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A grey morning, low cloud pressing into the tops of the trees, and that soft, heavy stillness you only get in Corriedoo. The kind of day most people stay indoors, but the kind that always pulls me out with a camera and a flask.

 

I followed the forest track as the mist drifted between the pines, everything muted and quiet. The air was cool, damp, and earthy, the sort of atmosphere that makes every footstep feel like part of the landscape rather than an interruption to it.

 

After ten or fifteen minutes the old boathouse appeared through the haze, slumped at the water’s edge, half‑claimed by moss and time. I settled there for a quiet coffee, listening to the birds echoing across the loch and watching the cloud sink lower over the hills. Nothing rushed, nothing loud, just the calm of a proper Scottish dreich day.

 

Once the cup was empty, I wandered with the camera, picking out the small details,  wet bark, tangled roots, droplets on heather, the soft reflection of the treeline on the dark water. A simple walk, but the kind that resets you. The kind that reminds you why these places matter.

 

A dreich day in Corriedoo, still one of my favourite ways to spend a few hours.

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