On a Mission in Mallaig

The journey from Fort William to Mallaig is as spectacular as the guidebooks say.  The question is why such a rural, remote railway route would ever be built, given that it most certainly could never be economically viable.  But as you rush along the water’s edge, and over the famous Glenfinnan Viaduct, those questions disappear.  It’s the only time I’ve ever heard a landmark being announced by a conductor over the PA system.

Mallaig was, to put it bluntly, closed.  There were several promising places for lunch, none of which were open; this one offered the most hope, but those lights are only on because it’s in the process of refurbishment.

Alas, God was on my side, in more ways than one.  Opposite the station entrance was the Christian Fisherman’s Mission, open all day and busy, too, though not surprising given the temperature outside and the lack of competition.

The menu didn’t hold too much promise but, as I reasoned to myself, it mustn’t be too bad given the number of actual fishermen who were eating there.  I particularly like the asterisk next to “homemade”.

At the counter, I asked for the scampi, attempting to take refuge in it being the most expensive item on a cheap menu.  What I hadn’t noticed was the time (1.45pm), and -more importantly - the sign.

Now, I should pay credit to the lady who served me, who went into the kitchen to deliver the news of this late order.  But, let me tell you this, the language I heard coming back out of that kitchen was far from Christian.  God would not approve.  Still, He was smiling at me, at least for now, because a few minutes later, this arrived.

I felt heartened by my experience in the Mission, and with another two hours before the train back to Fort William, I headed out round the East Bay to get some photos of Mallaig.  That’s when I saw the sign – not the lunch sign, but another one, just on the right of the main road.

With time on my side, I headed up the path and was immediately impressed by the views it offered after only a few minutes.  Filled with yet more confidence, I headed onwards and arrived at the summit to this spectacular view which also had, usefully, a chair to perch my camera on.  You’ll notice that I’m smiling; this is despite the fact that my foot is in a ditch which, as I now know, has a stream running through it.

I think that my friends back in the Mission must have spoken to Him, because just as the delayed shutter released, so did the most almighty clap of thunder.  Now a good 45 minutes from dry land, I headed onwards to get another beautiful shot looking out to sea.

Then, at the furthest point, the heaven’s opened.  Hailstones rained down on me as I tried to wrap up and get everything packed up into my rucksack.  Several things that I’d done before leaving now seemed quite stupid.  These included:

1.  Wearing trainers.  In fact, this had seemed stupid since the ditch incident mentioned earlier.

2.  Wearing denim jeans.  Look, I wasn’t expected to go walking, but it’s fair shout that I should have expected rain.  Denim is the heaviest material on earth when it’s wet, let me tell you.

3.  Packing my laptop.  Doing a few e-mails on the train up here was never going to happen, given the beautiful scenery I was passing through, although without it, I wouldn’t be writing this blog now.  (On the train back, with every part of my body wet and cold, I care much less for the scenery).

As I got back to Mallaig, the rain subsided a little and I stopped to record the moment.  I also sent a text to Vicky, saying that I’d been at the top of the mountain when I first heard thunder.  She text back: “Do you think that the thunder was a sign?” 

Yes, I do.  A sign that I should have ordered lunch before 1.30pm.