The above is Tentsmuir Forest, which bristles along a hump of coast North of St Andrews, and which hitherto I had not known about.
Sadly, there is no overnight parking right in this spot, where the dunes and grassland roll out forever towards the retreating sea, so we drove up to the small town of Tayport and hiked a little way back, camping in a dune edging on heather, in view of the Firth of Tay (the Tay estuary) and the lights of Broughty Ferry on the far shore.
With the tents set up, a barbeque had in the brief but nearly torrential rain, and many friendly dogwalkers greeted, we went out for a walk.
Super-saturation effect – taken at the time, to show how bright the woods were. My camera was struggling to catch their glow.
That big estuary sky. We walked back to camp, then on back towards Tayport, where we had seen some World War Two defense huts still set up to watch the placid horizon.
After a bit of peering and scrambling and wondering, it was time for another barbeque and to watch the sun set (I should add that the first picture of the camp was taken at around 9pm, but we walked out and about earlier). The evening was in perfect light as the sun set and barred reddish gold through the trees.
As we started to get ready to turn in for the night, a fox came close to our tents. It circled twice, eyeing us and sniffing at where we had cooked. It was the only slightly unsettling part of our stay at Tentsmuir – how much difference can a sandy, dry heathland make to our sense of peacefulness. Even those odd remnants of war only seemed empty, catchments for dust and pine needles and graffiti. We slept well on the soft sand, though it was cold. We walked back to the car, lipping the wetlands and the huge sky overhead bore us no ill will.