Tales Of Dogger Island

May 21st (Dawn)

I awoke with the dawn, my anticipation for the day ahead coursing through me like a river. As I made my way to the quaint kitchen of the lighthouse, the comforting aroma of breakfast enveloped me, promising sustenance for the adventures to come.

Descending the winding staircase, which stood as its own structure rather than wrapping around the walls, into the quaint kitchen of the lighthouse, I savored the scenery that greeted me. The half circle foyer welcomed me with its charming decor-a lovely dark seafoam green - adorned the upper plastered walls, complemented by a walnut chair rail. Despite the potentially gloomy combination, the room was bathed in sunlight streaming through two very tall open windows on either side of the pale blue front door. They stood in contrast to the floor-length curtains depicting vibrant sunflowers, adding a cheerful touch to the cozy atmosphere. As I stepped into the room, I couldn't help but feel a sense of warmth and comfort envelop me, a perfect start to the day ahead.

Turning right, I ventured through the wide arched doorway into the next half of the lower level-the kitchen. Here, the unfinished brick walls were adorned with colorful light ocean blue tiles, perfectly complementing the white cabinetry and a gray marble countertop. Despite its compact size, the kitchen exuded charm and functionality. There was just enough room for a fridge, a 4-burner stove and oven combo, and a small counter for meal preparation.

Yet, what truly surprised me was the spaciousness of the floor itself, which allowed for the inclusion of an island adorned in the same vibrant hues as the walls. The island stood as a focal point in the room, offering both additional workspace and a touch of elegance to the cozy kitchen.

Perched at the island opposite to MacLeod, I beheld the feast laid before me-a quintessential Scottish breakfast, brimming with flavors to fuel a day of adventure.

On my plate lay a symphony of delights-a medley of sizzling bacon, hearty sausages, and perfectly cooked eggs, their golden yolks promising a burst of sunshine with each bite. Nestled among them were tattie scones, their comforting warmth a nod to tradition, and Lorne sausage, its savory aroma tantalizing my senses. Completing the ensemble were baked beans, sautéd mushrooms, fried tomatoes, and crispy hash browns, each offering a burst of flavor and texture to complement the hearty fare.

"Well? Shut yer mooth and dig in!" MacLeod exclaimed as he took a sip of his black coffee. I poured myself a cuppa tea and shoveled in some scones dipped in beans. As I savored each mouthful, I couldn't help but marvel at the bounty before me-a true feast for the senses and a delicious start to the day's adventures on Dogger Island.

We made polite pleasantries as we ate, and MacLeod told me he never likes to discuss work while we dine. "Me mither always told me "food's meant tae savor, no' for work tae dictate. Let's relish this moment, our minds tae emancipate." he said in his gentle Scottish brogue. So, instead, we talked about ourselves, sharing stories and getting to know one another better over the hearty meal.

“Right, lass. I'll break the ice. I was a simple fisherman. Like me father before me, and his father before him. Granda’ immigrated here from Scotland sometime in the 1920s. The island was offering new opportunities, and me granda' wanted to make a new life for himself.” MacLeod shifted in his seat and took a long slow sip of his coffee. Whatever he was about to say was difficult. “I married a lass named Carlotta and we had a daughter together but uh… well I'll tell you that tragic tale another time. One of these nights when the water is calm.” He cleared his throat and pulled out his pipe. He took his time lighting it and took a few puffs before continuing.

“I'd always had a deep love and respect for the sea as I'd grown up listening to the old lighthouse keeper's stories. Perhaps that's why I won the lottery that year? I put me fishing pole up and became the heir to this here lighthouse.” He scoffed. “The lottery. It's a cursed thing, it is. This lighthouse keeper's duty, it's been passed down like some sort of cursed heirloom.”