I have always thought the waters of Loch Maree are one of those few places in Scotland that can only be described by one word: elemental. As if they came fresh from the forging of the world. Pure. Tempestuous. Wild.
The long nose of the kayak rode up on a wave and slapped down hard, splashing water into the air. The wind snatched the spray and slapped me in the face with it, catching me in the eyes. Stung, I shook my head and blinked, but I couldn’t raise a hand to my eyes. I couldn’t stop paddling; not even for a moment. Instead I dug in again, keeping to the rhythm, keeping the boat moving forward. I was alone on the water in the storm, fighting through the headwind. As my eyes cleared once again I looked up through the spray. I could see I still had a long way to go before I reached the shore.