Thin Ice

I count myself lucky to tell stories as part of how I earn a crust. I love stories, I think they are as important as food and shelter, but then I would say that wouldn’t I.

I have a new story about a very special place in the April ‘19 TGO magazine - a hill called Streap. I get to quote Captain Beefheart and not have it cut in the edit - how cool is that?! However, there are always more photos than can be shown due to simple pagination limits, and so here’s a few that didn’t make it, including two of my personal favourites from 2018.

“My wintery perch overlooked Loch Beoraid, its blank headwall lost in matt shadows. Above that inky blackness, an orange fire reigned over Eigg and the Skye Cuillin.”

“My wintery perch overlooked Loch Beoraid, its blank headwall lost in matt shadows. Above that inky blackness, an orange fire reigned over Eigg and the Skye Cuillin.”

“Broader slopes for a while, light and dark as the skies above danced to their own tune…”

“Broader slopes for a while, light and dark as the skies above danced to their own tune…”

“The mountain drew me on, and I felt that curious sense of inevitability that high places can engender; a simple wellbeing, a rightness in being there, some kind of mountain blessing.”

“The mountain drew me on, and I felt that curious sense of inevitability that high places can engender; a simple wellbeing, a rightness in being there, some kind of mountain blessing.”

It's become quite trendy to talk about ‘thin places’ - places where earth and heaven meet. I like the idea, but it’s something I'd avoid in a magazine like the plague because it smacks of nature-writing-bandwagon- jumping. Who wants to go to a mountain party with a self important student rapping on palimpest or some such?

But that is what these places are: thin. We get to be gods for the day, we get to be protagonists in our own story. Yay, us.

The other thing about thin places is that they are delicate. Finely balanced. Our interaction with them is fragile, and they are acutely vulnerable to our follies. They exist without us, but we threaten them.

Thin places must be protected from the bulldozers and their greedy, cretinous drivers. We must descend from the land of gods, go down from the mountain and defend them.

“The middle ground bowed before rising to the final summit and the bottom corner of that big, beautiful Z. In here I was protected from the gusts, and that feeling of openness and gratitude returned.”

“The middle ground bowed before rising to the final summit and the bottom corner of that big, beautiful Z. In here I was protected from the gusts, and that feeling of openness and gratitude returned.”

“Streap is old school, its name expressive of more innocent times; before hilltracks and footpath erosion, before mapping apps and Goretex and Vlogging it all to death. It is pure mountain romance, a lifeboat of modernity in our otherwise complicated adult world.”

“Streap is old school, its name expressive of more innocent times; before hilltracks and footpath erosion, before mapping apps and Goretex and Vlogging it all to death. It is pure mountain romance, a lifeboat of modernity in our otherwise complicated adult world.”