sea — 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.

What’s meant for you won’t go by you. That’s okay if you weren’t fussed for what’s gone by you. However, if what has gone by is the 9am ferry from Skye to North Uist and you are sitting on a road side vomiting into a ditch, I think we can agree this is a disappointing reality. For those of a sensitive disposition, I apologise. But like all half decent stories, there are peaks and troughs. Months of confinement is no good thing for a seascapist. Planning a trip to a remote cottage on North Uist was the light in my lockdown blues. I had underestimated how much I was looking forward to the ferry journey, that fresh blustery breeze that tells you adventure awaits as you cling to the bannister of the Cal Mac ferry. There is something very special about travelling over the sea. However, it was not to be. Leaving home at stupid o’clock in the morning for the long drive to Skye played havoc with my stomach. The winding roads seemed relentless and it became very apparent that I would not catch the ferry. My heart sank. However, I was in no state to argue with it. I sought sanctuary in Fort Augustus where my faith in humanity was restored. I refuse to use the “C” word as I am quite fed up with it, needless to say no one is keen to take in a poorly guest. However, one wonderful person gave me a room to allow my head and stomach to catch up with each other from the wiggly roads of the Scottish Highlands. I will be forever grateful to him and all people with a measure of common sense and kindness.

Once recovered, new plans were hatched. Ardnamurchan has been on the go-to list for a while now and for a number of reasons has never quite worked out. This was its moment. It turns out I am better with wiggly roads when there’s daylight. Heading straight for Sanna Bay to steal the last of this daylight, I poured myself into my wet suit and waded into the water. Swimming out to little islets and rocks, views of cliffs and lighthouses framed a sunset. Peachy skies and turquoise green waters dazzled the senses after a dark and wobbly 24 hours. This is what I needed. This was where I was meant to be. As much as I missed the ferry journey to the Outer Hebrides, Ardnamurchan was a decent consolation prize.

I am frequently wound up about my inability to go anywhere without a map. Going off the grid is something that leaves me feeling out of control and I have a fear of missing something wonderful. On a map I can see spots that make me curious but without one, I could be driving past amazing sites. Loosening up and treating this trip as a very different kind of trip meant that my art work was created under new conditions too. I have a sketchbook of work that does not have place names, other than Ardnamurchan lighthouse. On one of the days, a local recommended a jaunt up a hill. With every moment feeling precious, I’m not always keen to spend much time looking at my feet trudging through mud.

However, I was so glad I did. Views of Rum and Eigg opened up on the horizon, a strong purple against the blues of sky and sea. I could see Skye and all the way over to the other side where Coll and Tiree floated in faded lilac on the water. Sketching in the last warmth before autumn, I was kept company by some local sheep. They were not obliging enough to stay still, but it felt special to share the moment with them.

Painting at Ardnamurchan lighthouse, I was filled with awe and excitement as my fascination with lighthouses grows. This one is of course by one of the Stevenson family and notes flavours of Egyptian design. It also homes a tea room close by and 2 collies. I am a fan of all of those things. As my time on the peninsula drew to a close, I could not help but feel filled with gratitude. Gratitude for the kindness and patience of others. Gratitude for my wetsuit, a birthday gift earlier this year. Thankfulness for weather that showed this coast in its full splendour. And dare I say it, but thankfulness that finally I made it to Ardnamurchan, even at the cost of missing a ferry trip.

Sometimes life does not go the way we plan. Sometimes we don’t get what we want. And sometimes, that is no bad thing.