Monday, 15 August 2011
the old fishing station
I've been kind of sitting on this one for a while, saving it up, trying to get my head around the experience of this place. I was staying on the north west coast of Scotland, an area I've been coming on holiday to all my life. This place is nestled well and truly in my soul.
This visit was a kind of working holiday - work in the mornings, beach in the afternoons - and all the time this ever-changing view of the sea and the distant hills of Skye and the northern outer Hebrides beyond.
There is a beach beyond the end of the road (where once I rode a horse as a child and the queen had a picnic with her yacht anchored out in the bay) that gets my vote as one of the most beautiful places in the world.
At the southern end of this beach sits the old fishing station. It's just a hut, open to the elements; no door or glass in the windows. Inside it is piled full of stuff: ropes, buoys, wood, old tyres, tins, rusty this-that-and-the-other.
Some of this stuff is still used on occasion I guess but there is also a whole load of rubbish. Things are just left as if someone was to come back and use them but in the mean time they've gone rusty and are rotting in the salty air and the weather (there is a lot of weather here!). The local livestock obviously use the hut for shelter at times too - they've left their mark.
Inside, on the shelves, there are all sorts of things that are now rusted and of no use for their originally intended tasks.
Outside, more rubbish is strewn about, half reclaimed by the sand and rough grassland on the dunes.
Even the outside has a ramshackle collection of nails along its weather beaten boards. This place is/was all about utility and nothing to do with aesthetics but I was totally captivated by it and, throughout my stay, returned a number of times to explore its contents and the treasures of the beach it sits by.