Port an Eas 2

You've seen the photos - you know there was motion everywhere. Well, not so much with the lichen, but otherwise in Port an Eas that day, things were on the move - great sails of clouds, the ocean all swells and troughs and pushing up onto the shingle, drag and push, drag and push, and the kelp moving under it at a different rhythm, lifing heavy heads out of the waves and disappearing again, wearied by the effort - behind, the tall waterfall that pulsed and was caught by the wind - and always at the edge of sight, the scattered dashes of shore pipits in amongst the rocks.

But this was different.

This was a sudden sleek black arc in the water, as brief as any other motion in the bay, but so much more definite. So entirely itself and nothing else. An arc ... a pause and then a little further along, it surfaced again and I caught a glimpse of back and tail ... another pause and there it was - the otter's head, whiskers stiff and busy, eyes intent on other things than gob-smacked humans on the shore. And then it was gone. That was it. Three heart-beat length sightings of otter in ocean.

This wasn't what I was on Islay for - and tomorrow I'll tell you about that - but, well, as the bard said, Phew! Cor Blimey! Wow!

Cheers, Joan.

P.S. Don't worry - I'm not planning on blogging 17 times a second as a regular sort of thing - it's just that this trip seems to be dividing itself this way, and who am I are to argue with my material?