One of those beaches
There’s something very special about setting foot on a beach when the tide is out, knowing that you’re probably the first person to walk there that morning, and realising that yours may be the only footprints when the waves come back in to cover them. It doesn’t even matter if the walk to get there is unexpectedly boggy. Your feet are already wet, but you can smell the sea and you don’t really care.
The beach in question was the one you can see from the road down to Kilmory, on the eastern shore of Loch Sween: an appealing crescent of white sand, made whiter by the contrast of kingfisher-blue sea. It looks small from above but when you get down there it is surprisingly wide, with a skirt of rough grass at the high water mark and some boulders at the end on which some seals were lounging. From the marshland, a burn emerged in a steady trickle and sculpted feathery patterns in the sand.
Every beach seems to collect its own particular brand of shells and stones: this one is partial to grey and white quartz pebbles and an opalescent variety of limpet, so delicate that you wonder how it survives the pounding of the waves. But the waves that morning were warm and gentle, like the sleeping breath of the sea. Fronds of seaweed wafted gently to and fro, and tiny fish played in the shallows. These are the kind of moments you try to remember when the rain and wind have closed in. They are precious for being so rare.
In the distance, five whooper swans trailed in a line from one of the MacCormaig Isles. I gazed at the islands through binoculars, making out the old chapel, the cross on the highest point, and the cave where St Cormac liked to spend his days. I wondered how many people had set foot there this year – a handful, perhaps, but not many. Not that it would worry St Cormac, if his spirit still dwells there. He liked his solitude.
Reluctantly we pulled ourselves away, casting a couple of lingering glances backwards while trying to avoid the worst of the bog pools. Cloud arrived by evening, and overnight soft rain set in, which hasn’t really stopped for two days. Sometime soon the mist will clear again. Meanwhile the tiny limpets that gleamed blue and pink in the sunlight are sitting on my desk, but their magic has gone: they are opaque and dull. I should have learned by now that pebbles and shells found on the beach never look the same when you get them home. I think they must pine for the sea.
Images © Colin & Jo Woolf
16 Comments
davidoakesimages
Magic moments ?
Jo Woolf
Yes, good for bringing to mind in the dark of winter!
davidoakesimages
I should have added that I was looking at a group of ‘special’ stones on my study windowsill……. special to me, but I guess to others, just stones 🙂
Jo Woolf
Never just stones! 😀
Ashley
You will just have to return there and take those shells with you! What a wonderful post; most can only dream of holidays by the sea! You are so blessed!
Jo Woolf
That had crossed my mind too, haha! 🙂 Thank you, Ashley. Yes, we are certainly blessed. I was half minded to go back there yesterday in the rain/low cloud to see if you could actually see the beach at all from the road!
Mary Smith
Fabulous pictures.
Jo Woolf
Thank you, Mary!
Margaret Noel
You have described it so beautifully. Such a magical place!
Jo Woolf
Thank you, Margaret! It’s one of these places that stay with you, all the more special because you weren’t expecting it.
Janice Boyes
This morning I am wishing I could walk to your beach with you. It is very lonely being stuck at home alone right now. I love all your posts and do hope you will continue to show us all your Scotland. Thank you so very much.
Jo Woolf
Oh, I wish you could walk there too, Janice! I’m so sorry to hear you’re feeling lonely, and I really hope the situation improves soon. I will certainly continue to write about these amazing places and it’s a pleasure to share them. Sending you hugs and warm wishes, Jo
Finola
I love the idea of the shells, marooned on your desk, pining for the sea. I might have some pining quartz pebbles on mine.
Jo Woolf
Haha! I’m beginning to feel guilty! But where to stop? If I started repatriating all my stones and shells I’d have a very long journey (although an interesting one!)
Ross Gardner
Lovely post. Visited Loch Sween in a 2017 when we downed tools and spent the spring and summer touring the UK in our campervan. Our short stay on the northern shore of the loch was one of the highlights of our trip, hence I found your pictures and words especially evocative.
Jo Woolf
Thank you, Ross! That sounds like a fabulous road trip! We love Loch Sween so much – the beaches, the woodlands, and the historical sites of course. I’m glad it brought back memories for you.