The SILENCE OF SUTHERLAND
I have always been drawn to the vastness of Sutherland and Caithness, the wild coastline and rough hills rising as monoliths from the Flow Country that reaches towards the Pentland Firth and the Orkney Islands beyond. It is a landscape quite unlike any other in Scotland though it shares the same troubled stories, a place where land ownership remains a complex and emotive issue. A desolate, empty space to some, it is in fact home to remarkably diverse flora and fauna, though such diversity might well be hard to appreciate on a bleak day on the hill.
But it was the wind that proved tiresome on this trip, rather than the rain or bog. It had eased slightly since leaving Strathy that morning, but still hurled itself across the moor, only the hills impervious to its violent, frantic rush north. But beneath blue skies, I started out on the stiff climb, soft peat becoming stone as I ran. With the wind at my back the moor fell away, Ben Klibreck my goal, though I knew each step home would be hard won.
Leaving the path for the minor summit of Creag an Lochain, I sat awhile on the steep corrie wall, tucked beneath the rim from the wind that whistled overhead. I watched an eagle far above and pondered a descent on the sweeping ridge beyond before starting up once again, the running that followed towards the last rise to the summit, the best of the day.
The descent proved every bit as trying as I had known it would be, eyes streaming, arms numb, all senses defeaned by the wind. Beneath Cnoc Sgriodain I paused one final time in the lee of the low ridge, a moment’s reprieve.
And for a few seconds, nothing moved, no wind, no sound, just the silence of Sutherland.
