Ùrachadh mu Dheireadh 15/08/2017
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Choisinn 'Mach dhan iar/ Out West' a' chiad duais ann an earrann rosg nan inbhich ann an Co-fharpais Sgrìobhaidh Nèill Ghunnaich, 2007. Tha e air a leughadh an seo leis an ùghdar, Anne Morrison, An Luirg.

'S e 'Àiteachan Gàidhealach' cuspair a bha a' comharrachadh Gàidhealtachd 2007, bliadhna Cultar na Gàidhealtachd an Alba. 'S e na britheamhan ann an earrann rosg nan inbhich Mairead Elphinstone, Sgrìobhadair Albannach, agus Anna Yule, Neach-gairm Urras Nèill Ghuinne.

Tha Co-fharpais Sgrìobhaidh Nèill Ghuinne air a chur air dòigh le luchd-obrach Seirbheis Foghlaim, Cultair & Spòrs Chomhairle na Gàidhealtachd le taic o Urras Nèill Ghuinne. Chaidh a chur air bhonn ann an 1988.

'Out West

The wave now carrying me and my oar-less boat is as wide and long as one of my in-bye fields, its slope smooth green and vertiginous. Curled beneath the seating boards of the fibre-glass shell, I am sucked at terrifying speed towards the base of a monstrous hill of water where I wallow for a few interminable seconds before being suddenly, shockingly, heaved up to the next peak and spun in all directions. I realised how precarious my journey had become after I'd passed through the frothy channel between the jutting chin of the headland and the red and white marker buoy that perpetually rights itself against the clumsy blows of the sea half a mile offshore. To begin with, I fought each wave with the determination of a man out to save his life, digging a broken oar into the water to avoid capsize. But in one marvellous moment, while trying to hold off from an uneven bank of bulging, messy sea, a torrent of spume came from nowhere, filling the air around me with snatches of hazy rainbow and emptying my numb hands of the oar. I watched it go, saw it trace a thin white wake down the face of the wave, the last visible sign of our combined resistance. I feel warm now, and relaxed, and that's a bad sign. An hour ago, my jaw was clacking with cold and terror but at least I knew I was alive.

It should have been an easy enough crossing, a trip I've made more times than I've slept with my wife. A mile of open sea and a mischievous easterly plucking the water into dancing peaks. One firm punt of the oar against the jetty and I let go the heavy concerns of the land, bobbing free and directionless for a moment, small waves flapping against the underside of the boat. Rowing is a joy once you've mastered the rhythm of it, adjusting your stroke now and again to compensate for the way everyone pulls harder to one side or the other. The first gust was a surprise, hitting me broadside on and sending a shower of drenching spray into the boat. I wasn't troubled though, wasn't too worried even when the gusts began to flatten the choppy waves and push them together into a much bigger, rolling sea. I was up for a challenge, pulling hard and feeling the sweat start to prickle in my armpits. It was New Year's Day - it still is - but I've lost my bearings in more ways than one.

Perhaps you have already decided that I am a reckless man, the kind of fool who ventures out alone in a boat on a blustery afternoon with a bottle of spirits in his pocket to call on friends. But that would be far from the truth, because in most things, I am overly cautious, like the way I chose to marry late, waiting for the indiscriminate pulse of lust to ease before I courted Kathleen. Some would say that living on the island is a risky business in itself, but people forget that it takes a certain amount of skill to live anywhere. I stuck with the island because if anything, life here is easier now than it was at any time in the past. Satellites, receive our spoken messages and bounce them half-way around the world. We have powerful outboard engines and a winch to haul the boats clear of the water. But the reason I row, whenever I can, when I'm alone and not carrying a load, is so I know that if I have to, I still can. I practice it often to be sure that my muscles and my lungs and my determination are up to the job. So what happened today? Did my will falter? Have I lost the strength l once had? One thing I do know is that the sea doesn't punish or reward. I don't see either mercy or malice glimmering in these shifting waters.'

Airson stiùireadh mu bhith a’ cleachdadh ìomhaighean agus susbaint eile, faicibh duilleag ‘Na Cumhaichean air Fad.’
’S e companaidh cuibhrichte fo bharantas clàraichte ann an Alba Àir. SC407011 agus carthannas clàraichte Albannach Àir. SC042593 a th’ ann an High Life na Gàidhealtachd.
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'Mach dhan iar' (2 de 4)

2000an

Niall Gunnach; pìosan bàrdachd; litreachas; cofharpaisean; farpaisean; co-fharpaisean sgrìobhaidh; co-fharpaisean bhàrdachd; sgeulachd; sgeulachdan; seanchas; sgrìobhadh rosg; bàird; sgrìobhadairean

Am Baile

Neil Gunn Writing Competition (audios)

Choisinn 'Mach dhan iar/ Out West' a' chiad duais ann an earrann rosg nan inbhich ann an Co-fharpais Sgrìobhaidh Nèill Ghunnaich, 2007. Tha e air a leughadh an seo leis an ùghdar, Anne Morrison, An Luirg.<br /> <br /> 'S e 'Àiteachan Gàidhealach' cuspair a bha a' comharrachadh Gàidhealtachd 2007, bliadhna Cultar na Gàidhealtachd an Alba. 'S e na britheamhan ann an earrann rosg nan inbhich Mairead Elphinstone, Sgrìobhadair Albannach, agus Anna Yule, Neach-gairm Urras Nèill Ghuinne.<br /> <br /> Tha Co-fharpais Sgrìobhaidh Nèill Ghuinne air a chur air dòigh le luchd-obrach Seirbheis Foghlaim, Cultair & Spòrs Chomhairle na Gàidhealtachd le taic o Urras Nèill Ghuinne. Chaidh a chur air bhonn ann an 1988.<br /> <br /> 'Out West<br /> <br /> The wave now carrying me and my oar-less boat is as wide and long as one of my in-bye fields, its slope smooth green and vertiginous. Curled beneath the seating boards of the fibre-glass shell, I am sucked at terrifying speed towards the base of a monstrous hill of water where I wallow for a few interminable seconds before being suddenly, shockingly, heaved up to the next peak and spun in all directions. I realised how precarious my journey had become after I'd passed through the frothy channel between the jutting chin of the headland and the red and white marker buoy that perpetually rights itself against the clumsy blows of the sea half a mile offshore. To begin with, I fought each wave with the determination of a man out to save his life, digging a broken oar into the water to avoid capsize. But in one marvellous moment, while trying to hold off from an uneven bank of bulging, messy sea, a torrent of spume came from nowhere, filling the air around me with snatches of hazy rainbow and emptying my numb hands of the oar. I watched it go, saw it trace a thin white wake down the face of the wave, the last visible sign of our combined resistance. I feel warm now, and relaxed, and that's a bad sign. An hour ago, my jaw was clacking with cold and terror but at least I knew I was alive.<br /> <br /> It should have been an easy enough crossing, a trip I've made more times than I've slept with my wife. A mile of open sea and a mischievous easterly plucking the water into dancing peaks. One firm punt of the oar against the jetty and I let go the heavy concerns of the land, bobbing free and directionless for a moment, small waves flapping against the underside of the boat. Rowing is a joy once you've mastered the rhythm of it, adjusting your stroke now and again to compensate for the way everyone pulls harder to one side or the other. The first gust was a surprise, hitting me broadside on and sending a shower of drenching spray into the boat. I wasn't troubled though, wasn't too worried even when the gusts began to flatten the choppy waves and push them together into a much bigger, rolling sea. I was up for a challenge, pulling hard and feeling the sweat start to prickle in my armpits. It was New Year's Day - it still is - but I've lost my bearings in more ways than one.<br /> <br /> Perhaps you have already decided that I am a reckless man, the kind of fool who ventures out alone in a boat on a blustery afternoon with a bottle of spirits in his pocket to call on friends. But that would be far from the truth, because in most things, I am overly cautious, like the way I chose to marry late, waiting for the indiscriminate pulse of lust to ease before I courted Kathleen. Some would say that living on the island is a risky business in itself, but people forget that it takes a certain amount of skill to live anywhere. I stuck with the island because if anything, life here is easier now than it was at any time in the past. Satellites, receive our spoken messages and bounce them half-way around the world. We have powerful outboard engines and a winch to haul the boats clear of the water. But the reason I row, whenever I can, when I'm alone and not carrying a load, is so I know that if I have to, I still can. I practice it often to be sure that my muscles and my lungs and my determination are up to the job. So what happened today? Did my will falter? Have I lost the strength l once had? One thing I do know is that the sea doesn't punish or reward. I don't see either mercy or malice glimmering in these shifting waters.'