Go Feet: Running Islay (6): Port Ellen to Kilnaughton and Singing Sands (10k there & back)

Thursday, 16 August 2018

Running Islay (6): Port Ellen to Kilnaughton and Singing Sands (10k there & back)

The bay at Kilnaughton has one of the finest beaches on the south of Islay, and also includes historic cemeteries, a lighthouse and the hidden 'Singing Sands' beach. And its an easy run from Port Ellen.

Heading out from Port Ellen towards Bowmore there is a side road going off to the left towards the Port Ellen Maltings. Take this road and follow it as goes out of town and towards the Oa, basically just taking the left turns which keep you closest to the coast.

After about two miles you will see a number of cemeteries on the left side of the road, run past the last one and take the track to the left down to the sea.

After passing the Kilnaughton Old Churchyard with its ruined chapel (above), you will come to the beach. This is worth exploring as is the churchyard and the adjacent Kilnaughton Military Cemetery

This was made to bury the dead of the SS Tuscania, a ship sunk off Islay by a German torpedo in 1918 with more than 200 deaths - though most of the American dead buried there were later removed to the USA.

The beach at Kilnaughton

Running round to the right you come to the 1830s Carraig Fhada Lighthouse. You can go right up to it via a footbridge. I have seen seals there, others have seen sea otters, so look out for wildlife.

Doubling back, near to the lighthouse you will see a sign to the Singing Sands. If you follow this short path behind the houses and over the hill you will come to the secluded beach of this name (known in Gaelic though as Traigh Bhan = white beach).

Singing Sands

From Port Ellen to here and back is around 10k, mostly on road (strava of my run here)

This area has a special significance to me, having spent many happy hours on the beach from childhood. My grandparents Neil Orr (1906-1980) and Janet MacTaggart (d.1990) are buried in the Churchyard, and you can also take a rest there on a bench dedicated to my dad, Dugald Orr (1935-1997).