last updated July 24, 2012



We'd never been over to Eigg and despite being quite at home on the Mallaig line I had no idea what awaited us on Eigg - how open or cliffy it was in reality. What mystical beasts lived there. There was a few obvious AWAY GAME friends on the train and at Arisaig more gathered from cars to stow inside the wee Sheerwater vessel that Captain Ronnie would use to take us to our new (temporary) society. Moods were good, expectant, happy to meet all these new interesting people. We nibbled sunflower seeds on the boat and the sun baked us as we drew closer to the island. The nationalities were becoming obvious - it was predominately a Celtic mix of Scots, Welsh and French - the latter being the suave ones with the good skin, cool shades and tartan blankets.

It's useful to have an open view of the part of the island you will inhabit and I had mapped things out in basic form as we took the short walk to the campsite - it looking dry, controlled and with only a few sheepy friends. We got the tents up toot-sweet and dived into the sea to cleanse the week away. It was very cold. But therapeutic.


Excitement ran through everyone on the island and faces local and otherwise became well known quickly. The shore and the walk up to the ceilidh hall was a very scottish sight - silver birch, iris' ready to pop, flowering brambles, buttercups and a lot of fern. Between the ferns and An Sgurr, the big rocky nose on top of the island, it is a very prehistoric looking island. We met up with friends old and new and started to watch some bands. We heard of The Massacre Cave, the local death metal band who were playing due to their being around and also their set being pretty tight. The story of Massacre cave is one which I'm sure Mr Google can answer but I enjoyed hearing it from Mr Creosote who told me it with an appropriately solemn face.

The bonfire burned and we moved from marquee to hall and back again enjoying Pitctish trail and Kid Canaveral into the early hours. The ciders flowed and all was happy. Rum flowed the following day as we started late into an overcast sky. We kept missing the food at the food tent and rumours surrounding the approaching weather front were less than favourable. But the music continued with King Creosote and Django Django complete with matching t-shirts and coconut shells and the peice of percussion associated with half way through the countdown conundrum tune on Channel 4.

Our positive thoughts couldn't keep away the serious weather and we battened down the hatches (read 'flappy zippy bits') for a night of noise and rain. Cosy enough, I was satisfied we couldn't hear the actual wind: that's when you've got to worry proper. Sunday was wet but spirits remained high. We got our roll and coffee in the sanctuary of the tearoom and headed for more tunes. The Peas and Loaf group were magic and the weather abaited for us to have a wee social at the tents. Like refugees we herded toward the boat after a wet breakdown of the gear, bins enroute filled with dead tents.

Arisaig welcomed with warm food and cider and then the sun even came out. A splendid weekend.


Posted by stupot at July 24, 2012 11:37 AM