The White Shore, Culag Woods

A lazy start to the day. I’m reading “At the Loch of the Green Corrie” by the poet Andrew Greig, which is inspired by his respect for Norman MacCaig, probably the foremost poet of The Assynt. MacCaig set him the challenge of fishing for trout at a mountain loch a few miles from here. It is beautifully written.
We were thinking about getting out for a walk around midday, when a downpour came hurling in off the Atlantic. But an hour or so later, the skies cleared and we had a fine stroll through Culag Woods and down to the White Shore.
We had a gin and tonic on the deck outside our cabin as the sun was setting, and I cooked a pasta dish for supper. Sitting now in the car, in the car park here (the only place I can get internet - good really, it’s put us on a www diet), listening to the roars of rutting stags nearby as I tap at the virtual keyboard. Rather a primaeval sound.