Luing is the largest of the Slate Islands — “the islands that roofed the world” — yet it is only six miles long and 1.5 miles wide. In the 1800s, over 600 people lived on the island, working in 15 quarries, the last of which closed in the 1960s. Now there are barely 200 people.
I catch the first bus from Oban for a one-hour journey in the dark to the Cuan ferry, where a fearsome guard dog protects the ferryman’s portacabin office.
The small ferry takes up to four cars and crosses Cuan Sound in minutes. Skye, the bearded collie first mate, maintains order on deck.
What a beautiful morning for hiking. Isles and hills stretch away in all directions as if floating on the water. The thrill of being the only person exploring such a wonderful landscape. A moment when anything seems possible. This is a big part of who I am now.
The island is also home to Luing Cattle, a hardy breed established in 1947 to survive the harsh weather. I smell them before I see them.
If there’s a footpath I abandoned it a long time ago.
Peering over the edge of a huge quarry, the main village of Cullipool lies below, with Scarba profiled in the distance.
How stable are these slate cliffs? It’s a long way down. I carefully pick my way along the narrow grassy path on the cliff edge, pausing to watch the birds swirling round and round below.
It takes a long time to find a safe route down the cliffs to the rows of whitewashed cottages built around flooded quarries, exposed to storms and floods.
The Atlantic Island Centre cafe looks promising. Sadly, it’s not open until 11 am, so I continue south along a minor road.
Turning off the road onto a track, I take a wrong turn and end up at a rusting ferry to Fraoch Eilean, a tiny isle. A ramshackle assortment of equipment is strewn across the far bank next to a house hidden in the trees. A tradesman’s van is parked on this side of the water. Who lives there?
A second wrong turn finds me off the track and squelching across bog beneath a range of cliffs. I may be forced to turn back but it’s so beautiful and worth a try. A volley of gunshots echoes across the hills.
A fenced gully supports a scramble up the cliffs, giving spectacular views across the skerries and small isles, all the way to Mull.
The walking is easier up top. There’s no sun today but it’s dry — I’ll take that.
The mystery of the gunshots is revealed as a trailer load of tweed-wearing shooters is deposited along my path. Flags wave on the hillsides and hunting dogs dash into the long grass. I quietly cheer every grouse or pheasant that runs the gauntlet.
I’d hoped to circumnavigate the entire island, but I’ve spent too long exploring the west coast, so turn round and take the main road north back to the ferry, passing an old water mill.
The tweedy convoy drives past to the next shoot — the irony.
The vehicles turn off to a row of luxury pods overlooking Torsa Bay.
Back on the ferry, by a strange coincidence, I stand next to the van that was parked by the rusty ferry. The driver steps down to chat to Skye, who seems to have abandoned his post to snooze in the corner. It’s hard to make out the man’s words in his strong accent, but I think he owns the island and the house in the trees.
“Big island to live on.”
“It doesn’t look so big when the tide is high!”
I explain my journey, and he shakes my hand, wishes me well, and climbs into his van to drive off.
The bus is not due for another 90 minutes. The ferryman kindly lets me stay in his cabin and offers coffee and biscuits. I have the pleasure of playing fetch with his two dogs. Skye carries a lump of slate back and forth.
While waiting for the bus, a vehicle transporting the gun dogs rolls off the ferry. The owners offer me a choice of birds to take home. I don’t think the Premier Inn would approve of me walking through the doors swinging a dead pheasant.
I meet three people on the bus returning from a trip to Seil, part of a local group of sketch artists — Oban Seaweed Gardens?
It sounds like a cliche but everyone is unbelievably friendly here — a brilliant day.
Date of walk: Saturday 18 January 2025.
Walk distance: 9 miles.
Total distance: 4,795 miles.
A fascinating excursion, my wife mentioned that she would like to visit Luing recently, for some reason it has never been on my agenda.
I know what you mean about getting that feeling of euphoria when you have a whole day of exploring new territory ahead.
PS – love that indignant spaniel guarding the portacabin, the expression on it’s face is just like ours.
I’d recommend it as something different from other landscapes. That feeling seems to come when I step into the most isolated places with no-one else around and the weather is benign. Hopefully, many more such days ahead. 🙂
Never heard of that island , makes you realise how many there are around the coast. Well done for visiting, fascinating.
Thanks BC. I’m always interested to talk to people who live on these smaller islands about their lives. There always seems to be a mix of people who were born there and stay there; those who were born there, move away when younger and return in later life; and newcomers seeking a new life. Tough places.
I think the pace of life is slower on the west coast and people have more time for other people, which is a good thing, I’d never heard of Luing island either, enjoy your travels Tony 😀
Thanks, Jim. I think my pace is slowing too, which is fine with me.
I have heard the names of these islands but don’t know them at all. Luing looks beautiful (except for the shooters, they don’t look nice)!