Swimming along the wall, in the dark, the senses are focused, attuned to different things. The feel of the water seemed almost warmer. Colors seemed brighter. And somehow, way off in the distance, I heard something special.
Sometimes shrieks, sometimes croons, sometimes a sub-harmonic bass you could almost feel more than hear. There be whale song – the soul of the ocean.
I hang suspended, hovering, 30 feet high. Although the temperature is warm, in the 80s, the ground looks as if it’s covered in snow.
It was a chilly February night, and the crowds had only begun to show up. The Portland Winter Light Festival was the draw and with a messy snowstorm in the forecast, this night was prime to be popular.
King David II. I kinda like the sound of that.
Suppose you were on a scavenger hunt. And suppose they challenged you to find, in the same room, a knight in shining armor and a polar bear. Where would you go?
Is there a Mecca for golf? A place where, if you’ve studied, practiced, applied yourself and achieved even a modicum of proficiency, you can access the holiest of holies? I’ve been there.
Have you ever chickened out on an opportunity, with no reasonable shot at an encore, and regretted your cowardice? I have.
And 30 years later, as luck would have it, it seemed I might finally redeem myself.
Yes, there is a monster hidden in this post somewhere. But first, the battlefield.
“There can be only one!”
The Isle of Skye. Even the name sounds mythical. It’s reputation, what little I knew of it, was of a place with spectacular views around every corner. Thus my excitement when, while researching a trip to Scotland, I found a tour option that included this potential feast for the eyes. This stop could be the highlight of the trip.
But how did it measure up?