Cuil

A cold start to this morning. But for the Scottish it was tropical. If the sun's out, the shorts are on. 

As we left our 5-star campsite heading for Fort William, we were lured into stopping only a few miles down the road at The Bridge of Oich. 

Across the river towards the weir, three herons danced around each other in the thin mist that hung just above the water. The scene was so beautiful, it was Scotland at its best.

Just pass Spean Bridge, we stopped at the Commando Memorial. It overlooks the training areas of the Commando Training Depot of the second world war, and towards Ben Nevis. After viewing the monument, we took time to read all the tributes in the remembrance area. It was very poignant.

Then on to the Steps of Neptune at Banavie, a flight of eight locks. We watched for a while as a small sailing boat made the descent. In the car park there was some dubious activity going on in a motorhome in the corner. Is it appropriate to be wearing a pink dressing gown with sheer black nylons at twenty to two on a Sunday afternoon in a public car park? More concerning, was the pair of discarded men's cycling shorts nearby!  As we passed through Fort William, we thought it to be a rather drab town. It's only saving grace being Ben Nevis which presides over it. From Fort William the drive was pretty, and before we knew it, we had arrived at a little place recommended on the internet. Cuil beach on the edge of Loch Linnhe.

As soon as Marge was settled with a 'postcard of a view', we walked out on the recommendation of some locals, who admired Marge, (here we go again), around to the next two small bays. Then back to starstruck Marge, and down to the other end of the pebbled beach, stopping to take a look at the abandoned boats, anchors and driftwood. 

Because there was so much driftwood, the beach was a popular place for open fires, which was fine on the pebbles, but not on the grass.

A local person had placed large stones written with a message, asking people not to light fires on the grass on each of the black scars amongst the green. 

Early evening, as the light began to fade, the gentle waves tickled the shore and the sun dipped, casting a light of pastel blue, pink and purple across the sky, the reflection catching the greying mountains.

Before the light of the sun disappeared altogether, there was one last blaze of glory as a pool of gold lit a cleft between two mountains. This really is a magical place.