It all started with a leaking welly. Oh, and a love for walking. Moving to Islay nearly 10 years ago, I quickly succumbed to the wisdom of those who had gone before me – ‘if you’re walking on Islay, wear wellies!’ It’s good advice for this boggy island which I have come to love. But wellies develop leaks - so I developed my solution – throw out the leaking welly and keep the non-leaking one; buy a new pair and wear until hopefully the opposite foot develops a leak and you can make up a pair of non-leaking wellies (rather than buy a third pair of wellies!) With me?
Not long after moving to Islay I decided to walk the entire 120 miles of rugged coastline. Armed with four of my favourite things in life (binoculars, camera, map and picnic), I set off. Four years later (on my 40th birthday), having raised over £500 for the Marine Conservation Society, I walked (tremblingly) across the footbridge over the River Laggan to complete my coastal walk. I hadn’t really been walking non-stop for four years! But I had covered much more than 120 miles and I’d often deviated from the sea and realised that not only has Islay got this tormented coastline, sometimes sandy, sometimes rocky, but there’s a further tempting host of treasures to discover within its 700 odd monads which contain no sea at all! (A monad is a posh name for a one km grid square.)
So stepping inside and photographing each and every monad became my new objective and one on which I’m still working. To date I have just a few left to do. Some people would say there is little going on here (or on any island). In walking across this island I have come across many ruins and archaeological features, interesting place names and a plethora of flora and fauna. Every step is new and different and requires concentration; every breath of wind echoes the breath of life with which the island teems; every cloud is different; light sometimes strays and sometimes lingers, making photography so rewarding here. I love to watch the sea in all its different moods. I challenge anybody to spend a day on the Atlantic coast, hearing the roar of the mighty ocean, tasting the salt in the air, hearing the cries of seabirds, watching the acrobatics of the Fulmars or the dance of a butterfly and smelling that salt air – and not be invigorated, and not feel life stirring within them. Or climb Beinn Bheigier, Islay’s highest hill (491 metres, but 1610 feet sounds better) and walk the length of its ridge and watch Golden Eagles soaring effortlessly above you (after your hard human slog to that mighty height!), often being mobbed by Ravens; survey the sweeping landscape below and feel that fleeting sense of satisfaction as you stand at the trigpoint, knowing that for a brief moment in time you’ve been the tallest thing for miles (hoping there’s no-one on the Paps at the same time!). Again and again visitors are amazed by the land mass of this island, looking from the Oa to the Rinns and asking, ‘which island is that?’ It always gives me satisfaction to reply, ‘still Islay!’
There’s so much life going on here that it can, at times, leave you speechless.
I’ve walked this land for nearly ten years and love it. If there’s nooks and crannies I don’t know, if there’s a kilometre of bog I’ve not sunk into, an archaeological feature I haven’t photographed – I will soon!
