Take a walk on the wild side, the wet side, the west wide.
On a fierce November Sunday, we set forth from Glas na Cille. We were following in mighty footsteps. Not just the sheep tracks through the croft, but in the footsteps of Walter Scott. He had visited Spar Cave and written of it in “The Lord of The Isles.”
Man can only walk to the cave at low tide.
Bear can swim there though. So can yon Ben Stiller. And then make it seem more extreme than it is. (Was on C4, look it up, cringe)
Entering the cave was opined to be climbing into a monster’s oesophagus. Water trickles down the calcified rocks, harding into polyps as we shimmied up the beast’s throat, heading for the stomach. Water drips from above. The air is calm, the pitch dark gives no clues to the pool ahead. 50 metres and down a small brow, the pool.
We came to pray at this natural cathedral. To sit. To be.
But one does not simply walk into Spar Cave and not swim.
The mermaid’s alabaster grot, who bathes her limbs in sunken well, deep in Strathaird’s enchanted cell.
Walter Scott, The Lord of The Isles
Mysterious creatures of the dark were all around. Figures loomed from the cave-side, hard rock faces contorted with angst, demons fighting to break free from Earth’s surly bonds.
As we left we were accosted by a tourist with a damp printout of paper.
Spar Cave? You know where?
His jeans and slim trainers were not a good sign, but who are we to discourage an adventure? He went on his way. For about 2minutes, then his umbrella was seen scurrying back to the car.
Nevermind, he can read all about, read all about it right here.