IONA WELCOME THEN JUNE 2003

IONA WELCOME, by Donald McCallum

It was dark when we reached IONA. We'd left Easdale Island early that Sunday morning with a prayer to speed us on our way, but winds and waves had held us up. The thirty nautical miles to the Holy Island had been long and hard. Our hands were red and blistered from hours of rowing. We were tired and a little hungry.
Late afternoon we'd moored at the south end of the Isle of Mull, close to Malcolm's Point. We'd rested, as the currach pitched and rolled in the waves, which now were against us. It was lonely out there, looking up to the high crags of Mull, watching eagles soar and wheel in the updrafts.

Thankfully we boiled potatoes on our small Coleman stove; a bakers dozen of men from the US, Scotland and Ireland; all together for this, our mission of Saint Columba. We ate the potatoes and some smoked mackeral, bread and cheese, then washed it down with red wine. A repast for a king, which Columba was, but a simple repast, for simple men of God, giving thanks for this 6th century food.

IONA! Holy Island of Saint Columba! Our final destination was only a few miles further on, as we cleaned up our plates, and began rowing again. What kind of welcome would we receive? When he'd landed, 14 centuries ago, there had been no one to greet him and his band of monks. He'd climbed the highest hill of Iona, and looked back towards his beloved Ireland, found that it could not be seen, and decided to stay.

As darkness was beginning to fall we reached Tinker's Hole, a sheltered natural harbor on the Isle of Mull, just south of IONA. It was 9:30pm, and our skipper Robin called for a rest for a few minutes, to decide on our approach. Tides were running against us in the main channel, and Robin wisely chose to row along the west shore of Mull, to take advantage of the eddy currents. It was dark as we left Tinker's Hole, and headed out to complete the last two or three miles to IONA. The wind and waves had died down, as we rowed silently towards the dark island. None of the crew of the COLMCILLE spoke; each preoccupied with his thoughts as we dipped our oars in unison.

Unknown to us, a welcome craft had just left IONA. In it was Jan Sutch Picard, the Warden of the Iona Community; Graham Boyle, working for the Community; and Crawford Morison, and elder of the local church. They searched for us in the gathering darkness, but passed us by on their way to Tinker's Hole. We were almost invisible except for our small masthead red light. Truly we were ships passing in the night!

The dark outline of IONA loomed ahead as we rowed towards it in silence. Then about 400 yards from the pier, a small motor boat approached us in the gloom. In the bow was a beautiful raven haired young woman, who waved at us as they passed, "Welcome to IONA" she shouted, with a smile and a wave. This was our "IONA welcome!" They circled around us, and led us into the dark jetty.

It was now around 10:30pm and we had been at sea for 13 hours. Surely, I thought, we'd have a few people to greet us! My wife, and a couple of other friends. It would be nice to rest up in the village hall. Suddenly my tired thoughts were shattered, as a cry went up from the pier! We had been sighted, and a hundred voices rose in greeting. "Hip! Hip! Hooray!" Cries of welcome rose to the heavens as the currach slid into its final destination alongside the dark slip.
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In thanksgiving we hugged our friends and spouses, and offered prayers to the Father for a successful voyage. Then we set free our three young doves; a symbol of the Trinity and of our unity. They flew overhead and alighted on the housetops of IONA, soon to join the local population of white doves which inhabit the Abbey. Saint Columba would have been proud of us.
His name? "The Dove of the Church"

[Donald wrote the above as part of a series that was published in the MacCallum Malcolm Clan Society's newsletter the Argent Castle.]