Last summer, I spent a little over two weeks living and gardening on the Isle of Canna, an island off the west coast of Scotland. Somewhere in the middle of all of that, I also enjoyed a traverse of the Rum Cuillins plus a little extra, a bright and sunny day which gave me over 1900m of ascent and 20 miles when I’d finished my fun. These two islands are part of the bigger group of Scottish isles that make up the Hebrides, and these islands haven’t left me yet. Here is something I wrote about them months after my experience there, plus some shitty phone pictures from Canna and Rum.

the gods hid in those islands—
between the scheduled ferry trips—
between mainland and empty Atlantic—
they hid in the rocks that crumbled into surf
they hid in the wool of sheep caught on brambles
they hid in me as I plunged, naked,
into the clear cold of the vein-blue sea
I could taste them in the punishing rain
but I could never quite see them
they never told me their names
they denied my prayers, they laughed
at my hymns and pleas—and why should
a naked traveller splashing in salty shallows
be allowed even to grovel before
the hidden gods? hush—remember,
here be monsters—
they feed on secrets.
[…] south, the Isle of Mann (where my some of my dad’s family is from, actually) and the Hebrides were also Norse colonies. They were transferred to Scottish hands in 1266 as a result of the Treaty […]