The sun is beaming down, on a scene which could be from the Greek Islands, by the time I arrive back in St Mary's harbour.
My walk has taken me, high above the rooftops, of Hugh Town. Starting from the castle gates. . . .
. . . .and following the long fortified walls, as they hug the shoreline, of St Mary's south western tip.
Dragon tongues, of montbretia, dart fiery jets of colour, amid wind-tossed bracken.
Restless Atlantic swells dash themselves against outcrops of riven granite. Exploding, with a sound like cannon fire, into pearly white plumes.
A chorister blackbird calls, like a bugler, with notes pure and true, from the shelter of the dressed stone walls.
Below me, a liner lies at anchor, in St Mary's Sound . New Grimsby Sound, between Tresco and Bryher, her backdrop. (To the right of her top deck, Hangman's Rock and Cromwell's Castle just discernible, through the haze - above the white motor yacht.)
Further round, the St Agnes light house peers down, over the entrance to Porth Conger. Whilst a sturdy red pole marks the Spanish Ledge reef, which lurks, to catch the unwary, just to the west of St Mary's.
A navigation mark which Stargazer used, to slip safely between the rocky outcrop and the island shore, on her way into Porth Cressa. The Morning Point Battery, where I now find myself, has a commanding view of our anchorage . With a cannon embrasure located directly above Stargazer.
All traces, of the morning mist, have now evaporated, under the onslaught of the midday sun. The Scillonian coat of arms is picked out, bright and bold, on a whitewashed wall. . . .
. . . .as I return to the harbour, through the castle gates.
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