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If you are simply browsing, then you may find this story slightly amusing; but if you are thinking of finding this magic place, then think again:
It was at the end of August 1981 when I last set foot on that terrible Island and there is nothing on earth that could persuade me to return. Like many travellers before me I found the Island and its people completely charming. I had three weeks to explore and the summer was unusually kind. I loved the absolute solitude, and I wandered with my backpack quite aimlessly, following the folds in the land, and walking the streams in the the Red Cuillin Hills .
After stocking up on provisions at Sligachan, I walked to Loch Ainort and towards Garbh-Bheinn. By the early afternoon the day had become so warm that I decided to rest at the base of a most beautiful waterfall. I had only closed my eyes for a few minutes when I was aroused by the sound of singing. It was a melody that flowed with the falling water and subtly filled that Summers afternoon.
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Off to the left I saw for the first time that the stones under the trees were laid out in an ancient stone circle. A large flat slab with a thick lichen covering formed a natural alter beneath the massive recumbent stone framed by two towering flankers that must have stood guard for thousands of years. Still the source of the music was not visible, and so like a hunter after his quarry, I set off up the shallow rise leaving behind my pack, and taking only my camera.
The Stories of the Fay or the little people are legend in many early societies and their images still cling to settlements in more remote areas, or so I thought. It is quite a shock in adulthood to face the dreams of your childhood, but that is exactly what I had to come to terms with in the moment that I crested the rise to get a good view of the stone circle and the pool beyond. There bathing in the pool in full sunlight were five elfin girls , almost invisible with the sunlight flickering across the water, but between the pool and the ancient stones stood the smallest old and bent man that I had ever seen. His skin was gnarled and burned and his limbs were crooked and twisted like the branches of a tree.
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There are several moments in my life that are burned clear in my memory, and this was such an event. For how long I stood as if frozen in time, I do not know, but as I tried to take in the full implication of what I saw, a cloud passed in front of the sun, and a gentle breeze blew against my cold skin. The pool was suddenly deserted, and the old man had disappeared as if he had melted into the earth. I was filled with the most overwhelming feeling of loss and despair, as I desperately cast around for some evidence of the scene that had so clearly lain before me.
I stood in horror as I discovered the image of the old man in the form of an ancient ivy tree leaning against the stone wall beside the pool. I know this was more than illusion; more than magic; this was a spiritual life that mankind forgot many generations ago, and I am terrified of its power. I have never returned to that place again, but I cannot erase the terrifying memory from my dreams.
