The Landscape Photographers Diary Podcast - Episode Two 'The Kings Cave'

My name is Suzannah Mary and this is ‘A Landscape Photographers Diary’, an immersive story of wild adventures in nature. Welcome to episode two, we return to the Isle of Arran following last weeks episode, ‘The Mountain Power’. This weeks story is called ‘The Kings Cave’, a continuation of an adventure on the beautiful isle of Arran in Scotland. I’d love to hear your adventure stories too, if you’d like your story featured by me and shared to inspire others please write in via www.suzannahmary.com.

So let’s start off with relaxing your body so you can fully focus on the story. Whether your driving to work or winding down for the night. Take a long slow deep breath in and slowly, breath out. Now picture some beautiful clear water, crystal clear with an Aquamarine hue. It is gently lapping against the pebbles in the sunlight. The water looks so inviting, quenching. You kneel down to touch the water, it runs in-between your fingers as the waves gently pull the water to shore. Welcome to the Isle of Arran. An island full of mountains, an island beaming with adventure.

The wind in the near by fields rustled the tall grass and circled my tent. It banged on the tent door. It told me it was time to wake up. I looked at the tent ceiling to see small droplets of water which had formed on the fabric walls, I followed the outline of the tent roof and could see shadows of bugs as they rested on the warmth of the night. I looked at each shape and shadow, trying to make out what each insect was. I lied there for a second. I was one of them, I was a bug too. Nestling in the grass and seeking shelter from the cold. Camping comes with its nostalgic notions. The realness of wild camping comes with all the delights, even the small creatures are part of the experience. Part of the immersion in nature.

I opened the tent door and the day was grey and damp, the large mountains were still watching over me, ever lasting, ever growing. I felt them, their tall presence was like a siren. It boomed through the valley and echoed into the fields around me. Silent and loud. The mist was still lingering at the top of the mountain, rolling endlessly into the sky. I packed up my tent and made a cup of tea. I warmed my hands on the stove as I prepared breakfast. My next adventure was about to unfold. Due to the weather changing I had decided I would camp under shelter during the poor weather. Whilst humbling through books the day before I stumbled across a section of a guide book which spoke of a magical cave called ’The Kings Cave’. I decided that would be my place of refuge for the night. I finished my tea and set off for the ocean.

The trail began through woodland. The branches creaked above as the wind caught their arms and shook their branches like a handshake in the canopy. The woodland was very dense, as I walked along the path I looked deep into the forest to see eloping darkness. The woodland was packed tightly with pine, there was little space for any light or life to enter. I continued on foot along the coastal track. My first view of the ocean fell before me as I left the woodland. A vast expanse of blue stretched across the horizon like a canvas. To my left was the path which had large carvings of rocks protruding out from the headland. Collums of dusty yellow sandstone with pockets of dark caves had been carved out and shaped by nature. Like a honeycombe hive, the caves littered the stone wall all the way along the coast. I walked past each one until I reached a large cave which seemed peculiar. It was occupied by a crowd of large standing stones which had been balanced, one on top of another. The balanced stone had a feeling of calmness and presence. They stood together silent and unified. The art of stone balancing is the ability to find a specific balance point within each rock so they harmonise together in a stack. Hundreds of stacks saturated the cave floor and spilled out onto the path. There was a feeling of peace as I gazed upon the subjects below. Rugged rocks, smooth rocks all different shapes and sizes fitted together perfectly in complete coalation. I took a moment for myself, I breathed in deeply. I could feel the energy of the people before. I could see each of them, carefully balancing the fragments of the earth and balancing themselves in the process.

Further down the path I came to my destination, ’The Kings Cave’ also known as Fingals Cave. A large space carved into the rocks surface. Dark, deep and hollow. A refuge nestled in the crevice of the Sandstone. I approached the cave, which had been enclosed with large metal gates. I walked through and entered the dark den. There was a feeling of eeriness, I stood alone in the cave. Each step was a leap into the unknown, my heart pounding like a wild drum, echoing off the stone walls. My eyes adjusted as I scanned the cave walls. I felt a chilly dampness swaddle me. I walked through the empty space, in the footsteps of many before me. The foot steps of history were beneath my feet. Emerging from the walls were writings, scarred into its surface. In the deepest part of the cave, a large shape of a cross was etched into the rock. It shone, illuminated by the subdued light bellowing in from the cave entrance. A variety of Celtic carvings and wild animal shapes danced across the ceiling in unity together. A language since lost, the symbols unknown. Pictures of the animals however, I fully understood. A language never lost, Imagery is an everlasting dialect, a universal language which stands the test if time. From the aboriginal paintings in Africa to the carvings of horses that laid here in this cave. It’s once said that Robert the Bruce once hid in this cave and was inspired by a spider weaving its web. In 1306, Robert Bruce failed in his attempt to claim the Scottish throne. Whilst seeking refuge he observed a spider spinning his web. Over and over the spider began and failed to spindle a perfect web. After numerous attempts it finally succeeded and created the perfect web. It is said that Robert the Bruce was Inspired by the spider's refusal to give up and continued in his fight to take the throne. After years of failure and defeat, his efforts eventually led to success. I likened this journey to my own, time and time again taking failed photographs I knew I would eventually succeed. I just needed to keep going. I didn’t feel the pull to capture an image during this trip, I was struggling to find any creative energy and saw myself as the spider which once wove here. I sat in the stillness and soaked in the landscape around me like water to a sponge before setting up camp in a near by cave.

The light faded and my tent was pitched in a large cave offering shelter and warmth. The mouth of the cave was shrouded in bluebells and wild garlic, the scent filled the cave and tingled my nose. I made some food on the stove and looked out of the cave to the ocean. It was my companion for the night, its large presence filling the space of the cave making me feel small and enclosed. Cotton wool clouds, silky water. The sea was a deep grey blue colour, the sky above was a blanket of greyness which rolled into the horizon. I looked out into the vast open space. Suddenly there was a sound of crashing and splashing. My tummy felt a rush of butterflies, what was that sound? I rushed down to the entrance of the cave. The cave went straight onto a set of rocks which led out to the sea. I looked out to the ocean from the rocks to see what the sound was. Then, there it was. Splash! A dolphin emerged from the water, then another and another. A pod flurried through the bay chasing each other. They dived in and out of the water like a wave, flowing forwards together in unity. I felt this feeling awe and amazement wash over me, its rose up within me from the ground into my heart and out into the ocean unwaivered by my prescence. Nature at its most intimate was unfolding before my eyes, I felt so privileged to have had such an amazing encounter. The pod swam off into the horizon and then they were gone. A smile crept across my face and lingered for a while after.

The day faded into darkness and I set up camp once more. This time I was not alone. Crunch crunch crunch I heard in the darkness of the night. The crunching got louder and louder, closer and closer. Footsteps. They circled my tent. I lay still, my body frozen. My breath a whisper. The footsteps then faded off into the distance. I breathed a sigh of relief, but it wasn’t over. A short while later they were back, walking backwards and forwards. Unsure and uneasy. Maybe they were just as afraid as I was? I lay still, uneasy, unmoved. The footsteps then disappeared for the final time. Maybe they were just as frightened as I was. Maybe they were just as curious as I was? I then heard the pounding of the rain on the surface of the sea water. It shattered the glassy water as the waves rolled slowly against the rocky shore. I lay co-cooced by the cave from the stormy clouds above and drifted off to sleep to the sound of the waves. How like life the waves were, with its ebbs and flows. Peaceful at times, and turbulent at others. Yet, we learn to keep going, just like the persistent waves that never stop to reach the shore. Just like the spider who learned to weave the perfect web.

Check out my Youtube Channel for behind the scenes and the real life videos of these stories along with my photography work on Instagram at Suzannah Mary. Thanks for reading.