Heron in the tree tops The Corran River rises amongst the Paps of Jura . We walk from Three Arched Bridge, built by Telford in 1804, following the river downstream through birch and willow. We hear lesser redpoll everywhere, see their dipping flight, but they rarely settle. From the estuary we look back across the sands toward the Paps. On a rocky reef in the Sound of Jura is Skervuile Lighthouse, built in 1865. A long peninsula shelters Lowlandman’s Bay , with houses built for the families of the lighthouse keepers. One early evening of perfect clarity, our sequence of recent walks here is illuminated.
Across Corran Sands then inland, past meadows yellow with hawksbit. To the viewpoint of Ardfernal Hill, deep in heather. A pied wagtail brings morsels to feed its fledgling outside cottages- once the poor house. Through boggy ground with cotton grass, bog asphodel and cross-leaved heath. This was once a track the Ardfernal children took to school! No sign of a track now. Rows of turf are stacked amongst cotton grass, the turf cutters’ implements propped against a fence. A fresh perspective on the Paps of Jura. Now and again we sense the sweet smell of a peat fire. The track to Ardmenish sweeps inland of Lowlandman’s Bay. Stonechat call from bracken and umbellifers. From rank, high-summer vegetation horse flies come for blood. We hear heron and one comes down in the tree tops. Heron are a motif of Jura.
Leaving the track, we pick our way over rough and boggy ground toward the sea. Toward a large and jagged mass of epidorite, An Dunan one of the Iron Age forts that looks out upon the Sound of Jura. The long peninsula reaches out across the mouth of Lowlandman’s Bay, a dramatic cliff sheltering the light house station for Skervuile out in the Sound of Jura .
In pools below the fort there is lurid green sea-weed. Rich ochre lichens on rock. We climb the fortress rock, defended by a chevaux de fries of encircling rocks. Reaching the high point, the reek of seabirds strikes us and colonies of shag and herring gull launch frantic at the shock of unexpected visitors on their redoubt. Turbulence and clamour in their wake, inscribed in a calm sea. Down below, a raft of shag and gulls. We find shelter in the rocky cliff-top to observe the birds as they return to their nest sites, and shelter from the burning sun. From the shag colony come their bizarre vocalisations. Fledglings are still at the nest site, bulky and greyish. The ancientness of shag chimes with the solitude and remoteness of this Iron Age fort.
In pools below the fort there is lurid green sea-weed. Rich ochre lichens on rock. We climb the fortress rock, defended by a chevaux de fries of encircling rocks. Reaching the high point, the reek of seabirds strikes us and colonies of shag and herring gull launch frantic at the shock of unexpected visitors on their redoubt. Turbulence and clamour in their wake, inscribed in a calm sea. Down below, a raft of shag and gulls. We find shelter in the rocky cliff-top to observe the birds as they return to their nest sites, and shelter from the burning sun. From the shag colony come their bizarre vocalisations. Fledglings are still at the nest site, bulky and greyish. The ancientness of shag chimes with the solitude and remoteness of this Iron Age fort.
To build Skervuile on a rocky reef out in the Sound of Jura was a challenge for Thomas and David Stevenson in 1865. Now the peninsula’s lighthouse station is holiday cottages. Skervuile no longer needs a lighthouse keeper. Every time I reread the novels of Robert Louis Stevenson I ponder his family history, his immersion in these off-shore reefs and skerries, the power of wind, waves and tidal race and the challenge of building lighthouses for the protection of sea-farers along these coasts. An awesome feat of engineering.
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