Horn. For fog.
I looked around sheepishly while laying face down in the wet then pulled myself from the boggy bit, thanked my good fortune in having some leggings that are [currently] waterproof, smiled sweetly at Eve then walked on trying to look like nothing had happened. We were strolling out to Scalpay Lighthouse. The sun was shining and all was well with the world. Lovely walls careered across the island with traces of glacial activity everywhere in the ever changing landscape. We got there, had a sandwich or two washed down with a black coffee, ignored the fisherman in his boat who seemed to be watching our every move [although I think he was just line fishing from his boat] and then came back. Came back via the Hebrides Hotel where we had a fine cup of tea while admiring the Silver Gelatin print by Calum Angus Mackay with the painting and drawings by Willie Fulton in the bar. Bliss.