The next morning, we ate breakfast, the Lord of the Glens dropped lower lock-by-lock, and more rains came and went. A few daring souls watched the last lock operate, at the bottom of Neptune's Staircase.
The squall had suspended operations by the time I look this picture looking back.
Looking forward, both a highway bridge and railway bridge pulled flush to the canal walls to make way for us. The occasional roar of the bow thrusters can be heard.
There were plenty of onlookers waiting involuntarily for us to pass.
After passing into Loch Linnhe, a fjord or "sea loch", at the Corpach locks, we turned and headed the the Isle of Mull, one of the largest of the Scottish Hebridean Islands. During our sailing, I took this picture of our cabin. It's two pictures, taken from the doorway, stitched together so there may be some curvature.
It's a spacious cabin!
As we drew closer to Mull, we crossed paths with one of the MacBrayne island ferries.
There's a saying in the western Hebrides -- actually there are several phrasings, but it's the same message -- "God made heaven and earth and all that it contains, except for the western isles for they belong to macbraynes." As we drew closer to Mull we spied our destination for the afternoon excursion, Duart Castle. As you can see, it was breezy. And sometimes wet, and sometimes not.
We did a sail-by of the castle and then docked at Craignure, at the same pier as one of the ferries.
A short bus ride took us to Duart Castle, originally the seat of Clan MacLean. It was involved in one of the Jacobite rebellions and then confiscated by the English, and after several changes of ownership it fell into ruin. In 1911 the castle was purchased by Colonel Sir Fitzroy MacLean, the 26th Chief of Clan MacLean, and restored. As usual, interior photos are not allowed. As interesting as the objects in the castle were, I most strongly remember the fellow wearing a green jacket, positioned in the main hall/banquet room to answer questions. Joan asked how long he had been working at Duart, and it turns out that this man left Scotland in 1960 for Rhodesia (now Zimbabwe). Only two years ago he was forced to return when the Mugabe government confiscated his property. (Through confiscations and cronyism Zimbabwe's economy has become a basket case.) I wanted to take some pictures from the roof, but it was raining too hard. Later Joan and I were able to circumambulate the castle, so I have front and back views.
As our leader, David Barnes, pointed out, "There is a tea room and a gift shop next to the castle." This is a common architectural feature. We had visitors after dinner, Richard and Sue Dewar from Wings over Mull, a birds of prey and conservation center. At first, all we saw were boxes in the lounge.
Then Richard and Sue began to show us some of their birds of prey and describe their rescue and education work. First, we were introduced to a merlin, the smallest falcon.
Then there was a native of the Southwest (of North America), a Harris's Hawk. This bird is the only raptor that hunts co-operatively.
A favorite for Harry Potter fans was this snowy owl.
But the most interesting face and posture belonged to the barn owl.
Wings over Mull is clearly a labor of love, and operates on a shoestring. Joan and I contributed to the donation box set out for the guests. The next day was our big excursion to Iona. The island of Iona is only about five miles square, but it is steeped in history and religious significance. To get there, we took a bus to the ferry at Fionnphort, with a continuing narrative from our driver, Steve. (This photo is violating chronological order a bit, but we're among friends here.)
Steve's commentaries were lively, educated, and spot-on. It was unstated but apparent that Steve was a bus driver on Mull not because he was a bus driver, but because he wanted to live on Mull. Nowhere else did we hear Scottish tourism described as a "tartan theme park." There was construction on the single-track road to Fionnphort. Our leaders kept their outward cool as we made the ferry with five minutes to spare. Strong winds out of the west had been building since the previous evening, but the ferrymen (and ferrywomen) knew their stuff, and were still sailing. Here, we are midway through the short ride.
After a short ride we approached the landing at Iona.
Then we were ashore. In 563 CE Saint Columba, fleeing Ireland, came to Iona with 12 disciples and converted the local Picts to Christianity. Iona became the center from which Christianity radiated through England and Scotland. The Book of Kells was composed here, then taken to Ireland for safety from Viking raids around 806. (The Book currently resides at Trinity College, Dublin.) More than fifty Scottish, Irish, and Norwegian kings are said to be buried here, including Duncan and MacBeth. To quote the abbey guide quoting Dr. Samuel Johnson, "That man is little to be envied, whose patriotism would not gain force upon the plain of Marathon, or whose piety would not grow warmer among the ruins of Iona." Because we had enjoyed a dry ferry ride, a squall blew in as we disembarked. Thus, I don't have any pictures of the ruins of a 13th Century nunnery, but I do have images of the tiny chapel dedicated to St. Oran, a hermit already living on the island when St. Columba arrived.
The center of the island is the great medieval abbey, now almost completely restored.
Here, photographs of the interior were allowed!
A closeup of the altar area.
The tomb of the eighth Duke of Argyll, who began the restoration of the cathedral and rehabilitation of Iona's reputation, is in one alcove. His duchess is here too, but she doesn't get much billing.
Informative plaques abound on the walls of the adjacent cloister.
The cloister's walkway pillars are carved with plants and animals.
There is a modern statue in the center of the cloister which isn't mentioned in our official souvenir guide. If my memory is functioning today, the sculptor is a Holocaust survivor.
There were other small museums and nooks and crannies to explore on the abbey grounds, but Joan and I decided it was time to walk. In the next picture you can see a retreat center in the foreground, and the channel separating Iona from the Mull. The small black object at the foot of the town on the far shore is the ferry.
Sometimes even the livestock on Iona reveal a contemplative bent.
We had a few minutes to spare before the arrival of the return ferry, and walked past the shops clustered about the landing. Near a rocky beach a Celtic cross had been raised, one of the memorials to the fallen of World War I that are omnipresent in Scotland, planted in every village and crossroads. (At one point we learned that Great Britain suffered five times as many casualties in World War I as in the Second World War.)
Then our ferry came in. The breeze had not let up.
The bus ride back to the ship took us through the high hills and glens of Mull, but we ended up at the main town of Tobermory, to which the Lord of the Glens had sailed during our excursion. Many boats were in the harbor, and we heard that several days of westerly winds had created strong Atlantic swells to challenge anybody who sailed out of the lee of the islands.
Our ship was docked next to the main line of businesses. A chocolate shop was not far away.
It may have been that evening, or perhaps not, that Ian Bullock treated us to a dramatic reading of Mull Weather, a poem written by 'a summer visitor' and first published in the Oban Times.
It rained and rained and rained and rained
The average was well maintained
And when our fields were simply bogs It started raining cats and dogs After a drought of half an hour There came a most refreshing shower And then the queerest thing of all A gentle rain began to fall Next day 'twas pretty fairly dry Save for a deluge from the sky This wetted people to the skin But after that more rain set in We wondered what's the next we'd get As sure as fate we got more wet But soon we'll have a change again And we shall have A drop of rain
The ship's captain and leader David explained that because of the sea conditions we would remain in Tobermory for another day instead of sailing out to the small but exposed islands of Eigg and Rum. It would turn out well.
I must mention that for its trips (but not the extensions), Lindblad Expeditions creates Daily Expedition Reports (DERs), which are archived on their web site. Our expedition started on July 4th.
After lunch it was time to embark on the Caledonian canal.
It was a few short miles along the canal, paralleling the river Ness, to reach Loch Ness.
View Larger Map Rain squalls came and went down the length of the Loch.
The ruins of Castle Urquhart are a popular destination, attracting full tourist buses. (It's also supposed to be a good location to view Nessie, the Loch Ness "monster," but we didn't spot her.) The visitors' center is tucked away in the hillside, not competing visually with the castle.
The section of the castle on the promontory is familiar to many from published photographs.
But the castle also extended up the hillside.
We had a good view of the inside of the tower as the ship cruised past.
Our ship was itself an attraction.
At the far end of Loch Ness was Fort Augustus, where we were to spend the night. The community began as, unsurprisingly, a fort built in 1729 to, unsurprisingly, keep an eye on the Jacobites. For the last century the fort, mostly in ruins by then, was used as a Benedictine monastery and religious school, which closed in 1998 and is now being developed as luxury residential units.
Joan and I took a walkabout. This view looks back up the length of the loch.
At the opposite end, we looked down the locks to where the Lord of the Glens awaited the morning.
We encountered David Barnes, the expedition leader, on the walkabout, and he suggested checking out the old fort/school/flats-to-be. Technically visitors are not allowed, but Joan and I figured we could blame David if any scolds were about.
Note the umbrella. It was drizzling and then not all evening, as if the weather could not make up its mind, and in five minutes you could furl the umbrella again. A few intrepid kayakers (not me!) dashed from Kytra Lock, a few miles upstream, back to Fort Augustus under umbrella power.
The after-dinner program was a whisky tasting.
Jim Russell guided us through four (or was it five?) single malt whiskys ranging from the approachable to ones strongly redolent of peat smoke, passing through what I considered 'medicinal' along the way. I was surprised to hear Jim recommend added a splash of water to the whisky; I thought true fans of Scotch single malt were supposed to abhor H2O. The water was inconveniently placed for Joan and me, but we were able to try this technique later, and it does work. It appears to 'open up' the whisky in the way that letting a red wine stand for a few minutes does. But I'm still not a whisky drinker.
The next morning we passed through the five locks at Fort Augustus, which took a while.
One of a handful of locks before we reached Loch Oich was Kytra Lock.
This video shows the typical speed of our ship in the canal, as we approach Kytra Lock. (I silenced the audio because it consisted entirely of annoying wind noise.)
The Lord of the Glens is always snug in the locks of the Caledonian Canal -- it was specifically designed to be the largest ship that could fit.
At times we had an audience.
The locks were originally powered by muscle. This capstan would hold four bars, allowing several men to push it around and around, pulling the lock doors open or shut.
Now the operator works from a console.
When the lock doors begin to open, at first you are in disbelief that ship will fit through, but, it does! (This video is also intentionally silent.)
After shepherding the ship through a lock the guests often need to take a break. This is a glimpse down one side of the lounge level of the ship, back towards the bar (lounge forward, bar aft).
Shortly after passing through this lock we passed kayaks heading the other way. We all managed to fit in the channel.
After exiting Loch Lochy, we passed through the lock at Gairlochy.
That afternoon there was an excursion to the Glenfinnan Monument. This is the site where Bonny Prince Charlie landed back in Scotland (from France on a French ship), and raised his standard for the first time. Thus, it was the start of the final unsuccessful Jacobite rebellion, the one that ended at Culloden.
The French always seemed to support rebellions against the English just enough to annoy, but never actually overthrow, the current English regime. No real commitment or follow-through, it seems!
The top of the monument is reached by a narrow spiraling stone stairway; those going up must coordinate with those coming down to avoid gridlock. The view from the top was good.
The railway bridge in the photo is the exact same one featured in the opening of every Harry Potter movie. We would cross it on our way back to the Lord of the Glens.
There was an evocative feeling down on the beach where Bonny Prince Charlie came ashore, and it wasn't just the atmospheric lighting and the wind.
There was time for the naturalist Ian Bullock to guide us in a short walk. He illuminated corners of the landscape that reflect the time when the last Ice Age ended and first plants, then animals, and finally humans reclaimed the British Isles. Here is a prime specimen tree in a protected area, which stands out in contrast to the many-times-logged, sheep-cropped landscape of today's Scotland.
A short bus ride took us to the railway station.
Unfortunately, once we were on board the train did not even slow down, preventing me from getting a picture of the famous bridge from our railcar. Instead I must substitute a picture of that railcar, including a stealth shot of Konia Tack, our German-Scottish historian-guide.
The train took us to Banavie, where the Lord of the Glens waited for us at the top of Neptune's staircase, a series of eight locks.
This is the view from the lowest lock.
A handful of us decided to walk down to the final lock, a sea-gate, before dinner to whet our appetites. The rain came and went, providing us with one of several rainbows enjoyed on this voyage.
Here is an intriguing monument to the Caledonian Canal at the far point of our walk. No, it's not damaged; the diagonal offset represents the Great Glen Fault through which we've just passed.
Tomorrow morning we would traverse Neptune's eight-step staircase and the sea lock, and be on our way to the islands of western Scotland.
