But when we had crossed the line of Moidart sands and Castle Island (Eigg), it was high time somebody was seeing something, and when we opened out Rum between Eigg and Muck, manifestly we should have the buoy abeam. On a direct course from Ruadh Arisaig to the Cairns of Coll one should almost run it down. When at last Maurice picked it up well inland, we all saw it. I had held on to Muck too long.

And now for Ardnamurchan, about the wildest spot on the whole West Coast, and notorious for its stormy seas; the one spot every amateur is warned against. And here we were heading for it on a long slow roll pleasant as slumber. An old-world sailing bark was rounding it under a full spread of canvas, and in the distance looked like a miniature craft that the keepers might be amusing themselves with. I was prepared, all the same, to give the Head a comfortable berth, but as at last we drew near I stood close in, for the Crew was wanting to experiment with her camera. We were gazing all eyes, the engine forgotten, when it missed a beat or two and was obviously going to peter out, but I dived quickly and opened the throttle, which staggered her a bit, until she resumed her beat again. Some drops of rain fell. A long black thundercloud lay out from Eigg. It was any sort of weather next, with the glass perceptibly falling. Southerly wind came freshening the water. Slowly that weather-worn headland with its grey-dark twisted strata fell astern. We could see no bird-life, except for an occasional gull floating like windblown thistledown against its immense southern wall. The scene at the height of a winter storm, passing into the dark of night, must be about as near to an inferno as the mind of man can conceive.

The Crew produced one of her celebrated light lunches, and we entered the Sound of Mull to the most plentiful bird life we had so far seen. Long lines of puffins, with their yellow parrot beaks, moved swiftly over the water, while guillemots came upon us like advance air columns of armies, low to the water, at a great speed, and in perfect formation. They were obviously fishing up Loch Sunart and carrying their catches—we could see what looked like herring fry laid crossways in their beaks—to their young, possibly on the Cairns of Coll or still farther away. Once more we saw a solitary gannet. It rose between us and that pleasant looking settlement of Kilhoan behind Ardnamurchan Head. ‘That’s our lucky bird,’ explained the Crew.

Loch Sunart penetrates so far inland that it comes within a few miles of making the land of Morven an island. We took an interest in finding the lie of the Red Rocks, the New Rocks, and the Stirk Rocks, that guard the southern entrance, and picked up the red buoy that marks their western reach; though by this time we were more concerned with the clear view of Runa Gall lighthouse, two or three miles beyond which should lie Tobermory.