Musings on Oban & The Isle of Mull
No matter how one prepares for a journey, there is always some facet to slip the mind. For my part, though I’ve helped plan out much of our trek, I somehow forgot to get a sense of how big or small the towns are. Thus, as we left Inverary Castle and eventually turned the forested corner opening up into the port of Oban, I was stunned to see traffic and innumerable crowds of people. Gone was the too-small roads, the quiet green fields and craggy Highland hills looming nearby. Instead of sheep beyond count, we were suddenly back in tourist-topia. And I wasn’t ready for it.
After the first evening of fish and chips on the pier, I began to think that, aside from the curious looking aqueduct overlooking Oban, this was not a place worth going out of your way for. It didn’t seem that special. Granted, the views of Loch Etive, Loch Linnhe and the Isle of Mull were wonderful. But the crush of people and same-y seafood places failed to impress. I had that feeling that, once you’ve seen one Scottish souvenir shop of kilts and tartan wool, you’ve seen them all.
But do you know what made it all worth it? The Isle of Mull. After that initial experience, I had feared that Mull, the main attraction, would be teeming with people shouldering each other aside for the best shot of this or that. How wrong I was.
Mull was truly serene. Within minutes of departing the ferry, we were on a road sheltered by trees in the shadow of one of the largest hills we’d yet seen. Within half an hour, the landscape opened up, giving us countless beautiful shots of small lakes nestled within the broad valleys below. Within an hour, the only traffic was sheep and lambs who cared so little about our presence that we had to either wait or lower the window so as to shoo them aside.
The Isle of Mull was our very first encounter with a Highland landscape that began to closely match the one of my imagination: stark cliffs, ridges of rock, families of rabbits chasing each other across windy & grassy knolls (I’m not exaggerating for effect; we literally saw this happen), and more. The weight of history was powerful throughout. This was the former home of monks living in isolation, a land of the Gaels, and the place where Scottish Christianity began. As we walked and drove across the Isle, it could be felt in the rubble of stone walls and the occasional cairn, forever standing lonely atop a mound of rock.
In the scheme of things, we did rather little of what was on offer while on Mull. We hiked multiple hours to and from MacKinnon’s Cave, then had tea at the foot of Castle Duart. We missed Fingol’s Cave and the monastery of Iona. But I don’t think we have any regrets. Now, with this experience, we know exactly what we would come back and see next time. Because, oh man, the Isle of Mull did not fail to impress.
Now off to Glencoe and the Isle of Skye. More here soon!
