I have been wallowing in nostalgia these last few days. My golfing pilgrimage to the far north, eighteen months in the writing and nowhere near finished, has reached Applecross, a detour on the way to the delights of Gairloch’s nine holes squeezed between mountain and sea. Thanks to Monty Halls, everyone has now heard of Applecross – I am thinking of printing a T shirt – I was here before Monty. Long before, in 1973 and many times since.
During the writing of this book I have several times concluded that it is near impossible to convey the majesty of landscape in words, there is simply no substitute for being there; I can only recommend that you go see for yourself. My passion for this isolated corner of the world can be best explained by the following short facts. Firstly, it feels like an achievement just getting there, combined…
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