GoStL2SotH 13 October 2012

from the Gulf of St Lawrence to the Sea of the Hebrides

13 October 2012

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Saturday 13 October 2012--On the map, the Isle of Coll resembles a whale, swimming northeast. The bulk of its body is a rocky humpbacked mass, with a few small beaches around the edges, as I've seen the past few days. The two largest beaches, Crossapol and Feall, lie on either side of the slender part of the tail, down in the southwest. I've been waiting for good weather to go visit these. Sunshine is promised again today; the sky is mostly gray as I hang around Arinagour this morning, but there are tantalizing holes in the cover.

I drive to the end of the road, park, and make a side trip to see Breachacha Castle. The sky finally breaks as I'm photographing it. There are actually two Breachacha Castles, one a 15th-century tower house, the other an 18th-century manor house built to replace it. (This latter is sometimes called Breachacha House to distinguish it from the other, and so I shall.) The Castle fell derelict in the 19th century, but has been refurbished for use as a private home. Likewise, the House has seen some considerable improvement since Johnson and Boswell visited in 1773 and dubbed it "a mere tradesman's box."

Breachacha was the seat of the MacLeans of Coll. In 1590, their cousins from Mull invaded, intent on claiming the island for themselves. The foray was an abject failure, and the severed heads of the Mull MacLeans were thrown into the nearby burn, which is to this day called the Stream of the Heads.

That Coll, a rocky isle with a few scattered farms, was once considered worth fighting and dying for is hard to fathom today. The beach at Crossapol Bay is beautiful, but I wouldn't care to lose my head over it. I take my time strolling the mile length of it, enjoying the sunshine and picking over a few stones to take home. At the far end is Crossapol proper, now just a single farm and a few houses. The burial ground above the beach suggests that there was a larger settlement here not so long ago. The placement of the graveyard on sloping ground above a bluff appears unwise to me... slumping of the land has caused many of the stones to fall, and it seems to me that one really good storm might cause Crossapol to be known forevermore as the Bay of the Coffins.

I'm not sure how easy it will be to cross the peninsula to Feall Bay, but it turns out to be a well-traveled trail. In fact, halfway along, there is a signpost pointing the way to Calgary Point, at the southwesternmost tip of the island. If I'd known there was a marked trail, I wouldn't have dawdled so long on the beach at Crossapol. It's getting late in the afternoon, and I might make the three-mile round trip, but probably wouldn't have time to linger. Reluctantly, I leave it for next time, if there ever is one.

The lovely late-afternoon light on Feall Bay validates my decision. I share the beach with a half dozen youngsters--locals, or Project Hope kids, I don't know. The sand here is softer than over at Crossapol, and it's a bit of a trudge. At the other end, a track across the links takes me back to the car.

I muse, over dinner at the Hotel, on a beautiful day and a successful visit to the Isle of Coll. I'd be very happy to return.

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