Adam Thorpe, 15 December 2016
The Strandir coast begins with a dirt track, the guttural end of tarmac in a waste
of bared rock, grass and scree, and empty coves where great white trunks
have floated from Siberia: they litter the vast and stony strands
like matches if seen from afar, but down among them now they block our way
in booms of perimeter barriers, logs pale as the long drowned,
stripped of bark to the...