It was still foggy next day but it seemed to be lifting a little. We went on down to the Lismore ferry slip anyway.

While we waited for the ferry a seal showed up and entertained us for a little while. There's a boat ride people take during tourist season, out to look at seals, but hell, you can see them right in the harbor for free if you just hang around in the right places.

Black guillemots swam in the sheltered waters, or took off on low, fast-flapping flights. Relatives of the puffin, which is also found in these parts but we never got to see one.

At last the boat showed up and before long we were putting slowly out of the bay. The fog was still pretty heavy in spots; Dunollie Castle was just barely visible through the gray veil.

The fog was lifting off the surface as we approached Lismore, but the clouds were still hanging low and heavy. But thin spots were starting to appear, and even a few small bits of blue.

We disembarked at Achnacroish, which looked even more rundown than last year - the little building near the landing, for the shelter of people waiting for the boat, had been closed up now - and looked about, trying to decide where to go. We weren't interested in retracing our steps from last year, hiking up a paved road again. There was a rough, barely recognizable trail leading off to the right, parallel with the shoreline. That looked promising.

A rough bit of walking it turned out to be, too. The ground was sodden from a rainy spring; deep puddles and even running watercourses lay beneath the soft green grass, broken by rugged rock outcrops.

It was worth the rough going, though, for the spectacular views, especially out to sea. By now the clouds were breaking up and the sun was trying to shine. At a spot overlooking a little cove we sat down and had a picnic lunch.

Ahead, up the coast, lay a locality with the wonderful name Ballygowan. That was going to sound so cool, we decided: "Oh, we walked up the track from Achnacroish to Ballygowan."

Ballygowan turned out to consist of a cluster of farm buildings at the end of a very rough dirt road, and an abandoned old mill. That mill was worth the trip just by itself.

We had a good deal of time left, but the clouds were coming in again and, with memories of last year, we decided not to push our luck. We slogged back up the trail to Achnacroish and waited for the boat. It never did rain, but that was all right; we were tired anyway.

That evening we had dinner at the little fish and chips shop near the hotel, which I am pleased to inform you serves the best fish and chips I have ever had anywhere in the UK or elsewhere. Later I spent some quality time with a bottle of Glen Tesco and watched a tit show on Channel 4 while Phyllis wrote postcards.

One more day.