A chieftain? A god? A wizard? Just who was Manannan Mac y Leir, Son of the Sea? Part fact, part fantasy, he exists like the mists that can surround the isle he once ruled, Ellan Vannin, The Isle of Man.

I first glimpsed the mystic isle from the belly of a Manx Airlines plane, as it swooped low on its approach to Ronaldsway airport. The isle emerged through wisps of grey cloud, an emerald jewel spotted with dabs of yellow gorse and set amid the coiled dragon that is the Irish Sea. Only 33 miles long and 12 miles at its widest, its story is as long and broad as nations many times its size.

A tiny cousin to its neighbouring islands, this isle has charted its own unique course and continues to assert its independent spirit. A patchwork quilt still in the making, it folds out to reveal traces of the people who drew breath there, the forces of nature which formed it, the mysticism surrounding it and a uniqueness shaped by geography and circumstances. It is a very visible tartan, still in the making.

Blocks of green, blue and grey dappled with yellow gorse, purple heather and white cottages, ringed about by grey stone fences or overgrown with wild fuchsia, capture the eye. Sheep dot a thousand shades of green, which rise up windswept barrules or fall away steeply to a hungry sea. Roofless tholtans (cottages) whisper untold stories.

In a land where access is harboured dear, public trails riddle the terrain and take the hiker to silent places where the mind's imaginings can take wing. Some are lengthy, like Raad yn Follian (Road of the Gull) which circumnavigates the entire isle or Millennium Way which crosses its hilly spine. Others, less grand, are no less appealing. A hiker, armed with proper attire, an ordinance map and an eye to the weather, can spend days finding vestiges of the past or heart stopping scenes.

Ancient burial sites like Cashtal yn Ard and Meayl Circle, which have frowned over the land for four thousand years; Celtic forts atop windswept barrules or along the jagged teeth of the coast; the stony remains (keills) of St. Patrick's disciples dotted as hermitages astride the coast or hidden in shady glens near white fingered waterfalls; Viking standing stones thrust up like daggers from the earth; yawning chasms falling away to a moody sea; shady glens whose trails and ornamentation recall the tramp of Victorian age tourists and abandoned bunkers scanning a now unthreatening horizon, are all within easy reach.

For those wanting less demanding access there is the journey which begins at the award winning Manx Museum in Douglas, the isle's capital and home to some 22,000 of the 70,000 who call Ellan Vannin home. Sight, sound and touch transport you through time and prepare you for the Manx Heritage sites. It is worthwhile to purchase a season's pass, which gets you in to all the venues for one price

Castle Rushen, one of the best preserved castles in the British Isles, sits amid palm trees in Castletown, with the memory of the last Viking King of Man, Magnus, who died there in 1265. The bones of Peel castle, with roofless St. German cathedral, spread over St. Patrick's Isle and house legends of the Holy Grail, ghostly hounds, and, if you play it right, Shakespearean plays amid the ruins.

Craigneash Village, with its whitewashed, thatched cottages, lets you walk through a living museum, harkening back to a time when Manx crofters still held to the land and the language. The towering Lady Isabella water wheel at Laxey, the largest water wheel in the world, which once pulled moisture from the deep lead and zinc mines, dominates its glen. Castletown's Nautical Museum, with its secret "hidey holes", now reveals the ingenuity of its creator. All these, and more, are readily accessible by car, public transit or tour.

Even getting around is an historical adventure. Ride the Victorian steam train, dating from the 1870's, from Port Erin to Douglas; take a horse drawn tram along the Douglas Promenade or catch the 1890's electric tram on to Laxey and Ramsey. Side trips can take you by electric tram to Mount Snaefell (Snow Mountain), which, at 2036 feet is the highest point on the isle, or choose the coastal Groudle Glen Railway.

There is so much more depth to this tartan. The cats with no tails, the four horned Loaghtan sheep, the oldest parliament in the World, the Calf of Man, the Arthurian legends, the Little Folk, the three legs of Man symbol, World famous motorcycle racing, the Victorian Promenades, the Gaiety Theatre and so on and so on. How much can one small isle have?

I think Mannanan knows.

It is said that he fled the isle but tarried not far away, on an underwater island which, on occasion, rises from the sea to let him look upon his former domain. He knows the tartan is still being woven as the isle takes all that man and nature gives and shapes it to its own design. As conquered Greece conquered Rome so does the patient Isle of Man shape its National identity out of the fabrics meant to cover it.

About the photos:
Top: Thatched "Primrose Cottage" on the road in to Port Erin from Port St.Mary's.
Middle: The famed Laxey Wheel overlooking Glen Mooar, as it has since 1854.
Bottom: A tail-less Manx cat strolls under the shadow of Castle Rushen's clock tower, housing the one-armed clock donated by Queen Elizabeth I.

Glen Cowley is a Canadian freelance travel writer, an author of two books on hockey and a recent book of fiction to be published.

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