I got back to Eigg this morning after staying the night in Mallaig again. Pretty wee town but this time around I was less enamoured by its charms as I waited for the ferry. Probably something to do with the weather being rather dreary. That changed though almost as soon as I set foot on Eigg and the sun emerged in all its glory.
After waiting for my lift from John H who was picking up supplies as the ferry had also shipped across fruit and veg. It is seriously like the feeding of the 5,000 when the boat gets in. A mix of tourists and locals picking up their provisions for the weekend. So it's actually more like the feeding of the 67+some. :D
Last week the three big trenches were given the, rather optimistic, names Wednesday, Thursday and Friday. When I got to site people were still working on Thursday. The Trench That Was Thursday, that amuses me no end.
After a quick spot of lunch I joined in the work on Thursday, proper name Trench 8 but I prefer Thursday, and could soon see why they were still working away. I can't really say much about what is there but it seems to be a prehistoric stone structure and possible burials. Therefore it is awash with rocks which makes troweling an exercise in frustration at times. Still pretty fecking cool though. Especially as I have a bad habit of classing anything later than the 5th century as modern history. :D
I overheard John H telling some visitors that what we were working on probably represents the beginning of use of this land and the ruined priory the end, we just need to fill in the 2,000 years in between. :D
Just before we took a tea break mid-afternoon the topic of dissertations came up and I really struggled to describe mine. I can do so fine on paper but verbally I fail dismally. Really need to work on that. Though the process of moving through and across and between sites as a means of understanding them is pretty airy fairy tbh :D
I'll throw some picks of the trenches online tomorrow so long as the weather is conducive to taking more pics. All I took today were pics of the beach below site that a few of us visited and of Diesel, a wee terrier that seems to have adopted us, the rat catcher.
The water is sooo effing clear!
Diesel, not sure if we've adopted him or he's adopted us :D
I spent this week on Eigg at an archaeological dig. I wrote this on the train back to Glasgow for work. I'll be travelling back up tomorrow... bugger, later today. It was a fantastic week and the tl;dr of this is "it wor fooking awesome". Please read on. :)
Click on the pics to see them full size. :)
I've spent the last four days on the
Isle of Eigg taking part in the Kildonnan Archaeology Project which
is being run by Professor John Hunter of the University of
Birmingham. The project is examining the graveyard at Kildonnan with
an eye to finding the original monastery of St Donnan, an early
Christian who got himself martyred by pissing off the local Pictish
queen. I can think of better ways to advance one's career but
“different strokes” and all that.
Getting to Eigg was a bit of a shitter
as, aside from Saturdays, the ferry and train service are rather
mismatched if one is travelling from as far away as Glasgow. I work
weekends and so was hoping to travel on Monday but the only ferry
from Mallaig to Eigg leaves four hours before the Glasgow train gets
in which meant travelling straight from work on Sunday. Leaving
Glasgow at half six in the evening and not arriving til eleven thirty
at night. Luckily the Mallaig Backpackers doesn't lock it's doors
until after the last train has arrived so at least I had a bed for
the night, only £17 too, bargain!
The train journey seemed to take
forever. It was, however, a rather spectacular forever. Almost as
soon as the train leaves Glasgow it seems as though a blanket of grim
grey gloom lifts and the farther north the train progresses the more
verdant and majestic the landscape becomes.
It is difficult to put into words the
beauty of this landscape. Landscape being the perfect word for
watching the world unfurl before you mediated by the screen of the
train window. The vista is akin to a painting, albeit one that rolls
past as you simply sit and watch. At so many points I wished that I
could just hop off the train and, on foot, head for the horizon. Alas
this wasn't possible and, besides, I have a destination. Mallaig.
Mallaig is a small fishing village near
the mouth of Loch Nevis. Darkness had fallen over an hour before I
arrived; and stepping off the train I am hit by the smell of the salt
sea. I have always loved being by the coast and the scent of the sea
adds to my anticipation of the week to come. The Mallaig Backpackers
is within spitting distance of the train station, as is pretty much
everywhere in Mallaig, and within 10 minutes I'm desperately trying
to get to sleep so that tomorrow will arrive as fast as possible.
Awake with the birds I'm showered,
shaved and fed before seven and eager to get on with my day. Mallaig,
it seems, has other ideas. Nothing in this sleepy wee village seems
to get going til the back of nine and so I have plenty of time to
explore before I get my ferry to Eigg.
Mallaig is small and extremely
charming. The centre of the village is home to shops and restaurants
focussed on the seasonal tourist trade and directly abuts the harbour
itself. Gift shops and sea food cafés give way abruptly to the
industrial practicalities of a working harbour. Trucks waiting to
load and unload, cranes, fishing nets and docked fishing boats crowd
the docks and are overlooked by this fantastic mural on one of the
harbour offices.
As Mallaig is so wee I have finished my
early morning perambulations within a half hour or so and before
eight o'clock has come the sun is already beating down on me. I beat
a retreat to the cafe garden of the backpackers and enjoy the early
morning sun. Something I haven't done, as I live in Glasgow, in quite
some time.
At nine the Fisherman's Mission opens
and so I pack my bags and head down to treat myself to a fried
breakfast and a chance to eavesdrop on the conversations of fishermen
recently returned from the sea and their families. All the while
trying not to giggle in an overly encouraging manner at the toddler
in frilly pink determinedly rearranging the Mission cutlery carefully
onto the floor. Much to her mother's chagrin. :)
Following a hearty breakfast I head for
the ferry and onwards to Eigg.
The water around Mallaig is crystal
clear in a way that one forgets non-potable water can be when one
lives in an urban environment. The clarity soon disappears however as
the sea bed rapidly falls away from us as the ferry pulls away from
the harbour. The water takes on an Homeric wine dark quality as
Mallaig falls behind us. The tips of the waves erupt in dazzling
brilliance as they catch the rays of the morning sun. Constellations
form on the waves in an instant and disappear just as rapidly
painting a starscape on the canvas of the dark, dark sea.
Passengers for Eigg, Rhum and the other
small isles crowd the deck looking for sign of the marvellous marine
life, whales, dolphins and sun fish, that frequent these Scottish
waters. Today all is calm though and the only things that disturb to
the surface of the water around us is the occasional seabird and the
sun beams dancing on the waves.
Eigg and Rhum sit heavily on the sea
before us and the only clouds that hang in the sky do so directly
above either island. Over Rhum the cloud is torn by the jagged teeth
of the islands iconic mountains. Amusingly, to me anyway, the cloud
hanging over Eigg had the appearance of a vast sword laying on an
equally vast anvil. Or perhaps overexposure to clean air and sunshine
is feeding my inner hippy.
One's first impression of Eigg is
inevitably dominated by An Sgur the island's only peak. The lop sided
peak gives the island a kind of motion. As if it is in the process of
pushing itself out of the cold sea to warm itself in the burning sun.
The first chance I get I'm going to climb that peak.
We sail slowly below the eastern cliffs
of Eigg before the ferry performs a laborious turn on it's axis, a
manoeuvre any London cabbie would be proud of, and reverses into Eigg
harbour.
I'm met at the harbour shop by John
hunter. You can tell Hunter is an archaeologist as he has a
mischievous look to him and dirty knees. (and I really hope he
doesn't read that before he fills out my feedback form that gives me
credit at Uni for the field work)
John H and Christina G(kinda like Gina
g but awesome and not crap in the slightest) are picking up supplies
for the next few days meals. Supplies are only shipped from the
mainland on certain days of the week so you have to order in advance
if you want anything particular that the shop wouldn't normally
stock.
Supplies are not the only thing being
picked up however. There are certain specialist archaeological
resources that need to be shipped in to any dig site on a regular
basis. It had fallen on Christina to pick them up this time around.
She had a very specific mandate to acquire, and here I quote
directly, “hunners, and hunenrs of cans of beer”. This bodes well
for the coming days.
Laden with supplies and archaeologists
John H's landrover snakes through the lanes of Eigg the short
distance to the renovated barn that will be my home til the weekend
and most of the attendees home for the next three weeks. The Glebe
Barn sits hidden from the main road by the undulating landscape of
the island and looks out over the dig site on to the sea and the
mainland.
The dig site is a mere 10 minute walk
through knee high ferns and along a peacefully quiet country lane. We
reach the site just in time for lunch and so I get to meet everyone
all at once. Which is a fantastic way to ensure that I remember
absolutely no one's name. Of course I already know some of the folk
in attendance such as the tremendous Tessi L, the charismatic Cameron
McN, the aforementioned Christina G and the oh so metal Neil E \m/ (I
couldn't think of anything beginning with N that was suitable ok?)
Familiar faces and some brand spanking new ones. Today keeps getting
better.
After a quick lunch in the sun everyone
aside from my good self returns to work. The reason that I don't
crack right on has little to do with my appreciation for sublime
idleness but that John H is giving a tour of site to visitors and my
tagging along seems the quickest way to get me up to speed on things.
Whilst the site itself isn't massive
the trenches being dug today are rather spread out, for reasons that
shall become clear, around the church yard. At the northernmost edge
of the site sits the ruined 16th century Kildonnan Chapel; along the
northernmost wall of which are two test trenches looking to expose
the foundations of the building and in doing so see if it sits upon
an earlier structure.
Just to the south of the chapel a row
of small 1 meter square trenches have been opened across the church
yrad. These serve the purpose of giving us an idea of the geology of
the land, how high the underlying bedrock and the pre-human activity
soil layer is, and to hopefully touch on features that appeared in an
earlier geophysical survey that was carried out.
In the centre of the graveyard an
impressive 14th century carved cross stand bereft of it's head.
Leaning against the plinth lies the head of a similar cross but not
the one that stands in the churchyard. I love the little mysteries
like this that archaeology throws up. :)
click image for a related link
Slightly farther south than the cross
lies a long 1 meter by 5 meter trench. This trench lies along what
appears to be an artificial, i.e human made, feature that looks like
an enclosure of some kind.
Slightly farther south again a wee
team, Christina G, Kasha and Alan, are planning the site. What this
means is that they are taking detailed measurements of the entire
site and producing a drawing that maps out the location of the
various trenches with relation to features within the site. This plan
can then be fused with other data sets, such as geophys and
topographic survey, to produce an extremely accurate rendering of the
site.
Just around the corner and to the west
another test trench has been put into the base of the corner of the
dry stone wall that bounds much of the graveyard. The reason for this
is that the wall north to south is linear but then all of a sudden
curves outwards from the graveyard before curving back in to the
south linear wall. It is thought that the curved wall may have been
part of an earlier enclosure, the remains of which seem to be
apparent in raised sections of the ground within this part of the
graveyard.
North again from this trench we have
our final test trench that cuts across the base of the linear dry
stone wall and into the surface of the graveyard that rises steeply
away from the wall.
With the tour over I am set to work on
one of the wee 1x1 test pits. I make slow work of this trench. But
hey, it's been a full couple of days, I hardly slept last night and I
haven't been anywhere near an excavation in nearly a year! Cut me
some slack. :P The trench produces absolutely nothing in the way of
either features or finds and towards the end of the day Neil \m/ E
comes to give me a hand finishing cleaning it back to the natural
layer.
It was shortly after Neil's arrival
that the dreaded Scottish midge first made an appearance. I, being a
forward thinking kind of cat, had thought to bring some Avon Skin so
Soft with me. A 'moisturiser' so full of vile and noxious chemicals
that the Ministry of Defence have approved it for keeping “vicious
wee bastards”(technical term) away.
We hurriedly doused ourselves with as
much of the toxic substance as we dared and lo! It worked! Well. That
is. It worked until they sent in the kamikaze squad. Whilst being
covered, on the face and arms, with the corpses of one's fallen foes
may appeal to members of a Norwegian Black Metal band, on a gentleman
of my standing it is not a good look.
Whilst the wee test pits produce little
what they do give us is an image of the lay of the land. They also
tell us where things aren't. Which is almost as important as telling
us where things are. ;)
At day's end we clear any loose soil
from our trenches, pack away our tools and head back to the Glebe.
Hiiiii Hooooo...wait, that's supposed to be at the other end of the
day... never mind.
For some reason the walk back up the
hill to the Glebe takes longer than the walk down...
I'll not bore you with the details of
dinner, if that sort of thing floats your boat then there's a young lady in Perthshire who writes of such matters, aside from to say that
the system for preparing the evening meal struck me as rather odd.
Each night two people volunteer to cook a culinary delight, nothing
odd in that you say, but then they are also to wash up all the plates
and pots afterwards. That just seems odd. Surely two should cook and
another two wash up. Ach well, ours is not to reason why, ours is but
to dig and die.
After dinner was a civilised affair. A
few light ales and some stimulating conversations followed by an
early night. trans. I drank far too much and probably made a fanny of
myself.
Come the morning, and having
embarrassed myself by snoring like a chain smoking warthog with a
sinus problem, it's time to head back to site.
Hey Hooooo! See, I did it at the right
end of the day this time. AND in German cos I'm super cosmopolitan
like that.
Today we cracked into the 5x1 trench
across the apparent enclosure. This took four of us a sizeable chunk
of the day and by early afternoon it was clear that what looked like
an artificial feature was in fact natural. A ditch may have been cut
beside the natural rise in the geology but it was not as it had
seemed prior to excavation. This illustrates quite well that without
excavation subterranean features identified by survey are, as Dr Dene
Wright puts it, like Schroedinger's Cat. They are both natural and
unnatural features until we take a trowel to them.
\m/
From this point on I don't want to walk
too much about the technicalities of the dig. To do so would lead to
speculation about features that have appeared and that speculation
may well be totally incorrect. Instead I just want to make a couple
of observations. One about digs in general and a couple about Eigg
itself.
One of the main things that comes to
mind when I'm taking part in any form of archaeological field work,
and bear in mind that my experience so far is entirely via academic
institutions – I have no idea what work in commercial archaeology
is like, is the time that I spent on the environmental protest camps
of the 1990s and early 2000s. The manual graft, the sitting around on
lunch breaks having conversations that can veer from the
philosophical to the mundane, the cooking, eating and generally
living together. All remind me in many ways of the life on a protest
camp. There is a kind of collectivity that manifests on site and
whilst there is a definite hierarchy from the site director through
supervisors to us lowly plebs, that hierarchy is fairly casual and
informal. I think that much of this comes from the fact that often on
this sort of thing the authority that a person possesses is based
upon their knowledge and experience rather than them simply having
authority due to social or economic status. Obviously other forms of
organisation would be preferable but this style of work does
contribute to a much more pleasant working experience. That and the
mud, rain, sun and over consumption of alcohol really remind me of
the good old days of saving the countryside one bit at a time.
I'm just glad that there are a lot less
dogs and crystal gazing, yoghurt weaving hippies. There are still far too many dowsers mind you.
My second observation is about Eigg
itself. Eigg seems to be something of a model community. The
community buy out of the island, the community owned and run
sustainable power production(which at times produces too much power!)
and the community owned and run broadband service show that
communities can be empowered even within the constraints of
capitalism. Whilst the Eigg model may not be, in and of itself,
revolutionary it does have some revolutionary inklings. For one thing
it has allowed the community to experience first hand the power that
they can have when they organise as a community. Because of this I
think that those who seek to build power in working class communities
should take inspiration from this. The struggle to rid themselves of
their absentee landlord has drawn together this community and allowed
them to improve their lives in ways that would seem unimaginable to
most people living in the high rises and schemes of Glasgow.
Finally I would like to talk about my,
non-archaeological, highlight of the week. Due to the fact that many
of those on the dig hail from Englandshire they were keen to watch
the England vs. Ukraine match on the tv. As the Glebe doesn't have a
tv we were invited to watch the game at the house of one of the
locals(seriously, this place is awesome). Bully for them I thought. I
happen to prefer route canal work to football and so decided to spend
the evening exploring the island. There is plenty of archaeology to
keep a geek like me happy after all!
My exploratory plans were however
ruined by Ms Tessi L who cajoled and coerced, and at one point it
bordered on intimidated, into going along to watch the game. So, come
seven fifteen I bundled into the island's minibus taxi and was
whisked away through the fantastic scenery I was planning on
exploring to the house of Jacky and Mick to watch the game. And
bizarrely enough I can't thank the, borderline bullying, Ms Tessi L
for dragging me out there for Jacky and Mick live in one of the most
beautiful spots I have ever seen in my entire life.
Nestled below the cliffs of the
northern part of the island looking out over the sea to Rhum whilst
the 'old man' points towards the heavens the location was truly
breathtaking.
The majority of people shuffled inside
to watch some overpaid prima donnas kick a bit of dead pig about a
field whilst myself and Christina G drank in the surroundings, swang
on the swings and played stick with the dogs whilst surrounded by a
scene straight out of every work of fantastic fiction I have ever
read.
As the wind carried a bit of a chill we
retired eventually to what was once the shed for a diesel generator
but now houses Mick's own personal boozer, The Whale's Head.
Having
gotten tired of the island not having a proper pub, the café at the
harbour serves as a bar but it isn't a 'pub' if you see what I mean,
Mick renovated his old generator shed and installed benches, tables,
a dart board and a computer duke box. The only problem was that he
couldn't fit a pool table in. Not one to be defeated by such things
as physics and common sense Mick came up with a solution that borders
on the genius of Einstein and the artistry of Picasso.
Beers were supped pool was played and
darts were thrown. I even got a bulls eye at the darts. Admittedly I
was aiming for a triple 20 but you hey ho. :)
As the sun began to dip below the
mountains of Rhum I took myself outside for a smoke and was greeted
by something spectacular. A cloud had settled over the teeth of Rhum
and in doing so obscured the setting sun. This had the effect of
making the beams of the dying sun appear to roll from the clouds and
down the sides to the mountainous teeth of the island. Like golden
tears painting the mountainside, this was the sort of sight that I
imagine reinforces the belief of those of the various faiths of the
world. For me however it makes me think that if this tiny and
unremarkable corner of the universe is capable of producing such gut
wrenching beauty, merely through an accident of optics and weather,
then how much more beauty must there be in the universe for us to
experience? Now if we could just stop being dicks to one another for
like five minutes, we might get the chance to go and see.
This leaves me in the odd position of
actually wanting England to win their next game in the competition so
that I will get another chance to visit this amazing place.
Also, the next day, I found out that apparently* Mick used to play for Splodgenesabounds!!!!!!!!
ZOMG ZOMG ZOMG ZOMG Fan boy melt
down!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
