In a whirl with island hopping
WITH the Isle of Belnahua behind my two friends and me, and further behind her the majestic cliffs at the south end of Mull, we set off for a spot of island hopping.
If I said we visited more than ten islands, you may think I was exaggerating, but double that to be closer to the mark.
From Jura to Fladda, and from Lunga to Arsa, we zig-zagged between them all on the ultimate wildlife experience.
Within a few hours, and thanks in no small part to the guys from Seafari who filled us in with all manner of interesting historical, nautical and cultural observations, I could have written a book, but let’s concentrate on the island of Scarba and amazing Corryvreckan whirlpool, the largest in Europe and third largest in the world.
Scarba, with a mountainous backbone the shape of a shark’s fin, is set between the whirlpool to its south and the notorious Grey Dog’s tidal race to its north.
Local legend tells of a Scandinavian prince, by the name of Breakan, who fell in love with a princess of these islands. Her father consented to the marriage on condition that Breakan showed his skill and courage by anchoring his boat for three days and three nights in Corryvreckan.
Breakan accepted the challenge and returned to Norway where he had three ropes made. One of hemp, one of wool and one of virgins’ hair, the latter believed to provide the strongest rope.
On the first day of the challenge the hemp rope parted, but they survived the night. On the second day the woollen rope parted but they survived again. On the last day they set the rope of hair, but a fierce gale broke the rope.
The boat was sucked under by the currents and a surviving crewman dragged the body of Breakan ashore – he was buried in a cave.
When the crewman finally made it home again and told of Breakan’s fate, one of the young Norwegian ladies was consumed with guilt, as she had not been honest – and it had been her hair which had weakened the rope!
While his crewmen were returning to Norway, Breakan’s loyal dog had managed to swim to land and ranged across Jura in search of his master, his huge paws throwing up the mountains as he went.
After leaping the whirlpool he created the hills on Scarba in the same fashion, before launching himself into the sea between Scarba and Lunga where he drowned.
Fortunately we skittered across with ease and were able to take close-up shots of Scarba’s red deer, obviously accustomed to Tango-coloured craft.
No one lives on Scarba these days, but in the past it was said to contain a very healthy and selfcontained population, one islander is reputed to have lived 140 years.
St Columba’s monks used it, and St Brendan of transatlantic crossing fame visited here.
Once through the ‘Dog’s’, I confess to a certain trepidation, as I had never traversed the Gulf of Corryvreckan.
When water flowing through the Gulf of Corryvreckan, especially on a spring tide, falls into a 219 metre hole before meeting a ‘Pinnacle’ of rock 30 metres from the surface, it is forced upwards, producing in some rare cases one large whirlpool, although more frequently it will produce many small ones and standing waves which can reach up to 15 feet in height. We were able to watch them forming as hundreds of seabirds including guillemots, razorbills, kittiwakes, gannets and puffins, took advantage of a naturally induced seafood-soup arising from the deep.
Wherever that kind of activity takes place, you are guaranteed cetaceans, and within five minutes we had sight of four porpoise.
Formerly classified by the Admiralty as unnavigable, these treacherous waters are nevertheless still sailed and swum by a few hardy adventurers. Writer George Orwell and his son were briefly shipwrecked south of the whirlpool when boating the gulf, and Orwell’s one-legged brother-in-law Bill Dunn was the first person to swim the gulf.
There was no chance of us attempting the feat!