to Cape Wrath. After the ferry crossing from Durness it’s still an eleven mile clattering ride on a broken track through the firing grounds, with the heather on all sides sown with mortar shells and ghost soldier boy curses. White slabs hidden in the peat banks count down the distance, and you see the light tower after a last, grinding contour crawl. I watched the clouds curl over the hills and thought how mariners must have caught their breath when they first spotted these black and dripping cliffs. Cape confluence of wild oceans makes all comers tremble.
