The vegetation is either brown ferns on the steeper bits, or close cropped heather and grassland where the sheep graze. The ground squishes as I walk, no matter the slope. A stone fence runs parallel to the inlet, which is churned white for its length with spray and foam. I find the d n, a u-shaped rock structure, waist high, open to the west. Inside I gain respite from the wind.
Many sheep have too, their pellets litter the ground in neat piles.
The wind has been fierce and steady from the north all the way up. I find a flock of turnstones resting in a swale, a hundred feet above the water. They walk out of my way. If they took to the air they might not find land again until Spain. My tripod is a windvane, wanting to cant against my direction of travel.