All Paintings

1. The Kyle of Tongue.
This is one of my favourite views of the Kyle, looking south from Melness with Bens Loyal and Hope standing like sentinels in the distance. The sand-banks are resting places for seals, which you might hear calling mournfully - if you are quiet. The pebbles and mudflats are home to hundreds of less obvious waders and shorebirds. The rocks and seaweed at the water’s edge are where you might, if you are lucky, see an otter fossicking for crabs. But you have to slow down to Nature’s pace.

2. The Moine House.
According to the plaque on its walls, this house was built for the refuge of travellers when the first road across the Moine was built in 1830. There is now a wider road across the peat bogs, and the house and the old road together are falling into ruin. But in their decay there is still a melancholy beauty and memory of purpose fulfilled. With the frailties of ageing there should also be wisdom and joy, and the memories of life lived in all its fullness.

3. Lochan Hakon.
One afternoon at the tail end of Winter, I stopped awestruck as clouds boiled over Ben Hope, and a stray shaft of sunlight struck molten silver from the surface of this small lochan. It was a wild beauty before a wild storm, and each was dramatised by the other. Life’s storms are seldom pleasant, but they often serve to enhance those things which are of greatest value.

4. Snowdrops.
This group of snowdrops appeared one cold grey morning at the base of our garden wall, bringing the promise of Spring in the bitterness of Winter. They looked as delicate as rice paper - petals as thin and frail as a butterfly’s wings - yet they flourish in the wake of the harshest season. We are so easily deceived by appearances.

5. Castle Varrich.
A vista of contrasts - the hard dark edges of the castle on its crag, softened by the mist and cloud into which the white whale back of Ben Hope rears and vanishes. The castle is probably a medieval Mackay stronghold, and is smaller than it appears from a distance. How often do intimidating characters likewise turn out to be less abrasive as we grow closer to them?

6. Ben Loyal and the Kyle of Tongue.
In Winter on the North Coast, the sun rises late and sets early, bracketing days that may be wild or dreary. But this is a small price to pay for those sparkling Winter days when the air is crisp and clean and the slanting sunlight is golden and fresh - and there are no midges! These jewels of days glisten all the brighter for the long nights and the dark storms. Beauty and hope are often found at unlikely times and places.

7. Beinn Stumanadh.
Travelling south from Tongue, eyes are usually drawn to the imposing crags of Ben Loyal rearing up on the right. Less often admired is the modest hill on the far side of Loch Loyal. This is Beinn Stumanadh - on this day transformed by early snow, its new-found beauty mirrored in the magical ice-skinned surface of the barely pronounceable Lochan na h-Uimheachd. This lochan is usually quite drab. There are Cinderellas all around us.

8. Kyle of Tongue in Winter.
Living on the northern edge of the Highlands, one is always aware of the transforming quality of light: a blaze of sun ignites colour in black peat; a swirl of mist blurs the hard edge of the crag. On this day, the Kyle and Ben Loyal became a fantasy of silver and blue-grey in the brittle light of an approaching storm. Reality, too, varies its appearance in the changing light of our moods and emotions.

9. Twilight, Ben Loyal.
Ben Loyal soars above the deep sapphire glow of Lochan Hakon, its four granite peaks reaching 2500 feet into the darkening sky. Twilight softens its western crags and, as detail is lost to the eye, one becomes more aware of the overall form and shape of this queen amongst mountains. Sometimes it does us good to lose sight of the individual crags - the details and complications of life - and view again the overall shape and form, to remind ourselves of ultimate purposes and goals.

10. Springtime, Ben Loyal.
Early Spring on the North Coast, with the gorse blazing gold but the heather still winter drab - no suggestion of the deep purple that will enfold the hills later. The trees bear no more than a faint hint of summer green - but the promise is made. Ben Loyal looms clear and fresh beyond Lochan Hakon - 2500 feet of new canvas for the year to paint. The optimisim of Spring can be part of our lives, whatever the season.

11. Castle Varrich and Ben Loyal.
Castle Varrich, thought to be a medieval Mackay stronghold, looks imposing on its 200 foot crag above the Kyle of Tongue - until you raise your eyes to the two and a half thousand foot battlements of Ben Loyal, twisting up into the sky beyond. The summit of Ben Loyal is also a castle - An Caisteal - a huge block of solid granite as old and strong as the mountain itself. We can easily become over-proud of our achievements, or overwhelmed by our problems, unless we look higher and see things in their true proportions.

12. Loch Loyal Boathouse.
The turf roof on the Loch Loyal Boathouse gives a feeling of antiquity to a building that is really quite young. The isolation of Ben Klibreck in the distance makes it look higher than its 3165 feet (962 metres). The deep tranquility of this Spring morning scene, with its calm waters and drifting mist, is, in reality, as transient and unstable as the invisible air currents which created it. - Is seeing really believing?

13. Glencoe.
This lonely cottage stands near the head of Glencoe, with The Shepherd - Buachaille Etive Mor - raising its 3350 foot (1021 metre) bulk into the mists behind. Glencoe is best known for the events of February, 1692, when an army led by Robert Campbell, under orders from the English king, turned on and massacred their MacDonald hosts after 10 days of hospitality. Today we are still appalled at such betrayal of trust, yet the seeds of the tragedy - in the form of selfishness, fear, and pride - lie within each one of us.

14. Ben Loyal from Ribigill.
This is the view that greets those climbing Ben Loyal from the Ribigill Farm path. Most climb the steep heather slopes to the left of the front crag, Sgor Chaonasaid, and thus attain the summit, An Caisteal, at 2504 feet (765 metres). However, a much more interesting way is to bear right below the front crag and to climb diagonally to the wide grassy bowl between the 2nd and 3rd peaks before ascending to the summit ridge. This route is longer and steeper, but far more rewarding. The quick, easy, obvious ways are not necessarily the best, whether your mountain is a Scottish Ben, or some other challenge of life.

15. Ben Loyal in Winter.
Ben Loyal forms a 2504 ft backdrop to the Kyle and village of Tongue, its 4 main peaks and swooping ridges contrasting sharply, here, with billowing Winter clouds. Although such conditions can make climbing a mountain difficult, the low cloud can also be helpful as it masks the background clutter, and highlights various features and routes of ascent. Life today can also be a mountain of overwhelming complexity. It can be helpful to cloud over the less urgent background clamour, isolating our main concerns to tackle one route at a time.

16. Winter Crofts and Castle Varrich.
Castle Varrich, symbolic of the wealth and power of the land-owning Mackay clan chiefs; and croft-land, symbolic of hardship and relative poverty, worked by subsistence farmers in more recent years. Two extremes of wealth united in their dependance upon, and respect for, the land. Today, the castle is in ruins and the crofts are no longer viable for traditional use. The rich and poor are still with us, but we are losing that ancient respect for the land that sustains us. Who will comment upon the ruins of our civilisation, and with what words?

17. Red Deer below Ben Klibreck.
Ben Klibreck, at 3156 ft (962m), forms a long curved ridge of high land between the lonely outpost of the Crask Inn and the tiny settlement of Altnaharra, 7 miles further north. It is inhabited by red grouse, ptarmigan, and red deer (amongst others), and its slopes bloom purple or bronze with heather and bracken, or rise ghost-like and forbidding in the snow. We marvel at the deer, but often fail to perceive the inter-related web of life upon which they depend - just as we, too, rely upon a network of human relationships that are vital, but not always acknowledged.

18. Cottages at Skerray Mains.

These cottages at Skerray are typical of thousands scattered throughout the Highlands. Many are crumbling ruins today; memorials to communities and a culture that has, sadly, almost disappeared. Others are being restored or rebuilt, symbolic of a new Highland life that is sprouting like green shoots from the weathered but deep-rooted stump of the old. Change is rarely easy - the grafted stem doesn’t always take - but alongside the natural grieving for that which is fading, there is also the stimulus of hope renewed; the vigour of growth overcoming the pall of stagnation.

19. The River Naver.
The long shallow glen of Strathnaver runs north for 15 miles from the moorland-clasped jewel of Loch Naver to the sea at Torrisdale Bay, just west of Bettyhill. It is a beautiful valley - scarred in the early 1800s by the brutality of the Clearances - today disturbed only by the muted sound of sheep and a few crofters, the toss of antlers in the woodland, and the flick of a fly-rod across the sparkling water. The river is famous for its trout and salmon. What a place to let your mind drift with the lure, dazzled by the dancing light, thinking great thoughts of nothing in particular - a rare and heady tonic for the relentless grind of modern life.

20. Ben Klibreck.
Ben Klibreck - 3156 ft (962m) - forms a long high ridge that curves up above the Crask Inn and descends to Loch Naver, 7 miles further north. Its name may mean Mountain of the Hillside, or Hill of the Speckled Cliff, possibly referring to the west-facing crags just below the summit pyramid of Meall nan Con. In Strath Vagastie below, the A836 winds its single-track way northwards, crossing the river by a small stone bridge. We pass so quickly, forgetting what a barrier rivers and gorges were to our ancestors. Some individuals today are bridges, enabling easier communication by reaching across the rifts of misunderstanding and pride that often separate people. We may take them for granted, like bridges of stone, but their value is, nonetheless, immense.

21. Farr Bay, Bettyhill.
Farr Bay is a half-mile crescent of clean coastal paradise thrust deep inland at Bettyhill, bounded by cliffs, sea-stacks, and sand-dunes. Life abounds. Seals peer like quizzical pantomime spies from the water; rabbits race and frolic over dunes and cropped-turf headlands; and bristling with all manner of wonderful beasties are the rock pools: jewel-like windows into surreal, alien worlds. Amid all this vibrant fecundity and beauty, humans are surprisingly rare, the masses migrating south in their annual search for sun and sea. But the rewards are great for those few that leave the herd, trading security for adventure and wonder.

22. Common Ink Caps.
It only took a week for this group of toadstools to change from neat brown eggs into tall, decaying black parasols that dripped the “ink” after which this species is named, and which was once used for writing. The mushrooms and toadstools we see are merely the fruiting bodies of fungi which permeate the ground as masses of microscopic filaments, decomposing dead leaves and other organic matter for recycling. We exclaim over a showy or grotesque fungus, but the real work is being done silently and out of sight.
- Is there a lesson here?

23.Torrisdale from Bettyhill.
The beach at Torrisdale stretches for an exhilarating mile or more between the Naver and Borgie Rivers. The pristine sand is backed by dunes and the craggy ridge of Druim Chuibhe, home to dwarf juniper, willow, and other rare plants. The gravelly raised beach in the left middle distance is etched with Bronze-Age hut circles and burial cists, overlooked by an Iron-Age broch on the crag above. The entire headland is a fascinating place for naturalists, archaeologists, or folk just wanting a good walk. But those desiring quick-fix pleasures should keep away; Torrisdale, like everything that is truly worthwhile, requires time and effort - but the rewards are worth it!

24. The Great Glen.
The huge natural fault-line of the Great Glen slices across the Highlands from Inverness to Fort William, its steep slopes enclosing Loch Lochy and Loch Oich and - deepest and most famous of all - Loch Ness. We drove through the Glen on a wild, stormy evening, our attention divided between the spectacular sunset ahead and the dark waters at our side. Sadly, we saw no monster. Nessie’s existence may be uncertain, but it does us no harm to live with mystery and a reminder that there are some things (thankfully) that we don’t control or dominate. There is still space for awe and humility.

25. Melvich Bay.
Between John o’ Groats and Cape Wrath lie more than 70 miles of coastline as hard and severe as the Arctic, towards which it looks. The jagged rocks and towering cliffs of this frowning shore dominate the few chinks in its armour - the handful of river mouths and deep sandy coves such as Melvich Bay. There have been three major fishing tragedies within sight of its high dunes, but on 22nd August, 1918, three boats and their crews came safe ashore on Melvich’s gentle sands in a ferocious north-westerly gale which claimed seven souls. In these days of increasing self-centredness, what kind of “coastline” do we present to those with shipwrecked lives?

27. The Road to Sutherland.
The rich rolling farmland of Caithness - “The Lowlands beyond the Highlands” - becomes increasingly rugged as you drive westwards. On this particular evening, the Sutherland summits of Bens Loyal and Hope, Foinaven and Cranstackie, rose like frozen waves beneath a surreal sky. This picture shows them from the old single-track road with its passing places. Nowadays, most of this road from Thurso to Bettyhill is double-track, straighter, and faster - but some of the magic has gone. As we worship the great god Efficiency, we seem (paradoxically) to have ever less time for the more important things!

28. Ben Griam Beg.
Ben Griam Beg, seen here from Loch an Ruathair just south of Strath Halladale, is 1903 ft (580m) high, 33 ft lower than its sister hill, Ben Griam Mor. Its claim to fame is the location around its summit of the highest hill fort in Scotland, which was probably built before 1500BC. It must have been a spartan place to live, but with spectacular views - especially on days like this when the air is like iced champagne and just to breathe is a joy. Unlike those rugged fort-dwellers, we have over-sanitised our world with concrete, tarmac, and electricity, and are fast losing the intimacy of rough earth underfoot and fresh air in our nostrils.

29. Ardvreck Castle.
The shell of this 15th Century castle looks imposing on its promontory on the north side of Loch Assynt, surrounded by the wild, surreal mountains of this remote region. Originally, the castle belonged to the MacLeods of Assynt. General James Graham, Earl of Montrose, came begging food and shelter here in 1650 after being defeated while fighting for the exiled Charles II. He thought he had come to friends, but Neil MacLeod imprisoned him and sold him for execution for £25 000. Today, the ruins look romantic through tourist lenses. Only the dungeon below hints at the treacherous past. Dark secrets are easily hidden by an attractive appearance.

30. Summer evening at Modsary.
When William Roy surveyed for his Military Map of Scotland in 1747-55, he found a small cluster of tenant farmers already working the land at Modsary. Later, in the 1820s, 4 crofts were established, and surrounding moorland was reclaimed for peat cutting and common grazing. Today, most of the stonework is crumbling back into the grass and heather. Only 2 cottages remain nestled under the gorse-girt hill by the loch to mark the years of labour and laughter. I passed by this little gem of a place many times without really seeing it. Strange, how familiarity blinds us to special places and people.

31. Lamigo Bay.
The narrow, rocky inlet of Lamigo Bay looks north-westwards towards Eilean nan Ron (Island Roan), the Island of the Seals. The island was inhabited by hardy fishing and crofting folk from 1820 until 1938, but at Lamigo there have been families living since the 1700s, possibly earlier. Barely visible below the eastern cliffs is a small stone jetty, giving safe access to boats and the sea - the main highway for this area until the roads were completed in the mid 1800s. Lamigo is an unlikely looking place to find safe moorings, but succour is often found where least expected.

32. North Coast Cottage.

This wee cottage looks westwards along the rugged, island-speckled north coast of Sutherland towards the unpretentious slopes of Ben Hutig. The gently crumbling walls and outbuildings are echoed inside the cottage in the flagstone floors and rough-hewn beams. There is nothing genteel or extravagant - but there is a deep sense of peace and tranquility. It is all joyfully at odds with today’s consumerist creed that a person’s happiness consists of the abundance of his possessions.

33. The Rabbit Islands.

The Rabbit Islands guard the entrance to the Kyle of Tongue - little jewels of heather and grass, bracken and lumpy rock. On the south side are two tiny sandy beaches; to the north, a tumble of fierce little crags and cliffs, cut through in one place by a low rock arch. The islands are accessible by foot for only a short time each year when a sandbank is exposed at extreme low tide to Ard Skinid. Viewed here from Melness, the Rabbit Islands overlap the larger isles of Eilean nan Ron. The Orkneys are just visible in the far distance. From the other side of the Kyle, the Rabbit Islands look far less rugged, sand and smooth grass predominating. Each viewpoint gives a different and valuable perspective - a geographical principle that should be applied more often to other aspects of life also.

34. Rhitongue.
The tiny settlement of Rhitongue snuggles cosily between a tangle of mixed woodland and the steep, heather-clad slopes of Ben Tongue on Sutherland’s north coast. The view in this picture looks over the sheltering trees to the waters and sandbanks of the Kyle of Tongue, backed by the broad sodden moorland of the Moine and the upthrust sentinels of Ben Hope, Foinaven, Cranstackie, and Beinn Spionnaidh. To see beyond the security of familiar horizons to new and untested possibilities is an exhilarating (and sometimes daunting) experience - and one that needs to be embraced regularly if we are to fulfil the dreams and potential with which we are blessed.

35. Garmouth Cottage Window.

Windows are bridges between paintings and reality, framing living pictures that depend on the initiative of the viewer rather than that of an artist. This particular window is in my sister’s kitchen, and helps lift one’s eyes (and heart!) from more mundane tasks around the sink. Windows make pictures in both directions - a fact sometimes forgotten by residents who fail to draw their curtains at night! And all around us are other pictures, framed only by the limits of our vision and imagination. These living pictures, however, often go unnoticed because we look with a set purpose, and so fail to see.

36. Moine Storm.

The old road across the Moine was built in 1830, and the house, now a ruin, provided shelter for travellers. Geologically, the Moine is an area of complexity and importance, its secrets mostly hidden beneath spongy layers of peat and blanket bog.
It is a forbidding, storm-moulded landscape - unchanged yet miraculously transformed by light. Attitudes work a similar magic.

37. Ben Hope, Midwinter.

The Gaelic “Ben” meaning “mountain”, and the Norse “Hop” for “bay”, make Ben Hope the Mountain of the Bay. At 3040ft (927m), it is our most northerly Munro, as all Scottish peaks over 3000ft are known. In the clear frosty air of one midwinter afternoon, the summit looked tantalisingly close, but time was shorter than distance and we turned back, our wisdom confirmed moments later as a hail storm hit us. It is often difficult to know when to turn around - to judge when tenacity has degenerated into stubbornness - but the first is rooted in conviction and courage, and the other merely in pride.

38. Rowan Bank, Melvich.

This tiny cottage served for many years as the Post Office for Melvich village. In a stern and rugged land of sweeping horizons and stark stone dwellings, Rowan Bank is refreshingly different in its snug nest of enfolding trees and shrubs. The garden gate opens directly onto the main north coast road, but few motorists mark its presence as they dash east or west. We see so little in our rush to see more.

39. Island Roan.

Eilean nan Ron - Island of the Seals: 700 acres of heather and rock poised atop 200 ft high cliffs, one mile offshore at the entrance to the Kyle of Tongue. Between 1820 and 1938, this was home to several hardy, God-fearing families, whose houses can still be seen from Skerray. They lived in rugged harmony with the sea, and raised sheep, cattle, and crops - a tough but fulfilling life. Old Betty Macdonald never once left the island in all of her 95 years. Sadly, all the families finally had to leave as the fishing declined and the young men (the island’s future) acquired a taste for a wider world that they discovered during World War I. But here is peace - to live in contentment within the boundaries life has given you, without losing a sense of wonder and fascination for all that lies beyond.

40. Ben Loyal from Ard Skinid.
Ard Skinid, a prominent rocky headland at the mouth of the Kyle of Tongue, is the viewpoint here for Ben Loyal, the 2506 ft (764m) “Queen of Scottish Mountains”. The expansive views from Ben Loyal’s summit are exhilarating, but a full day should be allowed to explore and enjoy the sublime architecture of the mountain’s distinctive tops and ridges. On a much smaller scale, the same sentiments apply (surprisingly) to Ard Skinid. 2-3 hours spent pottering over this unassuming little promontory with its rocky outcrops, small lochan, and hidden hollows, are sheer delight. There is much more here than is apparent at first glance.

41. Talmine from Ard Skinid.
Nestled below the bleak moorlands and low crags of Ben Hutig, Talmine is a wee gem with its scattering of sturdy cottages and white sandy beaches. The tiny harbour shelters a handful of small fishing boats and a sleek little yacht or two. It is all very understated, tranquil, and largely unknown. If Talmine was a person, it would not rank as a celebrity revelling in fame and applause, but as one of the “salt of the earth” - those unsung “ordinary” folk who enrich many lives by the quality, peace, and integrity of their own.

42. Ard Skinid from Rhitongue.

As the tide runs out from the Kyle of Tongue, the sandbanks and channels that adorn the eastern side of Ard Skinid, and which so fascinated me in the painting of this picture, emerge in all their sinuous and dangerous grace. Around here, the sloop “Hazard” ran aground on 25th March, 1746, while pursued by the frigate, “Sheerness”. The Mackays overcame and imprisoned the surviving crew and soldiers, and most of the £20 000 of gold they were carrying was seized and never reached the army of Bonnie Prince Charlie, for whom it had been destined. Perhaps Culloden’s battle, 3 weeks later, would have had a different outcome were it not for these innocent-looking sandbanks below Ard Skinid.

43. Duncansby Head Sea Stacks.
Just south of John o’Groats, the Devonian Old Red Sandstone of Caithness is weathered into these magnificent 200ft high cliffs at Duncansby Head. There are three sea stacks: Muckle, Peedie, and Tom Thumb, accessed by a scramble through the Thirl Door at the foot of what may one day be a fourth stack. The cliffs resound to the cries of thousands of fulmars, guillemots, and razorbills. Puffins whirr like clockwork toys, and gannets and skuas wheel and dive like confetti. This scene of abundant life and wild beauty is the result of aeons of savage erosion, much as the pain and trials of life mould our own characters to produce differing degrees of beauty and compassion, depending upon our inner strength and core values.

44. Ben Heilam & River Hope.
“Ben what ?” I thought, when this painting was first commissioned. I needed a large-scale map to find this unsung little peak, which forms a 177 metre high backdrop to a private stretch of the River Hope. Ancient hut circles and the ruins of a broch nearby show that this area was once well populated, but today its tranquility is enjoyed only by a few discerning anglers. Most of us rush to better known Bens and beauty-spots. Fame and popularity, however, are not always the best guides to that which is truly beautiful or worthwhile. There are “Ben Heilams” all around us - both geographical and human.

45. Ben Loyal & Melness Cemetery.
The “Queen of Scottish Mountains”, Ben Loyal, is seen here from Melness Cemetery. The mountain’s modest height of 2506 feet (764m) is more than compensated for by its graceful ridges and dramatic syenite (granite) torrs. The name “Loyal” probably derives from the Gaelic “lagh”, meaning “law”, thus “the Mountain of Lawgiving”. So here we have Law and Grace on high, and a reminder of our own mortality below. “A picture is worth a thousand words” - or, in this case, it provides a solid sermon outline for any good Minister o’ the Kirk.

46. Balnakiel Bay.

The 1 ¼ miles of clean white sand of Balnakiel Beach look west across the Kyle of Durness to the Parph Peninsula and Cape Wrath. Behind the beach rises a maze of high dunes that fade into the close-cropped, puffin-tunneled turf and 300 foot high, Moine Thrust cliffs of Faraid Head. On limestone bedrock at the near end of the beach stands the ruins of a 1619 church. Here are the graves of the Gaelic poet, Rob Donn, and the highwayman and murderer, Donald Macmurchow. An earlier church on this same site is thought to date from St. Maelrubha in 720AD. Also buried here are the victims of the Canton, a 3 masted barque wrecked on Faraid Head in 1849. A Viking grave was uncovered recently near the dunes. The big house opposite the church was begun in 1720 for the Lords of Reay, replacing an earlier summer-house for the Bishops of Caithness. To walk along the beach to Faraid Head is a delectable experience of space and time - truly a foretaste of heaven.

26. Mosses and Lichens.
I am constantly amazed at the intricacies and beauty of the miniature worlds around us, such as this moss and lichen landscape that exists on a few square inches of bark on an ash tree. Occurring in hundreds of different forms, lichens grow slowly and are long lived, except where the air is polluted. They are not actually single plants, but symbiotic relationships of algae (which provide food from air and water) and fungi (which give support and shape). They enrich our world with colour, texture, and hope as living symbols of harmony and co-operation.

47. Kearvaig, Cape Wrath.
From the sinuous sands of the Kyle of Durness to the glorious lonesome sweep of Sandwood Bay, there is only one breach in the fearsome rock ramparts that defend the wild moorlands of the extreme north-west of Scotland - and that is here at Kearvaig. Barely two miles to the west are the rock stacks and pinnacles of Cape Wrath. A similar distance to the east rise some of the highest mainland sea cliffs at Clo Mor (600 ft) and Cleit Dubh (850 ft). The overwhelming immensity of the surrounding wilderness makes that first unexpected glimpse of Kearvaig’s white sand all the more surprising to the few who ever reach it. It is a place where human pride and arrogance are subdued, and where the human spirit is restored and refreshed.

48. Bettyhill Coastline.

Looking north-westwards from the sandy, grassy slopes above Farr Bay, there is such a variety of textures, shapes, and colours - from the cascading cottages of Bettyhill village to the jumbled headland that culminates in the rough rocks of Creag Ruadh. The smooth, clean sand of the bay is engulfed by tumbling surf, from which arise the distant islands of Neave and Eilean nan Ron, Island of the Seals. Standing here, one is aware of far more than just the visual variety - there are the smells: the tang of wet seaweed and the sweet scent of dry grass; the mournful scream of a gull against the roar of the tide; the feel of the coolness of the wind and the warmth of the sun; and the taste of salt in the air. And the theme is magnified in the vast diversity of living things, mostly unseen, in this one small area. Variety is not just the “Spice of Life”; it is its very foundation.

49. Coldbackie.

Protected by the towering ramparts of 1007ft (307m) high Watch Hill (Cnoc an Fhreiceadain), Coldbackie Beach sparkles with the magic of childhood. The retreating tide discloses a natural rock waterslide and a cluster of secluded coves - facilities for exhilaration and recuperation respectively. Balls and frisbees lie forgotten here as minds unchoked by the rust of adult cynicism explore the sand-dunes and rock-pools, searching for elves around the three waterfalls or for pirate treasure in the two hidden caves. As adults, we need to see again through a child’s wondering eyes, discerning beneath the graffiti of suffering scrawled across the surface of this world by greed and injustice, the incredible masterpiece of creation that underlies everything.

50. Foinaven.

The quartzite peaks and ridges of Foinaven dominate the lochan-strewn wilderness of Northwest Sutherland, soaring to a height of 2980ft (914m) at the summit of Ganu Mor. Arkle and Ben Stack, with the distant pinnacles of Quinag, can be seen to the south, on the right of this painting, while the smoother profile of Meall Horn looms in the distance on the left. This is remote and lonely country, and achingly beautiful. To climb Foinaven has been a life-long ambition, now happily fulfilled, but the boggy approaches and steep scree slopes were daunting, and there were many temptations to turn aside to less strenuous goals. The view from the top, however, and the sense of achievement were well worth the sweat and aching legs. Commitment is the price of all that is truly worthwhile in life.

51. Coldbackie Beach & Rabbit Islands.
This jewel of a beach greets all those passing by on the narrow A836 just north of Tongue. Beyond the sand lies the bumpy cluster of the Rabbit Islands, with the larger bulk of Island Roan raising its sea cliffs in the distance. Despite its more forbidding appearance, Island Roan was inhabited from 1820 until 1938. At extreme low tide, a line of breakers between the sand-bars indicates shallow water all the way from Coldbackie to the Rabbit Islands, but this tempting apparent thoroughfare is further than it looks at almost 2 miles, and should be left strictly to the seals, salmon, and other finned creatures. Coldbackie beach itself is more extensive than it appears from the road, and is a delight to explore. The scramble down and back is easier than expected and, like all that is worthwhile, the reward far outweighs the effort involved.

52. The Crask Inn

The Crask Inn stands in wild, expansive country, brooded over by 3156-ft Ben Klibreck, the highest mountain in the district. Built around 1815 by the Sutherland Estate, this most remote of havens has provided welcome refuge for generations of weary travellers in the far north. Thomas Telford upgraded the road in 1819, but it is still single-track even today, and the only electricity comes from the inn’s own small generator. There are no street lights to pollute the clear night skies. There is a working croft alongside, reclaimed from the heather and bog-moss, where Mike and Kai Geldard raise Highland cattle, sheep, and vegetables, inbetween looking after various intrepid guests. This is rugged country, and there are no airs and graces about the Crask, but the welcome inside is as warm as the peat stove in the tiny bar.

Please note that there are over 50 paintings, plus text, on this page. If you know the kind of scene you are interested in, and the text is not so important, it may be easier to check one of the other Galleries where paintings are displayed in categories without text.

54. Sandwood Bay
There is only one Sandwood Bay. There are other beaches with equally pristine white sand, grass-topped dunes, terraced cliffs, and sentinel sea-stacks, but none can match the remote wildness and epic scale of Sandwood. It is a 4-mile tramp along a moorland track before the 2-mile crescent of sand comes into view, guarded to the south by the rock pillar of Am Buachaille, The Herdsman. To the north, the cliffs twist away for 6 daunting miles to the lighthouse perched on the tip of Cape Wrath. Some say that the beach is haunted by a bearded mariner; others that a mermaid lives on the offshore rocks. But it is not so much a supernatural as a spiritual scene - a place of unsullied purity, like dawn in a foam-washed Eden.

55. Orkney Twilight
The Orkney Archipelago spreads across 100 square miles of wild sea off the North-East tip of Caithness. It is a bewildering maze of 70 islands ranging from mere rocks to wide, fertile uplands; from bleak moorlands to steep hillsides; from sheer cliffs and sea-stacks to broad, curving beaches. History pierces the landscape everywhere as stark stone circles, neolithic dwellings and tombs, and Viking remains. The history of tomorrow is silhouetted in less permanent pigments against the clear northern light in the form of isolated farm buildings and churches, which loom large on the flat Orcadian horizons, but shrink in the vastness of time.

56. Homeward Bound, Orkney.
The Orkney Archipelago spreads across 100 square miles of wild sea off the North-East tip of Caithness. It is a bewildering maze of 70 islands ranging from mere rocks to wide, fertile uplands; from bleak moorlands to steep hillsides; from sheer cliffs and sea-stacks to broad, curving beaches. In Scapa Flow, the calm surface is pierced by the wrecks of World War II battleships, but more modern vessels still venture out into fiercer waters for fish and lobsters. It is but an echo of the herring fleet of old, but the wealth of these bleak but beautiful islands still lies beneath the waves.

57. Westray, Orkney.
The Orkney Archipelago spreads across 100 square miles of wild sea off the North-East tip of Caithness. It is a bewildering maze of 70 islands ranging from mere rocks to wide, fertile uplands; from bleak moorlands to steep hillsides; from sheer cliffs and sea-stacks to broad, curving beaches. Westray, the “Queen of the Islands”, encapsulates something of all of Orkney within its narrow bounds - landscape, history, and wildlife. There is also a good measure of tranquility, emphasized in the contrast between the clash of wave against cliff and the whisper of a ripple on white sand.

58. Westray Cliffs, Orkney.
The Orkney Archipelago spreads across 100 square miles of wild sea off the North-East tip of Caithness. It is a bewildering maze of 70 islands ranging from mere rocks to wide, fertile uplands; from bleak moorlands to steep hillsides; from sheer cliffs to broad, curving beaches. The cliffs, sea- stacks, and geos of the north-west coast of Westray clamour with seabirds: 19 types breed here - the greatest diversity in Britain. Each layer and ledge of this vertical habitat houses its own particular species - razorbills lower down; kittiwakes higher up - and no one species intrudes too far into the living or feeding space of another. Thus the noisy harmony is maintained.

59. Achnabat, Skerray.
Achnabat is a tiny crofting settlement just south-west of Skerray. It appears on William Roy’s Military Map of 1747-55 and thus predates the Clearances and the subsequent establishment of the crofting system. The name “Achnabat” means “Field of the Boats”, which seems a strange name until it is recalled that the flat strath between Achnabat and Skerray was partially flooded with Skerray Loch until it was drained in 1831. This view was painted after November rains, looking south into a low winter sun. I was fascinated by the contrast between the ephemeral sparkling light and the solid shadowed trees and hill - a scenic parable of the need for light and shade in life: for spontaneity and tradition, values and rules, inspiration and perseverance, faith and works.

60. Black Cuillin from Elgol, Skye.

One’s first sight of the Black Cuillin evokes amazement at the ruggedness of its Tolkienesque towers and pinnacles. The highest point on this jagged ridge is Sgurr Alasdair at 992m (3257ft). In this view from Elgol, however, both Alasdair and the infamous Inaccessible Pinnacle nearby are hidden behind Gars Bheinn. These are truly mountaineers mountains, able to stand comparison with higher ranges anywhere. It is not size, but character, that matters.

61. Tongue Youth Hostel
& Ben Hutig.
Built in 1891 as a hunting lodge; a Youth Hostel since 1946.

Original painting commissioned by Tongue Youth Hostel

62. Ben Loyal Hotel
& Tongue Village
In the middle of “Mackay Country” - an ideal centre for walking, fishing, and stalking - 100 miles north from Inverness; 40 miles east of Cape Wrath; 60 miles west of John o’ Groats.

Original painting commissioned by Tongue Hotel

63. Storm from Cape Wrath, seen from Balnakiel Beach, Durness.
Looking westwards from the high cliffs of Faraid Head, we saw dark clouds rushing in from Cape Wrath and knew we were in for a wetting. Our dash for shelter in the caves on Balnakiel Beach were in vain, but the view of the storm from sea level was ample compensation. A few minutes later the sun was shining again and the white curve of sand cut like a blade between the sparkling blue of the sea and the fresh green of the headland. The storm was less severe than it had appeared, despite coming from Cape Wrath - but, then, Cape “Wrath” is nothing to do with anger; the name derives from the Old Norse “Hvarf”, meaning “Turning Point”. It was at Cape Wrath that the Viking longships turned south for the west coast. Sutherland, this northernmost of mainland counties, is, in fact, the “Southland” of the Vikings. Things are not always as they appear, and there are compensations for every storm - though they may not always be apparent beforehand.

64. Loch Eriboll.
One of the best deepwater anchorages in Britain, Loch Eriboll reaches 10 miles inland between high ridges of quartzite and Lewisian gneiss, the oldest rock in Europe. The islands in the loch are limestone, and a quarry dug on the wasp-waisted peninsula of Ard Neackie served 4 lime kilns built in Victorian times beside the Ard Neackie jetty. From here, a ferry used to cross to Portnancon on the opposite shore, where an earth house and a wheel house indicate settlements as early as the Iron Age. Today, you have to drive around the loch - no great hardship in such magnificent surroundings. In World War II, however, seamen nicknamed this place “Lock ‘Orrible”, because it was here that the Russian and Atlantic convoys assembled prior to sailing. In their eyes, Loch Eriboll was more of a prelude to danger and death than a present gift of beauty and life.

65. Ceannabeinne Beach.
The smooth vertical cliffs of this glorious unspoiled beach are composed of the same ancient rock as nearby Beinn Ceannabeinne: Lewisian gneiss. The pink streaks in the cliffs indicate granite, whereas the darker bands are basaltic. The white sands that extend around the cliff end at low tide are protected from northerly gales by low-lying Eilean Hoan. All is set like a jewel in a flower-studded, grassy basin, marbled with crumbling walls - the last remains of the homes of ten families who farmed in this idyllic place until 1841. In 1842 they were evicted in the Clearances to Laid at nearby Loch Eriboll, onto land that was so stony that it had never before been cultivated, despite people living in the vicinity since Iron Age times. Today, amazingly, Ceannabeinne is often still devoid of people, even though it is easily seen and accessed from the nearby parking area. Perhaps passing holidaymakers think it is too good to be true.

66. Primula scotica, the Scottish Primrose.

To a non-botanist, the Scottish primrose barely looks like a primrose at all. It is a tiny plant with purple flowers that are only yellow in the centre. The rosette of leaves looks vaguely primrose-ish, but that is often hidden beneath the stems and leaves of neighbouring plants and grasses. Nevertheless, for all its shyness it is a beautiful little plant, well worth the trouble of seeking out. I have given no map to help, however, since Primula scotica is a rare and protected species. Suffice it to say that you should be able to locate it in the cliff-top turf of the north coast headlands, especially during its two flowering seasons of May-June and July-August. You will need patience, however, and the willingness to get down onto your knees - two qualities that are also becoming rare these days.