Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 109368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 547(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 365(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 547(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 365(@300wpm)
“I’ll be here.”
Donal helped me off his boat once he’d tied it to the dock. I headed to the museum first to donate and look around. There was no one there to attend to it, so I guessed it was an honor system. I stuck twenty pounds into the donation cup and crouched in through the small door. Goodness, people used to be so short.
Inside was dark and musty and I shivered as I felt its history wrap around me. I imagined the people who lived here hundreds of years ago, how hard their lives were in comparison to ours today. And yet I wondered if the simplicity of their existence made for happier human beings.
One end of the room was roped off, the floor there packed dirt. A large cabinet stood against the wall, and a closer inspection revealed it wasn’t a cabinet but a bed. Crossing to read the sign next to it, I marveled at the ingenuity. It was so cold at night here in Kiln that back in the day, the residents slept inside the large cabinet and closed the doors to shield them from the chill.
I read all the information signs about life on Kiln centuries ago. Apparently, Kiln was a victim of the Highland Clearances (evictions of a significant number of tenants from the Scottish Highlands and Islands from 1750 to1860) and potato famine. There had once been over six hundred residents on this island, but the latter had led to a massive population reduction.
Snapping a few pics for my Instagram, I stepped outside to take photos of the exterior of the bothy with its thatched roof. Turning around, staring out at the water and views back to Glenvulin, I took a few more photos, including a selfie.
Donal had warned of a coming storm, but it had to be far off because all was calm and sunny.
I closed my eyes, drinking in the sound of the gulls overhead and the water crashing gently at the rocky coastline of this tranquil island.
Peace. Finally, a little drop of peace.
It took me three hours to walk from one end of the island to the other. Donal had been right about boggy ground, and I’d had to watch where I walked. I’d tried to stick to the single rough track that wove around the coastline, but I’d seen a sign for standing stones and had ventured off the path and into woodlands to find them. I did find them, but I also found mud and marshy ground.
Disappointed that placing my hands on the standing stone didn’t send me careening back in time to find a handsome Highlander, I decided to find my way back to the main path.
I’d seen signs for a “free bothy,” a house hikers could make use of if needed, a church, and two houses in the distance, but other than that, there was no one and nothing. The island was connected to a tiny piece of land by an old bridge and I’d stopped to take photographs of the turquoise water beneath it. Off the bridge was an even narrower, rougher track suitable for foot traffic and no more. It wound around the coastline of the tiny portion of land and I passed a cemetery. It was small as expected with stones congregated together and then spread out farther apart. Many of the names had been worn away by the coastal weather, but it was peaceful.
There was a house nearby, but no one appeared to be home, so I carried on a little farther until I came almost to the end of Kiln. It had a rocky beach where water the color of jade lapped at its shore. Climbing down onto it, I pulled off the blanket I’d rolled and attached to my backpack and laid it over the grass before it met the rocks.
Breathing in the crisp, sea air, I let the tranquility that clung to every inch of this place wrap around me. In the distance I saw the shoreline of a small island and one to my left. There was a dot of land farther out and to my right a cluster of islands. I’d stared at the map of the Inner Hebrides so many times, I was pretty sure that cluster was the Treshnish Isles, but I’d have to double-check when I got back to Leth Sholas.
There was no signal on my new phone.
Utter bliss.
Perhaps an hour or so passed as I ate the gourmet sandwich from Leth Sholas Bakery. With the last bite, I was hit with a wave of exhaustion. I knew it was mental more than physical. Emotional more than mental. And with no one around but me and nature, I decided to take a nap before heading along the coastline on the other side of Kiln.
Splashes of cold hit my skin, pulling me back to consciousness. I blinked blearily, my vision clearing until all I saw was water. Confused, I sat up rapidly, a little dizzy from the abrupt transition.