Iona & Staffa, Inner Hebrides, Argyll, Scotland
Within minutes of stepping out of the cozy comfort of the mother ship, we rewound 5,000 years and became just one more frail craft tossed on the ocean, seeking safe haven on a rocky west coast island. With surging swells coming in from the open sea, and a steady southwest breeze pushing us inland, it was not hard to imagine a boatload of Irish monks in a flimsy cowhide curragh pulling hard for shore. From mist and drizzle a rocky knoll, then a bleachblonde beach and a row of pink granite cottages materialised and beyond them the imposing tower of Iona Abbey. The houses sat close, solid and squat, hunkered down to shelter from Atlantic gales, cherished gardens blazing bright with orange montbretia. A ruddy-cheeked community gathered on the quay to meet the ferry from Mull. A small community like any other on the wild west coast of Scotland, and yet like no other. For it was here that Columcille, "the Dove of Peace" landed from Ireland to found a mission in 563AD which spread Christianity throughout Scotland and England, inspiring 15 centuries of devotion. The Iona community remains actively involved in worldwide peace, meditation and Christian missions, still true to the founding principles of St.Columba. Dwarfed by giant carved Christian crosses, we wandered from the tiny stone chapel of St.Oran to the soaring 12th century Benedictine Abbey, soaking up rain, ruins and religion in the same atmosphere.
All our prayers this morning were answered: the wind went to the northwest and the mist dispersed, unveiling a panorama of sunlit islands and soaring volcanic cliffs on mainland Argyll. In the sudden spotlight the basalt columns of Staffa were etched in bas-relief, a pattern which reminded Viking mariners of their own stave churches, hence the island name. To the Celts the dark maw of Fingals cave commemorated the Irish chieftain Fionn MacCool, a giant warrior whose soldiers were as numerous as the cliff pillars. We felt somewhat heroic ourselves, leaping ashore to gaze in wonder at Fingals fingers, and striding the island rim we could see Iona, Mull, Geometra, Colonsay, the Treshnish Isles of Lunga and Fladda and the distant hills of Coll and Tiree in the Inner Hebrides. A land created from volcanoes, conquered by heroes and pacified by Irish monks in cockleshell coracles. It has been a day to stir the soul, swirling mists, lofty ideals and wild islands.
Within minutes of stepping out of the cozy comfort of the mother ship, we rewound 5,000 years and became just one more frail craft tossed on the ocean, seeking safe haven on a rocky west coast island. With surging swells coming in from the open sea, and a steady southwest breeze pushing us inland, it was not hard to imagine a boatload of Irish monks in a flimsy cowhide curragh pulling hard for shore. From mist and drizzle a rocky knoll, then a bleachblonde beach and a row of pink granite cottages materialised and beyond them the imposing tower of Iona Abbey. The houses sat close, solid and squat, hunkered down to shelter from Atlantic gales, cherished gardens blazing bright with orange montbretia. A ruddy-cheeked community gathered on the quay to meet the ferry from Mull. A small community like any other on the wild west coast of Scotland, and yet like no other. For it was here that Columcille, "the Dove of Peace" landed from Ireland to found a mission in 563AD which spread Christianity throughout Scotland and England, inspiring 15 centuries of devotion. The Iona community remains actively involved in worldwide peace, meditation and Christian missions, still true to the founding principles of St.Columba. Dwarfed by giant carved Christian crosses, we wandered from the tiny stone chapel of St.Oran to the soaring 12th century Benedictine Abbey, soaking up rain, ruins and religion in the same atmosphere.
All our prayers this morning were answered: the wind went to the northwest and the mist dispersed, unveiling a panorama of sunlit islands and soaring volcanic cliffs on mainland Argyll. In the sudden spotlight the basalt columns of Staffa were etched in bas-relief, a pattern which reminded Viking mariners of their own stave churches, hence the island name. To the Celts the dark maw of Fingals cave commemorated the Irish chieftain Fionn MacCool, a giant warrior whose soldiers were as numerous as the cliff pillars. We felt somewhat heroic ourselves, leaping ashore to gaze in wonder at Fingals fingers, and striding the island rim we could see Iona, Mull, Geometra, Colonsay, the Treshnish Isles of Lunga and Fladda and the distant hills of Coll and Tiree in the Inner Hebrides. A land created from volcanoes, conquered by heroes and pacified by Irish monks in cockleshell coracles. It has been a day to stir the soul, swirling mists, lofty ideals and wild islands.
