We had left Callanish II in a slightly confused state of mind. Callanish III had been lovely, Callanish II the complete opposite. We picked ourselves up and headed for the recommended Carloway Broch – a partially reconstructed shelter that we expected would be like a small stone shelter big enough to possibly fit us both in. Our sense of scale was about to be flabbergasted.
Dun Carloway Broch looked like a small pillar-box hat on a bald man’s head as we approached it from the landward side. The winds had decided to have a contest to see which of the Four Winds could rip our faces off, but still we approached the round stone tower. As we neared the small entrance portal we were literally stopped in our tracks by the screams of the winds. I crouched and entered. Complete silence! I was startled, my mind thinking that perhaps I had made the wind up or something. I bobbed my head back out for a second only to get an ear-lashing blast that made my hat shift nervously and made my eyes squint. Back in again – pure silence. Amazing!
Both inside now we marvelled at the architecture – half exposed circular staircases that spiralled upwards between two layers of stone. Cavity walls! Around the base were three small square openings. This looked like dowsing territory, so I whipped them out (sounds like a Frankie Howard gag).
I started with one of the square openings. A female line came out and spiralled four or five times into the very centre of the broch. Good start. Female lines came out of and went into each of the holes, one of them leading out of the entrance door. I dowsed for a male line in the doorway. Yes, there was one which spiralled loosely into the broch and then joined to a mound of irregular stone on the floor inside the broch. This stone had not been cleared or chipped away to make the floor even like the other parts – and it had two parallel lines etched into it. The male line came into the stone and then followed the line and width of these scores in the rock.
Lines on stone in broch show male energy line location and direction.
I went back to the entrance again. A male and a female line here on either side of the entry. Wat about the middle? I dowsed across to find a neutral line there and followed in straight to the back wall – completely straight. I turned around to see where this line through the doorway pointed…
At a nipple, by the look of it! I got out my compass and checked the alignment. I was facing due North. It struck me that this all fitted into some kind of design principle and aligned with something that I couldn’t determine at this scale. I would check to see if it was connected directly with something further south or north one day soon. I went to sit on the unusual rock, which had a white stream power centre on it. We both did. We smiled.
As we sat there, me stratching my head at the fact that the energies seemed to map themselves along the lines scored in the rock, who should make an appearance? The lone mad cyclist. He looked wild-eyed and inquisitive and we chatted briefly about the splendour of the construction, and his foolhardy choice of a day to be cycling. We retreated to the car to let him absorb the same atmosphere of stillness that we had just enjoyed, sheltering from the elements.
Having heard, however, that Sunday was not a day to be without provisions on an island this far from a corner shop we had sandwiches, and were now seeking out a good place to eat them before continuing our site visits. Dalmore beach (Dail mor) looked promising, so we determined to head for that. We parked up to watch the white horses on the waves tumbling backwards in the high winds then crashing in orchestral union across the expanse of the bay. The birds had grounded themselves and hung around on the beach looking pensive and shifty, out of their element.
M and I spent some time drawing spirals, shapes and names into the pristine expanse of sand, then headed back to the car with a buzzing feeling in our heads and hearts.
We stopped briefly at Na Gearrannan Village – a vision of how people once lived. It was a restored and rebuilt village of thatched longhouses called blackhouses. We spent far too long in the toilets examining the way these buildings were constructed, but luckily we were the only visitors for the duration. Not a tourist day today!
Our last stop that day was the Truiseil Stone – a huge menhir, twenty or so feet high. I dowsed it eagerly finding that the stone was strongly male (not a great surprise). I wondered if it had a wide-ranging energy field, as it was so high. I retreated down the small aimless path to a good distance and began dowsing for its edge. About thirty feet away I got a barrier response and looked down to spot a stone embedded in the path at that point. It extended to the same length on both sides.
There were male lines sinewing fairly directly into the stone along the centre line of the path. Female lines wavering around to touch each edge of the path (skirting along edge of a dip in the path on one side). There was a feeling of immense power when walking into the nemeton field. I asked the rods to find the strongest and most beneficial place for me to stand. I walked around the stone’s base until I stopped at the flat side (facing camera in picture below). Here I felt warm, bubbling with subtle gentle rising energy which felt like an internal bubble bath. I hung around for a while enjoying the experience. Where was the wind? I could see its effects in the grass of the fields around me but couldn’t really hear much of it, and could barely feel it blowing, yet I knew it was still very strong all around me. Strange.
Showing extent of nemeton, from pillar to outlier – 30+ feet.
We had enjoyed a full weekend of interesting, amazing sites and sights. The highland lochs, the pass of Glen Coe, the Argyll & Bute forests, the mountains of Skye and Harris, the Coullins in perfect white shroud, Callanish stone circles aplenty, lone standing stones, ancient stone towers of superb construction, a huge menhir, eagles and deer, bays and beaches. It really had been a treat for the senses and the soul.
Gwas.
Following the northern lights and sights.
