In the spring of 2012, Kurt Jackson followed the Kintyre peninsula to its southern end, arriving at a glinting, rushing burn between banks of celandines and kingcups.

He stayed in an ancient water mill that was in perfect working order, but lay silent, frozen in time; every functional cog and wheel unworked for 50 years.

Jackson trailed the stream from its loch high on the moor past the mill and down to that dark coast with pencil line and paintbrush stroke, tracing every curve and meander, overhanging tree and washed rock.