It was now three hours after the start of the spring flood tide and our course took us in a dog leg, round the north end of Torsa and into the Cuan Sound. We had told Phil that there might be a little slope (several feet or so) but there would not be any whirlpools (Phil has an unaccountable aversion to whirlpools).
At the entrance of the Sound, the skerry of An Cleiteadh, constricts and dams