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I was delighted to finally make it up to the ruined Castle Moil in Kyleakin. For all the years I lived on Skye I never came out here.
There is now a path to the castle at low tide, for me it was high tide! I had a fair bit of clambering and a pretty boggy section to contend with. Sheer determination got me here, it was quite a challenge.
The walls are thick and the section on the left was the section that was struck by Lightning in Feb 2018.
Castle Moil was a MacKinnon stronghold and dates from the late 15th century approx. The last occupant was Neill the nephew of the 20th Chief of the Clan Mackinnon.
Keepsake Mill
Over the borders, a sin without pardon,
Breaking the branches and crawling below,
Out through the breach in the wall of the garden,
Down by the banks of the river we go.
Here is a mill with the humming of thunder,
Here is the weir with the wonder of foam,
Here is the sluice with the race running under--
Marvellous places, though handy to home!
Sounds of the village grow stiller and stiller,
Stiller the note of the birds on the hill;
Dusty and dim are the eyes of the miller,
Deaf are his ears with the moil of the mill.
Years may go by, and the wheel in the river
Wheel as it wheels for us, children, to-day,
Wheel and keep roaring and foaming for ever
Long after all of the boys are away.
Home for the Indies and home from the ocean,
Heroes and soldiers we all will come home;
Still we shall find the old mill wheel in motion,
Turning and churning that river to foam.
You with the bean that I gave when we quarrelled,
I with your marble of Saturday last,
Honoured and old and all gaily apparelled,
Here we shall meet and remember the past.
Robert Louis Stevenson
Castle Moil located adjacent to Kyleakin Harbour. Isle of Skye Scotland.
Thank you for all your comments and visits
© Ralph Stewart 2014
Please don't use this image on websites, blogs or other media without my explicit permission. © All rights reserved
Kyleakin, Breakish, Elgol.....all these magical names which I first read about in the Lillian Beckwith books (Sea for Breakfast) It's not hard to fall in love with Skye
Looking over the pretty harbour to the 14th century Castle Moil.
Caisteal Maol (often anglicised to Castle Moil) was the ancestral seat of the Clan MacKinnon. According to Legend it was built by 'Saucy' Mary, a Norwegian princess who married a MacKinnon.
There are strange things done in the midnight sun
By the men who moil for gold;
The Arctic trails have their secret tales
That would make your blood run cold...
This excerpt from The Cremation of Sam McGee by Robert W. Service seemed, somehow, appropriate.
Kyleakin Harbour on the Isle of Skye. The ruins of Castle Moil can be seen in the background.
Thank you for all your comments and visits
© Ralph Stewart 2016
Please don't use this image on websites, blogs or other media without my explicit permission. © All rights reserved
When driving to Elgol we passed this beautiful snow-capped mountain which reflected in the water, so I just had to stop and photo it.
Beinn na Caillich (732 metres), west of Broadford on the isle of Skye, is one of the Red Hills, or Red Cuillin. Its name is translated into English as Hill of the Old Woman. It is often referred to locally simply as The Beinn.
The summit is adorned by an especially large cairn, reputedly marking the site where Saucy Mary, a Norwegian princess and former resident of Castle Moil in Kyleakin, is buried. Local legend claims that she was buried at the top of the mountain so that she could face the land of her birth forever. An alternative version of events suggests the monument was dedicated to "a gigantic woman in the days of Fingal". Thomas Pennant climbed the hill while staying with Mackinnon of Corriechatachan (or Corry); Samuel Johnson and James Boswell did not.
This was the first time I had seen this ruined castle since the storm of October 2018. There was a lightning strike and part of the left stone wall was struck and was damaged. I have still never been over to see the ruin but it something I would like to do.
On the Isle of Skye it is sheltered within the confines of Loch Alsh a tranquil harbour and village looking towards Castle Moil an ancient MacKinnon stronghold built in the 1400's
When driving to Elgol to passed this beautiful snow-capped mountain and just had to stop and photo it.
Beinn na Caillich (732 metres), west of Broadford on the isle of Skye, is one of the Red Hills, or Red Cuillin. Its name is translated into English as Hill of the Old Woman. It is often referred to locally simply as The Beinn.
The summit is adorned by an especially large cairn, reputedly marking the site where Saucy Mary, a Norwegian princess and former resident of Castle Moil in Kyleakin, is buried. Local legend claims that she was buried at the top of the mountain so that she could face the land of her birth forever. An alternative version of events suggests the monument was dedicated to "a gigantic woman in the days of Fingal". Thomas Pennant climbed the hill while staying with Mackinnon of Corriechatachan (or Corry); Samuel Johnson and James Boswell did not.
Caisteal Maol (Gaelic: Caisteal, 'Castle', Maol, 'bare') is a ruined castle near the harbour of the village of Kyleakin, Isle of Skye, Scotland. It is also known as Castle Moil, Castle Maol, Dun Akyn, Dunakin Castle, Dun Haakon and Castle Dunakin.
The castle, an ancient seat of the Mackinnon clan, was a fortress commanding the strait of Kyle Akin between Skye and the mainland, through which all ships had to pass or else attempt the stormy passage of The Minch. The present building dates back to the 15th century, but is traditionally reputed to be of much earlier origin.
According to that tradition, Alpín mac Echdach's great-grandson Findanus, the 4th MacKinnon chief, brought Dunakin into the clan around the year 900 by marrying a Norse princess nicknamed 'Saucy Mary'. Findanus and his bride ran a heavy chain across the sound and levied a toll on all shipping vessels. On payment of the toll, the princess would lower the chain, then thank them by flashing her breasts! The Princess lies buried on Beinn na Caillich on Skye, her face reputedly turned towards Norway.
Ruined building at Cill Chriosd, Isle of Skye: this time with Beinn na Caillich in the background.
www.karlwilliamsphotography.co.uk
The summit of Beinn na Caillich (literally: the Hill of the Old Woman) is adorned by an especially large cairn, reputedly marking the site where "Saucy Mary", a Norwegian princess and former resident of Castle Moil in Kyleakin, is buried. Local lore claims she was laid to rest atop the mountain so that she may forever feel the winds from the land of her birth.
See below for another couple of views of this building.
I arrived on Skye about 12.15 and decided to walk out to Castle Moil. I had never walked out to the Castle. The day was overcast but I was pleased it was dry and the autumn colours were still very good.
Castle Moil Kyleakin Isle of Skye Scotland
Thank you for all your comments and visits
© Ralph Stewart 2007
Please don't use this image on websites, blogs or other media without my explicit permission. © All rights reserved
I enjoyed the views from the ruined Castle Moil in Kyleakin. This view is down Lochalsh with the damp autumn colours.
The MV Lochalsh pictured here operated on the crossing from Kyle of Lochalsh on the mainland to Kyleakin on the Isle of Skye from 1957 to 1970.
Eolophus roseicapilla on a power line at Moil Cres, Moil, Darwin, Northern Territory, Australia, Feb. 2017
Commentary.
For many years the only way to reach the Isle of Skye
was by way of ferries to Armadale, Kyle Rhea or Kyleakin.
This made life difficult and expensive for
islanders wishing to go to the mainland and visitors to Skye.
After the bridge was built an unreasonable toll
was eventually overturned after fierce protest from islanders and visitors, alike.
Paradoxically, the easy access via the bridge
has meant that, too often, the island has been
overcrowded by tens of thousands of visitors, each day, in the high season.
The islanders now suffer traffic jams, danger, litter and pollution
in villages, countryside and on largely single-track roads.
The bridge is a beautiful piece of architecture
but the island has become a victim of its overwhelming appeal.
There are strange things done in the midnight sun
By the men who moil for gold;
The Arctic trails have their secret tales
That would make your blood run cold;
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
But the queerest they ever did see
Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
I cremated Sam McGee.
Now Sam McGee was from Tennessee,
Where the cotton blooms and blows.
Why he left his home in the South to roam
'Round the Pole, God only knows.
He was always cold, but the land of gold
Seemed to hold him like a spell;
Though he'd often say in his homely way
That he'd "sooner live in hell".
On a Christmas Day we were mushing our way
Over the Dawson trail.
Talk of your cold! through the parka's fold
It stabbed like a driven nail.
If our eyes we'd close, then the lashes froze
Till sometimes we couldn't see;
It wasn't much fun, but the only one
To whimper was Sam McGee.
And that very night, as we lay packed tight
In our robes beneath the snow,
And the dogs were fed, and the stars o'erhead
Were dancing heel and toe,
He turned to me, and "Cap," says he,
"I'll cash in this trip, I guess;
And if I do, I'm asking that you
Won't refuse my last request."
Well, he seemed so low that I couldn't say no;
Then he says with a sort of moan:
"It's the cursed cold, and it's got right hold
Till I'm chilled clean through to the bone.
Yet 'tain't being dead -- it's my awful dread
Of the icy grave that pains;
So I want you to swear that, foul or fair,
You'll cremate my last remains."
A pal's last need is a thing to heed,
So I swore I would not fail;
And we started on at the streak of dawn;
But God! he looked ghastly pale.
He crouched on the sleigh, and he raved all day
Of his home in Tennessee;
And before nightfall a corpse was all
That was left of Sam McGee.
There wasn't a breath in that land of death,
And I hurried, horror-driven,
With a corpse half hid that I couldn't get rid,
Because of a promise given;
It was lashed to the sleigh, and it seemed to say:
"You may tax your brawn and brains,
But you promised true, and it's up to you
To cremate those last remains."
Now a promise made is a debt unpaid,
And the trail has its own stern code.
In the days to come, though my lips were dumb,
In my heart how I cursed that load.
In the long, long night, by the lone firelight,
While the huskies, round in a ring,
Howled out their woes to the homeless snows --
O God! how I loathed the thing.
And every day that quiet clay
Seemed to heavy and heavier grow;
And on I went, though the dogs were spent
And the grub was getting low;
The trail was bad, and I felt half mad,
But I swore I would not give in;
And I'd often sing to the hateful thing,
And it hearkened with a grin.
Till I came to the marge of Lake Lebarge,
And a derelict there lay;
It was jammed in the ice, but I saw in a trice
It was called the "Alice May".
And I looked at it, and I thought a bit,
And I looked at my frozen chum;
Then "Here," said I, with a sudden cry,
"Is my cre-ma-tor-eum."
Some planks I tore from the cabin floor,
And I lit the boiler fire;
Some coal I found that was lying around,
And I heaped the fuel higher;
The flames just soared, and the furnace roared --
Such a blaze you seldom see;
And I burrowed a hole in the glowing coal,
And I stuffed in Sam McGee.
Then I made a hike, for I didn't like
To hear him sizzle so;
And the heavens scowled, and the huskies howled,
And the wind began to blow.
It was icy cold, but the hot sweat rolled
Down my cheeks, and I don't know why;
And the greasy smoke in an inky cloak
Went streaking down the sky.
I do not know how long in the snow
I wrestled with grisly fear;
But the stars came out and they danced about
Ere again I ventured near;
I was sick with dread, but I bravely said:
"I'll just take a peep inside.
I guess he's cooked, and it's time I looked"; . . .
Then the door I opened wide.
And there sat Sam, looking cool and calm,
In the heart of the furnace roar;
And he wore a smile you could see a mile,
And he said: "Please close that door.
It's fine in here, but I greatly fear
You'll let in the cold and storm --
Since I left Plumtree, down in Tennessee,
It's the first time I've been warm."
There are strange things done in the midnight sun
By the men who moil for gold;
The Arctic trails have their secret tales
That would make your blood run cold;
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
But the queerest they ever did see
Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
I cremated Sam McGee.
"The Cremation of Sam McGee"
by Robert Service
The remains of Castle Moil still guarding the narrows between Kyle of Lochalsh and Kyleakin on the Isle of Skye.
Since being damaged by a lightning strike it has been closed to the public....The high tops of Kintail just visible in the far distance.
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Caisteal_Maol
de.wikipedia.org/wiki/Castle_Moil
© Copyright 2014, All rights reserved. Do not copy or otherwise reuse my photos.
Castle Moil, Kyleakin, Isle of Skye, Scotland.
The Creel boat Boy Ryan BRD38 entering Kyleakin Harbour.
Thank you for all your comments and visits
© Ralph Stewart 2007
Please don't use this image on websites, blogs or other media without my explicit permission. © All rights reserved
Very nice place to park your yacht or boat. There were a few people going about. I walked down to the ferry pier and back to bring back some memories. The ruined castle you see is Castle Moil.
Thanks for all your comments on my Skye pictures, I like to go to the places which are not so well known. I hope to return to Skye soon.
It's kind of amusing to see so many people paying atention to their electronic devices not only for communiating but for filming everything too. As a fan of photography and filmmaking I am not against this trend but I do think we should stop paying so much attention to the screens and start filming with our mind.
Once again it's kind of ironic that I criticise this habit when I have it too but I guess we are not in the same place because I want to dedícate my life to this.
Fishing boat "Prosperity" passes Castle Moil returning to Kyleakin harbour.
Thank you for all your comments and visits
© Ralph Stewart 2007
Please don't use this image on websites, blogs or other media without my explicit permission. © All rights reserved
Keepsake Mill
Over the borders, a sin without pardon,
Breaking the branches and crawling below,
Out through the breach in the wall of the garden,
Down by the banks of the river we go.
Here is a mill with the humming of thunder,
Here is the weir with the wonder of foam,
Here is the sluice with the race running under--
Marvellous places, though handy to home!
Sounds of the village grow stiller and stiller,
Stiller the note of the birds on the hill;
Dusty and dim are the eyes of the miller,
Deaf are his ears with the moil of the mill.
Years may go by, and the wheel in the river
Wheel as it wheels for us, children, to-day,
Wheel and keep roaring and foaming for ever
Long after all of the boys are away.
Home for the Indies and home from the ocean,
Heroes and soldiers we all will come home;
Still we shall find the old mill wheel in motion,
Turning and churning that river to foam.
You with the bean that I gave when we quarrelled,
I with your marble of Saturday last,
Honoured and old and all gaily apparelled,
Here we shall meet and remember the past.
Robert Louis Stevenson, A Child's Garden of Verses, 1885.
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