The Tobermory Ferry: A Scottish Adventure
As the ferry neared the small dock, I spotted him standing at the top of the ramp. We were finally meeting and we were going to spend two days together...
We are visiting the far west coast of Scotland today, with a short adventure from the Travel Tales archive of 2022. Enjoy the journey!
There weren’t many takers on the ferry across the Sound of Mull on a Tuesday morning — only three young German bike-riders and two small delivery vans boarded with me at the port of Tobermory. I huddled in the lee of the cabin on the starboard deck, shivering as we lurched across a six-mile span of rough water. An insolent October headwind pushed against us as we ran toward the low, rocky horizon of the Ardnamurchan Peninsula – the sparsely inhabited, western-most point of the Scottish mainland.
The prow of the lightly-loaded ferry repeatedly lifted and fell, lifted and fell in the chop. The flat gray outline of the Isle of Coll was just visible in the haze of sky to the west. The wind howled like a Ban Sith, sending spray up over the port side. I pulled my green knitted cap down lower over my ears.
I was on my way to see David, a man I had never met. We’d written to each other for two years and I was finally going to see him in person. We’d found each other on line – both of us having small eBay shops. We felt we were of the same tribe right off; we had similar positive outlooks, balanced with a warped sense of the ridiculous. The main attraction for me, though, was simply the fact that he was Scottish. I’d spent a lot of time ambling in the hills of Scotland over the years, dreaming about living in the western highlands, and having Scottish friends.
I learned over time that David was a fun-loving, optimistic man by nature, but his work as a constable at the local police station was stressful and dispiriting. His days were filled with horrific events — events that the likes of you or I would never imagine in our storybook version of a rustic and bucolic Scotland.
What he liked to do for distraction from his day job – ‘a wee bit of fun’, he called it, was to sell Scottish antiques and memorabilia on line – small things like antique pin backs, thistle buttons, Stranraer cream pots, pewter gaberlunzie badges, antique horn cups, communion tokens, Prattware jugs, and other highly desirable Scottish flotsam.
He’d told me of many hunting adventures — hunting for vintage treasure, that is, at street fairs in Glasgow, charity shops in Dumfries, car boot sales in Ayrshire and church jumble sales anywhere in between. He’d lose himself rooting through the stalls, barrows and bins, and always relished the challenge of striking a bargain. To resell them on eBay, he’d create fanciful, embellished descriptions. I mean, he never lied, but he was a master of writing good spin. I admired him; he was so charming and clever, I believed he could sell ice cubes to penguins.
So now we would meet face to face, in wild Ardnamurchan. We’d planned to spend two days together. He said we’d have an explore, see some old tumbling ruins, go for a long ramble along a sandy shore and get acquainted.
As the ferry neared the small dock at Kilchoan, I spotted him standing in a small crowd at the top of the ramp. I waved, he waved back. I trudged up the ramp leaning into the wind. He met me halfway and gave me a hug. “Hallo! Hallo! Welcome! How was your crossing? A bit rough out there today! Come, let me help you.” He took my bag and we continued up the incline hand in hand. Three people were waiting and waving at the top.
Oh ... wait ... sorry ... I think I left out one small detail. Were you anticipating, maybe, a Maya Banks-type romantic Scottish rendezvous here? The stuff of fantasy? Sorry, no. I am old enough to be David’s mother. The three people waiting to meet me were his sweet family. “This is my wife, Fiona,” he said proudly, “and my children, Claire and David-Mark.” And such warm, lovely people they turned out to be - a radiant blonde wife with rosy cheeks and a bright red jacket to match, and two charming, unusually polite teen-agers.
After checking in to a guest house, we all got acquainted by beginning with a short ride to the nearby lighthouse. “At the most westerly point on the British mainland, Ardnamurchan Lighthouse has been guiding ships through the waters off Scotland’s coast since 1849”, the plaque explained. The lighthouse and keepers’ cottages were designed in an unexpected Egyptian Revival style. The tower was still fully functional, but, like all other lighthouses in Scotland, it now operated automatically. After 173 years, it still plays a vital role in ensuring the safety of ships passing that rocky Atlantic coast.
After a cup of tea and scones with clotted cream and jam (because no one counts calories on vacation, right?), we took a long walk at Sanna Bay – stunning scenery, rocky headlands, white sandy beaches and clear turquoise water. Standing on the high dunes, we had glorious views to the south, back toward the lighthouse, and then a full panorama to the northwest over the Small Isles of the Inner Hebrides – the mountainous Isle of Rum and the flat profile of the Isle of Eigg on its right. Between the two could be seen bits of the crags of the distant Isle of Skye. “The wee Isle of Muck, sitting right there at the front door of Rum,” said David, pointing, “is mostly occupied by grazing sheep.”
The following day we explored farther east in the widely dispersed settlement of Acharacle, that lies at the bottom end of Loch Shiel, and lunched in an atmospheric little tea shop. Carrot coriander soup and a bacon butty. ( No, I don’t know why it is called a butty, but I am thinking it would be a good adjective to describe the backside of those who ate them on a regular basis.)
On the way back to Kilchoan, David took us to view an unusual geological site, a remnant of a collapsed volcano — a huge ring dyke that can be clearly seen just a short walk from the abandoned village of Glendrian. Volcanos in Scotland? In fact, the entire northwest corner of Ardnamurchan contains a complex of underground volcanic structures, as do the Hebridian Small Isles!
We have been together many times since that first short holiday. David and his family have squired me all over Scotland, highland and lowland. They share with me many fond memories of the fishing villages of Fife, a Christmas in Edinburgh, the Sweetheart Abby near Dumfries, finding mushrooms and blue bells in the damp woodland hills of Galloway. And, of course, all the stops along the way at antiques fairs and charity shops in search of hidden treasure.
But I will always remember those two windy days in Ardnamurchan when we all first met. We drank an inordinate quantity of prosecco and laughed about everything. Later, dear Fiona confessed to being nervous about meeting me that first time – and being relieved to discover there was absolutely no danger of my being a bunny-boiler.
Beautifully written, Sharron. I love reading about your travels. I must share that the bacon butty bit made me guffaw. 🤣 (I never get a chance to use that word!)
Thanks for bringing me on yet another fun journey.
The sense of place in this piece is wonderful, Sharron. You're making me want to go there right now!