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The prospect of pulling on a cold, wet, wet suit for the third time that day didn’t appeal to many of the divers but three of them thought it was a good idea. Intrigued, I’d never done a night dive before, I volunteered to go as well.

By about 8pm that night we had finished a DIY dinner and cleared up. The four of us loaded our kit into a couple of cars and headed down to Kyle once again. A couple of others came for the life experience and to give shore cover. If we got into trouble or got carried away we could signal them with our torches and they would know to put a rescue into effect.

Back down at the slip at Kyle, with every brick and nuance of which I was now intimately familiar, we once again parked in the darkness of the car park, half lit by the orange glow of a solitary streetlamp. The afternoon wind and rain squall had given way to the stillness of a west coast evening, with a steady drizzle, that fell vertically from the darkness above.

Outwith the cocoon of light from the street lamp it was black all around. Across Loch Alsh we could see the orange lights of the small village of Kyleakin, the other side of the ferry route.