The Land of the Hills and the Glens 



I know the loch at all seasons of the year — in winter, 

 when for days the roar of the gale echoes through the cliffs, 

 and in summer, when day succeeds day, with no cloud 

 showing in the sky, and when the waters of the loch are 

 of a pale transparent green, .so that the forests of great 

 seaweeds may clearly be seen many feet below the surface, 

 and amongst them big conger eels stealthily gliding. 



It is, I think, during the darkest months of winter that 

 one sees the loch in its grandest mood — months, when for 

 days wild storms of rain and wind surge in from the sea 

 and the waters are a turmoil of white breakers. At length, 

 perhaps, the wind veers a little — from south-west, maybe, 

 to north of west, at once dispelling the low-driving mist 

 clouds and showing out to sea a sky of steely blue with 

 grey hail squalls and dark thunder-clouds on the horizon, 

 and with the drifting snow swirling across the tops of the 

 higher hills. As the squall approaches the loch at great 

 speed — for the gale continues unabated — vivid lightning 

 comes from the storm cloud, and above the rush of the 

 wind the thunder crashes and rolls among the corries of 

 the hills. 



At one point along the southern shore of the loch the 

 rocks come sheer to the water's edge, and a precarious 

 passage is made for the narrow road that traverses the 

 island. During nights so dark that even the sea beneath 

 was invisible, I have made the journey along the loch side, 

 and have found the wind so strong that it was difficult 

 even to stand against it. The roar of the surf beneath, the 

 roar of the wind among the rocks above, the thick driving 

 mist strong with the scent of the sea — on such nights as 

 this one felt the spirit of the storm brooding darkly over 

 the loch. There are many days of December when the 

 force of the wind is such that the waters of the loch are 

 caught up in whirlwinds and carried hither and thither; 

 when the gale, eddying around the clififs, rushes in gusts 

 of hurricane force, now from the west, now from the east, 



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