The Singing Sands of Gigha

It was in the spring of 1996 that I first crossed the Doirlinn that connects the small island of Eilean Garbh to Gigha. It is a beautiful place to spend a few hours: a 500-foot-long tombolo, cradled by beaches on each side. The following photo shows these 'twin beaches' on that spring day in '96.

During a stay on Gigha last April, I made a long walk from Achamore to the north end of the island. It was a blazing-hot day, and I started looking for a place to take a snooze around noon. A mile north of Tarbert, a roadside sign brought back that memory from 1996: 'Eilean Garbh Beaches'. My search for a place to snooze had ended. It was time to live in the past—time for a nap on the twin beaches.

Unlike three decades ago, a well-made path led down to the tombolo. From the end of the path, I crossed a short stretch of grassland to the north beach. It was there that things got interesting.

Something I've always done since a visit to a well-known beach on Eigg in 2006 is to scuff my feet whenever I cross a beach. I had not done this when I was on Gigha in 1996, but I did it this time. Usually, nothing happens. But something extraordinary happened this time. A squeaking, almost musical sound arose from the sands with every scuff: the unmistakable sound of singing sands. I’d done a bit of research on singing sands a few years ago and had come across a list of the 33 known musical beaches of the UK and Ireland. Gigha was not on the list. The nearest listed sands lie twenty miles to the west at Tràigh Bhàn on Islay (see the October 19, 2019 post).

The northern beach of the tombolo is not named on the map. But after Elizabeth came here during a cruise on Hebridean Princess, it became known as the Queen’s Beach. I don’t know if the queen made the sands sing, but she may have taken a nap. For a map of the singing sands of the UK and Ireland, see the July 23, 2024 post (which I now need to update). 

After an hour-long snooze on the beach, I made it sing again as I started back to the road. After a brief visit to the north pier, which sits precariously on the shore, I noticed a waymarker for the ‘Northern Loop—Càrn Bàn’ path. Long ago, I’d read about Càrn Bàn, a once notable site of Neolithic tombs. I’d also read an old description of how to get there, a route that sounded difficult. But in the intervening years, a network of walkable and bikeable paths has been created on Gigha, and I was delighted to see that one of them went to the site. Next time we'll follow that tempting path to see what's left of the tombs of Càrn Bàn.

Singing Sand Beaches of the UK & Ireland

I've only had the pleasure of making the sands sing on three Scottish beaches: Camas Sgiotaig of Eigg (first photo), Traign Bhàn of Islay (second photo), and Camas an Lighe near Kentra Bay (third and fourth photos). Be careful if you walk across Camas an Lighe, as you may stumble upon unexploded munitions. 

Curious about what makes the sands sing, I found sources dating from 1891 to 1973. The first was an article in an 1891 issue of Nature, written by Cecil Carus-Wilson. You can find it at this link:

https://archive.org/details/naturelond44londuoft/page/322/mode/2up

In the article, the author states that the music from sand was simply the result of the rubbing together of the surfaces of millions of perfectly clean grains of quartz, free from angularities, roughness, or adherent matter, in the form of clinging fragments investing the grains, and that these microlithic emissions of sound, though individually inaudible, might in combination produce a note sufficiently powerful to be sensible to us.

Another description of singing sands dates to 1923 and can be found on pages 261-340 of the book Tales of Travel by CN Curzon. Pages 261-324 describe sands around the world that sing due to settling and/or wind action. Pages 324 and on describe sands that sing when walked on, beginning with the famous sands of Eigg. You can find the full text at this link:

https://babel.hathitrust.org/cgi/pt?id=njp.32101019098233&seq=322

The most informative source I came across was an article entitled Whistling Sand Beaches in the British Isles, written by K. Ridgway and JB Scotton. It appeared in Sedimentology: The Journal of the International Association of Sedimentologists, Volume 20, p.263-279 (1973).  The link to it is: 

https://www.researchgate.net/publication/229933615_Whistling_sand_beaches_in_the_British_Isles

Be aware that you have to pay to access that article. I am basically cheap, so instead of paying $15 for online access, I spent a whole dollar in bus fare and went to read a copy in the University of Washington Library. It was in a section of the library I'd not been to before, and to my surprise, I discovered a massive row of stacks filled with hundreds of journals and reports on Sedimentology—heavy reading, indeed.

The article described various experiments used to understand why the sands sing, which confirmed the theory stated in the issue of Nature quoted above. It also states that musical beaches are always near Bedload Partings (BLP) on the continental shelf. You can read about BLPs at the following link:

https://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/abs/10.1002/9781444304138.ch1

Also included in the 1973 article was a list of the 33 singing sand beaches in the UK and Ireland. (See the map at the end of the post). If making the sands sing intrigues, here is a list of the musical beaches in Scotland:

Rackwick Bay, Hoy: ND 2063 9844; Dunnet Head; Cruden Bay: NK 0853 3506; Montrose Bay: NO 7351 6085; Lunan Bay: NO 6923 5113; Tyninghame Beach: NT 6268 8201; Broadsea Bay: NW 9712 6010; Ardneil Bay: NS 1869 4830; Traigh Bhàn, Islay: NR 3461 4409; Ardnish: NM 7001 8065; Roshven: NM 7044 7882 or NM 7099 7920; Camas an Lighe, Ardnamurchan: NM 6128 6903; Camus Sgiotaig, Eigg: NM 4710 8996; Guinaird Bay: NG 9509 9026; Clashnessie Bay: NC 0577 3106

As mentioned above, the only beaches in the list I've had the pleasure of making sing are those of Eigg, Camus an Lighe, and Traigh Bhàn. A short recording of the Blue Danube Waltz played on the Eigg Sands can be found in this post from 2013:

https://marccalhoun.blogspot.com/2013/04/the-sands-sing.html

There is one singing beach in particular on my list to visit, and that is the one at Ardnish. The reason is because of the stunning four-volume Ardnish series written by Angus MacDonald. If you've read the books, you'll understand why I want to walk out to the old settlements around Peanmeanach. Then, after seeing the ruins, I'd detour a mile west to make the sands sing. Directions to Peanmeanach are on this Walk Highlands page, which oddly makes no mention of the singing sands: 

https://www.walkhighlands.co.uk/fortwilliam/peanmeanach.shtml.

The Adventures of Hjalmar Bjorge - Season 5, Episode 5

 The Continuing Adventures of Hjalmar Bjorge
Season 5 - Episode 5 - Mingulay to Mull
Exploring the Isles of the West Cruise    April 18-May 2, 2022

From Mingulay we motored across the Sea of the Hebrides to Heisker Rock, where we were delighted by the sight of two minke whales. Peter Hill, author of Stargazing: Memoirs of a Young Lightkeeper, ends his book with a description of his last posting, which was on Hyskeir in 1973. Upon arriving via helicopter, he was greeted by the keepers, along with three other residents of his new posting.

And as we walked across the black lava towards the tallest lighthouse tower I had ever seen, three goats emerged out of the fine sea mist.

There have been no men (or goats) on Hyskeir since it was automated in 1997. (For more on Hyskeir see these posts: https://marccalhoun.blogspot.com/2014/11/scenes-from-heisker.html). The sea was mirror calm as we left Hyskeir and motored over to the west side of beautiful Canna, where we were planning to spend the night. The western cliffs of Canna were teeming with seabirds. 

Just as we rounded the corner to enter the harbour the Calmac ferry Lochnevis rocketed out of the harbour on its way back to Mallaig.

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Once ashore I led the group to Rhu Church, also known as the Rocket Church due to its Irish Round tower belfry. It is always a delight to see it, especially on a bright spring afternoon with only wispy clouds floating overhead.

We then headed into the woodlands past John Campbell's grave to reach the Celtic Cross and the burial ground. Campbell's elegant tombstone reads:

Ian Latharna Caimbeul

1.10.1906    25.4.1996

Fear Chanaidh

Campbell died in Italy in 1996, and was buried there. But his body was returned to Canna in 2006. For the story of Campbell's life see The Man Who Gave Away His Island, by Ray Perman.

Our next stop was the bridge to Sanday, where some of us climbed to the high ground overlooking Sanday village. Just to the right of centre in the next photo you can see the Sanday Schoolhouse. The school dates to 1878, and is the subject of Kate Riley's book Canna School Days: https://acairbooks.com/product/books/non-fiction-books/history-non-fiction-books/canna-schooldays/

Just before returning to the ship a detour was made to Canna Prison. It is a mini-castle atop a dramatic stack that rises 80 feet above the western shoreline. The structure looks very precarious. I'd climbed it in my younger days, but not wanting to be responsible for the whole thing to come tumbling down, we settled for the view from below.

A fanciful watercolur of the prison was done by Richard Doyle in the 1870s. He titled it 'The Witches' Home'. No witches were soaring about, just curious gulls and kittiwakes.

When we returned to Hjalmar Bjorge we discovered Charlie had acquired prawns from a local fisherman. They made a delicious starter to the evening meal.

Overnight the weather drastically changed for the worse. We needed a place to shelter for the night, so Charlie took us over to the northeast corner of Ardnamurchan, where we anchored in Kentra Bay. In the morning we spent a couple hours ashore exploring the Singing Sands of Kentra. Similar to the Signing Sands of Eigg and Islay, if you scrape your shoes across the sands they make an odd, squeaking sound. Writing in 1844, the geologist Hugh Miller thought highly of the sound:

I walked over it, striking it obliquely at each step, and with every blow the shrill note was repeated. My companions joined me; and we performed a concert, in which, if we could boast of but little variety in the tones produced, we might at least challenge all Europe for an instrument of the kind which produced them.

A few of us made a stunning woodland walk above the sands, which starts with a warning sign about unexploded munitions in the sands. (Now they tell us!)

Fortunately, no one was blown up. (That would not have looked good on my Island Guider CV.) And so from Kentra we made our way to the Cairns of Coll, a spot known for whales. We did not see any whales, but we did see something fantastic - something in my thirty-plus years of Hebridean sailing I'd never seen. For over an hour, a large group of bottlenose dolphins bow surfed, and raced alongside the ship. There must have been nearly three dozen of them, gleefully playing with us, and you could tell they were happy to make us smile.

We ended the day on the pontoons of Tobermory Harbour. As we arrived I saw the sailing yacht Zuza tied up. She is a ship of memories for me. Many years ago I'd sailed on her around the Inner Hebrides and the Orkneys with Skipper Tim Wear at the helm. 

After a wander around the village we spent the night on the pontoons, then got an early start back to Oban in the morning.

By noon the next day, we were in Oban to say our goodbyes. It had been an exemplary trip, and we'd been blessed with (mostly) magnificent weather. I want to thank Charlie, Mel, and Steve for being a great crew, and Peter, Liz, Anne, Nigel, Clare, Wolfgang, and Debbie for being such great travelling companions. I hope to sail with you all again, someday.

Islay to Cork - Day 7 - Dunyvaig, Singing Sands, and Island Soaring

On my last Islay day I woke to drenching rains and strong winds. I had to catch a flight to Oban at 3pm, so that gave me six hours to fill. After checking out of the Port Charlotte Hotel, I got in my tiny hire car and set out to pay a visit to Dunyvaig Castle near the Lagavulin Distillery. As I drove through Port Ellen, and on to Lagavulin, I passed by streams of people afoot: some under umbrellas, some under ponchos, all walking the footpath on their way to take a tour of the distillery.  Every tourist I'd met that week only had one thing on thier mind: the distilleries. After passing Lagavulin I turned right down a rough single track to find a parking spot overlooking Dunyvaig Castle. As I hit the brakes the car shuddered as its metal-on-metal brakes slowly ground me to a halt. I was hoping the brakes would last long enough to get me safely to the airport in a few hours. 

From the parking area it was a short, aromatic, walk to the castle. The winds were shifting: when they were from the south you could smell the sea, when they were from the north you could smell the malty aroma of the distillery.

Even though a sign warned that the castle ruins were dangerous, I tried to find a way into the tower. But a section of the walkway that led to it had collapsed, and trying to step over it would not end well.

The castle dates to between the 13th and 15th centuries. Its Gaelic name is Dun Naomhaig. A 'naomhaig' is a sea galley, and until about 1500 AD the fort was a naval base for the Lord of the Isles.

Off in the distance (to the left) in the next photo you can see the island of Texa. I had been hoping to get there this trip, and had exchanged e-mails with Islay Sea Safari a month earlier. They'd indicated then that they could take me to the island. But they had failed to reply to any of the emails, or voice mails, I'd left over the past few days, so Texa would have to wait for another time.

Once back in the car I drove through Port Ellen, then followed a coastal track to the west. At the big cemetery above Kilnaughton Bay I turned left, then slowly drove down a rough track to a small parking area north of the Carraig Fhada Lighthouse. Under a heavy downpour I set out on foot towards the lighthouse.

I soon came upon a sign that pointed right that read 'Singing Sands'. I turned right to follow a path that led up and over a low ridge, then dropped down to a small beach of reddish-brown sand. Its name on the map is Traigh Bhan (the fair, or white beach), and it is also known as the Singing Sands of Islay. I had been to the singing sands of Eigg, and was looking forward to hearing the sands of Islay sing.

Once on the beach I started to scuff my boots across the sands. Not a squeak or a squawk was to be heard. I kept trying, dragging my feet over most of the beach - an onlooker would wonder just what that crazy guy was doing on the beach. But with all the recent rain the sand was too wet to sing. So I headed back to take a look at the Carraig Fhada Lighthouse, passing along the way a herd of feral goats. (You can hear a sample of the Eigg Sands singing here.)

The Carraig Fhada lighthouse was built in 1832 by the Campbell laird of Islay in memory of his wife who'd died that year. An interesting series of narrow walkways and bridges take you out to the lighthouse. 

It was a very wet hiker who returned to the car. I then drove to the airport, where I parked at 'Terminal 2'. That's what they call it, anyway. It is a small hut, 1000 feet north of the main terminal, and is where you board flights operated by Hebridean Air Services. My flight to Oban would go via Colonsay, and I was looking forward to seeing over a dozen islands along the way. I had an hour to wait for the arrival of the airplane. During that time the rain stopped, and it gradually turned into a sunny day.

The yellow Islander airplane touched down right on time and taxied to a stop. The last time I was on an Islander was the Kirkwall/Westray/Papa Westray flight in 2014 (see this post). In short order we were rolling down the runway on our way to Colonsay.

A minute after takeoff we soared past Nave Island and the Ardnave peninusula where I'd walked the day before.

Next up was the north coast of Islay, followed by five miles of open sea to Oronsay and Colonsay.

As we soared over Oronsay I could see Seal cottage just above the beach, and in the distance Oronsay Priory.

We also got a good look at Ben Oronsay, topped by Carn cul ri Eirinn.

We then started banking left over the shallow strand between Oronsay and Colonsay to make the approach to Colonsay airfield. Two minutes later we were on the ground.

One passenger boarded, and five minutes later we were rolling down the runway.

As we climbed we were rewarded with a grand view of Kiloran Bay and the cliffs of Uragaig.

As we headed to the northwest the long coast of Jura sped by. Then the massive hump of Scarba came into view.

After Scarba came the first of the Isles of the Sea, Eileach an Naoimh - the "Ikea" lighthouse at its south end brightly reflecting the sun.

Then came the other Isles of the Sea: A' Chuli, Garbh Eileach, and Dun Chonnuill.

Next up were the slate isle of Easdale and Ellanbeich.

We were then over an island I've not been to yet, Insh Island. There were stories a while back about a naked hermit living there, but I do not know if there is any truth to that.

Off to the left I could see the vast sea loch of Spelvie, and Portfield House, from where we'd unsuccessfully tried to hike to Old Croggan Village six weeks before.

I was sitting behind the pilot, and as we began the approach to Oban he asked if I wanted him to take some photos out the front of the plane. I handed him the camera and he took this shot of Oban.

As we descended over Kerrera the Mull ferry was motoring past the tip of the island. The marina at Ardintrive, once a military seaplane base could be seen, as was the small peninsula of Cladh a Bhernaig with the bracken-grown ruins of its Celtic Christan Cashel.

As the plane continued its descent we flew over Dunolie Castle and its successor Dunolie House.

Then came the Oban Cemetery; a place I'd spent a lot of time on two occasions trying to find the grave of MEM Donaldson. Her grave is marked with an arrow on the photo, and you can read about it here.

Just before touchdown we passed Connel Bridge and the dramatic Falls of Lora.

It had been an amazing flight. Too bad flying can't always be so enjoyable. I would recommend Hebridean Air Services to anyone wanting the fly to, and from, the isles. After a short taxi ride I was ensconced in my hotel in Oban. I had one full day in town to get ready for an Irish adventure. A cruise on Hjalmar Bjorge around the west side of Ireland ending up in Cork. That was the good news. The bad news was the weather forecast. It was not looking good at all.