Saturday 1st August: waiting on weather

"Aye, wat a night! Ah've been comin' here since Ah wuz a wee kiddie, an' Ah cannae remember a night like it." It had been pretty wild when I climbed into the sleeping bag, but if it had got worse since then, I hadn't noticed. And my Glaswegian neighbour was referring to the gale, not to my snoring.
By morning the weather had turned fine, but a F5 westerly was still blowing, promising uncomfortable conditions on the far side of the Mull. The outlook is for only a one-day weather window on Sunday, so there is no point doing anything other than wait.
Of course, on a trip like this, there is rarely such a thing as just waiting. Today's chores included replacing the jury-rigged tent pole which, I'm proud to say, shrugged off last night's brutal treatment.

There's an easy way to fix a broken pole...








... and there's another way, when you've run out of those neat light alloy sleeves:


















After I had fixed the tent, Tam and I walked up to the site of the old castle - scene of the previously mentioned massacre - from which the views were as follows: