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.
Florida paddling on the St Johns River
2 hours ago