kept an eye on the time but managed a few quick sketches.

Other stand out moments included a wander round the gardens of Colonsay house. I couldn’t help but be totally dazzled at the collection of trees and plants. This one was my favourite- the pink tree!! Pink flaky bark and leaves that looked like every twig was waving hello. I also enjoyed a long walk to Balnahard beach. It probably is not too long in terms of distance however as always, my nemesis – cows, slowed me down, blocking my route. The beach was quite foggy and the light was flat by the time I got there but the journey out and back was lovely in itself. It just gives me another excuse to go back.

I spent a morning fishing with a lovely local who helped me catch that evening’s tea. I must say that I met some cracking people on Colonsay. It made the trip feel particularly special and their kindness and chat warmed my heart. Some trips are all about the quiet moments and some are about the stories. I’m glad of the stories shared, much like the one that instigated my desire to visit Colonsay in the first place.

It was a pretty quiet ferry out to the Isle of Coll, however at crazy o’clock on a fresh March morning, that was to be expected. Sailing through sunshine, hailstones and horizontal rain, I considered the conditions of the days ahead. I rarely check the forecast when island hopping. The weather tends to be changeable on the islands anyway. I scribbled a smeary sketch of the Dutchman’s Cap during the hail storm whilst cooried into the side of Calmac’s “Isle of Mull”.

Heading to the north of the island, I was keen to make it to Sorisdale. With thatched cottages and stunning beaches, it embodied idyllic island life. Sheep wandered freely across the bay and other islands sat out on the horizon, a faded purple. Of course, to access almost any beach on Coll required a stomp through boggy land. My hiking boots were put to good use! I imagine in the summer months it would be less squishy under foot.

The isle of Coll has distinctive rock formations across the island. Some parts have huge, smoothed boulders scattered across the sand and other bays were fringed by brown jagged shards. After a hike up Ben Hogh, I earmarked various beaches to visit from a bird’s eye view. Clabhach was one of the first on the list. It was a relatively short distance from the road side (a rare thing on Coll). Passing through a gate, I nodded at a few curious sheep and trundled across the field to the sea. I could have stayed in this spot a long time. Blue water turned green and back to blue as the light shifted through it. It’s something I often find tricky to capture. My sketches outside are more about the movement of light rather than a snapshot. I get greedy to include all of the colours.

I had to drag myself away from this beach, it was so peaceful and the weather was a gift. However on heading back across the field, the sheep must have turned into cows….who decided to lie or stand in front of the gate. Not brilliant. Whoever looked out of the farm house must have had a great laugh. I paced about at a distance. These cows were enormous. They were not for moving. I piled up some rocks and climbed over the fence, catching another pair of thermal leggings on the barbed wire. However, it was a small price for safety. Also, I had half a flask of tea and some flapjack in the car to get back to.

Cliad beach was less adventurous to get to. Although you should not be fooled by maps or books. They tell you the distance from the road but leave out the fun highs and lows of the sand dunes which double the distance. Absolutely worth it though as the views open out before you to an expanse of golden sand and purple blue water. This beach stretched on for some distance and although there was not another single person on it, I found company in the seals that bobbed their heads as I moved along. Getting a bit of height, I scrambled up onto the dunes. My watercolours were given a new grainy texture with sand sticking to the surface. Geese flew overhead, casting shadows on my page. This was a moment worthy of a mental note. Just lovely.

I was in seascape heaven visiting Coll. The long winter months are made bearable only by planning trips like this. With the entire country now in social isolation, I admit to being jealous of those with a beach to themselves on the Isle of Coll.