Day 251: Oa peninsula

The Oa peninsula is home to golden eagles, soaring above tall cliffs. There’s no footpath along the coast, so the plan is to hike cross-country, linking up with farm tracks, to the American Monument and the road bisecting the headland.

The Port Ellen distillery recently re-opened after 40 years. The huge copper stills gleam in the morning sun. It’s a little early in the day for whisky.

There’s a lot of construction work as the town extends round the bay, which is interesting as the population is falling. I assume they are holiday homes.

A delightful path through Cairnmore Woods, not marked on the OS map, ends with a dramatic view of the beach in Kilnaughton Bay.

White wagtails swoop across the sand.

A narrow stone path snakes across the rocks to the unusual square-shaped Carraig Fhada Lighthouse, built in 1832 by the Laird of Islay in memory of his first wife, who died aged only 36.  It’s hard to read the commemorative plaque without tumbling into the sea. There are five verses, all professing his love.

Ye who mid storms and tempests stray in
dangers midnight hour.
Behold where shines this friendly ray and
hail its guardian tower.

Tis but faint emblem of her light my fond
and faithful guide.
Whose sweet example meekin bright led
through this worlds eventful tide my happy course aright.

A path leads round the point to The Singing Sands, quiet, as they all are.

This is the end of the visitors’ route. The best option seems to be a steep climb up a grass bank, through a gate and onto a track not marked on my OS map. It passes an old cottage, where a man has a border collie on a long rope and reels him in as I approach, which is not promising.

“Is he safe?”

The man does not reply, so I step closer, which no sane person would do.

The dog jumps and nips my arm.

“Control your dog man!”

I’m more worried about holes in my thermal jacket.

The path disappears and I climb over a couple of gates to reach a proper track, which runs down the hill before vanishing into the heather. I follow a line of telegraph poles marked on my OS map and then work my way to the cliff edge. Suddenly, the land falls away into a vast green bowl, with a pristine beach at the bottom — magical. Port an Eas would make a wonderful place to camp. I’ve not seen this place mentioned in any island guides, presumably because it’s so hard to get here by land.

My euphoria changes to apprehension as there is no way round a hillside of dense heather. I’ve no idea what I’m stepping on. Adders come to mind again.

A large bird of prey circles overhead. I’m prepared, having watched a video on the differences between buzzards, golden eagles and sea (white-tailed) eagles. Unfortunately, it’s so high, just a silhouette against the sun. It has six fingers on the wings compared to five for a buzzard. The large wings do not look like the “barn door” wings of the sea eagle, so my best guess is a golden eagle.

I’m heading for a farm in the distance. It’s slow going. At least the heather has thinned out.

I arrive at the farmhouse at the same moment as the farmer drives past in a tractor and stops to open a gate. Not the best time to climb over his fence, but he moves on and helpfully leaves the gate open for me to follow. I close the gate behind me. He does the same thing at the next two gates.

I eventually catch up with him, working in a nearby field. He stops and climbs down from the tractor. Oh Oh.

To my relief, this is not his land, down from his farm in the north to help for the day. He is very chatty, pronouncing Port Ellen as “Por Tellen” and Port Askraig as “Por Taskraig”. In Gaelic, the emphasis usually falls on the first syllable of a word.

He mentions the local farmer is following on a quad bike. Oops! The gates were left open for him and now I’ve closed them all. Best dash off before he arrives.

The track ends at the abandoned farm at Stremnishmore.

Beyond the farmhouse, I’m on my own.

There’s a cairn at the top of the hill, but I can’t see a good line and there are dense patches of heather all round. I follow a burn up the hillside as the vegetation is slightly clearer. Ruined farmhouses are scattered across the hillside. Before the clearances, the peak population of the Oa was around 800.

I’d planned to climb the summit of Beinn Mhor, but the heather is too dense and too deep, and an easier sheep path winds round the hillside to the east. Any path is welcome, no matter how faint.

Rounding the hill, my destination is finally visible on the horizon.

The path is not clear, so I follow the cliff edge for the spectacular views.

It looks as though it might be possible to scramble down into the bay, but I take the safer way round inland to the opposite headland.

On the final approach to the American Monument, there’s a small area fenced off from deer to create the ground cover for corncrakes, migrating back from Africa in spring.

The stone tower is a memorial for the US soldiers who lost their lives in the sea nearby during World War One when a German torpedo hit the Tuscania troopship and the Otranto troopship sank in a heavy storm.

The memorial includes a tribute from Woodrow Wilson.

After a short rest, watching a family of goats on the cliff edge, it’s time to take the long road back to town. A family pass on the way down and we exchange greetings, presumably the owners of the sole vehicle in the car park.

The car passes about an hour later. Perhaps they’ll offer a lift but they looked a little too shiny. Sure enough, they leave only dust.

I arrive back in beautiful golden light. That took 10 hours to walk 17 miles. My reward is a cold beer and the prospect of a leisurely distillery tour in the morning on my final day.

Walk distance: 17 miles.

Total distance: 4,216 miles.