I’m two weeks into a trip to Luing – pronounced “Ling” – in the Firth of Lorn in Argyll and Bute. From my “office” on a slate beach of the best skimmers in the world, I’ve witnessed beautiful sunsets, wild storms, snow and horizontal rain. Beneath me are thousands of sea-worn slates of all sizes, spoil from the long-gone mines of this Slate Isles archipelago. The Vikings used these waters long before the merchantmen and navy vessels, and there are still a few lobster men plying their trade here.
I first landed in 1971 and have regularly seen porpoises, bottlenose dolphins, minke whales and, on occasion, basking sharks, but no trip here is complete without otters. This time, the first ones surfaced during the two-minute ferry across Cuan Sound, soon followed by two more enjoying the flume ride along a spring water runnel, a “sheugh”, towards the open sea. Amid the splashing and spluttering as they blew across the surface of the water like kids in a bath, they drew me on through a lush flush of wild watercress which I collected to later make soup with. They led me to the remains of an earlier catch being cleaned up by gulls, with a white‑tailed sea eagle watching on.
