The remote, unspoiled, haunting beauty of Loch Morar from the north shore. Beyond Brinacory Island its depth reaches 310 metres or 1,017 feet, Lochaber, Inverness-shire, Scotland.
Commentary.
Utter peace,
only broken by the lilting, gentle breeze
and a distant, echoing call of a cuckoo in the woods ahead.
Brinacory Bay, Brinacory Island but no Brinacory village.
Just a few scattered, dressed granite blocks lost in the undergrowth mark the remains of a village community.
Lost to the landowners, cleared to far distant Imperial lands
so sheep could graze rough pasture and sapling forests.
Even this inhuman, society-wrecking tactic for short term economic gain was ironically flawed.
The relative remoteness and wildness created has brought
far greater riches from tourism than crofting or sheep could ever bring.
Maybe there is truth in old adage that “every cloud has a silver lining.”
Just a mile beyond the island the loch plunges to 1,017 feet deep.
Testament to several glaciers converging and over-deepening a previous river valley.
The rock-lip at the seaward end rose sufficiently, after the ice melted, to prevent the sea inundating the deep chasm created.
Thus Morar never became the fjord that so
many other glacial valleys became in this region.
Only intrepid hikers and mountaineers venture along these banks, far enough to reach remote Knoydart at Loch Nevis
and Sgurr na Ciche to the north, Glens Pean and Dessarry to the west, or Sgurr Thuilm and Glenfinnan to the south.
I have walked these hills.
They are a God-given sanctuary of peace.
They are the memorial to those who lost their home.
Their spirit and love for this place still blows in the wind.
The very wildness and remoteness that their removal brought will keep this environment unspoiled for many millennia to come!
The remote, unspoiled, haunting beauty of Loch Morar from the north shore. Beyond Brinacory Island its depth reaches 310 metres or 1,017 feet, Lochaber, Inverness-shire, Scotland.
Commentary.
Utter peace,
only broken by the lilting, gentle breeze
and a distant, echoing call of a cuckoo in the woods ahead.
Brinacory Bay, Brinacory Island but no Brinacory village.
Just a few scattered, dressed granite blocks lost in the undergrowth mark the remains of a village community.
Lost to the landowners, cleared to far distant Imperial lands
so sheep could graze rough pasture and sapling forests.
Even this inhuman, society-wrecking tactic for short term economic gain was ironically flawed.
The relative remoteness and wildness created has brought
far greater riches from tourism than crofting or sheep could ever bring.
Maybe there is truth in old adage that “every cloud has a silver lining.”
Just a mile beyond the island the loch plunges to 1,017 feet deep.
Testament to several glaciers converging and over-deepening a previous river valley.
The rock-lip at the seaward end rose sufficiently, after the ice melted, to prevent the sea inundating the deep chasm created.
Thus Morar never became the fjord that so
many other glacial valleys became in this region.
Only intrepid hikers and mountaineers venture along these banks, far enough to reach remote Knoydart at Loch Nevis
and Sgurr na Ciche to the north, Glens Pean and Dessarry to the west, or Sgurr Thuilm and Glenfinnan to the south.
I have walked these hills.
They are a God-given sanctuary of peace.
They are the memorial to those who lost their home.
Their spirit and love for this place still blows in the wind.
The very wildness and remoteness that their removal brought will keep this environment unspoiled for many millennia to come!