KNOCKAN, Isle of Mull, Self-Catering Accommodation
Three stars, 2 miles from Bunessan, 8 miles from Iona. Sleeps up to 5 comfortably, 6 at a squeeze.
to provide clean, comfortable, well equipped accommodation with an authentic island atmosphere, in a beautiful setting, at a reasonable price.
Why do people with no Mull connection come to a place like Knockan?
"Leave aside that it is now extremely comfortable. Leave aside also Iona, Staffa, scenery, sea eagles, golden eagles, puffins, otters, seals, to start an endless list. There is something else. This round-cornered croft cottage, built originally by refugee crofter/weaver John Black during the Highland Clearances, still displays some of its original timbers, mollusc tunnels betraying their origins as driftwood from the shore. A sense of peace, place, history, heritage and wholeness is woven into its fabric. Iona has been described as a ‘thin place where heaven and earth are not far apart’. Many have thought that describes Knockan too." (From 'Knockan - The House That Black Built')
Some other great reasons to come to Mull
Fascinated by conspiracy theories? Try these: 'Dervaig Mary' (Magdalene), 'The Arandora Star', 'The Cathcartpark Mystery' or 'Forgotten Scots'.
Interested in Scottish Folk History? Try 'Knockan - The House That Black Built' and visit the Ross of Mull Historical Centre
Or how about something completely different?
Inspired by Knockan
Cloud-shrouded and scree'd
shaft of tourquoise Loch na Keal
over my shoulder
Down Ben More and home
to red-roof Knockan and blood;
My lad's tooth is out.
blue above, below and through
the thrown pottery
Craignure crossing, light-
house and cumulus, foam-white,
tilting to Oban
Steve Bird 2010
YOU WONDER WHY…
When the human mind is freed
From day to day pursuit of busyness
Schedule, time and plan.
When horizons are not bounded
By brick and stone construct,
Or paving slab and concrete floor.
When the air is filled
By heavy ozone and iodine-rich weed
Not petroleum fumes and humanity’s fear of failure.
Where the rhythm of the day is dictated by single tracks
And traffic jams are bovine – a new definition!
Where the hardest decision is tea or coffee in the flask
And where to drink the same,
The night’s lullaby is the rising tide,
The wind’s gentlest kiss,
Not the roar of traffic -
Of those who toil while others rest.
Where the wisdom of the old ones
Seeps soul deep to cleanse and energise.
Then is the eye, the heart, the mind
Freed to roam, to disengage, to explore
To follow the soaring eagle’s flight
And find new expression;
To see beyond the everyday horizon
And realise the more.
To imagine, relax and rehabilitate
The creativity within each one,
Then to record the same –
Through pen or camera eye,
Paint, crayon and simple being
That in the midst of life
We may recapture something
Of what we were created to be.
Una MacLean 260410
A languid lift of flight feathers,
And a landing that barely ruffles the water.
Only the head feathers lifting in the breeze
On the ghostly presence
Half caught in the corner of the eye.
Still was a marble etched statue,
A modern portrayal
Of an ancient form.
Then, like lightning,
A dip, a flash, a flick,
Lunch is served
Again, again, again,
The water rises,
The sun curves across the sky,
Then, with a single graceful bounce,
And languid, liquid, flowing movement,
The heron cuts through the evening air
Una McLean 052016.