Two days compressed into a single short selection of pictures: more of the same, which reflects exactly how it was. And more of the same was never too much; not once.
So the random sequence is, in no particular order, of waves breaking on a rocky shoreline, the suck and hiss of the retreating water telling its own story of how unwise it would be to take reckless liberties on slippery rocks. Small boats passing larger ships; a haze blurring the demarcation between sea and sky; a Caledonian MacBrayne ferry seemingly suspended in a fog – hovering between air and water.
Great black-backed gulls; oystercatchers; Manx shearwaters; the ringed plover with eggs (or young) secreted somewhere among the weed and shingle of Kilmory; pink sea thrift somehow apparently growing from the bare bedrock of Ardnamurchan point.
And Kilmory itself, quiet, lonely, a place to tread carefully, a place to revisit…
Music: The Gael (Dougie Maclean)