Into the Mythical Mystic
20th September 2016
Into the mystical mythic
It was time to get seasonal! Therefore, with the aim of better experiencing the characteristics of autumn, I was heading for the wild, rugged West Coast of Scotland. The Mull of Kintyre to be exact, as going further north, into this bare, rugged landscape I would find the season to be more advanced. Once here I could immerse myself into the season's mystical quality.
The Kintyre is a low lying peninsula that thrusts out, like a 'finger of the paternal right hand' towards Northern Ireland and it is easy to imagine how these two coastlines were once connected. The sea in this area is turbulent and treacherous as it forms a barrier between the Irish Sea and the wild Atlantic and is full of strong tides and desperate whirlpools.
It is due to the position of the peninsula that the sea is funnelled, twisted and directed into a wild flow that pours between the land and Isle of Jura and out into the main ocean. All this turmoil captures localised weather systems which can be blown across the waters to instantly wet all that linger too long.
Whilst on terra firma the landscape is seen to be a continuous wave of small craggy hills, pine forests and deep broadleaf woodlands, rolling into each other. These sylvan enclaves are the natural habitat of Red Deer, Pine Martins and Red Squirrels, whilst the craggy coastline provides habitat for Seals and Otters. Above, in the wind blown skies, are circling Gulls, flitting Owls, and hovering Buzzards, and even, if you are lucky, the (to me) mythical Golden Eagle.
Even getting to the Peninsula is stunning as my journey is along a beautiful route through the Arrochar Alps. These high mountains form a barrier that appears to block off the west coast from the central mainland of Scotland. Steep sided and full of crags, with strange shaped rocks that thrust up through the surface of the mountain. The route to the Kintyre has echoes of Coleridge's expedition to Xanadu - the journey passes through walls of rock, ‘down to a sunless sea’.
On my arrival to the Kintyre it was clear my initial premise was correct. Autumn was in full swing, with leafs changing colour and forming a carpet over the woodland floor. There was a thin, autumnal mist over the Loch, clinging to the edges of the hills like the smoke from a restless dragon. Autumn in Kintyre appeared to be at least two weeks ahead of the Lake District.
The following days were spent wandering lonely, wild tracks of land over moorland, mountain or coastal fringes. I only met two people the whole week(on the summit of Ben Donich. So lonely were these paths that the Red Deer I regularly came upon looked on with more curiosity than concern.
High up on the summit of Beinn an Lochain, a tall Corbett on the western fringe of the Arrochar Alps, I was met with true autumnal conditions. I climbed up through a thick, misty - cloud inversion to emerge into a world of rocky peaks, set in a sea of cloud. This phenomenon demonstrated how conditions were becoming more ‘seasonal’ as the inversion is formed by the valleys holding onto the colder temperatures that occur over night, whilst the higher altitudes warm by the rising sun. The temperature, non-instinctively, increases as you gain height.
The whole vista could have been a backdrop to a Peter Jackson film, with thin wisps of mist splitting away from the sea of cloud, to float across far off distant hills, dark and silhouetted against a foreboding sky. It just needed a mythical creature to be encircling the far off peaks, to complete the scene.
My last day of walking was alongside the coast near Ardnackaig, with the turbulent Sound of Jura as my companion. It was a wild day as there were occasional heavy squalls blown across the Sound, forcing me to reach for waterproofs and hunker down behind rocks for shelter.
The landscape is raw, with little impact from man to soften the edges. Even where there is an obvious influence of humans, such as the Forestry that covers much of this part of the coastal area, the landscape retains a wild characteristic. On many occasions I came upon Red Deer, including two large Stags that were now bearing lofty crowns of pointed Antlers. Their presence, along with the thick heather, boot sucking bog and thick, entangling bramble demonstrated the weakness of mans attempt to tame this area. The land has an almost impenetrable wildness.
Today there was more of a chill in the air and the Silver Birch was casting off leaves of golden yellows and brown across my path. Today summer was starting to feel like a foreign country and the sense of season more palpable.
On my way to the top of Castle Dounie, an Iron Age hill fort, I was made aware of a host of birds circling high above. Initially I noticed a large number of Gulls whose shrieks and calls pierced the air. Then I noticed, in amongst the Gulls two Ravens diving at a huge bird. A golden brown bird, with wings held out wide and seeming un-phased about all the commotion going on around it.
The bird was not a Buzzard, I was certain. It was too big and Buzzards often immediately ‘back off’ when being mobbed by Ravens. This bird was not so easily threatened and with a subtle beat of its wings the Ravens, veered away as they seemed the more intimidated from the confrontation.
The Gulls, who were also not venturing too close seemed be like an escort, clearing the way for this great bird as it made its journey along the coast. As they circled the great bird glided along on the wind in a regal manner.
I was in an ancient landscape, with the famous Gulf of Corryvreckan and its whirlpool just off the coast, an old Iron Age Fort above, the Isle of Mull and the coast of Antrim far out on the horizons. I could have travelled back in time to an ancient land - a moment of warring tribes, druidic ceremony and mythical creatures – mythical and mystical as the Golden Eagle is to me, having never seen one….but, in this season in this place, just maybe?!
It was time to get seasonal! Therefore, with the aim of better experiencing the characteristics of autumn, I was heading for the wild, rugged West Coast of Scotland. The Mull of Kintyre to be exact, as going further north, into this bare, rugged landscape I would find the season to be more advanced. Once here I could immerse myself into the season's mystical quality.
The Kintyre is a low lying peninsula that thrusts out, like a 'finger of the paternal right hand' towards Northern Ireland and it is easy to imagine how these two coastlines were once connected. The sea in this area is turbulent and treacherous as it forms a barrier between the Irish Sea and the wild Atlantic and is full of strong tides and desperate whirlpools.
It is due to the position of the peninsula that the sea is funnelled, twisted and directed into a wild flow that pours between the land and Isle of Jura and out into the main ocean. All this turmoil captures localised weather systems which can be blown across the waters to instantly wet all that linger too long.
Whilst on terra firma the landscape is seen to be a continuous wave of small craggy hills, pine forests and deep broadleaf woodlands, rolling into each other. These sylvan enclaves are the natural habitat of Red Deer, Pine Martins and Red Squirrels, whilst the craggy coastline provides habitat for Seals and Otters. Above, in the wind blown skies, are circling Gulls, flitting Owls, and hovering Buzzards, and even, if you are lucky, the (to me) mythical Golden Eagle.
Even getting to the Peninsula is stunning as my journey is along a beautiful route through the Arrochar Alps. These high mountains form a barrier that appears to block off the west coast from the central mainland of Scotland. Steep sided and full of crags, with strange shaped rocks that thrust up through the surface of the mountain. The route to the Kintyre has echoes of Coleridge's expedition to Xanadu - the journey passes through walls of rock, ‘down to a sunless sea’.
On my arrival to the Kintyre it was clear my initial premise was correct. Autumn was in full swing, with leafs changing colour and forming a carpet over the woodland floor. There was a thin, autumnal mist over the Loch, clinging to the edges of the hills like the smoke from a restless dragon. Autumn in Kintyre appeared to be at least two weeks ahead of the Lake District.
The following days were spent wandering lonely, wild tracks of land over moorland, mountain or coastal fringes. I only met two people the whole week(on the summit of Ben Donich. So lonely were these paths that the Red Deer I regularly came upon looked on with more curiosity than concern.
High up on the summit of Beinn an Lochain, a tall Corbett on the western fringe of the Arrochar Alps, I was met with true autumnal conditions. I climbed up through a thick, misty - cloud inversion to emerge into a world of rocky peaks, set in a sea of cloud. This phenomenon demonstrated how conditions were becoming more ‘seasonal’ as the inversion is formed by the valleys holding onto the colder temperatures that occur over night, whilst the higher altitudes warm by the rising sun. The temperature, non-instinctively, increases as you gain height.
The whole vista could have been a backdrop to a Peter Jackson film, with thin wisps of mist splitting away from the sea of cloud, to float across far off distant hills, dark and silhouetted against a foreboding sky. It just needed a mythical creature to be encircling the far off peaks, to complete the scene.
My last day of walking was alongside the coast near Ardnackaig, with the turbulent Sound of Jura as my companion. It was a wild day as there were occasional heavy squalls blown across the Sound, forcing me to reach for waterproofs and hunker down behind rocks for shelter.
The landscape is raw, with little impact from man to soften the edges. Even where there is an obvious influence of humans, such as the Forestry that covers much of this part of the coastal area, the landscape retains a wild characteristic. On many occasions I came upon Red Deer, including two large Stags that were now bearing lofty crowns of pointed Antlers. Their presence, along with the thick heather, boot sucking bog and thick, entangling bramble demonstrated the weakness of mans attempt to tame this area. The land has an almost impenetrable wildness.
Today there was more of a chill in the air and the Silver Birch was casting off leaves of golden yellows and brown across my path. Today summer was starting to feel like a foreign country and the sense of season more palpable.
On my way to the top of Castle Dounie, an Iron Age hill fort, I was made aware of a host of birds circling high above. Initially I noticed a large number of Gulls whose shrieks and calls pierced the air. Then I noticed, in amongst the Gulls two Ravens diving at a huge bird. A golden brown bird, with wings held out wide and seeming un-phased about all the commotion going on around it.
The bird was not a Buzzard, I was certain. It was too big and Buzzards often immediately ‘back off’ when being mobbed by Ravens. This bird was not so easily threatened and with a subtle beat of its wings the Ravens, veered away as they seemed the more intimidated from the confrontation.
The Gulls, who were also not venturing too close seemed be like an escort, clearing the way for this great bird as it made its journey along the coast. As they circled the great bird glided along on the wind in a regal manner.
I was in an ancient landscape, with the famous Gulf of Corryvreckan and its whirlpool just off the coast, an old Iron Age Fort above, the Isle of Mull and the coast of Antrim far out on the horizons. I could have travelled back in time to an ancient land - a moment of warring tribes, druidic ceremony and mythical creatures – mythical and mystical as the Golden Eagle is to me, having never seen one….but, in this season in this place, just maybe?!