Day 6: Kilmichael Glassery to Inveraray.
Distance: 23.2 miles (106.1 total).
Duration: 8 hrs 16 mins.
Lowest Temp: 4ºc.
Weather: Jolly nice.
Highest Alt: 701 ft.
By this point in the pilgrimage I’d been hoping to be able to regale you with all sorts of exciting stories about battling through the snow, fighting my way through the fog, wrestling bears, and lots of other manly stuff. No such luck. The biggest struggle of the walk so far was resisting the temptation to sit up past my bed time last night with the rather marvellous regulars at The Horseshoe Inn in Bridgend. They tried (and failed) to persuade me of the merits of Lagavulin, over my preferred dram of Laphroaig; they also tried (and succeeded) to persuade me that I must visit Barra one day.
This morning, as I was checking out, the landlord said he’d knocked something off my bill in support of ‘my cause’; feeling that this wasn’t the moment to confess that I’m entirely without a cause, I slipped my Dad twenty quid with instructions to find a cause for us to support by the end of the day. So, Ian, if you’re out there, thank you so much for your kindness and generosity, which has gone towards the Oban Mountain Rescue Team (Dad will explain how that came about in the post below). The rest of you – if you’re ever in or around Kilmartin Glen, make sure you visit the Horseshoe Inn.
Today’s walk took me up through Kilmichael Forest, and only six miles or so into the day I began to feel weary. I don’t mean physically tired (although I feel that now, and my feet are sore), but weary. It’s what you feel when it seems like the path is just going on and on but the landscape isn’t changing, you’re not really getting anywhere. Do you know those days at work when you keep checking your watch and only five minutes have passed, and you could swear it was half an hour?
I was feeling that weariness this morning, but then the moment I felt it, I remembered that I’m on a pilgrimage from Iona to Lindisfarne, that I’ve got a pilgrim’s shell on my rucksack and a stone from St Columba’s Bay in my pocket, and St Aidan is walking with me. Then I didn’t feel so weary. I remembered the journey I was on.
And I guess that’s one of the consolations of faith, it puts our weary days into the context of a bigger picture: when we’re struggling, we remember that our journey started in the heart of a loving God, and will end... well, the book says we end in a city of gold, but I’d like to believe it’ll be in a forest, by a loch, with holy islands spread out before us, waiting to be explored.
PS And a big thank you to the Parish of Cumlodden. I’ve tried the door of every church I’ve passed on the road from Iona, and you were the first one to let a pilgrim in to pray.
I'm glad you're finally feeling a bit weary. 106 miles in 6 days - I think I'd have a slightly stronger word for it than weary!
ReplyDeleteLoving the photos and the blog - can't wait to see you on Friday xxx
Just wanted to let you know that I've been avidly (genuinely!) reading these posts and hoping that I might be able to think of something to say thats intelligent/witty/entertaining (rather than asking inane questions like why does the font keep changing and why do you seem to be recruiting followers called "me" and "bird") but so far its not happened....
ReplyDeleteI do want to say that I absolutely love the snowdrops story though. Very moving.
Anyway, all this talk of laphroaig seems to have me heading off to the drinks cabinet in search of a dram of something for myself....
By the way, has anyone told you its snowing in London?
Cath x
Hello there Stuart,
ReplyDeleteYou have a very enthusiastic NYC following... thank you so much for sharing this amazing journey with us.... your writing reminded me of the following poem--
Blessings and gentle night,
Kiki
The Faces at Braga
In monastery darkness
by the light of one flashlight
the old shrine room waits in silence
While above the door
we see the terrible figure,
fierce eyes demanding, "Will you step
through?"
And the old monk leads us,
bent back nudging blackness
prayer beads in the hand that beckons.
We light the butter lamps
and bow, eyes blinking in the
pungent smoke, look up without a word,
see faces in meditation,
a hundred faces carved above,
eye lines wrinkled in the hand held light.
Such love in solid wood!
Taken from the hillsides and carved in silence
they have the vibrant stillness of those who made them.
Engulfed by the past
they have been neglected, but through
smoke and darkness they are like the flowers
we have seen growing
through the dust of eroded slopes,
then slowly opening faces turned toward the mountain.
Carved in devotion
their eyes have softened through age
and their mouths curve through delight of the carvers hand.
If only our own faces
would allow the invisible carver's hand
to bring the deep grain of love to the surface.
If only we knew
as the carver knew, how the flaws
in the wood led his searching chisel to the very core,
we would smile, too
and not need faces immobilized
by fear and the weight of things undone.
When we fight with our failing
we ignore the entrance to the shrine itself
and wrestle with the guardian, fierce figure on the side of good.
And as we fight
our eyes are hooded with grief
and our mouths are dry with pain.
If only we could give ourselves
to the blows of the carver's hands,
the lines in our faces would be the trace lines of rivers
feeding the sea
where voices meet, praising the features
of the mountain and the cloud and the sky.
Our faces would fall away
until we, growing younger toward death
every day, would gather all our flaws in celebration
to merge with them perfectly,
impossibly, wedded to our essence,
full of silence from the carver's hands.
David Whyte, Where Many Rivers Meet
You wanted to know where my walk was yesterday and if I lost my way again. Well,I looked out my sunglasses and my shorts and then I looked out my window - snow! However, I was not going to be thwarted so I cycled, walked and tried to run - all at the gym. Is that cheating? Hope you have had a bit of a rest for your next leg of the journey. The closer you get to England the worse the weather is going to be according to the forecasts - hope you have been looking at the Church Times for a place in Scotland! Take care and be safe. Lots of Love Mum
ReplyDelete