An Island Odyssey. Hamish Haswell-Smith

      LISMORE

      . . . It is not the habit that makes the monk, nor doth the garb in fashion qualify him that wears it to be virtuous. The inhabitants have humanity, and use strangers hospitably and charitably.

      Howling wind, driving rain and failing light are not the best conditions for trying a new passage between strange rocks and I was unwise to consider it but we were all tired and with one of the crew very seasick I thought the short-cut would be worthwhile. I knew the north passage into Port Ramsay at Lismore like the back of my hand but the sailing instructions made the west passage between two skerries seem easy – and it would save nearly half an hour of further misery. ‘The face of the southerly pair of cottages (and only these) kept in sight leads clear north of the rock. . . ‘said the instructions. Harry had the binoculars and Duncan was at the bow as I brought Jandara round and headed for the distant cottages which could be seen faintly through the spume. Suddenly we came to a shuddering stop and there was a crash from below as we reared gently upwards and then slipped back again. Fortunately our speed had been slow, the rock well-cushioned with seaweed and the crash was our seasick sailor falling down the companionway with, luckily, no serious consequences except injured pride. I bore away hastily and resigned myself to a slow slog against the wind.

      By comparison the Lynn of Lorn is relatively free of rocks and the story goes that in AD561 two competitive saints, St Moluag and St Mulhac, had a boat race across it after agreeing that the first to touch Lismore would be entitled to found his monastery on the island. St Moluag realised at the last minute that he would not reach the island first so he cut off his finger and threw it ashore. It landed on the beach just north of the broch at Tirefour and this gained him the title.

      St Moluag was an Irish contemporary of St Columba and his monastery became an important ecclesiastical centre. More than six centuries later when John the Englishman, Bishop of Dunkeld and Argyll, confessed to the Pope that he was unable to learn to speak Gaelic, the Pope split the diocese and Lismore was chosen as the seat of a separate diocese of Argyll whose bishops were known as Episcopi Lismorenses.

      Lismore soil is exceptionally fertile thanks to its limestone base and this probably accounts for its name – lios-mór in Gaelic which means ‘big garden’. The wild flowers are profuse – field gentians, rock rose, mimulus, tutsan, ivy-leaved toadflax, wild orchids, cranesbill, brooklimes, water mints and speedwells to name a few. There are many fine trees and shelter belts, mainly sycamore, ash, lime and chestnut, but little natural woodland, although in the 16th century the whole island was very thickly forested with oak.