Shearing time

The shearers were in at Treshnish, the sheep all gathered in the inby fields. And the day dawned fair and bright.

I went back to Loch Frisa and used my permit as an excuse to poke my way through forestry roads to get to a remote croft on the north shore of the lake. By now the sun was hot and the farmer was out bare chested tinkering with a bailer. Later he got out an ancient tractor and wuffler and worried up the drying hay into windrows. The smell of the newmown hay was overpowering and brought tears to my eyes as the hayfever I left in Tuscany months ago re-emerged.

Horseflies were out in abundance as I struggled under deer fences and through head high bracken to tackle more unpromising shoreline. But it was a beautiful day. Catch total was a big round zero. The loch really needs a boat to be fished.

Much later the sun again set over Coll and the light lingered long into the night.

I've stuck on an extra of the brilliant turquoise waters of Calgary Bay, snapped as I made my way to the loch. It really is like this when the sun shines.