Back to the Fairy Pools — and I honestly don’t think I’ll ever get tired of this place.
There’s something otherworldly in these waters, especially on mornings like this one: cold air, mist clinging to the Cuillin ridges, and a silence so deep it feels ancient.
I found a new spot not far from where I shot my first image here, just upstream.
The pools shimmered with a faint glow from the overcast sky, and the sound of the river echoed like a whisper from another age.
It’s easy to see why local legends speak of fairies dwelling here — or why it could just as well be the realm of wandering elves or the last outposts of Númenor, long forgotten in the North.
In these moments, with the clouds hanging low and the light barely breaking through, it feels like the mountains themselves are watching.