Chapel Well

I’ve come to the conclusion that anyone fit enough to get to this well can’t be ailing that badly.
This was the toughest one yet.
It occurred to me as I was scrabbling along precipitous cliffs many many feet above jagged rocks and deep swell that I probably ought to record somewhere that if I am ever lost on such a mission that it needs to be recorded that ‘she wouldn’t have had it any other way ... on a holy well quest’.
I really had checked this one out beforehand but, boy, I never expected it to be this difficult. I walked from the Mull along the cliff path to where I thought it should be but, not a sign of anything other than ridiculously precipitous cliff. This is supposed to be a well that the whole village rolled along to.
I came across a sign board that said it was very difficult to get to and should only be attempted with local guidance.
Having looked and gone off piste, I started to think that every little nook and cavern could be a well. I decided to go as far as the remains of Kirkmaiden Church and then just enjoy the walk. The track felt deeply ancient and lined with sloes and blackberries. I picked a bag of sloes and was relieved to chomp on the blackberries having forgotten to bring any food or water.
Fortified I headed back and then decided to venture back out to the cliff again, after all, I’ve come all this way ... just one more look and investigate.
As I peered over the edges there wasn’t a single hint or clue of anything ... until, as I turned I just caught sight of something way below. Stonework ... surely that must be the chapel. I’d seen a photo of it. That had to be it. Excitedly I scrambled down realising that if I missed a footing it would be non-stop.
As I got towards the line of the chapel I looked across rocks, deep water, and what looked like an impossibility. All I could think was that it was a bloody miracle that anyone got to it, let alone any miracles performed when they got there.

I couldn’t bear to have got so close but it seemed too risky so I scrambled back up the cliff. Halfway up I looked back. There it was, that had to be it (you get some idea of what I was looking at from the top right of the collage in extras).

It was no good. I had to try again. I found another gradient that shimmied along the side until I reached a spot that I could take the photo. I thought about going on but the route to it crossed a gully with the tide in. Again I decided it was too dodgy but i checked the time and knew the tide was on the turn so it wasn’t going to come in any more than it had. I left my bag and did a trial run. It was doable. I went back, took off excess clothing, zipped my phone in my pocket, and went for it again. What a spot. I had to go in. I hadn’t got this far without going for the full immersion.
I was bought up going to the local Baptist church and don’t think I’ve been christened so it would seem that I’ve just had my full baptism then! I’m a bit too much of a heathen but, I have to say, this was ... well, I’m lost for words to be honest.
I sat and pondered how on earth folk managed to get to this spot. Maybe by boat. Perhaps it’s different at low tide. I reckoned Medana was pretty determined to elude her suitor (I’ll add a link to the whole story). I reckoned her suitor must have been pretty determined to find her, poor chap.

Anyway, elated and exhausted, I headed round the Mull back to the lighthouse (bottom right on the extra) and headed back to the campsite.

I’ve even stated reading (Ghostwritten - David Mitchell. I grabbed from the bookshelf as I left home). Now that’s a bloody miracle.