A cerulean knife of water separates Iona and Mull, two islands holy in their own ways. A hard rain and a chill wind cavort beneath a monotonous gray sky as I exit the ferry and step on to the white powder beach of Iona. Handfuls of visitors straggle through the one-lane town toward Iona Abbey. Many of them stop, look toward it, and smile as the rain patters against their glasses. I turn back to the Sound of Iona, wild Mull in the distance, and gaze into the glassy waters.
Dolphins arc above the waves, their steely bodies break the air in musical arpeggios. They race alongside the small ferry that tirelessly tracks to Iona and Fionnphort and back. Some of the children on board point at the animals, but their parents are too busy peering through the misty air at the abbey. Read more...
A hunter, oft-stubbled and bleary-eyed, driven by an insatiable hunger for exploration and experience - and perhaps a chance to thin the herd of caffeinated and alcoholic beverages. From the highlands and islands to Edinburgh, Glasgow, and the Borders, I explore Scotland with a pen in hand and a fire in the belly (which could be partly from the whisky). 
