Thursday 6th August: Journey's end

Just as the weather improves, and just as I've entered a sea-kayaking paradise, it's time to bring the trip to a close. I need a few days to prepare for the change of change of career that follows, so it has been clear to me for some time that I'll not be able to make it all the way round Britain this summer. In the event, the end of the trip has been brought forward a little by news of a relative taken ill, so I have some visiting to fit in before September, too.
Colin McWilliams drove down to the campsite this morning to meet me and take me out to breakfast - a lovely guy, and I hope his new kayak coaching/guiding business goes from strength to strength.
There will be some more posts here, as I wrap up some loose ends and record some technical stuff that might be of use to other paddlers contemplating a similar odyssey (kit reviews, etc.).

Meanwhile, thanks:

• to everyone who has been motivating me by following this blog and commenting;
• to all of you who have contributed so generously to Musequality and the MS
  Society (if you were thinking of getting round to it, it's not too late...);
• to all of you who have welcomed me into your homes, and shown so many other kindnesses; and especially
• to my wife, who has supported me with unfailing good grace, despite having all the worry of a husband at sea, and none of the control!

I leave our beautiful coastline, frustratingly, just at the start of Simon Willis' Scottish Sea Kayak Trail, but keen to come back one day and carry on.

Wednesday 5th August: Arduine - Gallanachbeg (near Oban)

Launched in sunshine and gusty conditions, with the promise of more wind to come, and doubled back to Craogh Haven to get a phone signal and call ahead to Oban, where Barry Shaw had kindly arranged the help of his friend Colin McWilliams. From there, across to Luing and north until I entered the tiny inlet south of Torsa, exchanging friendly greetings with the crew of a gaff-rigged Cornish Crabbers Shrimper, and from thence via a narrow, weedy, channel and a short stretch of grade 1 whitewater to the strongly tidal Cuan Sound, which itself discharges into the Firth of Lorn via an impressive set of stoppers and eddy lines. Took shelter in Easedale Sound to land and fix a jammed skeg, and then ran with the Atlantic swell and a F5 south-easterly through the Sound of Insh, north-east towards Oban. To windward, the crags were punctuated with the ruins of several duns and forts, relics of a recent, more violent, history.
Entering the Sound of Kerrera, I spotted another kayak to leeward and paddled across to meet James, who is spending his summer holiday from St.Andrews University paddling the coast from Plymouth. We pulled in at the public slipway by the dive centre at Gallanachbeg (apparently some paddlers have been charged by the dive centre for the use of this slip) where we exchanged news, and from which James continued to the north-east and I landed to pitch camp at the nearby site.

Tuesday 4th August: Tayinloan - Arduine

Launched under grey skies, with a stiff southerly breeze and following seas. Passed ahead of an incoming CalMac ferry at the entrance to West Loch Tarbert, and entered the Sound of Jura. The cloudbase gradually lifted from 150m to unveil a Tolkein-esque landscape of mountains and clouds. In the foreground, patches of sunlight slithered across bracken, rock and heather, revealing in their undulating shapes the topography. All around were mountains and, in the background, the ghosts of greater mountains, gaunt and grey, merging with the lowering clouds. A few yachts crawled, reefed and heeling, across this backdrop, and my boat, unable to surf because of the weight of her load, wallowed and corkscrewed in the short wind-driven seas. Alas, my camera switched itself on inside the pocket of my buoyancy aid and managed to discharge its battery entirely in a frenzy of autofocus-panic, so you'll have to take on trust the drama of the surroundings.
At the north end of Jura, and to the south of Scarba, lies the Strait of Corryvreckan with its notorious tide race and whirlpool. As I approached, keeping well to the east, sunlight lit up the south face of Scarba, scarred with mineralised veins as if having been clawed by a huge cat. Most satisfyingly dramatic.
Passing between Craignish Point and the skerries to westward, with up to 6 knots of tide under me, I was surprised by the apparent benignity of the Dorus Mor. From here, the paddle led into the relatively sheltered conditions east of Shuna. I was convinced for a while of a warship at anchor in Asknish Bay, but the light was playing tricks with my eyes.
Past the marina at Craogh ("Crow", like the bird) Haven and, after 9 hours paddling, I pulled onto the public slipway at Arduine (Ar-doon'-ee), to find that the campsite marked on the OS map ceased to exist three years ago. Fortunately, Keith, a somewhat bemused local householder, let me pitch on his lawn and use the shower.

Monday 3rd August: waiting on weather

I woke to the spasms of the tent on this windswept site. The wind is in the south, and might just about be OK for paddling, but it's not worth the risk. All day the squalls came through, gusting up to F7 according to the anemometer. All night a motor cruiser had been forced to round the island of Gigha repeatedly, having discovered the inadequacy of its anchor...
Met John Shaw, a local paddler of many years' experience, and tapped his local knowledge for the strongly tidal sounds ahead.

Sunday 2nd August: Southend - Tayinloan

The forecast was for W4-5 backing S3-4, so I struck camp and set off. Neil, one of my neighbours on the campsite, helped with the return of keys, and filmed while I battered the trolley wheels into their small gap in the forward tank.





The first sea kayaks for weeks appeared ahead, and turned out to be Lewis and Magda - friends from previous "symposiums" (sea kayak rallies). They had turned back at the Mull because the conditions were bigger than they wanted for a pleasant day trip so, knowing that Lewis is a far better paddler than I am, and suspecting that the same might be true of Magda, I had a few moments of doubt. Still, no harm in taking a look...


Rounding the Mull, I estimated the seas at around 3 metres (so no photos), but they were of long wavelength and so posed little problem. I chose to paddle along the eddy line, avoiding the largest of the overfalls, but staying offshore of the adverse eddy itself.
The sea state quickly settled down, and I made good time, with a favourable southerly wind, and the tide still setting north.













The scenery mellowed, and to seaward the hills of Islay and the Paps of Jura dominated the horizon. I had calculated that a quick dash into the lee of these islands would protect me from the worst sea state if there should be a resumption of the strong westerlies of the last few days.













The campsite, just south-east of Rhunahaorine Point, was scenic, friendly and welcoming, but jaw-droppingly expensive, and you are recommended to boil any drinking water.

Two days of southerly up to F7 are promised so I tied the boat down before turning in.

I've had some news that might mean I have to truncate trip very soon...

Saturday 1st August: waiting on weather

"Aye, wat a night! Ah've been comin' here since Ah wuz a wee kiddie, an' Ah cannae remember a night like it." It had been pretty wild when I climbed into the sleeping bag, but if it had got worse since then, I hadn't noticed. And my Glaswegian neighbour was referring to the gale, not to my snoring.
By morning the weather had turned fine, but a F5 westerly was still blowing, promising uncomfortable conditions on the far side of the Mull. The outlook is for only a one-day weather window on Sunday, so there is no point doing anything other than wait.
Of course, on a trip like this, there is rarely such a thing as just waiting. Today's chores included replacing the jury-rigged tent pole which, I'm proud to say, shrugged off last night's brutal treatment.

There's an easy way to fix a broken pole...








... and there's another way, when you've run out of those neat light alloy sleeves:


















After I had fixed the tent, Tam and I walked up to the site of the old castle - scene of the previously mentioned massacre - from which the views were as follows:

Friday 31st July: waiting on weather

Today dawned bright and sunny, with a gentle F3-4 south-easterly - perfect for rounding the Mull and heading north to Machrihanish before the forecast westerly gale arrives. The only fly in the ointment was the fact that I had slept through my alarm and missed the tide. Resigning myself to another day ashore, I laundered the festering clothes, and chatted with the other campers.
Glaswegian taxi-driver Tam and his chum Archie, entertained me with hearty bonhomie, and introduced me to some of the macabre history of the region. There is a small ruin in the field next door which apparently was used to imprison the 300 unfortunates who would shortly become the victims of the 1647 massacre. And the former lifeboat house was restored by a local man, Donnie MacLean, who used to loan kayaks to the youngsters of the village, presumably in a more easy-going, less litigious, age, before the Lyme Bay tragedy changed the face of our sport, and indeed all outdoor activities for young people, forever.
The wind and rain started mid-morning, so I've decamped to Campbeltown by bus, there to buy groceries, reading material (as a prophylactic against cabin fever), and sit in a warm, dry, restaurant, updating the blog and surreptitiously recharging various bits of electronics. Alas, Campbells the Chandlers have sold the last remaining VHF handset within several days' paddle of here.

Thursday 30th July: Peninver - Campbeltown - Southend

Up at 0400 to catch the southbound tide and still allow time to visit the post office in Campbeltown, where I hope to collect a set of tent poles, sent poste restante by Terra Nova. This five-year-old tent has stood up remarkably well to its sufferings, but I suspect that metal fatigue and saltwater corrosion are taking their toll on the joints. One fracture, over a week ago, was easily fixed using a tubular splint supplied for the purpose, but the second one, on Arran, required some improvisation with tent-peg splints, cord lashings, and gaffer tape.
Campbeltown Loch is sheltered in terms of sea state, but is a wind funnel in today's westerly, so it was a bit of a slog to reach the harbour at the eastern end of the sea-loch, only to find that the package had not yet arrived at the post office.





South of Campbeltown and east of the Mull of Kintyre, the countryside is muted and gentle, being given over mostly to cattle and sheep, and a scattering of caravan parks. In Sanda Sound, the full force of the westerly hit me once more, and it was an exhausting slog, using the last of the ebb stream, to reach Southend. There, the easiest egress from the beach is at the western end of the campsite.
My VHF has definitely developed a fault, and despite following the kind advice of the radio amateurs on Arran, I could not contact the Coastguard on reaching shore. Neither of my mobile phone networks had a reliable signal either, so there was nothing to help it: a hike to a payphone ensued.
Pitched camp, brewed up, dined at the pub, and climbed gratefully into the sleeping bag...
... only to be woken in the dead of night by two Glaswegian voices discussing what a lark it would be to steal the boat and go to sea. An intensely anxious feeling of deja vu kept me alert for some while afterwards.

Monday 27th - Tuesday 28th July: waiting on weather

I just need these westerlies to abate, for the open crossing onto the Mull of Kintyre. Meanwhile, socialising with a most congenial set of fellow campers, and learning a bit about amateur radio.

Wednesday 29th July: Kildonan - Peninver

The wind is still not settled, but this is as good as it will get for the next few days.

The south side of Arran shows more evidence of that raised beach, and promises plenty of pleasant paddling for a possible future return trip.





For almost the entire crossing, the lighthouse on Davaar Island was visible at the seaward end of Campbeltown Loch. I was heading a few miles north of here, but the flood tidal stream sets north by about a knot close inshore to the western side of the Firth. There was no traffic, apart from a couple of yachts, all day - a sad reflection on the decline of one of our foremost shipbuilding and naval centres.


The campsite at Peninver (pronounced Pen-ee'-ver - this might be the start of a Gaelic placename nightmare...) is no longer allowed to take tents, so I had to camp on the foreshore, but was still allowed use of the showers. No complaints. Peninver has a calm lagoon bounded by a sandy beach and extensive skerries that are infested with dozens of seals (Atlantic greys, I think). For the young families enjoying the caravan site, this is almost Swallows & Amazons country. One of these families donated some fresh mackerel to my supper pot - most welcome. Served with a ready made Bombay potato side dish, this was fine dining. And the herring gulls enjoyed the trimmings.

Sunday 26th July: waiting on weather

The expected wind arrived overnight: a southerly that was forecast to reach up to F8, but in reality probably never exceeded F6. It didn't seem to have affected the radio amateurs, but nevertheless it was too windy for paddling, so I spent the day ashore.







Here, the flood tidal stream, setting against wind-driven seas, creates up a stopper in the shoals between Arran and Pladda.







Later on the sun came out, but the forecast still looks too windy for the Mull.

Saturday 25th July: Girvan - Kildonan (Isle of Arran)

A short open crossing to Arran, in pleasant sunshine and a F3 southerly, marred only by the strong suspicion that my VHF handset has developed a fault. I couldn't raise Clyde Coastguard on the first attempt, and on the second I was "weak and barely readable."


The elegant lighthouse on Pladda was visible for the entire crossing and, as expected, the flood tidal stream increased as I neared the south end of Arran.
Northern Ireland is not far away, so could these rock formations be columnar basalt, similar to the Giant's Causeway? I found myself speculating that the entire Firth of Cyde might be a collapsed caldera, and I keenly await correction via a comment from an informed geologist!



On reaching the beach by the (surprisingly crowded) campsite, a score or more of sturdy chaps in karate tunics gathered on the beach. Had I stumbled onto the set of a Bond movie? Was Campsite Security standing by to repel boarders? It turned out that numerous followers of obscure martial arts were taking a weekend break to beat each other up in scenic surroundings.
The campsite itself was sporting some impressive, but clearly temporary, antennae - the visible evidence of a radio amateur competition, in which enthusiasts sit up all night, pondering the vicissitudes of the ionosphere, and exchanging callsigns with a mysterious interlocutor called "Old Man", gaining points for each island on which this gentleman is found. I confess to getting drawn into a fascinating description of radio licensing, volunteer emergency cover, antennae, reactance-compensating power amplifiers, band-pass filters, voice-spectrum-adjusting-thingammies, and other marvels. Apparently, these radio operators also spend a far bit of their free time helping at county fairs, car rallies, and other sorts of civil emergencies and natural disasters, where they man communications networks for the emergency services.
Expecting wind tonight.

Friday 24th July: waiting on weather

A slight novelty: it's a pleasant enough day for paddling, so why am I pleading weather? Well, looking ahead, there's a vicious little depression closing in on western Scotland that will certainly prevent me from getting round the Mull of Kintyre, so I might as well spend an extra day here and enjoy the crossing to Arran without today's westerlies. The number of weather-bound days this week won't be affected either way...

Thursday 23rd July: ashore

I slept through my alarm this morning, and by the time I awoke it was a simple decision to spend the day ashore attending to chores. Paddlers sometimes compare these extended expeditions on the basis of the number of kayakers involved - the (valid) assumption being that solo trips are a bit harder - but I suspect that the degree of shore support available makes a far greater difference. The chores: of camping, eating, re-victualling, laundry, mending kit, charging electronics, passage planning, getting weather forecasts, and (no complaint intended, esteemed readers) keeping the blog up to date, all eat into time and energy reserves. Meanwhile the weather is all at sixes and sevens.
Very soon I need to make a decision: whether to round the Mull of Kintyre or take the Crinan Canal. In a perverse example of the Law of Unintended Consequences, it seems that the Health and Safety people make kayakers portage the locks of the Crinan Canal. Now heaving 100kg of boat and kit up steep, slippery grassy banks sounds pretty dangerous to me so, apart from preferring the scenery, other things being equal I'll take my chances with the Mull. If I've misunderstood, and you know that the lock-keepers can be relied on to let me lock the boat through, please speak up, as the surface pressure chart for the weekend looks atrocious!

Wednesday 22nd July: Portpatrick - Girvan

It was a leisurely start to the day, a midday departure being dictated by the start of the ebb tidal stream off Portpatrick. However, I was able to get away a bit earlier than planned as the ebb stream seems to start close inshore about an hour sooner than advertised further out. The forecast sounded pretty foul, with thundery showers - not the sort of conditions I would normally choose, but today there are plenty of opportunities to get off the water at short notice, should the need arise. In case of cold, I wore my drysuit instead of the Chillcheater gear. However, the day turned out fine, so I was doomed to "boil in the bag."

This part of the Galloway coast contains some classicly elegant lighthouses: this one is at Black Head.







Signs of early habitation lie thick on the ground. The OS map indicates one hill-fort after another, and it is not hard to imagine these structures in an earlier age.






From a distance, Craig Laggan (the rock in the left of the photo) looks a bit like an approaching steamer, then a dark-sailed square-rigger, before revealing its true identity.
Emerging from the mist behind the headland, is Ailsa Craig, a glowing pink confection, wreathed in cumulus.




This ancient volcanic plug would dominate the day's paddle, and I found myself speculating on the mythology that must surely accompany such a place. In this light, it has a fairytale quality - and we all know the ghastly nature of fairytales, don't we children? Thoughts of Bluebeard's Castle, the Baba Yaga, and of course, Hänsel and Gretel ran through my mind; with what sinister inhabitants are infant Scots threatened? In the event, there seems to be little to tell - just a bit of cannibalism and incest according to the Wikipedia article.



A very welcome feature of today's paddle was the favourable tidal stream, up to four knots in places. Lobster pot buoys are useful indicators, and this one tells the story vividly.






For a long while, I had been conscious of the sound of powerful engines transmitted through the water and into the hull of the kayak. Now, as I approached Corsewall Point (another fine lighthouse) the Stena Line sea cat steamed, probably in excess of 30 knots, towards the entrance of Loch Ryan, closely followed by another fast ferry and a displacement-mode Sealink vessel.

With a cruising speed of 3 knots, I'm more than a little vulnerable in the presence of these ships. It is most unlikely that I would be seen from the bridge, and their capacity for manoeuvre is constrained. With these thoughts in mind, I paused at Milleur Point and broadcast my first ever Securite call before crossing the mouth of Loch Ryan.
On the far side of the sea loch, the cliffs took on a grander aspect, with many intriguing opportunities for exploration on a future occasion.





Further north, the coastline mellowed, but the approach to Girvan turned into a race with ominously-towering and brown-hued clouds massing over Ailsa Craig. Heavily laden as she is, the boat was starting to surf the wind seas and the wind itself was singing in the paddles before I rounded the breakwater into Girvan harbour.

There is no access from the river to the campsite marked on the OS map, so it is best to land at the sailing club slip immediately to seaward of the coastguard station. The campsite itself is pleasant enough, cheap, but with some annoying idiosyncracies: although the showers are free, you need to buy tokens to get water for laundry or washing up. I can only speculate whether this is a consequence of some strange historic abuse of the facilities, or whether it is humorous Scottish self-mockery.

I've been craving a curry for some while, so treated myself to one at the Pearl Restaurant - the menu includes some unusual dishes and the food was great. Another place to re-visit...

Tuesday 21st July: waiting on weather

Yesterday's was a great paddle, in near-ideal conditions. However, there is a problem with the weather this "summer", and today I'm stuck ashore in the wind and rain. Just as well, because that set of charts should arrive at the local post office.
On the way up from the harbour yesterday, I dropped into the post office to warn them that I was expecting a poste restante package, and it was just as well that I did. Quite a few small sub-postoffices have, quite reasonably, decided that they lack the space to hold mail for collection, and it was only by promising to turn up when the delivery arrived, that I avoided its being returned to the main post office at Stranraer. Everything worked fine in the end: I collected the package and bought some groceries, getting only the mildest of lectures from a lady I took to be the postmistress.
Back to the tent: passage planning, cooking, laundry, and time to read the newspaper. I gather that the rest of you are living in fear of something called swine 'flu, which apparently is a disease of humans, not pigs.

Monday 20th July: Drummore - Portpatrick

Up at the crack of dawn to catch slack water at the Mull.

I was ready to go by 0830, and had time to phone chartroom-online.com and order charts of the Firth of Clyde, to be sent poste restante to Portpatrick. That was a relief, as the Clyde has fast ferry traffic out of Stranraer, and submarine activity; and Kintyre has fast tidal streams.



Set off, and enjoyed a placid paddle in the morning sunshine and in the lee of the land. There is much evidence of early habitation here, in the form of earthworks; the Mull must have been a prime defensible site in prehistoric times.

The forecast was for winds W F4-5 backing S or SE 3-4, and the first bit was certainly true, so I was feeling a bit apprehensive about what I might meet on the other side.


From Luce Bay, the Mull looks like any other headland,








but dodging under the lines of the early morning anglers, and starting to round the headland, it begins to reveal its full magnificence. It is truly one of the grandest and most beautiful sights of the trip so far.

It also lives up to its reputation for tidal streams and sea state. I was rounding it in the last hour of the flood, according to the published information, but in reality the ebb stream was already setting west, close inshore along the south coast of the Mull.

By this stage, the clapotis was getting pretty lively: not as big a sea state as off the Lizard, nor as chaotic as Wylfa Head, but just enough to set me up with a big silly grin for the next hour...

Further round the headland, the cliff scenery mellows, but remains achingly beautiful, for mile upon mile.
By this stage, the wind was backing into the south, per forecast, although the promised reduction in wind strength never really arrived. Still, it was fun eating up the miles with the conditions helping me along, and once again I was really grateful for that new skeg.

Eventually, the castle ruins just south of Portpatrick hove into sight, and I paddled, gratefully, into the calm of the picturesque harbour.
There is a choice of campsites, all about 1km up the hill out of the village.