In Our Own Words...

ACROSS THE SEA TO IONA by Donald Nelson

On Sunday, June 17th, the Colmcille successfully reached the island of Iona in the Inner Hebrides at 10 am. We had half an hour to spare. At 10.30 the service to mark the 1400th anniversary of the death of St. Colmcille, the ‘Dove of the Church', would begin. Colmcille, or Columba as he is known in Scotland, died on June 9th, 597. He founded his famous church on Iona after he was banished form Ireland over what was probably the first court case dealing with breach of copyright.

A week earlier, we had gathered for the first time as a crew at the gates of Derry Cathedral. Wearing g our green T-shirts and holding our oars aloft, we walked towards the cathedral for the service of celebration. There were thousands of people who had come from all parts of the world to pay homage to the saint. Their pilgrimage was about to end. Ours was yet to start.

That night we slept in the Cathedral library, surrounded by hundreds of old, historic books. At midnight the bells of Derry peeled out, but we slept through them. Breakfast was provided by the church authorities, a forerunner of the hospitality that was to come.

The boat was brought alongside the quay below the Guild Hall from its overnight mooring in the river and packed with stores ready for out departure. At midday Derry Cathedral, unable to hold the volume of worshippers, and well wishers, echoed to a service of blessing and communion for our varied crew, comprising four women and ten men from mixed religious backgrounds and countries. We ranged in age from mid 20s to late 50’s and had been training for the last six months or more. This was to be a true pilgrimage. We were going to Iona by our own efforts, without support boats or a back-up team.

The service over, we took up our oars and with the clergy in front, followed by Robin Ruddock, our skipper, and organisers holding a six-foot cross, made from the old roof timbers of the Corrymeela Centre at Ballycastle and presented to us by Colin Craig, the centre leader and a member of the crew, we made our way to the Diamonds and through the gates before taking our places for the start of an adventure that had taken two years in planning.

With an escort of fishing boats and a final wave from the crowd, we made our way down the river with our oars dipping into the water in perfect unison. In the estuary, we hoisted the sails for the first and last time – after stopping at Moville for afternoon tea the wind went calm and veered to the north-west where it remained for the rest of our voyage.

Our intention was to stop as often as possible along the route to meet and talk to local people. We called at Portstewart, cooked tea on the harbour, then moved on to Portrush where we stopped for 15 minutes. Everywhere people were wishing us well – even after dark lights flashed from the cliff tops – and at midnight we passed the shadow of Dunluce castle and into Portballintrae where we slept on the boat under fly sheets. We had covered 36 miles, 20 of them under oar.

Tuesday was bright and calm. Although the forecast was poor, we were all enthusiastic to get going, but the further we got out rain and mist closed in. The wind was rising and we were tiring fast, so with the last of our energy we pulled for Rathlin Island. Progress was slow; then we put our backs into it as Rathlin grew in size. We rested for an hour under Bull Point before rowing into Chapel Bay in perfect stroke to the appreciation of the islanders. We slept that night in bus shelters.

The weather was worse next day. We visited the local school and talked to the children, which was part of the voyage plan – an extensive education pack has been prepared and is being followed by primary schools throughout Ireland and Scotland.

The alarm was set for 2 am and, as so often happens on a summer’s night, it was flat calm. At 2.30 we slipped out of Rathlin without a soul to see us go. It was pitch black, misty and a fine drizzle descending. There was not even a sound of breaking water to warn of rocks, just the gentle rise and fall of 12 oars. No one spoke in this mystical farewell to Ireland, which sent a shiver of excitement through all of us.

Then the sea began to dance. The waves did not seem to be going anywhere, just leaping up and down and having fun with us – we were in the McDonald Tide Race. It pushed us out into the North Channel where we got the north going tide towards Islay.

Apart from a light head wind it was perfect and we arrived at the Ardmore Islands by 11 am. The Laird appeared and shouted: ‘ Welcome ! Welcome ! Come up to the house for a wee dram and lunch.’ Sixteen of us shared the Scottish hospitality around his table.

It was while approaching Ardmore that we saw our first whale of the journey. Then porpoises appeared and seals by the dozen. We also saw sea otters on the shore and a few buzzards overhead.

Our next port of call was Port Askaig in the Sound Of Islay. Here we slept in our second bus shelter. During the night we were spotted by the manager of the local estate who transported us to the big house where we stayed in a comfortable room off the yard. The walls were decorated with antlers and a huge log fire burned in the open grate.

The next day was Saturday and time was running out. We were heading for Colonsay and the wind was down a bit. Halfway across the Sound it increased again, forcing us to strengthen our strokes, and we made it to Scalasaig in time for tea.

Three visiting yachts from Lough Swilly supplied us with Irish coffees which considerably lifted our flagging spirits. Again we found a waiting room to sleep in with a promise from our friendly yachtsmen that they would wake us if the wind moderated. Not only did the wake us, they also supplied us with more Irish coffees and at 3 am we departed into the night once more, this time to the strains of ‘Speed Bonny boat’, form our new-found friends.

We had seven hours to get to Iona and the two female strokes set a hot pace of about 50 strokes per minute. Clear of Colonsay, the sea was calm and the clouds were glowing with the first rays of a sunrise that promised a perfect day.

Suddenly there was a hiss of compressed air and breaking water. A whale had surfaced alongside us and vanished again, all in the space of two seconds. We renewed our efforts and slipped into an idyllic cove of high cliffs, white sand and blue-green water.

We had an hour to spare, time to freshen up with a swim – for some of us the first wash for a week – tidy the boat and put on our green St Colmcille T-shirts. Then we rowed the last half mile, arriving exactly on time at 10 am. TV cameras, radio, families, friends and well-wishers were there – it was an emotional arrival.

Then with our oars aloft and a cross in front of us, we made our way to the abbey for a service of thanksgiving attended by hundreds of pilgrims from all over the world.

Among the lasting memories form the journey are the unity of our group and the hospitality of the people we met. This was the spirit of the early pilgrims. For all but two of the crew, the adventure is over. For me and Jim Allen, it is only half way through. On July 26th I will be skippering the Colmcille on the return voyage to Ireland. We will take a different route, but once again we will be taking in the heritage of St. Colmcille.