A week of nights by a crackling stove,whisky and dad jokes. The darkness of the woods outside splashed with a little candle light. The silence hardly broken at all.
Each morning coffee, fry up and wood cutting. An hours work to keep us warm all night.
The glen, deep and dark with forestry, lacked a clear path out onto the hills. Our only option was a slog up steep contours between pines and deer fencing towards the snowy ridges above.
Frozen lochans,patchy snow and clear winter skies held sway over the West coast hills at first.
A strong cold wind made walking up high hard work but dropping back into the sunny woods felt like stepping into spring.
It had to rain. We could hear it falling on the tin sheet roof in the night. By morning the burns outside were roaring white with water off the hills above.
Days of mist and stillness followed. The wood seemed darker and quieter. The fire in the stove brighter.