The Land of the Hills and the Glens 



break the sky cleared and the wildness of the storm had 

 passed. Towards afternoon I made my way to a rocky head- 

 land, holding concealed a small clachan, and also a beautiful 

 sandy beach. Many curlew were feeding there. Every now 

 and again one heard their clear whistling, and once or twice 

 an individual would utter that trilling cry which is associated 

 in the mind with days of spring and early summer. A heavy 

 sea was still running, and on the beach masses of tangle weed 

 were lying. Leaving the beach and proceeding towards the 

 headland, one comes to a point where, high above great rocks 

 and jutting reefs, one can watch the seas roll in with thunder. 



One notices and is impressed by the great contrast 

 between the waters of the Atlantic and those of the North 

 Sea during these winter months. The Atlantic is green or 

 blue, perhaps, even after a heavy gale, while the North Sea 

 is repellent and muddy under similar conditions. Out to 

 sea, perhaps a hundred yards from the shore, a small flock 

 of long-tailed ducks were riding on the heaving waters. They 

 caught the sunlight, the drakes especially, with their hand- 

 some black and white plumage. They were feeding at the sea 

 bottom, and at short intervals dived down one after the 

 other. 



One could see through the glass that the drakes and ducks 

 were calling to each other, but the rush of the waves drowned 

 their cries. Near them were guillemots, and a solitary scoter 

 drake jet black against the waters made its way out to sea. 



At the headland there arises a sharp and steep hill sheer 

 from the surface of the sea. Here one catches the full force 

 of the wind, and a wide view meets the eye. No craft of any 

 kind was in sight on this day, but a great stretch of waters, 

 desolate and reflecting the cold light from the clear sky 

 above them.. Perhaps twenty miles to the northward one 

 could see plainly the white towers of the lighthouse on Rudha 

 Stoer. Even the spray from the Atlantic rollers could be 

 made out, through the glass, breaking high in the air over 

 the dark rocks. The sun sets early these February days, and 

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