Journey to Jura - April 2, 2009

Journey to Jura – April 2, 2009

“There is a certain pleasure in going to a place which takes some time to reach. Most places in Britain can be reached very easily, and quickly, with the result that there is no great sense of making a journey; it is just too easy…Jura takes a little time to get to, and at least one journey across salt water. When you reach its shores, with the bare hills rising sharply above the road from the ferry, you know that you have crossed over not just a strait but a subtle, invisible boundary. Something is different here.”

by Alexander McCall Smith, “The Music of an Island,” Jura: Taste Island Life

We rose before dawn to drive over an hour and a half south of Oban. We left our B&B with no map, sketchy directions and only our patron saint of the Scottish road, Woof! to save us. Unlike the road across Mull the day before, this road was two-lane, but it was dark, winding and unknown. With Boo driving like a bat out of hell, we arrived at Kennycraig right at 6:30 a.m. to queue for the ferry to Port Ellen on the isle of Islay (pronounce Ila.) Once on board, and still very tired, we ate our B&B breakfast that we had packed with us, then settled down in the reclining lounge chairs to nap during the two-hour crossing. Napping in the aisle across from us was a sweet Kairn Terrier, named Benny, traveling with his owners.

We could write a book on the dogs we have met getting on and off ferries. We all wish we were traveling with our dogs – past and present, but instead we have a picture of a Westie that we propped on the dash of our little car to which Boo regularly says, “he’s a good dog” whenever we come to a stop or wait in a queue or get back in the car. Our patron saint of the Scottish road takes in all our feelings of nostalgia and longing so that we are not overwhelmed with how much we miss all our loved ones – human and canine, both living and dead.

Like the trains, the ferries in Scotland depart and arrive to the minute of when they are scheduled to do so. Passengers are required to arrive 30 to 45 minutes ahead of schedule to queue – and you don’t want to be late or you could lose your reservation. That was not an option as we’d already come so far to reach the “Motherland.” So upon disembarking from the ferry at Port Ellen, we took off across Islay to Askaig to catch the ferry to Jura. When we arrived in Askaig, we could see the Paps of Jura – we were so close, but early, and so waited; first in line to get on the smaller ferry to cross Jura Sound and arrive at Feolin on Jura. This ferry was only a five minute trip, so that by 10:30 a.m. – five and a half hours of travel that morning, we were on Jura. Thirty minutes later we had made our way on a single lane road to Craighouse where the distillery was just opening at 11:00 a.m. – sips of peaty Jura whiskey and it wasn’t even noon.

At the distillery, we met Maggie Shaw. In its most recent history, the Shaws and the Buies were quite numerous. But Ms. Shaw told us that Dougie Buie and his son, Duncan, both of whom Boo and Tee (with Dorothy) had met some 47 year earlier, had passed away. Duncan only the previous summer. Tee’s diary from the summer of 1962 records the pleasant visit with the Buie family, who took us in like the family we were. When asked about her favorite spots on Jura, Maggie mentioned that she was originally from the Keils and had returned to Jura for two years to work at the distillery (summer season was to start in a couple of days). She recommended that we just drive down the road and visit the cemetery just above the Keils where Dougie and Duncan were buried as well as many Shaws and one or two Buies. She said it was a lovely time of year, what with all the daffodils.

And indeed we found the old cemetery and gravestones new and ancient – with sir names of Ferguson, Buie, McLean, Shaw, McGillvary, McDougall, McDonalld, Duncan, and first names of Annie and Mary and Margaret. We felt that Anne Buie Ferguson was probably the best named child representing all the family names laid to rest here. The cemetery sits on a hill, just above a rocky stream running down from the mountains that lie above it. Off in the distance and through the trees, you can see the ocean. Many of the stones were of young men who had fought in World War I; one was of a young woman whose fate was told upon her stone: she had died from injuries sustained from a fall from a third story window. One old fellow had spent 180 Christmases in his home on Jura. (Yes, 180.) Many others were too old and worn to read.

Leaving the cemetery, we followed the stream down to the beach where we found a lovely picnic table on which a plaque stated, “Our lines have indeed fallen in pleasant places…and indeed they have.” It was a beautiful day – the loveliest of our trip; so warm and sunny. It felt as if our ancestors were pleased we had come to pay them a visit. Sitting at the picnic table we enjoyed the lunch we had packed – ham and cheese sandwiches, tangerines, dark chocolate and hazelnut cookies. Our pace had grown more leisurely, more relaxed as we soaked in the history, the sunshine, the beauty of sea and air.

After lunch we decided to make our way back to the ferry dock, but at our new found leisurely pace. We stopped again in Craighouse to use the loo and poke around the hotel. Then another stop along the way at the ruins of a boat builder’s house, right on a point overlooking Jura Sound. The wind was picking up adding a little chop to the sea. Then back in the car to Feolin – early again and first in line for the ferry back to Askaig.

From Askaig we were able to catch the ferry back to Kennycraig – no need this time to drive across Islay. On the ferry to Islay, we met up again with Bennie and his owners – across the aisle in our lounge chairs, all of us ready to nap after a spot of tea (read “tea” as beer for Boo and kibble for Bennie). It had been a long and lovely day.