Dawn on Eigg: a photo blog

Dawn or dusk; sunrise or sunset: are they the same or so different, one moving us on into the day, the other through to the dark of night? My journey to the Isle of Eigg, in mid-March, begins with a spectacular sunset over Rum, from Mallaig.

Yet, the story of my week is one of ever-changing dawns that shift from light to dark, from deep blue-black to bright reds and yellows, paler pinks and greys.

I wake early in Mallaig, before the ferry, when someone bangs a door at 5.30 a.m. - a lucky disturbance meaning I’m in time, as I rapidly head out, to catch the lunar eclipse slowly covering the last golden sliver of the full moon, as the dawn light slowly seeps in.

On Eigg, the bothy I’m staying in looks east to the mainland. I’m more night owl than morning lark but as the ethereal dawn light starts to filter in, under the blind I’ve left slightly up, I find myself up before dawn every day. I start to discover a new me, as each morning I’m up earlier before sunrise, absorbing for an hour or more the liminal, ever-changing light, frost on the fields, a sheep or two looking hopeful I might bring breakfast, taking photos and simply living in those moments.

The day after I arrive, the dawn is cloudy but with light breaking through. The photos below show the shifting moods and light on clouds, land, water from just after sunrise to an hour later by the third photo.

And later the same day, in the reflected light of sunset, there’s a full rainbow spanning the view to the mainland. It’s a stunning changing canvas.

The following day dawns with a low light, murky in the dirty pink and grey-blue edging the clouds but still the promise of dawn outlining the distant mountains.

And the evening brings another reflected sunset turning the clouds blue and the mountains deep, warm red…

..before the evening light fades into an even more ethereal pink and blue that dissolve into each other before dark replaces them.

A clear sky dawns the next day - the golden sun climbing over the low mountain ridge around quarter to seven. I’m planning to walk up An Sgùrr, Eigg’s distinctive volcanic peak. Yet first, an hour of dawn, of peace, nature, stillness amidst the birdsong. A small fishing boat goes slowly by.

Then there’s the mid-week morning where around 5.45 a.m. the sky is deep, strong red, the land outlined in black, a slight streak of red light already reflecting on the still surface of the sea. An hour later another clear, bright yellow sunrise, soon too strong to look at or photograph.

But what about the rest of the day, the island, the people? What about the beauty of Laig beach, the varying conversations with locals who stop and talk with me about eagles or photography or feeding cake crumbs to a shrew (a chat that morphs into a fascinating explanation of how internet came to a few lucky houses back in 2008 bouncing from Arisaig, hitting metal poles and a few trees on its way (today’s island internet is more streamlined)).

Or what about my climb up An Sgùrr, a perfect 360 degree view (unlike my last visit where the summit was enveloped in a rain cloud). All these and more - the oyster-catchers, red shanks, eagles, seals, the free-roaming cattle, the three dozen sheep who follow me to the gate one morning - are Eigg.

But this is a dawn blog.

And then it’s the day of the spring equinox. I glance through the window at quarter to six and the sky is all swirling reds and purples. I’m soon outside, the ground still frosty, a large rabbit bounding away, a sheep staring as it chews some bracken. The half moon is setting into the dark sky over the ridge behind me.

Forty minutes later, a perfect round sun rising in the low point of the mountain ridge seems an auspicious start to this spring equinox day (the photo that starts this blog (above)).

That evening I walk further west along the coast almost catching the setting sun but it’s already moving north and disappears beyond rocks, while the clouds over Muck catch the sunset colours. I talk to someone living nearby who tells me the stone circle we’re standing by is either a stone age hut circle or a bronze age warrior’s grave - the latter a much more compelling tale whether true or not, who knows.

After the equinox, another pre-dawn, luminous sky shading from blue to black.

As the light slowly grows, there’s a dark-blue/black sheen with white swirls on the sea, almost like an abstract painting.

And then the liminal dawn half-light replaced, just 40 minutes later, by a red-yellow drama of a sunrise, with a wisp of cloud looking like an eagle flying across the sun. There’s no end to the changing mood, light, dark, atmosphere - it’s the same view and never the same view, a kaleidoscope of place and light.

My last day on Eigg dawns, no red sunrise today. But the early light deepens the deep blues of the clouds, just a few clear white clouds providing contrast. Another place and mood again.

Then, within an hour of sunrise, a light beam finds its way through the overcast blue, one more glimpse of the ever-changing atmosphere of the day’s dawn.

The day is darker as the ferry leaves Eigg. But who knows what the evening light or the next dawn may bring.