Memorable Mull

SOME people just aren’t built for boats.

Like me. Stick me on a small vessel in anything but the calmest of waters and only the grace of God — and a great deal of staring unflinchingly at the horizon — will keep my breakfast and the sea from making an unexpected, unwelcome rendezvous.

Yet after about an hour on the choppy waters out of Tobermory, the picturesque main town on the isle of Mull, in the west of Scotland, I was feeling rather smug. My stomach, while not exactly elated, was in one piece, weathering the swells that engulfed our small fishing boat without too much bother. “This ain’t so bad,” I thought as I scanned the water’s surface for any sign of whales, dolphins or other cetaceans, the purpose of our jaunt on the open sea.