Back in May I set sail from Oban to a small isle of Argyllshire in the Inner-Hebrides named Colonsay, bound for Scalasaig - the islands largest settlement. Whenever I mention this locale, very few people seem to have heard of it, and perhaps for good reason. It is roughly only ten by two miles in size, far smaller than the neighbouring Mull and Islay and is as remote as you could wish for. One pub, one brewery, one general store and a boat load of rugged coastland, rocky outcrops, machair and moorland. The name of the island derives from Old Norse and is translated as “Columba’s Island” or “Kolbein’s Island”. On the approach to Colonsay by sea, it is tempting to assume that not a lot has changed in the time since.
It was certainly not my first visit to this idyllic isle, but rather predictably it was the wildlife that turned my head, and justifiably so.
Residing at Machrins, we didn’t have to move far for the first bit of nature connectedness. Surrounding the house there were a whole host of pairing Stonechats, nesting Starlings, Orchids, Yellow Irises, Cuckoo’s and Cuckoo Flowers, the odd Chough and flybys from Marsh and Hen Harriers to boot.
The Strand. A stretch of shallow water and sand separating the islands of Colonsay and Oronsay.
Nesting Starling.
A Hooded Crow (Corvus cornix).
A venture the next day up to Kiloran Bay sprung a few nice surprises. On my last visit to the island, I was lucky enough to catch a glimpse through a telescopic lens of a pair of White-tailed Eagles who had reclaimed an old Golden Eagle nest. That was really something special and undoubtedly one of those smack in the face encounters with nature, so it was incredible to see a White-tailed eagle (the UK’s largest bird with a wingspan of 8ft) above us as we began traversing the bay this time round.
At the far end of the bay, an imposing object lay in front of us. A remnant of winter 2017 that had washed up on the shore. I remember the aroma of this once graceful beast still lingering on the air back in 2018. Today just the skeleton remains from this Fin Whale and its vertebrae now form some of the most innovative and ingenious stiles I have seen!
Swathes of Spring Squill were blooming across the low lying grassy plains, along with tufts of Sea Thrift decorating the rocks or “Seapink” as it is known locally. Wading Oystercatchers were out in full force, noisily deterring any passers-by and on more than once occasion we found some seemingly dubious choices in location for their shallow scrape-like nests.
A pair of Oystercatchers (Haematopus ostralegus).
Fin Whale flotsam and jetsam.
An unfortunate Oystercatcher egg.
Dunnock returning to its sea cove nest site.
A closer look at Balaenoptera physalus.
Seapink in flower.
Spring Squill (Scilla verna) lining the coastal cliffs.
The ambiguous Pigs Paradise is undoubtedly a seabirds paradise these days, but was next on the destination list. This steep-cliffed cove was teeming with Razorbills, Shags, Guillemots and Kittiwakes. The soundtrack was compelling, the whiff of guano potent, but this all just added to its charming and dramatic character.
Pigs Paradise or in Gaelic, Aoineadh Nam Muc.
Seabird colonies galore.
Ringed Plover (Charadrius hiaticula).
A soggy yomp over the marshland and peat bogs to the deserted village of Riasg Buidhe (translated as yellow moor grass) had such a feeling of wilderness to it with its isolated heathland full of Drinker Moth caterpillars, flowering Bogbean, craggy outcrops and atmospheric views north to Eilean Olmsa.
The return leg saw us come across a bird I had not yet encountered. A Great Skua. Known as the ‘pirate of the seas’, this stout bird will aggressively steal food from other seabirds as large as Gannets, kill and eat smaller birds and will dive-bomb any human that becomes a little too inquisitive. Luckily for us, this one just stayed put in the grassland.
Great Skua (Stercorarius skua).
The large seabird also know as a ‘Bonxie’ in flight.
The deserted fishing settlement of Riasg Buidhe.
The starry white flower of Bogbean (Menyanthes trifoliata).
As this Gaelic getaway neared its conclusion, a walk to the incandescent Balnahard beach was on the cards, and we were hoping for history to repeat itself allowing us to encounter an Otter family hunting salmon on the shore. It wasn’t to be on this occasion, but a heartening coup d'œil of some wild goats nourishing their young helped. Legend has it that this line of goats hails from a Spanish armada vessel that shipwrecked on the island.
The sound of one of Britain's rarest and most elusive birds - the Corncrake taunted us as we desperately tried to catch a peek, but to no avail. As we reached the exquisite seascape of Balnahard, I was greeted by some angry terns. Keeping a respectful distance didn’t seem to appease them too much, but with that a wander down the sands gave us an encounter with a Common Starfish who had been washed up in the rough seas.
Colonsay’s wild goats dating back to the Spanish armada.
Balnahard beach.
A summer resident on Colonsay - Arctic Tern (Sterna paradisaea).
A final visit to Colonsay House and Gardens (one of the only places where you are actually likely to encounter another human) before the ferry back to the mainland was a real eye-opener. A saunter through the stunning 18th century garden into a backdrop of wet, ancient woodland full of bluebells and broad-leaves was definitely one of my favourite moments, but perhaps surprising to some and maybe not to others, my most treasured find of the whole trip was actually in the form of one unassuming lichen.
Lobaria pulmonaria commonly known as Oak Lungs or Tree Lungwort is an epiphytic lichen, living on other plants or an Oak tree in this case, and taking in nutrients from the elements. Up close they are really quite beautiful, and I had wanted to see this unusual organism for a little while now. They require very specific conditions to prosper, but thankfully this small island off the coast of mainland Scotland with virtually zero levels of air pollution is providing the ideal habitat.
A delayed ferry home wasn’t exactly the best farewell to such an incredible place, and a slightly forlorn journey home wasn’t ideal either, but the large bottle of Scalasaig whisky I had purchased earlier made it a touch easier. A perfect souvenir from the perfect holiday.
Well, that along with the usual haul of feathers, dried plants, random bones and a crab claw anyhow.
Colonsay House Gardens.
Paths lined with Ramsons and Bluebells.
Old, damp and thriving woodland.
Oak Lungs (Lobaria pulmonaria).