Who Said What about Wick? 

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Certainly Wick in itself possesses no beauty: bare, grey shores, grim grey houses, grim grey sea; not even the gleam of red tiles; not even the greenness of a tree. The southerly heights, when I came here, were black with people, fishers waiting on wind and night. Now all the S.Y.S. (Stornoway boats) have beaten out of the bay, and the Wick men stay indoors or wrangle on the quays with dissatisfied fish-curers, knee-high in brine, mud, and herring refuse. The day when the boats put out to go home to the Hebrides, the girl here told me there was ‘a black wind’; and on going out, I found the epithet as justifiable as it was picturesque. A cold, BLACK southerly wind, with occasional rising showers of rain; it was a fine sight to see the boats beat out a-teeth of it. —-Robert Louis Stevenson, in a letter to his mother in 1868

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Camps Bar Wick
 
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Crown of the Wick Herring Queen

Crown of the Wick Herring Queen

The streets are full of the Highland fishers, lubberly, stupid, inconceivably lazy and heavy to move. You bruise against them, tumble over them, elbow them against the wall — all to no purpose; they will not budge; and you are forced to leave the pavement every step. ——Robert Louis Stevenson, in a letter to his mother in 1868

 
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Caithness boggy landscape around Wick a favorite with new-age settlers

Caithness boggy landscape around Wick a favorite with new-age settlers

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