We made the trip to Kildonan on a couple of occasions. A portion of my brother-in-law Robert’s father rests at the beach there for eternity, buried under an unmarked cairn, overlooking an ocean horizon containing the teardrop-shaped island of Pladda and its ever-vigilant lighthouse beacon, and the near-mythic, mound-shaped Ailsa Craig, rising out of the sea like a green crown.
The place held special memories for Robert’s family, and now, whenever one of them visits, they add a stone to Stephen’s cairn, carefully selecting it for shape, heft and color before placing it atop the pile, now about knee-height. The walk to his ashes is maybe a quarter-mile from roadside parking, skirting a small community of coastal houses and an active farm, where cows meander from the fields to the beach, urged by habit to lumber in a staggering line, dropping patties and licking salt from the wrack lines of scattered seaweeds.
Seals haul out on boulders, eyeballing visitors, but otherwise occupied by lounging, sunning and napping. Sheep lay intermittently on the green turf, gazing at the waves. The sandy beach, which runs the length of Kildonan, is a rarity for these parts, where the coastal geology is primarily rocky – one reason, perhaps, why the cows enjoy making the trek.
Each of us engages the scene differently, finding our own paths, resting on separate boulders, entertaining private thoughts. In silence, we listen to the gurgling water and look into the green-gray distance. Pladda Light winks a bright, knowing eye. Ailsa Craig, an Anglicized twist on Gaelic, meaning “fairy rock,” appears ethereal and otherworldly, shrouded in a halo of sunlight-suffused fog.
Technically, the island is a volcanic plug, representing all that remains visible from the volcanic activity that formed the Atlantic Ocean. Locals call it “Paddy’s Milestone,” heralding its role as the approximate halfway point between Belfast and Glasgow, a signature landmark for generations of Irish laborers seeking work in Scotland. Most of the world’s curling stones are quarried there. (It is rich in Blue Hone and Ailsa Craig Common Green granite, both of which are used to make stones for curling.) The island is also a sanctuary for many oceanic birds, including gannets and puffins.
Place names are both Gaelic and English, serving as explanations for various island features. Among the Gaelic: Craig Na’an (cliff of birds), Trammis (place of elders…as in trees, not people), Garrylou (rough hill), Balvar (big, round cliff) and Ashydoo (black hill). Among the English: Swine Cave, thought to be named for the hogs that once were stocked there as part of the rent due to the Earl of Cassilis (pronounced “Castles”).
Wikipedia notes that the island, dominated by steep pitches and crags, has seen its share of calamities: “…a young lady once fell over the cliff near Craig Na’an; however, her Victorian-style garment caught the wind like a parachute and she escaped with her life and some broken bones that soon knit back together.”
Here, one tends to believe in the misty veil that separates this world from the next, since it shows up as a fine rain curtain almost daily. On the beach, you can rub against the infinite, even as the white sand slips through your fingers. On the horizon, that green rock emerges out of the water from Celtic legend. Some call it Ailsa Craig. But for a few of us, it will always be known by another name: Stephen’s View.
Clams Got Legs 