I was so glad when Liz actually got up the next morning without too much grumpiness, as we were awake so many times, until I went to sleep in the communal sittingroom. If we wanted to walk to the Nun's caves we had to leave quite early, as it was about seven miles over a rocky beach, and us not being youngsters any more, we had to leave ourselves enough time to get before dark.
But if I thought that my friend would sacrifice her morning ritual, I had high but useless hopes. She was up alright, but hung over the plastic table like a drooping plant, head in her hands and cigarette between the lips, coffee held precariously in a badly shaking hand! I tried to be optimistic, and talked about the caves, as I knew that she also wanted to see them, and went on talking in a chirpy way while fixing breakfast, until she shouted in her hoarse, quite low voice that if I don't stop gibbering she was going to get back into bed.So I closed my mouth, and finished the breakfast, and also packed us a cold lunch, and filled up the flask.
By eleven thirty a thinly smiling Liz was ready, and we set off. I was very excited, as there were supposed to be wonderful carvings done by the monks and relics of the nuns's stay there after they were banned from Iona. We took the road to Pennyghail, through glen More, and on to a sign pointing to Carsaig, where we had to start our walk. The road down to the pier was very steep, and Liz started hyperventilating, so I suggested we leave the car up there and walk down. The pier was small, with a dilapadated wee house, and big trees growing quite close to the shore.
I found a swing, maybe made by gypsies who camped there, and took a swing on it, flying over the rocks below, and then I started begging Liz to just once in her life became like a youngster again, and have a go. It took some doing, but she decided to stop my nagging as she put it, and have a go. It was marvelous to see the anxiety on her face make place for enjoyment, although she clung to the rope with all her might.
But we were on a mission, so we left our childishness behind and started the long trod over some really rough terrain at some places to get to the caves.
We followed the shoreline eastwards for what felt like twenty miles, but I found later that it was only twenty, but the terrain was quite hazardous, until we came to lochbuie. From there on it was about another mile of hard slogging, but it was very beautiful, with dark cliffs in awesome formations above us.
It is said that the monks who lived there drove wooden pegs into the cracks between the rocks, and with the swelling of the pegs when it got wet, the slabs split open, and it was then used to make carvings for Iona Cathedral, but also they made grave slabs and other things to sell, to boost the Cathedral's funds.
On the left side of the cave was carved  holy symbols and crosses, and a font was carved out in the front of this cave that was named after the nuns that sheltered there after being evicted from Iona during the Reformation period.
I felt very small standing amidst all this history thinking about the hardship of the people who once lived and worked there.