How a World Wonder Hid Beside a Holy Isle
Staffa’s Silent Secret
In the swirling mists of the Hebridean sea, just a short boat ride from the sacred island of Iona, lies another island—small, mysterious, and once completely overlooked. This is Staffa, an isolated outcrop of basalt columns rising from the sea like an ancient fortress. For centuries, it remained a silent neighbor to Iona, invisible to history despite its astonishing geological beauty. Staffa, with its famous cave and hexagonal stone formations, is now one of the most awe-inspiring natural wonders in Scotland. And yet, for more than a thousand years, it was barely whispered about—even while Iona grew into one of the most hallowed religious sites in the British Isles.
The story of Staffa is a curious one. How could a place so extraordinary in form remain uncelebrated for so long? The answer may lie in the quiet contrast between Iona's sacred story and Staffa's untamed nature—one built by spiritual discipline, the other shaped by fire, water, and silence.
The Lost Cave in the Shadow of Columba
Staffa’s geological story began long before Columba ever set foot on Iona. Formed by ancient lava flows, its columns are part of the same volcanic legacy that shaped nearby Mull and even the Giant’s Causeway in Northern Ireland. The island is famous today for Fingal’s Cave, a sea cavern carved entirely from those tall, black, hexagonal basalt pillars, where ocean waves echo like an organ played by the Earth itself.
And yet, this masterpiece of nature—majestic, harmonious, and utterly unique—remained unknown to the world until the 18th century.
We can imagine Columba, or any of his successors, standing on Iona’s hills and gazing across the Sound. Staffa was there. They saw it. The outline of its cliffed edge, flat-topped and sloping sharply upward to the west, was unmistakable. But no chronicler, monk, or mapmaker made mention of the cave. No lore of the early Celtic church refers to it. For all its drama and power, Staffa kept its secret.
It wasn’t until 1772 that Sir Joseph Banks, the famous naturalist and explorer, stepped ashore and saw what centuries had missed. His published accounts lit a spark of fascination. Artists and poets followed. Mendelssohn was so moved by the sound and space of the cave that he composed his famous Hebrides Overture. Romanticism had found its altar.
A Hidden Wonder in Plain Sight
So why was Staffa ignored for so long? Part of the answer may be practical. Unlike Iona, which is ringed with bays and accessible terrain, Staffa is less inviting. Its best-known feature, Fingal’s Cave, can only be entered safely in calm seas. The island offers no harbor, no fertile land, and little shelter. To early mariners and missionaries, it was not a destination but an obstacle.
Another reason might be spiritual and cultural. The monks of Iona were men of purpose, discipline, and prayer. Their world was filled with metaphors of light and order. The chaotic sound of crashing waves in a black cave may not have inspired awe but anxiety. It’s possible that Staffa wasn’t ignored because it was unremarkable—but because it was too remarkable. Too wild. Too primal. Too disconnected from the quiet order of a spiritual life. In this way, Staffa and Iona form a poetic balance: one island speaking in silence, the other in song.
This eerie silence in historical records also tells us something about how cultures see the natural world. While Columba saw the sea as God's creation and feared the heathen ships that crossed it, he likely didn’t yet have a framework to see Staffa as sacred in its own right. In a world dominated by Christian thought, the wild and unexplained often slipped into the background—unless it could be transformed into a miracle or a parable.
Staffa Today: Rediscovered Majesty
Today, Staffa is far from forgotten. Fingal’s Cave has become one of the most photographed and visited natural sites in Scotland. Tour boats from Iona, Mull, and Oban ferry thousands of tourists each year to marvel at its towering walls and musical resonance. In a beautiful irony, the cave that once echoed into silence now echoes with awe-struck voices and shutter clicks.
And yet, Staffa still feels like a place outside time. The sound inside the cave—where the tide washes against stone, and the wind howls through columns—feels less like nature and more like the breath of something older than myth. Standing inside, it’s easy to believe that this was never truly a secret island. It was simply waiting for the right ears to listen.
In its quiet way, Staffa reminds us of the unseen marvels that may lie beside even the most storied places. It’s a lesson in humility and wonder: that proximity does not guarantee awareness, and that the world still holds mysteries—even in plain sight.
Adapted From: Argyll, G. D. C. (1871). Iona. Edinburgh: R. & R. Clark
