Mechanical monsters have invaded the quiet waters of Eyemouth to scour the harbour floor.  Oozing black mud and sea water,  the detritus of the last three years is hauled up and deposited on the waiting Shearwater, the flat bottomed boat which dumps each load into the North Sea.

These workhorses dwarf everything else in the harbour,  labouring both day and night to a timetable dictated by the tides.

(The swans, rather sensibly, have taken to the long grass and the relative peace at the mouth of the river.)