Shadowed by the policeman of a lingering pod of orca, shallow into the shore of an appointed camping spot. Being tail-flipped into a series of rollicking capsizes by a playful dolphin, off the rocky extremities of Cape Wrath.
Two anecdotes told with relish by a consummate storm-going veteran of the outdoors.
He'd rounded our tents as we packed up for the early ferry. What time did it leave? We shared our journey in German and English, back from Castlebay, through Oban to Glasgow.
I asked whether he had ever written about his experiences. No, only his log books. There were other writers.
Some refuse to accept the wild sea and land as unwelcoming realms, but respectfully occupy their own place amongst other creatures and weather fronts.
We fixed his phone and I gave him a postcard drawn at Howmore a few days before.