Of slugs and bogs : a story of climbing in Scotland.

One could picture countless shades of browns. The mud that forms the path, the soil bared by the constant winds sweeping over the hilltops. Fat slimy slugs scattered around the grassland, the shivering grass burnt by cold winters and salty sprays, gloomy rock faces diving deep into hungry waves… all of those basking in a feeble light coming through thick colourless clouds.

Until the sun comes out - one ray at the time. It first hits the distant sea swelling on the horizon in a deep blue. Then it creeps closer to shore, revealing a gradient of turquoise as the waters get shallower. Shapes of fish and seals and dolphins break the luminous ocean, displayed in perfect silhouettes against the bright seabed. Blues, greys and greens have made it to the palette.

Crossing the islands from north to south and west to east, you walk through patches of flowers and see birds of countless colours. Vivid orange-beaked puffins and golden eagles, purple heather and yellow lichens, pinkish sundew, green moss coming out of obscure caves. After a day of climbing on bare mineral arches, life on the moor is an explosion of bright colours and biodiversity. Reds, oranges and yellows flicker in the eyes of the tired climber.

And suddenly the threatening clouds emphasise the greenness of the grass; the absence of sun is a relief for the eye. In the distance, the colourful dots swaying across the meadow are your friends returning from their day, or the (relative) dryness of camp. The next day will be coloured with flavours and laughter until dry weather reveals the wonderful Outer Hebrides canvas, once more.