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Sunday 29 October 2006--My trip is nearing its end, and it is time this morning to clear out the portable midden heap that has
formed in my rental car, and get everything repacked and ready to go. This takes a couple of hours (in no small part
because I have no attention span, and stop to read every little scrap of paper I find). Then I drive through Bowmore and
across the links on the Laggan Estate to the Big Strand, Islay's five-mile-long beach. I spend a couple of quiet hours
walking up and down, taking photographs. I see a couple in the distance at one point, a mile or more away, but otherwise
have the whole beach to myself.
I relax for a while in the lounge at Academy House. I drink the beer the bartender at the Queens Arms in Isle of Whithorn had given me my first night in Scotland. It seems a long time ago. It's quite nice, and drinking it gives me a sense of symmetry, of completing a circle. A trio of graybeards play in the PC Hotel this evening, another generation's idea of traditional music--accordion, mandolin, guitar. It's less crowded than the other night, but still great fun. I have become a familiar face here in five evenings, and the bartender offers me my choice of drams. I facetiously suggest a Port Ellen, knowing they are the most expensive whiskies on the shelves. Before I can object, he pours a PE Fifth Release, a £20 dram. I guess I am a valued customer. Next |
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The Big Strand
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How high the birds fly over Islay;
How sad the farm lad deep in play... Felt like a grain on your sand. How well the sheep's bell music makes, Roving the cliff when fancy takes. Felt like a tide left me here.... Isle Of Islay, Donovan Leitch |
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Waves
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I set out one night
When the tide was low. There were signs in the sky, But I did not know I'd be caught in the grip Of the undertow-- Ditched on a beach Where the sea hates to go.... Undertow, Leonard Cohen |
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Dragonwood
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I am a man upon the land,
And I'm a selkie on the sea; And when I'm far and far frae land, My dwelling is on Sule Skerry. The Selkie, trad Scot |
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Combers
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Who has dressed you in strange clothes of sand?
Who has taken you far from my land? Who has said that my sayings were wrong? And who will say that I stayed much too long? Clothes of sand have covered your face-- Given you meaning, but taken my place-- So make your way on down to the sea. Something has taken you so far from me. Clothes Of Sand, Nick Drake |
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Strand Sand
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Hello, cowgirl in the sand.
Is this place at your command? Can I stay here for a while? Can I see your sweet, sweet smile? Cowgirl In The Sand, Neil Young |
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Lost Lambie
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Far on Beinn Bhreagh's side wander the lost lambies.
Here, there and ev'rywhere, ev'rywhere their troubled mammies Find them and fold them deep, fold them to sleep singing: Caidil gu la laddie, la, laddie, sleep the moon away. Cape Breton Lullaby, Kenneth Leslie |
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The Fjords
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Off to the coast of Iceland they steered,
In the first month of the year, When winter gales blow bitter and cold, And women must wait and fear; For no matter the storm, no matter the danger, The profits have got to be made. When the owners give orders, the boats must go out, Though they sail to a fisherman's grave. Lament for Hull Trawlers, Frankie Armstrong/Ewan MacColl |
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Strand Man
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There's a new sensation,
A fabulous creation, A danceable solution, To teenage revolution: Do the Strand, love. Do The Strand, Bryan Ferry (Roxy Music) |
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Big Strand
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There's a story about a King Knüt,
How all the gladhanders he rebuked. Down to the sea we must go, says he, There to see if the waves will know. The clouds are mighty and the sea is firm; He makes a stand on the shingled berm. "Turn away! Turn away! Turn away!" he cries. "Tell me," says he, "How the tide replies." King Knüt, David Thomas (Pere Ubu) |
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Port Charlotte Hotel lounge
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