The Isle of Mull off Scotland’s west coast is a sanctuary, a peaceful, wild island teeming with wildlife and resonating with powerful good vibes. As I’m gearing up to move on to posts about Glasgow and to fill in the gaps of my previous trips, I thought it’d be nice to collect my writings on Mull first. I wrote a similar post to wrap up my writing about Islay and many found it helpful. This isn’t the end of Mull on Traveling Savage – there are plenty of tidbits left to convey and it’s likely I will return – but consider this the bow on a nicely wrapped-up package.
I experimented with writing vignettes during my trip, and my first Mull vignette relayed how welcoming the island felt – I certainly felt like no stranger. Read more...
A cerulean knife of water separates Iona and Mull, two islands holy in their own ways. A hard rain and a chill wind cavort beneath a monotonous gray sky as I exit the ferry and step on to the white powder beach of Iona. Handfuls of visitors straggle through the one-lane town toward Iona Abbey. Many of them stop, look toward it, and smile as the rain patters against their glasses. I turn back to the Sound of Iona, wild Mull in the distance, and gaze into the glassy waters.
Dolphins arc above the waves, their steely bodies break the air in musical arpeggios. They race alongside the small ferry that tirelessly tracks to Iona and Fionnphort and back. Some of the children on board point at the animals, but their parents are too busy peering through the misty air at the abbey. Read more...
About a year ago Sarah and I watched a special on PBS about the sea eagles of Mull. The story profiled a native of the island, Gordon Buchanan, who had returned home after making a name for himself as a world-famous wildlife photographer. He felt it was time to showcase Mull’s wildlife, and most of the hour-long program focused on the white-tailed sea eagles.
At the time I hadn’t visited Mull yet, but the gorgeous photography and massive eagles – these guys can weigh up to 17 lbs. with an 8+ ft. wingspan – put the island square on my radar. As I planned my trip around some of Scotland’s Inner Hebrides this past summer, the Sea Eagles of Mull PBS special was on mental repeat. Read more...
The Isle of Mull is ruled by its wildlife. Red deer, white-tailed sea eagles, golden eagles, Atlantic gray seals, otter, and a panoply of nesting, migrating, and just plain blown-off-course birds make their home on Mull and draw visitors from all over the United Kingdom and the world. The chance to see some of these animals in the wild largely drew me to Mull, and, though it’s depressing to think we’ve denuded so much of the world’s land of its wildlife, I knew a wildlife tour around Mull would be a much happier experience than visiting the local zoo.
There are several wildlife tour operators on Mull each with their own routes and specific focus. Read more...
The wooden door to the chapel slams shut behind me: A silent dimness opens up as the tempest battering Iona is closed off. Hard, simple chairs march toward a divine arched window all aglow, worn hymnals resting in the seat backs. Great pavers, damp from the Scottish autumn, jigsaw together on the floor. A cash register dings and chimes in a gift shop somewhere. Fifteen centuries ago, a building stood here that was Columba’s golem of faith. He launched sortie after sortie upon the native Picts and Scots from this scrap of land, determined to pave over their beliefs with his own: Christianity.
Into ruin and rebuilt, again and again, Iona Abbey was reborn and resurrected over the centuries. Each time an element of the original structure was ignored or forgotten until now, when what we’re left with is little more than 80 years old. Would Columba recognize today’s abbey? So I wonder about many things of antiquity that have lasted into our modern times. Read more...
A hunter, oft-stubbled and bleary-eyed, driven by an insatiable hunger for exploration and experience - and perhaps a chance to thin the herd of caffeinated and alcoholic beverages. From the highlands and islands to Edinburgh, Glasgow, and the Borders, I explore Scotland with a pen in hand and a fire in the belly (which could be partly from the whisky). 
