WildLuing is a collection of eight self-catering pods which sit on a grassy hillside overlooking Torsa Bay on the Isle of Luing
No one I speak to has heard of the Isle of Luing. “Enjoy Lewis!” a well-meaning pal messages the day my spouse and I head off. Our destination is in fact 200 miles south of Lewis, one of the Slate Islands which are just below Oban. Exploring Scotland’s lesser-known islands is a goal of mine, so you can imagine my delight when I discover that the route to Luing passes through the equally tiny Seil (pronounced ‘seal’). After pootling over the bridge and onto Seil, Luing (‘ling’) is just a three-minute ferry ride away. Saying a reluctant farewell to the ferry dog, we continue on to WildLuing, our hosts for the next few days.
Created by Emily and Jack Cadzow (whose family owns the island), WildLuing is a collection of eight self-catering pods which sit on a grassy hillside overlooking Torsa Bay. “We chose this spot for its spectacular sunrise views, and because it’s sheltered from the west wind,” explains Emily when we catch up later. “The pods are inspired by the shape of the Nissen hut, and by pigsties! They were designed and built from scratch by Jack and his brother Archie on the family farm.”
We let ourselves into Sula, our pod, and are immediately struck by the interiors. Far from being dark or cramped (as you might expect from something inspired by a pigsty), light streams in from the wide glass doors at the entrance and a window at the opposite end. The walls are lined with Georgian-style panelling painted in a dusky green and the curved ceilings are pleasingly high. There’s even a roll-top bath sitting smugly at the end of the super-king bed. This is glamping with knobs on.
As has become tradition on these trips, the weather is ridiculously balmy: we visit in mid- September and see highs of 29. Our first priority is to fling open the glass doors and settle on the private deck, faces turned to the sun. We’ve been told that Luing is a haven for wildlife, so we keep our eyes trained on the water, hoping to spot otters, seals, eagles and perhaps a puffin or two.
After twice eagerly mistaking the same rock for a seal, I’m sent off in search of sustenance and guiltily remember I was supposed to stock up on groceries as we passed through Oban. WildLuing has my back, though. I find homemade granola and a freshly baked sourdough on the kitchen counter and the fridge is packed with food. Juice, milk, eggs, hearty vegetable stew, slabs of sticky toffee pudding, and there’s even a Luing steak for my omnivorous other half.
Food crisis averted (there’s no supermarket on the island, but there is a handy general store attached to the post office), we meander down to the water’s edge. It’s here that we realise why these are called the Slate Islands. The shoreline is completely covered in small, flat pieces of slate – perfect for skimming. After a few lessons on posture and correct wrist angles, we spend the most wholesome hour ricocheting stones across the water. We’re not quite ready for the world championships (held on neighbouring Easdale), but give us a few years.
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From here we have a good view of the Observatory, the largest building on the WildLuing site. “This is where the magic happens for private groups,” says Emily. “There’s an open-plan commercial kitchen where you can watch our local chefs cook up a seafood extravaganza, plus large sofas and shared tables. The space lends itself well to yoga retreats, cooking classes, foraging weekends, art retreats and more.”
We clamber back up the path and spend the rest of the evening out on Sula’s deck, devouring the WildLuing feast and stoking the fire-pit to keep the midges at bay. Our luck clings on the following morning as another scorching day stretches out ahead of us. After breakfast on the deck, we leave to explore the rest of Luing. It doesn’t have to take long, as the island is only six miles from top to tail, but there’s absolutely no reason to rush. We stop to find Viking graffiti on the ruins of Kilchattan church and then meander on to the Atlantic Islands Centre, which boasts the only cafe on the island, as well as local history exhibits.
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We follow the road back down to Toberonochy village and find lines of traditional white cottages, some of which are now artists’ studios, with doors flung open and peaceful music drifting out. A handful of locals are tending to impressive floral displays, and a lone walker crosses along the shore. I get the sense that here, time isn’t the enemy, it’ll quite happily wait.
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