Ellanabeich

 

A mist accompanied by a dreary drizzle greeted us this morning. Despite the greyness Loch Linnhe still looked beautiful. We knew the forecast was rain first thing, so we were in no rush to get up and push off. Neither were our Northern Irish neighbours. When we drew back the blinds the wife was swimming in the Loch. We admired her toughness. Not wanting to appear like soft southerners, we opened Marge's side door a little to let in some air, salty, with a hint of sweet seaweed. As we prepared to leave, the sun found its way through some scratches of blue sky, lighting the wet pebbles on the beach so they looked like speckled birds' eggs. 

We had only travelled a few hundred metres when Marge was halted so we could photograph a small stone bridge hidden amongst the trees.

Its patina of moss almost camouflaging it. Little gems like this were unmissable.

Then a few miles along the road a stop at the viewpoint for Castle Stalker, which is set on a tidal islet on Loch Laich. Then on to Oban, our planned lunch stop. Upon arrival we thought Oban looked a little down at heel under the threatening rain clouds, but whilst we ate our lunch the cloud shifted away and an autumn sun transformed the town, so we decided to take a look around.

The harbour and town areas were busy, so we walked up the many, many steps to McCaig's Tower where we were rewarded with sweeping views of the bay.

The sun so warm now, we wondered why we had put our coats on earlier. 

As we left Oban, we soon found ourselves in a countryside of lush green hills and lumpy and bumpy fields, and 'here we go again Marge', single track roads.

As we crossed the Clachan Bridge, also known as The Bridge over the Atlantic, we could hear Marge squeal with delight as she summited the steep stone structure. 

After all that excitement, Marge is now nestled in the corner of the seafront car park in the village of Ellanabeich, overlooking the small island of Easdale and the much larger island of Mull. She has the company of a few other vans which we know she likes.

Walking out to discover the small village, we admired the whitewashed single storey cottages that used to house the miners who worked in the nearby slate mines. The mines of Easdale, Siel, Belnahua and Luing were called 'the slate mines that roofed the world'. At the turn of the twentieth century they were turning out eight million slates a year. Most of the cottages now appeared to be second homes. Down at the tiny harbour, woodsmoke from the open fire at the pub filled the air. A boat was unloading a good catch of hand dived scallops into a waiting van. The currents of The Firth of Lorne buffeted the diver's boat so strongly they were worried it would become damaged by the stone quayside.

A small passenger ferry boat was running to and from the island of Easdale, barely a stone's throw away. We walked out beyond the harbour; the ground covered with small pieces of slate. We could see the rear of some of the miner's cottages, they displayed an interesting plumbing system for their waste, as did the public toilet, straight into the sea. Nice! 

 

Tonight, we were expecting to witness a stunning sunset. 

But no, we were robbed of it by drifting clouds as day turned to night.

Instead we were awed by the moon, lighting the clouds in the sky above the pub.