I have had to leave the bothy (where I am currently fixing a crofter's cottage and setting up a smallholding for a new television programme) for a few days to come and pick up stores and do a little work to earn a few pennies. The feeling of sitting in a nice chair, sleeping under a many-togged duvet, and stuffing my face with everything on the room service menu in the space of six hours, is sublime. Nonetheless, as I sit here feeling my arteries harden due to a colossal and sudden input of cholesterol, I'm anxious to get back.
The reason is that up here we are now in the full blast of a lovely summer, and I have been burned a nutty brown by relentless sun for the past month. The renovations on the bothy have been completed, I have livestock (well, hens - you may laugh, but don't underestimate the humble hen. Did you know that they are the nearest living relative to Tyrannosaurus rex? No, neither did I - but for an accident of time they'd be scattering your flailing limbs to the four winds and eating your car). Life is good on the wild and beautiful shores of the gilded kingdom that is the west coast of Scotland.
The marine life in the sea, on the doorstep of the bothy, is also starting to prosper. Last week, the water boiled briefly only yards offshore as baitfish hurled themselves through the surface in a frantic attempt to escape the shoals of mackerel beneath. I could make out darting, silvery bodies just under the surface lancing into the smaller shoal, a fact not lost on the sea birds that in turn assaulted the baitball from the air. So there it was, The Blue Planet in glorious 3D and surround sound, being played out in front of my eyes as I sat on the grass and nursed a cup of coffee.
The local shop stocks newspapers that are several weeks old, so it was only a few days ago that I read with great sadness of the death of a tourist in the Caribbean on a shark dive. You may remember this chap - he was bitten during the course of a shark-feeding dive and bled to death on the ride home.
This is obviously a real tragedy for his relatives and friends, and I'm sure has reignited the intense debate around shark-feeding activities. For my part, I can only begin to imagine how distressing this death must be for those who were close to him, and, of course, I sympathise entirely, but I must once again add my support - for what it's worth - of shark diving. If feeding is conducted in a responsible manner, it provides a closeup glimpse of one of the most remarkable animals on earth, and crucially means that sharks concentrate in certain areas when they become accustomed to feeding activities. This in turn makes them easier to protect, as they provide valuable income for dive operators and locals alike, as thrill-seeking divers flock to these locations.
Perhaps the best example of this for me was on a recent expedition where a local operator told me that two sharks had been found on the beach with their fins removed and their jaws cut out. When I asked if the local authorities had been informed, he told me grimly that this would be 'dealt with locally. Let me assure you that the people responsible will not kill any more sharks'. With - pardon the pun - toothless legislation so often in place for the protection of key species around the world, is there a better form of protection than outraged local operators who rely on that animal for their livelihood? I still believe that sharks need every scrap of help they can get, and if responsible shark feeding means they become significant to a local economy anywhere in the world, then let's support it mightily.
Speaking of sharks, I'm expecting the baskers to turn up soon in the channel separating the bothy from the Isle of Skye. This is one of the great spectacles in nature, and I'll be sure to let you know how this encounter goes. Also expected imminently is the arrival of the infamous Scottish midges, so there's every chance my next column will also be written from this same hotel, grease dribbling down my chin and images of our very own ocean giant coursing through my brain.
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