Cuan

A roaster! Up the Sound of Jura under blue skies, past George Orwell's old gaff up the hill, past the Corryvreckan and Dorus Mor and into Cuan Sound where we anchored up. I lay in the shadow of the boom to get some shade.
Later we watched two playful otters which were actually seals. And the cattle stood motionless at the water's edge.
Then it was time for the lasagne. Cooked days ago, it could have been more moist, but luckily we still have a goodly supply of wine.

[the only other boat that came through was this little sprit rigged dinghy]