Paddle Log

Thursday 6th August: Journey's end

2009-08-06T14:54:00.002+01:00

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)

2009-08-06T13:56:00.003+01:00

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

2009-08-06T13:05:00.005+01:00

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

2009-08-03T21:34:00.002+01:00

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

2009-08-02T23:18:00.006+01:00

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

2009-08-02T22:03:00.006+01:00

"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

2009-07-31T17:10:00.006+01:00

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

2009-07-31T16:49:00.004+01:00

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

2009-07-31T16:21:00.002+01:00

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

2009-07-31T16:20:00.003+01:00

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

2009-07-26T17:19:00.005+01:00

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)

2009-07-26T16:51:00.004+01:00

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

2009-07-26T16:48:00.000+01:00

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

2009-07-23T20:52:00.002+01:00

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

2009-07-23T19:05:00.008+01:00

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

2009-07-22T00:58:00.003+01:00

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

2009-07-21T23:29:00.007+01:00

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.

Sunday 19th July: Port William - Drummore

2009-07-21T23:26:00.003+01:00

The wind is still in the west, but the forecast for tomorrow has it decreasing and backing into the south, so it's time to position myself for getting round the Mull of Galloway. I set off in the sunshine, slamming into a F4 westerly, and three-and-a-bit hours later I pulled the boat ashore at Drummore. What more is there to say?
Well, there was a Big Scare, and some Little Scares, a mile or two off to port. It seems that the name is a Norse word (or Scots, depending on whom you talk to), more familiar to me as the "Scar" of the English Peak District - a conspicuous rock.
At Drummore, the Clash public house has a campsite, easily accessible from the water using the ramp at the extreme north end of the village. It looks like a static van site, but don't be deterred: it takes tents on the small grassy area at the top of the ramp (seaward end of the site). Reception is in the pub, where the landlord, an auxiliary coastguard, is all too familiar with hauling people off the cliffs of the Mull, and where the regulars are happy to regale you with descriptions of the complex tidal streams and daunting sea states to be expected off the Mull and the west coast of the peninsular. Their advice to stand well in to the cliffs as you round the Mull (from the lighthouse to the foghorn) was to prove sound tomorrow.
Meanwhile, I was making a complete fool of myself in the pub - forgetting the name of the place where I had landed while on the phone to the coastguard, and freely admitting that I lacked a chart for the coming crossing of the Firth of Clyde.

Friday 17th - Saturday 18th July: waiting on weather

2009-07-21T23:21:00.003+01:00

Strictly speaking, I'm waiting on weather forecasts that seem consistently pessimistic. Nevertheless, I don't want to be on the far side of the Mull with the wind in the north-west.
There are few more pleasant places than Port William to be stuck ashore: the pace of life here is gentle; people smile a lot, and seem to have time to chat.

Wednesday 15th - Thursday 16th: ashore

2009-07-16T14:44:00.002+01:00

Spent Wednesday ashore, nursing sores and doing some chores. It was a beautiful day for paddling but I just wasn't up to it. The weather forecast for the next day or so includes the promise of north-westerlies up to F7, so there's no point being on the west coast of the Mull of Galloway for that - I might as well sit tight here and drive some more tent pegs in...

Tuesday 14th July: Kirkcudbright - Port William

2009-07-16T13:29:00.007+01:00

Rose, breakfasted, struck camp and packed, towed the boat down to the river and was on the water at 0930, launching on the last of the ebb from the yacht pontoon. This is the only mud-free access at low water, and the inner pontoon is accessible from the shorewards side of the security gate. There were only inches of water over the "Devil's Thrashing Floor" (strange how much of our coastline is assigned to him, one way and another...), so I had to take the long way out via the marked channel, passing two yachts just weighing anchor at Little Ross. Once outside the estuary, there was plenty of clapotis, but a beautiful craggy coastline.
I went north into Wigtown Bay for a bit, to get out of the flood tidal stream in the Solway, and then crossed to Portyerrock on a bearing, despite some reservations about the clouds to windward (lightning having been forecast for the afternoon). In the event, torrential rain calmed the sea state and I made up over an hour on the plan, lunching in the lee of the land at Portyerrock.

The ebb seems to set in a bit early around Burton Head, so I paddled on into more clapotis, my buoyancy aid now chafing my shoulder abominably.

Into Luce Bay, and a new landscape consisting of a grand grassy escarpment with evidence of early fortification, and cup and ring marked rocks indicated on the map. All this stands behind the raised beach which is a feature of the coastline of the Scottish highlands and islands, and which is a result of isostatic rebound following the melting of the glacial ice sheets.
Tried to land at Monreith, but made a mess of it, as I was very stiff after hours in the boat, and stumbled around, swamping the boat and bruising myself on the boulders. One campsite is now only a static van site, and the second one marked on the OS map no longer exists, so I carried on to Port William, where a very pleasant camp site overlooks the boulder-strewn foreshore. Nathan, a young canoeist and outdoor enthusiast, helped me up the foreshore, and I pitched camp at 1900, very tired and sore.

Monday 13th July: ashore

2009-07-16T13:26:00.002+01:00

Maybe I've just hit a flat spot, but I've been dog-tired the last few days. If I wait another day, there should be less wind, more timely tides, fewer sores, and more energy...

Sunday 12th July: waiting on weather

2009-07-12T19:32:00.003+01:00

The Met Office promised me an "unseasonally severe Atlantic depression," but last evening was calm and overcast. During the night it rained, hard, and by this morning it was blowing F4/5 on the campsite, which is quite sheltered. I could believe the forecasters' promise of up to F7 inshore.

First the rain and then the wind,
Topsail sheets and halyards mind.
First the wind and then the rain,
Hoist your topsails up again.

Spent the day taking in some local culture, as we're now in Scotland, making a passage plan for tomorrow, cooking and doing chores.

Saturday 11th July: chores, weather, injury time

2009-07-11T14:40:00.003+01:00

This morning I had to pick up another bundle of navigational material from the post office, so a late start was inevitable. The forecast is for an unseasonally severe Atlantic depression to sweep in, bring winds up to F7 here, and F8 the other side of the Mull of Galloway. Kirkcudbright is a delightful spot, and I'm not sorry of the opportunity to rest the tendonitis for a day.

Friday 10th July: St.Bees - Kirkcudbright

2009-07-11T14:11:00.004+01:00

At last the forecast is for an end to these nor'westerlies. Launched from the beach at St.Bees and paddled north past the imposing headland of, I guess, red sandstone, then set course 315 to ferry glide across the Solway Firth with the spring flood tide sweeping me up towards Carlisle at two knots.
The visibility was good and I could see the Scottish coast already but, as is often the case with long open crossings, the view did not seem to change much for the next six hours. Eventually buildings started to resolve themselves and the Kirkcudbright (pronounced ker-koo'-bree) firing range came in sight. I had already checked with the range control that there was no firing today - the range seems to specialise in experimental weapons, rail-guns and the like - but at about 1515 in the afternoon I'm sure I was briefly illuminated by a red laser from a white building on shore (laser speckle is very distinctive).
The wind, which had been steadily building all day, was now blowing F4-5, and as the ebb flow started, a nasty sea developed. By now, I had been paddling 7-8 hours continuously, so the extra effort was quite unwelcome. Eventually I rounded Gipsy Point and entered Kirkcudbright Bay and a landscape of low-lying craggy rocks and gently rolling pasture. After weeks at sea it was something of a novelty to paddle in estuarine conditions, and I enjoyed the last couple of miles in the evening sun, past mudflats ands buoys, into the town.
Camped on the municipal campsite, and met Nick Hand, who is cycling round the country. Tomorrow should be an easy day, which is just as well because I''ve developed some nasty tendonitis.

Monday 6th - Thursday 9th July: Waiting on weather

2009-07-07T21:05:00.003+01:00

Well, strictly speaking, waiting on weather forecasts, which have been promising north-westerlies up to F6 and lightning, none of which have materialised. Nevertheless, I'm not taking the chance of ending a 20 mile open crossing in strong tidal streams with a battle against the conditions.
I've spent the time visiting the local towns and trying to improve my internet access (now via a tiny laptop protected by 4 layers of waterproofing and a guarantee that, the salesman assures me, covers this rather extreme use!). Can't manage cellphone access yet though, as I cannot prove my identity to Orange's satisfaction. Grrrr.

Sunday 5th July: rest day

2009-07-05T15:13:00.002+01:00

I had been in two minds whether to press on across the Solway today, Sunday being generally a good day not to get shot at or run down, but the discovery of a minor injury settled the question. Today was spent on chores: laundry, re-victualling, re-charging electronics, and this set of blog updates (on a slow modem link kindly contributed by a fellow camper - thanks Roy). I've got some editing to do, once I can get access to a faster link, check some facts, and upload photos.
Tomorrow: the big push across to Scotland, while the weather holds.

Saturday 4th July: Haverigg - St.Bees

2009-07-05T14:51:00.004+01:00

Left Haverigg on the ebb, taking care not to get stranded on the extensive sands. The southerly wind was back, making this an easy day's paddle. The mountains of Cumbria stretched away to starboard, merging dramatically with leaden clouds as "various troughs and frontal systems" worked their way inland.
From a great distance the towers of Windscale, sorry, Sellafield, nuclear installation were visible - a relic of the cold war which at various times has been the subject of some nasty accidents and pollution incidents. Other writers have complained of their film getting fogged as they passed by, but today any fog was due to the squall that descended as I drew close. The sea state picked up enough to get the boat surfing occasionally, and I was immensely grateful for the skeg that Mike Webb fitted in Anglesey - it makes these conditions much less tiring.
My original intention was to come ashore at Nethertown, but access there is across a rocky foreshore, a railway line, and a steep escarpment, so I decided to press on to St.Bees.
St.Bees holds some sort of romantic fascination for me, since reading Melvyn Bragg's Credo, a historical fiction of the life of the eponymous saint. It is easy to picture the life of the early Celtic church in these rolling hills, surrounded by pagan tribes, and dealing with the doctrinal conflicts with Rome.
Most of the modern town is hidden from seaward behind a ridge, and it is good to proceed to the northern end of town, where access is easy across a sandy beach and up the concrete slip in front of the ILB station. A very warm welcome awaits at the campsite just behind the beach.

Friday 3rd July: Fleetwood - Haverigg

2009-07-05T14:30:00.004+01:00

Before leaving, there were a couple of small jobs to attend to: one of the trolley wheels had developed a puncture, and the pump had broken. Fixed the former, and fortunately I met a local paddler on the seafront, who contributed the necessary washer to fix the latter.

Western wynde, when wilt thou blow
The small rain down can rain?
Chryst, that my love were in my arms
And I in my bed again!

This year has been marked by a pronounced absence of what are laughingly called the prevailing winds. As I left Fleetwood in "small rain" and a gentle southerly, I wasn't actually whistling the tune, but within half an hour the vis had come down and I was avoiding an Isle of Man ferry and an erratically-manoeuvring dredger in the murk. Very shortly thereafter, the wind veered westerly and picked up to F5/6, where it stayed for the rest of the crossing of Morecambe Bay. This is another open crossing that avoids miles of shoal water, and the prospect of getting it wrong and spending the night on the mud did not appeal in the slightest.
Other vessels appeared out of the rain and spray: a fishing vessel and a yacht, heavily reefed, whose crews seemed a bit concerned to see a solo kayak out in these conditions.
Walney Island appeared, and crept past to starboard, and by the time I reached Haverigg, the sun was shining on this charming, but very shallow haven. I missed the Duddon Channel, and had to wait five minutes for the flood tide to cover a sandbank, before paddling up the narrow creek towards the village. The recovery was very difficult, up a muddy foreshore and over steps, and I subsequently discovered that there is a slipway in front of the ILB station (looks a bit like a Coastwatch lookout).

Thursday 2nd July: Prestatyn - Fleetwood

2009-07-05T14:16:00.010+01:00

Paddled out from Prestatyn at 0600, on a bearing to cross Liverpool Bay, avoiding miles of shoal water and a large urban centre. Approaching the Queens Channel there was a lot of commercial traffic, including an Isle of Man fast ferry, so I tried contacting Mersey Radio to check for conflicting traffic movements. I suspect that many radio operators, who are used to dealing with the powerful transmitters and high antennae of their usual customers, keep the squelch turned up so high that I simply can't break through. Fortunately, however, Liverpool Coastguard were able to step in and help.
From the Queens Channel, it was a simple, but rather dull, paddle to the Lennox gas platform, and from thence towards the conspicuous tower at Blackpool, leaving the yellow-brown smog of Liverpool to starboard.
Even here, miles out to sea, brown butterflies fluttered eastwards. Where from? Whence bound?

From a mile offshore Blackpool, the jungle drums were clearly audible, in that sinister rhythm so familiar to anyone who has sat next to a personal stereo on the train: ||: thump, thump, thump, thump-a :||
Clearly, I had been spotted; the natives had put the pot on to boil and were, even now, out collecting herbs and dicing carrots. Blackpool would not be a safe place to land...
By now I had got a bit lazy about the navigation, and came ashore at Cleveleys rather than Fleetwood, as intended. The consequence of this was a long portage in the baking sun, followed by several failed inquiries at campsites, and ending at a pub in Fleetwood where the young landlord kindly agreed to let me park the boat and bivvy in the back yard. Fortunately, customers Sharon and John took pity on me and invited me to stay at their home, in "God's own Country."

Wednesday 1st July: rest day

2009-07-05T14:13:00.002+01:00

A bit early for a rest day, you might think, but there is some serious passage-planning and re-victualling to be done, and in any case the weather is sweltering hot.

Tuesday 30th June: Penrhyn Bay - Prestatyn

2009-07-05T14:08:00.002+01:00

Having sent home all the navigational material for the west coast of England, I've had to ask my long-suffering wife to send it all back, so this morning's first task was a trip to the local post office to retrieve a poste restante package. Eventually, and thanks to the outstanding efforts of the local postmaster, it was tracked down, and I was able to catch the remains of the afternoon tide to Prestatyn - a good jumping off point for the long haul to follow.

Monday 29th June: Cemaes - Penrhyn Bay

2009-07-05T13:55:00.005+01:00

Last night, Sophy's aunt, Jen, arrived with husband Chuck and grandson Spencer, all the way from Florida. We spent a pleasant evening dining in style at the White Eagle, Rhoscolyn, and Chuck and I found common ground talking shop. I can't match his experiences of flying helicopters in Vietnam, but his subsequent career in air-accident investigation has remarkable parallels with the world of information security that I have just left.
This morning, Chuck and Jen gave me a lift to Cemaes, where I picked up the boat from Dave Williams, and set off with the flood sweeping me past the low cliffs and industrial landscape of north Anglesey.
Leaving Puffin Island to the south, I crossed to the mainland, and was treated to a view of a remarkable mimetolith on the Great Orme (sadly, too distant to photograph).
Put in at Penrhyn Bay, just short of Rhos on Sea, and made camp.

Saturday 27th - Sunday 28th June: waiting

2009-06-29T08:16:00.002+01:00

I hoped that the next leg of the trip would be to the Isle of Man, and from there to the N.Ireland coast and back across the North Channel to pick up the Scottish coast north of the tip of the Mull of Kintyre. For that, several things needed to come together: low wind, good vis, low lightning risk and, crucially, a paddling partner for the IoM leg as I had made a promise not to do that 40 mile crossing solo.
There are several good paddlers on Anglesey who expressed interest in the trip but, in the event, no-one was available.
On Saturday I paid a visit to Nigel Dennis' place to meet Petr Major, who started his trip round Britain from Poole a couple of weeks after I passed there, and who has now caught up and arrived in Anglesey. Petr is camping rough the whole way round, and is managing without a trolley by the simple expedient of splitting his 3-piece Explorer and man-handling each piece up the beach separately. We sat in the sun chatting, but in the end Petr made the perfectly reasonable decision that the IoM trip wasn't for him.
So, on Monday, I head east along the N.Wales coast and then up the west coast of England, tackling the shoals of Liverpool and Morecambe Bay, and dealing with the security issues that come with major urban centres.

Friday 26th June: waiting on weather

2009-06-26T19:13:00.002+01:00

I could have set my watch by the arrival of the sultry conditions (high lightning risk) predicted yesterday by the RAF Valley meteorologists. In truth, I'm glad not to be paddling, as yesterday's trip was pretty tiring, and the open crossing to the Isle of Man is not to be undertaken lightly. Tomorrow, there will be patches of poor visibility, but the wind forecast is looking good for the next few days.

Thursday 26th June: Porthdafarch - Cemaes (16 n.mi.)

2009-06-26T17:38:00.005+01:00

Sophy gave me a lift down to the Outdoor Centre, and the boat was re-packed and on the water by 0840. I had been a bit concerned that the skeg box might take up so much space in the aft tank that some kit or supplies would need to be jettisoned, but in the event everything fitted, including Justine's marvellous trolley.

We are on springs, and the flood tidal stream is at its strongest at this time of day, so I stood out to sea, paddling hard south-west to ferry-glide beyond the worst of the race at Penrhyn Mawr. The three tide races to the west of Holy Island (Penrhyn Mawr, South Stack, and North Stack) have a considerable reputation in the sport, but today they were very well behaved in the offshore wind.

This photo of South Stack probably looks like any other seaside shot on a sunny day to most of you, but if you have a whitewater background, read the water carefully...

By the time I was round North Stack and starting to cross Holyhead Bay, I was exposed to a much greater fetch and the sea state was quite a bit higher. Handling the boat felt less like paddling than weightlifting, and there was a lot of water coming over the bow. In addition, there are 18-or-so ferry movements into and out of Holyhead each day, many of which are fast cats, so the danger of collision is always there to stop one from getting bored. By the time I reached Carmel Head, the seas were breaking in wind-against-tide conditions and I had to make a choice between standing off (more favourable tidal stream but worse sea state) or standing close in (less sea state, but fighting an eddy).

Gradually the Wylfa nuclear power station drew abeam, and the most exciting sea state of the day arrived, generated by the wind-over-tide conditions on the open coast meeting the eddy issuing from the west side of Cemaes Bay. I was glad to arrive at the shelter of the inner bay, pull the boat ashore, and break out some lunch.

Chatting with passers-by over a mug of tea, I learned of the recent renovation of the Charles Henry Ashley, a rowing lifeboat built in 1907 and now lying on a mooring in the inner harbour. This 5.5 ton non-self-righting vessel was crewed by a coxswain, second coxswain, bowman, and twelve oarsmen, who must have supplied brawn and heroism in equal measure. Cemaes no longer has its own operational lifeboat, but the numbers of people involved in the dedication ceremony, in May this year, speak volumes of the pride still felt in this part of the village's history. For many of our small coastal communities, the volunteer lifeboat is a central and defining institution.

The met department at RAF Valley kindly briefed me on tomorrow's weather, and it was clear that paddling to the Isle of Man would not be feasible until these easterlies have blown over.

Dave Williams, formerly the harbourmaster here, readily and kindly agreed to let me park the boat at his cottage, and offered much-needed changing facilities, thus protecting the public from a hitch-hiker in skin-tight black rubber - surely, in these times, the greatest risk of the day.

Returning to a welcome berth chez Sophy, I was immersed once again in the life of RAF Valley: fast jet training, helicopter search & rescue, and all the familiar management complexities of any large organisation running a safety-critical operation.

Tuesday 24th - Wednesday 25th June: still in dock

2009-06-26T00:15:00.003+01:00

Mike and his staff are nothing if not thorough, and when I took delivery of the boat, it sported a new keelstrip, new decklines, a new backband, numerous gelcoat patches, new hatch-cover lanyards, and a skeg. I was even given a lift down to the Outdoor Centre where the boat is spending the night before it goes to sea again. Mike is indeed a "top bloke!"

Monday 22nd June: in dock

2009-06-23T13:52:00.005+01:00

Took the boat up to Mike Webb's workshop, where he has kindly squeezed it into a demanding schedule for repairs and the fitting of a much-needed skeg. Discovered that Justine and Barry have delivered their very robust trolley to Mike's, for my use on the rest of the trip. All this help, so generously given, is part of what makes sea kayaking such a pleasant sport.
Moved from the Outdoor Centre to stay at RAF Valley as a guest of Wing Cdr Sophy Gardner for a couple of days while I get the kit straightened out and the next leg of the trip planned. Sophy is great company, and another humbling example of a life lived to the full!

Sunday 21st June: Porth Dinllaen - Porthdafarch (23 n.mi.)

2009-06-23T11:42:00.003+01:00

Woke to a grey, but still, morning, and breakfasted with Peter - builder of environmentally-friendly buildings (timber frames, turf roofs, etc.) He, Gus and Charles walked down to the harbour to see me off at 0800, and I paddled north towards Anglesey.

The visibility was intermittently poor, so for much of the time I was surrounded by grey sky and grey sea, occasionally filled with a multitude of seabirds: gannets, shearwaters, shags, gulls, and others. Holyhead mountain, and the Anglesey coast emerged occasionally from the murk, only to recede again into vague forms indistinguishable from the general greyness.

Eventually, the unmistakable form of Rhoscolyn hove into view, and the paddle was completed using the start of the flood stream along a familiar and favourite stretch of coast. The photo does no justice to the intriguingly three-dimensional nature of the topography here. Landed at Porthdafarch and trollied the boat up the road to the Anglesey Outdoor Centre for the night.

Saturday 20th June: Machroes - Porth Dinllaen (Morfa Nefyn) (27 n.mi.)

2009-06-23T11:36:00.006+01:00

Much better weather today, so I made it past "Hell's Mouth" - scene of numerous shipwrecks and even today a site of confused water - and round the end of the Lleyn peninsular, onto the north coast of Wales. Met Mike Marshall, paddling with a small group from Oxford, and stopped for a chat.

Gradually, the coastline became gentler, with grassy slopes descending almost to the water.

At Porth Dinllaen, there is the first guaranteed shelter from westerlies, and I put in there, ready for a long tow in search of somewhere to pitch camp. To my great good fortune, I was welcomed by a family gathered to pursue a major DIY project on their house, fed and watered royally, and offered the back garden as a campsite. Thanks Fran, Trish, Gus, Charles & Peter! Once again, extraordinary lives emerged in the conversation: trekking with disabled children in the Annapurna; years spent volunteering in southern Africa...

Friday 19th June: waiting on weather

2009-06-23T11:35:00.000+01:00

Thursday 18th June: Abersoch - Machroes (2 miles forward; 1 mile back)

2009-06-23T11:21:00.002+01:00

The wind had moderated a notch, so I launched and pushed into the conditions past the point at Trwyn yr Wylfa, taking maximum advantage of the lee of the high ground to the north. The conditions were within limits, but I knew that by the time I reached the end of the Lleyn peninsular I would be tired and facing a long paddle on the lee shore to the north-east, with few opportunities to get ashore safely. Judging that the safety margins would be too fine, I called off the trip, turned back, and pulled ashore by the old lifeboat station at Machroes.
There I met Ken Dodd. No, not him, but a friendly local builder converting the old boathouse into a home. It turns out that Ken knows some of the paddling community in Anglesey. Small world.
Camped at a much more reasonably priced site just up the hill, and waited...

Wednesday 17th June: Waiting on weather

2009-06-23T11:20:00.001+01:00

Today was clearly going to be far too windy for paddling, so I took a leisurely breakfast, in the course of which it became clear that John Gosling is another example of the rule that people who have really achieved things often don't feel the need to brag about it. With a bit of gentle probing, "I've done a bit of paddling" turned out to stand for first descents of Everest and K2, whitewater paddling on the Orinoco (5 miles wide; 10 metre stoppers), quite a lot of slalom paddling, and a subsequent career in the industry. What a guy.

Tuesday 16th June: Barmouth - Abersoch (18 n.mi.)

2009-06-23T11:18:00.003+01:00

Well, the lightning never materialised, so yesterday was really a wasted day. Most of today's trip was an open crossing of Tremadog Bay in sunshine and light airs. The peaks of Snowdonia towered to starboard and astern, but what is appealing to the eye turns out to be diminutive and misty to the camera lens, so you'll just have to take my word for it.
My drysuit has given up the ghost (torn neck seal, holes in the fabric from salt abrasion, perished feet) so the warm weather is an excuse to change into Chillcheater kit.
A couple of miles off Abersoch, a fresh breeze blew up right on the nose, so I got my quota of physical exercise for the day. Landed at the slipway in the harbour to find a friendly group of bird-watchers gathered there with their high-powered telescopes. As I stumbled for the correct collective noun for such an assembly, one of them volunteered "a sadness of twitchers." They had, after all, travelled goodness-knows-how-far to see a rare tern that had arrived the previous day and was now, well, elsewhere... Apparently they had amused themselves by watching the idiot in the kayak out in the bay. How disturbing.
Trolleying the loaded boat 1 km inland to the campsites marked on the OS map, I found that the first did not welcome tents, and the second was demanding £18/night for a minimum of two nights. Suspecting that this might be a special rate for lone blokes wearing Chillcheater, I turned my back on the site and resolved to seek B&B in town. Having had difficulties on a previous occasion when I tried to hitch-hike in this garb, I should not have been surprised when the first B&B proprietress turned the "no vacancies" sign round in my face. Better luck ensued at John and Jane Gosling's establishment, where John was quite unperturbed by my appearance, greeting me with a cheerful, "it's OK; I've done a bit of paddling myself."

Monday 15th June: waiting on weather

2009-06-15T16:40:00.003+01:00

The next leg is an open crossing of Tremadog Bay, and the forecast is for thundery showers, so paddling out into the middle of the bay and sitting there waving a carbon fibre paddle in the air doesn't seem like the brightest idea...

The further north one travels in Wales, the more English becomes a second language, and the more one feels like a foreigner. Most signs are bi-lingual, but I understand that there is no need for a Welsh version of this one outside an animal care centre in Barmouth, as it would read: "the toothless pooch likes having her tummy tickled."

Sunday 14th June: Aberystwyth - Barmouth (27 n.mi.)

2009-06-15T16:38:00.006+01:00

Bade Neil and Sarah farewell, and launched from the lifeboat ramp onto a scorching, still, sea. Pleasure craft a-plenty were afloat, including signs of the Birmingham navy. The Aberystwyth inshore rescue boats were out exercising, and jellyfish the size of basketballs cruised just below the surface.
Early in the afternoon there was broken water to seaward, where no surf had any right to be. Puzzled, I scanned the sea, and two dolphins leapt clear of the water in perfect synchrony. They continued surfacing for a while, presumably fishing.
Passing Aberdovey, another IRB was on exercise, and seemed to be tailing me unobtrusively. Eventually, the lifeboat came alongside, and the crew questioned me in a friendly and surprisingly well-informed way. How did they know so much about my trip? One of them removed their helmet and shook out a mane of auburn hair. "I'm Fiona Whitehead," she announced. Fiona has just returned from an expedition around the Falklands, and has already paddled round Britain and Ireland. We chatted for a few minutes, and then I pressed on to Barmouth, achieving a rapid landing in modest surf, followed by a very slow recovery up the beach and along the prom to the campsite at the north end of town. For future reference, there is a much easier recovery 100m north of the campsite where a slipway breaches the seawall.

Saturday 13th June: Cwmtydu - Aberystwyth (15 n.mi.)

2009-06-15T16:36:00.004+01:00

Over breakfast we watched choughs in the garden.

I'm now thoroughly into Ceredigion (Cardigan) and the coastline has mellowed. The cliffs are less austere and there are numerous gentle shingle surf beaches. Rolling farmland stretches almost down to the water in places, and the peaks of Snowdonia are visible in the distance.

Tour boats passed by, laden with Saturday trippers. Gannets dived ahead, and oystercatchers, guillemots, gulls and (petrels?) made busy over the sea. The entrance to Aberystwyth harbour was surprisingly turbulent, but gave way onto a small marina where I whiled away a few minutes before stowing the boat at the local rowing club and meeting Neil and Sarah - friends of my brother's and my hosts for the evening.

Friday 12th June: St.Dogmaels - Cwmtydu (15 n.mi.)

2009-06-15T16:28:00.003+01:00

Took ages to re-pack the boat, and left St.Dogmaels on the tide. At Cwmtydu, Dave's sister, Sue, met me, fed me royally, and introduced me to the iron age fort behind her house. As the evening stillness settled over the sea and the distant peaks of Snowdonia, a pair of magic lanterns drifted past to seaward on the breeze.

Wednesday 10th - Thursday 11th June: boat repairs

2009-06-12T00:00:00.003+01:00

Dave spotted water dripping from the stern tank of the boat. Repeated battering and abrasion have worn through the glass fibre, so he very generously volunteered to undertake the necessary dockyard job. This is a temporary repair to get the boat as far as Anglesey.

Tuesday 9th June: Whitesands - St.Dogmaels (35 n.mi.)

2009-06-11T23:42:00.005+01:00

The north-easterlies of the last few days have abated a little, but this was still an uphill paddle. The North Pembrokeshire coast is more rugged and exposed than the south, and looks rather bleak until the afternoon sun shines on it. Put into the historic industrial haven of Porthgain for rest and refreshment, and then pressed on round the (rather boring) pillow lavas of Strumble Head, arriving in Newquay Old Harbour feeling very tired. Refreshed by a late lunch, I filed a revised trip plan with Milford Haven Coastguard and pressed on to St.Dogmaels, admiring the beauty of Dinas Head in the afternoon sun, and arriving at 2030, 13 hours after setting out from Whitesands.

Today's paddle was unremitting hard work, so I was very grateful for an overnight berth chez Dave Owen.

Saturday 6th - Monday 8th June: waiting on weather

2009-06-11T21:58:00.003+01:00

I thought that Flanders & Swann were responsible for the weary saying, "Flaming June again!", but it turns out that they are not. The weather forecast being full of weather, mostly from the north, I decided to wait before tackling the next leg of the trip, which involves some significant headlands. In search of electricity for recharging electronics (and - OK, I admit it - a bit of luxury) I moved up to the St.Davids youth hostel for a couple of nights. For those of you who haven't used a youth hostel for a while, let me dispel some myths:
1) You don't have to be young to use a youth hostel (nor do you have to bring someone who is);
2) These days you get a clean, comfortable duvet, not a sheet sleeping bag;
3) There are no chores to do in the morning.
The hostel in St.Davids is modern, warm and welcoming. And it is making a loss (about 500 pounds a year - yes, that's all) sufficient to threaten it with closure. Use it or lose it.
At the hostel were some of the visiting choir at St.Davids cathedral, so we had a pleasant chat, and I listened to evensong on Sunday, taking in Guerrero's triple-choir motet Duo Seraphim.
Back to the tent for Monday night, as a visiting school group have booked out the hostel.

Friday 5th June: Manorbier - Whitesands Bay (35 n.mi.)

2009-06-11T20:40:00.005+01:00

Rose and struck camp in the dark again, then trollied the boat down to the harbour, launching in the dawn light. Off Manorbier there was an immense shoal of moon jellyfish - at a conservative estimate, over a million individuals - that had not yet descended beyond the reach of daylight.

Unfortunately, I had to hasten past the caves and stacks of the Castlemartin firing range, in order to be elsewhere before it opened fire at 0900, but this stretch of coast is earmarked for a return visit when the range is not active.

Guillemots and kittiwakes (?) flew past, and gannets dived ahead, as I neared the mouth of the great natural harbour of Milford Haven. Described by Nelson as the greatest natural harbour in the world, second only to Trincomalee, Milford Haven is now famous for its deepwater berths for oil tankers and liquefied natural gas (LNG) carriers. This part of the coast also marks the boundary between two tidal regimes, the Bristol Channel and the Irish Sea, making it possible to plan a long day with favourable tidal streams throughout. Accordingly, I beached the boat at Marloes Sands, brewed up, cooked curry and porridge, lunched in style, and then pottered over to the famous nature reserve of Skomer Island to watch the puffins, razorbills, gannets and guillemots.

Crossing St.Brides Bay on a bearing, I was aware of deteriorating visibility ahead, so it was not much of a surprise when the squall hit and a gentle paddle in the sun turned, in minutes, into an energetic slog into a northerly force 5. The wind kicked up a small, but short wavelength, chop that soon had the bow burying and shovelling facefuls of cold water at me.

Choosing not to cut the trip short at Porth Clais, I pointed the boat into Ramsey Sound, site of The Bitches, a famous tide race and paddling playspot. The tide was flooding fast, and the opposing wind whipped the surface of the water into frenzied wavelets. I planned to cross to the Ramsey Island side of the Sound sufficiently far downstream to avoid the eddy that forms behind The Bitches, but not so far north as to risk getting involved with Horse Rock, and, with the exception of a minor waltz along the eddy line, this plan worked fine.

At Whitesands Bay, I was pulling the boat up the slip when a couple of familiar-looking sea kayaks landed close by. Justine and Barry had been out to the Bishops & Clerks, and kindly helped with a very welcome brew and then invited me into St.Davids for food, good company and beer.

Thursday 4th June: rest day

2009-06-04T16:37:00.003+01:00

Only three days back into the trip, but I decided to listen to my body and have what is laughingly called a "rest day". This means: doing the laundry, checking the weather and surf forecasts, doing the tides and nav for the next day or so, trying to find power sources for charging phones, Navtex receiver and so on, travelling into the nearest town in search of internet access for updating the blog, getting phone numbers for various admin chores (chasing the opticians for my new specs, keeping up with preparations for the new career that follows this trip), checking firing times for the next range that I have to cross, sending emails - the list fills a page of my log book.

Wednesday 3rd June: Fall Bay - Manorbier (20 n.mi.)

2009-06-04T16:20:00.004+01:00

Another early start to be on the water for 0500. Launched from the beach onto a flat calm sea, and paddled past a small flotilla of fishing boats off Worms Head. Dawn rose and the temperture started to climb as I crossed Camarthen Bay on a bearing. Shoals of moon jellyfish drifted by, gannets were diving ahead, and the monastery island of Caldney grew gradually larger.
Weariness started to grip me as it drew near, and the last few miles were a slog, despite the beautiful, seal-infested, cliffs under the Manorbier firing range.
It took an hour to get the boat up the beach at Manorbier, and I knew that I was getting seriously dehydrated despite having eschewed my drysuit in favour of Chillcheater gear, and drinking as I paddled. The (brand new) trolley is playing up already - wheels splaying and bearings squealing - time for a re-design I think. Tried to clean out the bearings at the top of the beach, but the quick release nut is cross-threaded :-(
Dragged the boat up to the village, in the hope of getting a shower at a campsite, and drank 3 litres of fluid, still feeling thirsty at the end. The thermometer reads 36 Celsius...

Tuesday 2nd June: Briton Ferry - Fall Bay (SW corner of Gower) (20 n.mi.)

2009-06-04T15:54:00.003+01:00

Rose at 0330 to catch the ebb out of the Neath River, starting with a comical reverse seal launch down a very muddy slipway. Almost flat calm conditions. Rounded Mumbles and paused just off the Coastguard station for a radio check: "weak and barely readable". I wonder whether this set has a fault...
Passed the smugglers' cave at Brandy Cove, the ruined salt-extraction pond at Port Eynon, and the Red Chamber south of Pitton where the "Red Lady" (actually the remains of a neolithic man) was discovered. The Gower coast is understated, but gets prettier the further west you go. Landed at Mewslade and brewed up, but decided that the beach would cover at HW, so moved west to Fall Bay, where I passed a pleasant afternoon in the sun, chatting and waiting for sunset.

Sunday 31st May: Arisaig

2009-06-04T15:51:00.005+01:00

Dave was in no hurry to get back to Wales, so we camped on Arisaig and spent the day rock-hopping in calm, sunny conditions.
Drove back to Briton Ferry overnight, and Dave then spent much of Monday ferrying me around to collect provisions, etc. Top bloke.

Time to share a couple of vignettes from last week, before I forget them:

As a dozen or so kayakers were preparing in the sunshine to cross the sound to the foot of Loch Coruisk, we were watched by a pair of young children sitting on the quay, waiting for the ferry. You'll have to imagine the slow, contemplative, drawn-out delivery in a Scottish accent, as one turned to the other and asked, "Why are those people smiling ... a lot?"

And then, at risk of being accused of pandering to stereotypes, this conversation in the fish-&-chip shop in Broadford, between myself and a polite and helpful young man behind the till:
G: One cod & chips, one haddock & chips, and two mushy peas please.
P&HYM: Oh sorry; we're right out of mushy peas. They were very popular this evening.
G: OK, then ... two portions of baked beans, please.
P&HYM: Oh, I don't know why they're still on the menu. We haven't served them for years. Sorry.
G: Ummm. Do you have anything vaguely resembling a vegetable?
P&HYM: Uh... ... curry sauce?

Thursday 21st May - Saturday 30th May: Skye sea kayak symposium

2009-05-30T12:25:00.011+01:00

Enjoyed the kind hospitality of the sailing club while waiting for Dave Owen to arrive with his van. Dave had responded to my appeal for transport to Skye, and with outstanding generosity was taking a detour via S.Wales to pick me up with the boat.
We drove through the night and the following morning, enjoying fabulous views of the Scottish highlands, to arrive at this great biennial meeting of paddlers.

The Highlands are a marvellous place. People and things pretty much say what they mean and mean what they say...

My wife and friends from London arrived later on Friday evening, and we enjoyed three days of coaching sessions, from wilderness survival to Greenland rolling -- we all want to make Greenland paddles and skin-on-frame boats back in London.

After the Symposium proper, there are organised trips,

in a variety of conditions,

but all in beautiful surroundings...

Everybody needs Beauty as well as Bread,
places to play in and pray in,
where nature may heal and give strength to body and soul alike.
Keep close to nature's heart, ...
and break clear away, once in a while,
and climb a mountain or spend a week in the woods.
Wash your spirit clean. - John Muir
(with thanks to Kevin Mansell for sharing this)

Wednesday 20th May: Watermouth - Briton Ferry, Neath River (27 n.mi.)

2009-05-30T12:07:00.004+01:00

Rose at 0300 and was on the water at 0510, with dawn rising in the east. Paddled out of a silent harbour at Watermouth and immediately into 150 metres of swirling, boily, eddy line that marks the ebb tidal stream. Set course 026 magnetic, chose a suitable cloud (near the horizon, but a high altitude formation, to minimise its angular speed relative to me), and paddled. A red sun broke through the early morning clouds, and the cliffs of North Devon glowed mistily-featureless and pink on my starboard quarter. There was a force 3-4 SSW right on the stern, sea state less than 1 metre, and the paddling was relatively effortless - perfect conditions. Every few minutes, I would check the heading and choose a new cloud.
After a couple of hours, the sea state built a bit and the boat started corkscrewing. In these conditions it is harder to hold an average course, so I would check the GPS every couple of hours and adjust accordingly. GPS really makes you lazy!
By 0900 I was entering Severn VTS's area, but there was no point calling them up, because with an antenna height of less than a metre it would be futile. Unidentified seabirds skimmed the waves, and the thrum of distant engines filled the hull. Only one vessel appeared: a bulk carrier at anchor off Swansea.
Stopped for a bite of lunch, and when the Neath channel buoys hove into sight, I steered 025 for them. I can't pretend that this was just skill: a large element of compensating error was clearly involved! However, it's nice to confirm that vector addition does what it says on the tin.
By 1430, I had ridden the flood up the Neath River, hauled up on the slip at Monkstone Cruising and Sailing Club, under the M4 motorway bridge, and pitched camp in the boatyard.

Tuesday 19th May: waiting on weather

2009-05-30T11:59:00.002+01:00

Tomorrow's forecast looks OK for paddling, so spent the day preparing for the Bristol Channel crossing. The tidal streams in the Bristol Channel are very strong, so you have to mark up the chart with the necessary vector triangles, to make sure that paddling + tidal stream + leeway = where you want to go. The theory is much simpler than this site suggests. Phoned Swansea CG and filed a trip report with a rather worried watch officer.

Friday 15th - Monday 18th May: Cabin fever...

2009-05-18T15:13:00.002+01:00

Stuck in Watermouth, waiting for SW gales to abate. The view from the cliffs reveals white water as far as the eye can see - definitely not the right conditions for a 20 mile crossing with a lee shore at the far end.

I'm looking forward to taking a week off next week, to meet friends (my wife not least among them!) and go paddling in Skye at the sea kayak symposium; however there's the small question of getting there with the boat.

Meanwhile...

A German friend (hi, Justus, if you're lurking!), once remarked to me that his English teacher (an Americaine) claimed that, in English, "there ain't no noun that can't be verbed!" Well, how about "porridge"? As the anxious cook looks up from the camp stove to regard the slate-grey clouds tearing from the brow of the windward hill, he reflects: "Will it rain before it porridges, or will it porridge before it rains?" No, porridge (v.i.) will not do. However, it seems that the transitive form of the verb would work: to porridge someone must be akin to custard-pie-ing them, but an altogether more gruelling experience for the recipient.

And then again, maybe the word was originally a verb, having to do with turning oats into sustenance. I must look up Dr. Johnson on the subject...

Thursday 14th May: Westward Ho - Watermouth (16 n.mi.)

2009-05-15T13:56:00.007+01:00

A short leg today, to position myself for crossing the Bristol Channel. Barbara was in touch, proposing a trip to Lundy but, much as I would love to go there, I'm catching up on the miles.

At each headland, the nature of the coast changes.

Here at Bull Point, the green surface of North Devon starts to sweep down from the clifftops.

Met paddlers Michelle & Clive, with their dogs Tilley (black lab.) and Pudding, fishing for bass just east of Lee Bay. Camped in the rain on the site immediately east of Watermouth hbr, and I'm expecting to be here for a day or two as the forecast is for more gales. There's a weather window tomorrow morning, but I suspect that the vis will be down owing to rain and, since I'll be crossing a major shipping lane, I'd rather like to be able to see what's about to run me down.

The campsite here hires sit-on-tops, presumably to anyone who asks. The tidal stream along this coast reaches 4 knots at springs. Must remember to ask them about this...

Wednesday 13th May: Bude - Westward Ho (23 n.mi.)

2009-05-15T13:45:00.005+01:00

At last the easterlies have abated, and I can round Hartland Point without the risk of a major deterioration of sea state. Rose at 0500, to allow time to punch against the ebb off the west coast and arrive at Hartland around slack water.

There are numerous skerries off the cliffs here, as the coast cuts across the grain of the folding of strata. Looking at photos of yet another bunch of rocks must be a bit like listening to someone humming. You just hear the hum, but the perpetrator hears the whole orchestra. The photos are just pale two-dimensional things that utterly fail to capture the way the panorama unfolds as you paddle past. Armchair mountaineering.

In the event, I made good progress and was able to stop at Hartland Quay for a pasty and chips, and still catch the tide round Hartland Pt (which was already flooding close inshore an hour earlier than prediction).

We are advised to "take nothing but photos and leave nothing but footprints", but I confess that, even in these calm conditions, the rocky landing at Hartland Quay has claimed a fair bit of my gelcoat.

Westward Ho matches Mr.Rainsley's "grim" description and, with apologies to the several friendly folk I met there, my abiding memory will be that of a glowing cigarette end passing by in the gloom, attached to a dark, hooded, figure on a skateboard, rattling past in pursuit of his dog. The most secluded camping appears to be at the west end of town, on what appears to be a static van park.

Tuesday 12th May: waiting on weather

2009-05-12T16:46:00.004+01:00

Down in the harbour... what's this? Why, it must be a salty old sea dog. (groan)

Meanwhile, back at the campsite, it's time to dry the laundry. Someone has been reading a Patrick O'Brien novel (thanks Mike), and seems to have square-riggers on the brain.

The forecast is looking good for tomorrow.

Monday 11th May: waiting on weather (again)

2009-05-11T16:16:00.002+01:00

There's a high pressure system over the north of Scotland, from which the met office is forecasting easterlies up to force 9 inshore North Cornwall. It scarely seems credible; however I can't afford to take chances as the next headland, Hartland Point, leads on to a committing section of coast that would be fully exposed to these headwinds. So I'm steeling myself for another couple of frustrating days ashore.

Sunday 10th May: Boscastle - Bude (13 n.mi.)

2009-05-11T15:44:00.005+01:00

The YHA hostel in Boscastle was empty and deserted last night so I took a berth in a B&B overlooking the harbour. Hosts Jack (mandolin player) and Fay (gig rower, just back from the internationals in the Scillies) were kindness itself. Left the harbour at low water and in relatively calm conditions - what a difference a day makes!

(cooling off - photos: Marion Ince)

Paddled past contorted strata in the cliffs; saw the first seal of the trip (where have they all been?); thought better of the surf at Northcott Mouth, and doubled back to Bude.

At Bude it is possible to avoid the surf altogether, with careful timing, by following the leading marks past the headland on the south side of the beach, seen here from the harbour mole.

Saturday 9th May: Padstow - Boscastle (17 n.mi.)

2009-05-10T11:24:00.004+01:00

Finally, back on the water. Launched from the dinghy club slip on the camel trail, but it was low water so I ended up towing the boat a fair distance. Got caught by surf on the Doom Bar, and took a swim, but my re-entry roll worked OK and I pumped out and continued, taking shelter in the lee of the headland, and again at picturesque Port Isaac, to finish the job.
Tintagel Head looked magical in the afternoon sun, but I was mistaken to think that there would be some shelter from the 2-3 m atlantic swell in its lee. Off the headland there was a very confused sea with plenty of clapotis, and in its lee the seas were more regular but, if anything, larger. All this made the entry into the small port of Boscastle interesting to say the least - and probably quite fun for the sightseers on the cliffs. (Some were taking photos, and I'd love a copy)
Alas, no photos today as I'd forgotten to put the battery back in the camera - doh!

Friday 8th May: waiting on weather

2009-05-10T11:18:00.002+01:00

Sea state was huge today - 15ft surf forecast for Constantine, and when I looked there the sea was a mass of white 150 m from the shore. Definitely a day to be ashore. Walked up to the new lifeboat station and marvelled at the Tamar class all-weather boat. She is a thing of beauty: not a bolt or a lanyard without a purpose, and all maintained to an astonishing standard.
Spring is about to turn to early summer: the thrift is in blossom, and countless other plants whose identities elude me. For all this, however, you'll just have to take my word, as the camera is back at the campsite, recharging its battery.

Tuesday 5th - Thursday 7th May: Waiting on weather

2009-05-07T12:44:00.008+01:00

A stream of fronts is coming through, accompanied by strong westerlies, so I'm stuck ashore. According to Mike F, this is known to climbers as "festering" - a singularly apt term.
A team of botanists surveying the Little Robert in the local hedgerows (similar to Herb Robert but with yellow stamens) have solved the mystery of two common plants by the Cornish roadsides:
Alexanders was introduced by the Romans as a foodstuff, similar to celery, and is easily confused with cow parsley.

Red valerian is another Mediterranean import.

Probably festering again tomorrow, especially as the surf forecast touches 4 metres, but hope to make progress after that. There are worse places to be stuck than Padstow - the local museum has a fascinating mix of lifeboat history and pagan ritual...

Monday 4th May: Mawgan Porth - Padstow (11 n.mi.)

2009-05-07T12:15:00.006+01:00

The surf seemed a little lower this morning, maybe, so I decided to press north towards Port Isaac. Izy and Jemima helped manhandle the boat down the beach, and Mike F and Peter stationed themselves on the cliffs for a grandstand view, calling to mind a couple of old crones waiting by the guillotine for the entertainments to commence. On the first attempt, I failed to clear the final surf break and swam the boat ashore, but the second try succeeded. Unfortunately, conditions outside the break were not much better, with a stiff westerly moaning in the paddles, and seas breaking over the boat, weighing down the spraydeck, so I paused at Harlyn Bay to take stock and decided to cut the trip short at Padstow, where good shelter and the facilities of the town could be had.

Kit loss for the day was limited to the maps from my spraydeck; however the extra difficulty of using backup systems in today's conditions further reduced my safety margin and made the decision to put in to Padstow inevitable.

Sunday 3rd May: rest day

2009-05-07T12:07:00.002+01:00

Three of us tried to punch out through the surf at Mawgan Porth in the morning, but it was too high. I'm sure Peter would have made it, but Mike H's boat suffered damage and the temptation of a day picnicking in the sun, maintaining kit, and enjoying good company, proved too much. Ran a shuttle for Mike F and Jemima to visit the Camel again, and dined al fresco by the tents, swapping yachting anecdotes.

Saturday 2nd May: rest day

2009-05-07T11:51:00.003+01:00

A ride on the Camel? Paddling the Camel? There seems no way to describe a day on the local river without conjuring up entirely the wrong image. Conditions at sea were too challenging to take the group out safely, so we drove to Padstow and paddled inland from there in glorious sunshine. By the end of the day, our group was complete with seven paddlers, but only six boats alas. Pasties were enjoyed in the afternoon sun at Padstow.

Friday 1st May: Perranporth - Mawgan Porth (10 n.mi.)

2009-05-07T11:17:00.004+01:00

Woke early and dried the laundry in a stiff breeze at the edge of the cliff. Manhandled the boat to the beach and was preparing to launch when a dog on the sea wall above launched itself into space, barely restrained by its owner heaving on the leash. This was my introduction to Peter and Linda Squires, whose dog (a half-breed: half dog, half lemming) has an attitude to precipices that, by rights, should have been selected out of the gene pool long ago. Peter was preparing his kayak for a solo trip, so we agreed to paddle together - a happy outcome, as he turned out to be very competent, good company, and able to plug the yawning gaps in my ornithological knowledge. We spotted (that is to say, Peter did, as I was preoccupied with boat handling) oystercatchers, gannets, fulmars (recognisable by their stiff wings and low flight), herring gulls ("your common fish-&-chip gull"), and a pair of Manx shearwaters.
I had planned to paddle to Padstow, but conditions were kicking up and neither of us fancied tackling Trevose Head in what, by then, would have become wind-over-tide conditions, so we put in to Mawgan Porth. Peter has far more experience than I do in surf, so he led the way ashore. A couple of minutes later, I saw the bow of his boat rise vertically skywards as he kindly pointed out the preferred line...
Now aware that I was in for a trashing, I followed ... failed to hold the boat square on to the surf ... had a few seconds of very high speed kayaking as the boat planed diagonally down the face of the wave ... and capsized. The deck cargo (too much of it, far too many lanyards) was all over the place, and impeded my exit (lesson learned).
Once ashore, I discovered that my spectacles had been swept away, despite their lanyard. Fortunately, my wife and friends were en route, visiting for the bank holiday weekend, bearing the prescription sunglasses to replace those lost at Sheerness. This trip is becoming seriously expensive in lost and damaged kit!
One of the joys of the expedition is meeting the locals. In Mawgan Porth, a gentleman in a cloth cap inveighed against the iniquities of nouvelle cuisine and pretentious restaurants. Given gentle encouragement, he warmed to his theme, eventually averring that the sole reason we have not been invaded by aliens from outer space is that they look through their telescopes at the offerings of the celebrity chefs and decide that Earth is not worth the trouble. Peter and I could no longer keep straight faces, and departed, debating whether this gent was a single-subject obsessive, or whether he might actually be quite versatile.
Fish and chips were procured, the cavalry arrived (complete with sunglasses) and we pitched camp at the local site.

Thursday 30th April: Hayle - Perranporth (18 n.mi.)

2009-05-01T01:46:00.011+01:00

Up at 0500, but a late start on the journey as I had to paddle back to St.Ives to replace my mobile phone. Water ingress had stopped it working, and I assumed that the electrical fault was, ahem, terminal. Phone, drybag, pasty and enormous flapjack duly procured, I set out once again in a generally clockwise direction.
What a difference a day makes! This is the sort of weather that brings the coastal scenery to life. So I'm going to impose some photos on you...

- The light on Godrevy Island

- 100m high cliffs

- Atlantic swell ending its journey (and creating plenty of clapotis for my entertainment...)

- The waterfall issuing, perhaps from an old mine adit, high up on the cliff face

Arrived at Perranporth and, in a fit of enthusiasm, decided to tackle the surf landing. The prospect of an expedition-loaded sea kayak hammering one's head into the sand is not to be taken lightly so I put on the helmet and tried to time things sensibly. Caught a couple of (2-metre?) seas, got rolled by a third, rolled again by a fourth and this time I bailed out, grabbing the boat by its end toggle and letting it tow me ashore. The forces involved are tremendous. Everything, with the exception of some precious chocolate bars, arrived ashore safely,

but not necessarily by the same route.

Hauled the boat up to the youth hostel, where a visiting Dutch family kindly provided dinner, and where the warden has extended a warm welcome, including the use of his Mac. Every kind of chore now completed (laundry, battery charging, tides, trip planning, weather and surf forecasts) and the blog is up to date. And so to bed.

Wednesday 29th April: Penberth Cove - Hayle (24 n.mi.)

2009-05-01T01:12:00.005+01:00

Finally, the wind is in the south so, anxious not to delay longer and risk missing the tides, I set off in the mist and rain. At Penberth, a local fisherman, looking every inch the part with magnificent "Captain Birdseye" beard, politely drew my attention to the notice forbidding the use of the slip by pleasure craft. Apparently diving RIBs had been causing a congestion problem. In return, I respectfully drew his attention to the probability of my being marooned here for evermore and, on hearing of the charitable nature of the venture, he graciously relented. For those of you of a more combative nature who are sitting there, no doubt imagining that I'm writing euphemistically of some sort of ranting confrontation, I assure you that it was all very gentlemanly. This is a very civilised part of the world. However, groups of kayakers eyeing up this very useful staging post for the assault on Lands End would do well to understand the local sensitivities.

Ah yes, the charitable nature of the thing. Thank you so much to those of you who have opened your purses for the MS Society and Musequality. I'm quite touched by your generosity, not least from those of you who have already greeted me en route with spontaneous acts of kindness. The endeavour feels much more worthwhile as a result.

Lands End and Cape Cornwall were duly rounded in a moderate sea and moderately miserable weather, the Longships light disappearing and reappearing in the swell.

More evidence of mining passed by in the murk.

Failed miserably to get the boat ashore across the sands and dunes to a campsite (the Royal Marines would not have been proud of me), so paddled to the harbour and up the slip to be greeted by a sign demanding £12 for its use (not likely). Engrossed in a telephone call to the Coastguard, I failed to notice the smiling face of Richard Sims, chairman of Hayle Canoe Club, who had just rolled up, in a car, with a kayak trailer in tow. Richard kindly transported me to a campsite and returned the following morning for the return trip.

Tuesday 28th April: still waiting on weather

2009-05-01T01:01:00.003+01:00

So here I sit, eating, waiting, mending kit, eating, meeting the ramblers on the adjacent coastal path (greetings to Mr. and Mrs. Hugh Bedford, who turned out to be neighbours back in Teddington!), thinking about eating some more, and finally going for a walk to nearby Porthcurno, a village of many interesting features. Returning via the cliff path, I found, to my chagrin, that I had no camera with me, so you have to take my word that the bay below presented an expanse of sunlit sand lapped by gentle azure waves.
Wind still in the north :-(

Monday 27th April: Waiting on weather

2009-05-01T00:48:00.002+01:00

At springs, there is a 3 knot tidal stream to whisk me round Lands End at a convenient time of day (i.e. in daylight...); however, the wind is northerly, leading to "wind over tide" conditions. When wind and tide are opposed like this, the sea state is expected to be much worse than would be suggested by the small change in the relative velocity of air and water. In short, I'm sitting tight until the wind goes into the south.
Fraternised at length with locals and ramblers at the Logan Rock Inn, where, amongst many curiosities is the bill of quantities for the replacement of the eponymous hanging stone after its toppling by tipsy tars, the most interesting knot board I've seen for many a year, and an Admiralty chart from the 1960's illustrated with notable local wrecks (including an 8th century BC Phoenician bireme). This old monochrome chart brought back memories of my father sitting up at night trying to ignore his toothache by working on coastal navigation exercises.

Sunday 26th April: Mullion Cove - Penberth Cove (20 n.mi.)

2009-05-01T00:17:00.006+01:00

The forecast W/NW 5-7 was pretty accurate, so I hugged the coast to take maximum advantage of the lee of the cliffs, and to reduce fetch - slamming into seas wastes so much energy. A very tiring paddle, but I got some good photos in the lee of headlands.

This section of coast was my first sight of the former Cornish mine workings, and evidence of the ores that they sought. Some sources link the etymology of Britain to the tin prized by the Romans and the Phoenicians; indeed, I was to glimpse a Phoenician connection later...

According to Mark Rainsley in his excellent contribution to Pesda's series of sea kayaking pilotage notes, the yellow colouring between the high water mark and the start of the grass is xanthoria lichen. I'm not sure whether it is x.parietina, but that's close enough for me.

Took the obligatory tourist snapshot in the lee of St.Michael's Mount:

Landed on the slip at Penberth, and was immediately offered a cup of tea by Neil George, who described how a sou'westerly can raise seas that bounce off the headland and flood the foreshore higher than the ground floor of his cottage. He gave me a lift to the campsite at Treen, and returned with managers Kevin and Gill and their pickup to retrieve the boat. Very grateful to them all. Night much disturbed by wind and rain.

Saturday 25th April: Waiting on weather

2009-04-26T08:06:00.003+01:00

WoW - the terse abbreviation that I used to come across from time to time in a previous life in the North Sea oil & gas business. The forecast was for SW 8 here, and 9 on the north Cornish coast, so the decision was made for me: this would be a day ashore.
Mullion is a real community, with countless societies and events. If the weather is OK tomorrow, I'll miss the concert of the male voice Fishermen's Choir.

Meanwhile, spring is springing all around, with bluebells, wild garlic, elderflower, etc. all blooming, and the blossom being blown from the trees as fast as they can grow it. For the brass players in the audience, next week is the Helston Flora Dance (yes, that tune).

Friday 24th April: rest day

2009-04-24T18:33:00.002+01:00

The body is feeling every one of its 48 years, so today was proclaimed a rest day. Repairs, phone calls, laundry (thanks Leslie at the B&B), and planning. The forecast for tomorrow is frightful, so I'll check again in the morning and see whether it is sensible to put in a short morning's paddle to position myself to catch the morning tide round Lands End on Sunday.
Falmouth and the Lizard are definitely an area to which I want to return for fuller exploration.
Meanwhile, back to the charts, to see what the options might be in the morning.

Thursday 23rd April: Falmouth - Mullion Cove (20 n.mi., mostly uphill...)

2009-04-24T18:01:00.003+01:00

I slept through my alarm, and when I finally woke, one of the garden birds was doing a perfect imitation of it. Jeff dropped by in the morning with some cordage and his trolley, which we cannibalised for spare parts. I had lost my original trolley in Sheerness, and was now using my wife's, which we had mis-assembled - hence all the problems. A quick phone call to Kari-Tek followed, and they immediately agreed to meet Jeff next week to replace his axles, and to post another set to me. Many thanks to Jeff, and full marks to Kari-Tek for customer service!
By then, time was slipping away, and I missed the ebb stream round the Lizard. At each headland, conditions became a little more interesting, with an easterly kicking up a bit of a chop, plus yesterday's swell from the south, and a larger swell from the south-west setting in. The Lizard is truly a beautiful place, but I had little time to enjoy the scenery, except to note that the Lizard Head itself resembles a nest of vipers, with a daymark painted in the form of an eyespot. By the time I was rounding it, conditions were pretty meaty by my standards (so probably just a bimble for Jeff and Simon). The SW swell was now a pretty consistent 2m, with the occasional 3m, and the tide races were developing nicely, with seas sweeping the decks in all directions, including sideways. The boat is slamming away - quite normal in a chop, but it is a bit unusual to get airborne as far aft as the cockpit when this heavily laden. We would fall off the wave again, to a loud bang, I would feel the seat and cockpit floor flex under me, and sheets of spray would fly sideways in my peripheral vision. In an unloaded boat nearer the start of the day, this would have been fun, but I found myself just wanting to get off the water, so I took the first opportunity and cut the trip short at Mullion Cove.
The decision was vindicated by the local fishermen in the harbour. I forget the precise words, but recall something like, "Arrr, there's some weather coming."
No photos today - I had other things on my mind.

Wednesday 22nd April: Pentewan - Falmouth (19 n.mi.)

2009-04-24T17:25:00.003+01:00

Pentewan sands dry out a long way at LW (well, duh!), so launching was a bit of a struggle. Once on the water, conditions were a bit choppy and the boat was slamming tiresomely as I pushed into a freshening southerly. Stopped for a late lunch in a sheltered cove (photo of deceptively calm waters in tropical turquoise colours loaded, now that I have access to a USB port). Phoned Jeff Allan from below St.Anthony lighthouse, and crossed the entrance of Falmouth harbour to the eponymous chorale, as set by Brahms.
At Swanpool Sands, Jeff, Simon Osbourne and families met me and helped carry the boat up the beach. Jeff and Simon, both expedition paddlers of prodigious accomplishment (just google for them!) opined that I should be round Lands End tomorrow, but looking at the charts I can see that this just isn't going to happen.
Set off up the hill for the campsite marked at 798311, to discover that it doesn't exist any more, but fell into conversation with one of the locals who introduced me to a neighbour who offered hospitality (thanks Jackie!) and a meal.

Tuesday 21st April: Lantic Bay - Pentewan (11 n.mi.)

2009-04-21T20:34:00.003+01:00

Woke late, and took my time enjoying this idyllic spot. Decided on a gentle day's paddle. Arrived early at Pentewan, where there is a welcoming campsite just behind the beach (with internet access in the bar...). Pottered down to Mevagissey to have a look at the harbour, and back to Pentewan to do a bit of rolling practice before coming ashore. Fellow campers Richard and Heather provided tea, rockcake, and pleasant conversation - when I'm paddling solo there's always the danger of losing the faculty of speech, except insofar as it is required to remonstrate with myself!

Showered, and visited the security guard to scrounge battery-charging facilities. Discovered that he is friends with Jeff Allan, and in short order I was on the phone chatting to one of the great names of our sport (while Jeff, no doubt, was thinking "who on earth...?")

Monday 20th April: Plymouth - Lantic Bay (Just East of Fowey) (23 n.mi.)

2009-04-21T20:06:00.004+01:00

Woke early and wandered around outside to get VHF reception for the 0710 MSI broadcast from Brixham Coastguard. Missed it, owing to an interruption from the MoD police, who understandably thought I was doing something fishy. Paddled across to the marina at Queen Anne's Battery for some supplies for running repairs, and missed the 1010 MSI as I was in a VHF shadow.
Went past the famous Hoe, and north of Drake Island before turning south past the breakwater. Plymouth Sound is showing signs of spring; the trees are coming into leaf. As a result of missing the MSI, I had no "gunfacts" and hence did not know whether the Tregantle Rifle Range was firing today (later I could hear that it was). Out of nowhere came five short blasts in the measured basso that denotes a seriously large vessel. I looked around to see what was about to run me down, and listened on Ch.16... "Securitay, securitay, securitay..." Warship Marie Louise was about to commence live firing a few miles south of me, and was establishing a 10 n.mi. exclusion zone. So I paddled on a bearing, running the gauntlet between one bunch of people with little guns, and a group of (presumably) Frenchmen with rather big guns (judging from the thunderous reports). Hence I had a rather tiring and boring paddle.
Arrived at Lantic Bay to camp on the beach. The bay is stunningly beautiful - the cliffs around are full of blooming gorse, primroses, blackthorn and a dozen other species that I can't identify. I lost my bag of cooking condiments in Sheerness, and didn't notice before setting off again, so tonight's meal was just a disgusting bunkering operation.
Treated later to a night sky dripping with stars: The heaven-tree hung with humid night-blue fruit - Joyce.

A thought on Fowey:

Oh the harbour of Fowey
Is a beautiful spot
And it's there I enjowey
To sail in a yot;

Or to race in a yacht
Round a mark or a buoy
-Such a beautiful spacht
Is the harbour of Fuoy!

- Arthur Quiller-Couch

Sunday 19th April: Salcombe - Plymouth (20 n.mi.)

2009-04-21T19:53:00.004+01:00

Woke to a cloudless blue sky. Launched at South Sands and immediately met Nick Arding paddling his Rockpool.

Marvellous cliff scenery from Salcombe to Inner Hope (which surely deserves to have a hymn tune named after it), and pretty bays thereafter for a long while.
Passed the once-exclusive hotel on Hurst Island to seaward.
Early on, a sighting of a patch of sandy bottom through the azure water had set up this morning's earworm: Britten's setting of "Full fathom five" from The Tempest - its shimmering harmonies perfectly reflecting the mood. After a hearty lunch on the beach, it was Tchaikowsky - perfect for slogging into a half-knot of adverse tidal stream.
Entered Plymouth Cattewater and found the NATO slip. The Marines are all on leave, and the MoD police are a bit taken aback: "highly irregular" was the phrase that sticks in my mind. These policemen were really sharp, quickly asking very penetrating questions, but were most civil and helpful. Wheels fell off trolley twice; it really is wrecked. Dined at the local pub and was greeted with great warmth (guys, if you're reading, remind me of its name). Passed a comfortable night on the floor of the mess room above the guardhouse.

Saturday 18th April: Brixham - Salcombe (22 n.mi.)

2009-04-21T19:40:00.003+01:00

Awkward 1 metre chop + clapotis caused by the long fetch and cliffs to leeward, as far as Start Point.

Start Pt was so named in the great days of sail, as it is here that the Channel chop is said to give way to Atlantic swells - hence, here the Atlantic starts. I'm not sure that this applies after a long period of easterlies, but nevertheless the sea state did settle down a bit once I was round the Point. Oh for a skeg, though!
Prawle Point is said to resemble Queen Victoria, and seen from Start Pt, silhouetted against the afternoon haze, it really did. Or maybe it was Grandma from the Giles cartoons. Or a backpacker reclining on the foot of the cliff... One's imagination plays tricks. On a long crossing, I don't look at the compass all the time. Instead, I choose a distant object - sometimes a cloud - and just refer to the compass occasionally. Clouds take many forms: is it Kilroy? or a djinn?
I had planned to camp on the beach, but decided a hot shower was too tempting, so hauled the boat all the way up the hill to the youth hostel. The trolley is falling to bits :-(

Friday 17th April: Rest day, Brixham

2009-04-17T16:51:00.005+01:00

Spent the day enjoying this picturesque fishing port, complete with replica of Drake's ship, the Golden Hind.

Why do I need a day out? Well, there's lots to do: pick up a new pack of charts, tide tables, etc. sent poste restante from home, and send back the old ones; stock up on provisions; do laundry; make running repairs to kit; plan tides for the next couple of days; look at the medium term weather forecast on the web (the surface pressure charts are really helpful); and of course update the blog! I also fitted in a courtesy call to Brixham MRCC, and checked their detailed tidal stream atlas for the expected eddy that will help me get across Start Bay against the last of the flood tomorrow.

There's also the chance to do some serious eating, and let the salt water sores dry out for a day!

Thanks for all the comments - keep them coming. It's nice to know that folks are interested.

Thursday 16th April: Dawlish Warren - Brixham (14 n.mi.)

2009-04-17T11:21:00.003+01:00

I was so keen to leave DW that I didn't even bother with a proper breakfast! Nowhere is all bad, however, and a chance meeting on the beach has left me with a promise of accommodation with 539 Assault Squadron, Royal Marines, when I reach Plymouth. Like I said, you meet some interesting people!
Conditions had kicked up a bit, and there was a confused sea, about 1m, for the first half of the day. Slow progress, but it didn't matter as I had no intention of trying to go further than Brixham today. The sun came out and revealed the rich colours of the old red sandstone contrasting with the deep greens of woodland and pasture on the hills.
Into Brixham in the sunshine. A delightful old fishing port full of quaint pictureque charm. Helpful Tourist Info office pointed me to a B&B that welcomed me and the boat. Rest day planned for tomorrow, to repair body and kit before the next big push.

Wednesday 15th April: West Cliff - Dawlish Warren (27 n.mi.)

2009-04-17T11:09:00.003+01:00

A long paddle today, setting off in the sunshine, and enjoying the changing geology and scenery of this stretch of coast. I've been incredibly lucky with weather so far: a high over northern Britain has created easterliess to push me along for the last few days - unexpected and most welcome.
The sandy cliffs near Bridport gave way to the the (mudstones and shales?) of Charmouth, where the casual onlooker could see swarms of fossil hunters chipping away at the cliffs. But don't be deceived! In reality, this is a secret army of Cornish separatists, chiselling away a breakaway republic. Only a few thousand years to go lads, and you'll reach the Bristol Channel!
Dawlish Warren looks attractive on the map: a small village, with access to one of the three campsites via a level crossing over the railway. In reality, the level crossing is impassable, and the village and its campsites exist to serve the amusement park. Having trollied the boat uphill and down for a couple of hours in the dark, I was not amused at all by the time I returned to the beach to pitch camp. Dawlish Warren is not somewhere to re-visit.

Tuesday 14th April: Weymouth - West Cliff, Bridport

2009-04-17T10:53:00.003+01:00

Timed the departure from Weymouth to take advantage of the first of the ebb round Portland Bill (thanks, Barbara, for your excellent tidal stream info from "Tidal streams between Portland Bill and St.Albans Head", ISBN 1-871680-16-6). Some of the tidal stream data hereabouts has proven unreliable, with some tidal diamonds on the Admiralty Leisure Folio plainly being 180 degrees in error.
Met some of my wife's family at the Bill, but the landing just east of the Bill, onto small boulders in a little surf, was a bit dodgy and I took a swim. No big deal, but brother-in-law Pete waded in to help, and I then had to think about the danger of a loaded and swamped boat getting surfed down on top of him.
Round the Bill in calm conditions, and then paddled on a bearing to Bridport. This meant I kept well offshore, avoiding the adverse eddy that sets in downstream of the Bill. From this vantage point, Chesil Beach is insignificant compared to the sweeping, green, arable land to landward of the Fleet. Far from being boring, it's actually quite attractive.
Reached Bridport, to find that the camp spot recommended by Barbara looks like it has been covered by new sea defence rocks, so paddled on towards Eype's Mouth, where the campsite marked on the OS map looks pretty inaccessible for a laden kayaker. Paddled back to SY452908 and camped on the beach, feeling it shudder under my sleeping mat whenever some particularly heavy dumping surf came in.

Monday 13th April: Swanage - Weymouth (21 n.mi)

2009-04-14T01:21:00.008+01:00

A perfect day in paradise! Today I was joined by paddling friend Barbara, who is kindly hosting me as I write this. Conditions were calm, with a knot or two of tide under us, and the scenery all along this famous "Jurassic Coast" is stunning.

The cliffs are enjoyed by climbers, too:
(but they sometimes come a cropper) (Barbara is chair of IOPCC).

We pulled out just past Chapman's Pool for a leisurely lunch in the sunshine:

This part of the coast is famous for landmarks such as Lulworth Cove and Durdle Door, but is simply beautiful...

On the way, we discovered a mutual interest in music ... and then discovered that we have friends in common in that world ... and then that a friend from university days lives a few yards from Barbara's.
Landed on the slip at Weymouth, a short drive, wining & dining, then a surprise catch-up on 25 years of news! Peter will help me recover from the loss of all the data from my organiser (which got trashed at Sheerness) by supplying contact details for our mutual friends. Meanwhile, if you think I should (or might like to) know you, please email your contact details to me (don't post them here).

(And yes, I used to work in IT, and yes, I had a backup, and yes, it was corrupt :-(

Tomorrow: Portland Bill and Chesil Beach. People have lost their sanity paddling along Chesil Beach...

Sunday 12th April: Yarmouth - Swanage (19 n.mi.)

2009-04-14T00:54:00.007+01:00

Departed Yarmouth and kept close inshore as far as the Needles to avoid the last of the flood stream. Met these three paddlers (Peter, left, is starting his own circumnavigation of Britain in three weeks, but he is a photographer so you can expect much better visuals on his blog!)

Very calm at the Needles:

Steered 260 to stay offshore and get maximum tidal assistance, and plodded into the calm greyness, being overhauled by a succession of smart yachts. Sun finally came out, and I arrived in Swanage in a bright and cheerful state. Came ashore next to the lifeboat station, and had a pleasant chat with a gentleman who had spent most of his seagoing career on the QE2, travelling the world, including a memorable and famous trip to the Falklands... One of the joys of a trip like this is the people you meet!
Stayed the night at the YHA which, like all youth hostels, is at the top of a hill.

By the way, for those of you thinking, "but he lost the camera in the Bad Business at Sheerness," that's true, but it was recovered after spending six days floating in the Thames Estuary, and spent a further two and a half weeks with all the other salt-water-sodden kit in a plastic bag with Kent Police. It still works! (Olympus m770SW).

Saturday 11th April: East Wittering - Yarmouth IoW (25 n.mi.)

2009-04-12T10:06:00.004+01:00

A much better day today. Had some problems with the trolley disintegrating on the way down to the beach - not sure what caused it or whether I've found a cure. HW at Wittering and surf dumping onto the shingle bank made for an interesting launch (and probably quite dramatic for the onlookers). Today I have four charts on deck (Admiralty Leisure folio, that fold in half and fit neatly in an A3 Ortlieb document case), and they survived the launch and the rest of the day without even getting damp. Well done, Ortlieb.
Stood well off to avoid the surf break, and saw a couple of other sea kayaks in the distance. They looked as though they were heading for the south of the Isle of Wight, whereas I had changed plan and abandoned the idea of doing St.Catherine's Point as the tides are a bit late today.
A quick chat to QHM Portsmouth on the radio, and I was safely across the deep water channel that leads into the major naval base, and then lunched at Gillicker Point. Unable to raise Southampton VTS (my low antenna height is a problem), so had to do the Solent crossing just on visuals. Fortunately, traffic was light, but I did have that nervous small-furry-animal-scuttling-across-motorway feeling.
Two knots of tide under me most of the way to Yarmouth, where I was met by friend and former colleague Dugald and hosted royally by him and his family. Sun really did try to get out on the last mile to Yarmouth, and I was treated to a fine display of crepuscular rays.

Good Friday: Shoreham - East Wittering (25 n.mi.)

2009-04-12T09:59:00.003+01:00

Back to sea. The sores haven't really healed yet, but I'm binding them up with electrical insulating tape - the only thing that will stay put. A grey drizzling morning set the tone for day: one of the most boring paddles ever, into a mind-numbing vista of greyness. At one point the sun tried to come out, but only managed to turn the clouds slightly yellow. Turner could have painted it. A solitary tern (I think) performed crop-spraying manoeuvres above a small patch of grey water, but apart from that bird there was no sign of life. Even the gulls couldn't be bothered. Came ashore at Wittering and trollied the boat up to the campsite marked on the OS map, fuelling up on fish & chips en route. Campsite is phenomenally expensive. Too bad.

On reflection, not everything was grey. This boat moored off Selsey Bill had a particularly colourful skin condition...

Sunday 5th to Tuesday 7th April: ashore

2009-04-06T20:14:00.003+01:00

This a planned break. Today (Monday) I had an interview for this autumn's career change, so here I am at home, looking at a worsening weather forecast and thinking it is a blessing in disguise as it might give the damage caused by my dry suit a chance to heal a bit. This is the sort of thing that cannot just be ignored, as 8 hours a day in salt water will only make it worse, and could create an expedition-stopper.

Saturday 4th April: Seaford - Shoreham by Sea (15 n.mi.)

2009-04-06T18:32:00.002+01:00

Awoke to grey drizzle and the 0520 Shipping Forecast and Inshore Waters Forecast on BBC Radio 4 LW: SW 4/5 becoming variable 3 later...
Used the back entrance of the campsite and the nearby sailing club's handy lengths of scrap conveyor belt to make today's launch much easier than last night's recovery. Scrupulously returned the lengths of belt to their original positions. The vis was down this morning (at times, the IPTS lights of Newhaven harbour could be seen only at about 300m), so I floated around off the north-eastern breakwater, waiting for the Transmanche ferry to exit astern and make her turn. Put in to Newhaven, crossing the channel at No.1 ro-ro berth to beach the boat on the slip in the North Basin, right opposite Russell Simpson, chandlers, where a new VHF was procured. Lost an hour while we waited for the battery to charge, then back to the slip where a sturdy young man engaged me in conversation. He had done a bit of paddling when he was "in the military", having spent three weeks paddling round the top of Scotland. Three weeks is fast for that trip, and when challenged, he admitted that, yes, it was with special forces, bivvying on the beach and getting a food drop every 3 days. Apparently they had no particular training for this trip, in some of the most treacherous and fast-moving of British waters. Their instructor had apparently just decided "it would be a good idea." Somehow I find it faintly reassuring that our politicians need go to no great lengths to create enemies for us, so long as they can employ that instructor.
From Newhaven, the original plan was to make Littlehampton - a long day, but with a couple of rest days planned afterwards. Paddling past Brighton, I entertained myself by working hard to overhaul a yacht ghosting along in light airs and sunshine half a mile ahead. Then the wind arrived, the yacht disappeared into the distance, and soon I was battling both the tide and a SW 5-6, the forecast conditions being augmented by a sea breeze. The long fetch soon built up a 1m chop [1], and the adverse wind and tide turned the paddle into a test of stamina. Matters were not helped by a confused sea state aggravated by the wash of passing gin palaces. Preferring not to risk a surf landing onto the steep beach in these conditions, I slogged on to Shoreham-by-Sea with the intention of cutting the trip short there. Foolishly, I hadn't prepared pilotage notes for this haven and, approaching the harbour mouth I seemed to be deadlocked for access with a merchant vessel further offshore. Raising the port control on the new VHF, a disjointed and bizarre exchange took place, in which the other party clearly wondered what type of large merchantman was proposing to blockade his little harbour at no notice. Only when I had given my length ("17 feet") and beam ("umm, 21 inches") was there a long pause, followed by an assurance that I was too tiny to need any sort of clearance at all.

Shoreham harbour was delightfully quiet, and I pulled up the sailing club slip just in time to cadge a shower as the Saturday afternoon dinghy sailors were clearing up. The cavalry arrived for the only planned stop of the circumnavigation, and we dined in style at the excellent local Italian restaurant.

Notes:
[1] Estimates of sea state from a kayak are notoriously prone to exaggeration. One's eyes are about 70cm above the waterline, so when the horizon starts disappearing, the seas are only averaging around half a metre. Beyond that, you start timing the proportion of the wave cycle for which objects remain in view.

Friday 3rd April: Pevensey - Seaford (13 n.mi.)

2009-04-06T17:26:00.006+01:00

Today, my VHF died. Actually, this is my wife's set - mine still being in the custody of Kent police, rotting away from salt corrosion and water ingress, if not already defunct. This replacement set has already been repaired once, thanks to the sterling efforts of friends and former colleagues in procuring spare parts, so its demise is particularly galling. I suspect that salt has crystallised behind the keypad.
Anyway, today's report to the CG has to go via phone, as must the negotiation with Eastbourne Port Control for access to the harbour, where I spent a fruitless hour hunting for a replacement set. VHF is a really useful tool - for getting weather forecasts, understanding the intentions of other vessels and port authorities, and in emergency. For emergency use, I also carry a GPS-enabled 406 MHz PLB (a sort of baby EPIRB), but that is a single-purpose device with its own advantages and limitations. (Actually, this is a replacement PLB, the first being thought to be still in the tender care of Kent Police...)

So, off I paddled, now well behind schedule. The chalk cliffs rise dramatically south-west of Eastbourne, and today their crests were wreathed in writhing mist. Most atmospheric. The foghorn on Beachy Head Lighthouse sounded its fluty C every 30 seconds. Now, I don't hold with the traditional association of musical keys with emotions, as I think this is a hold-over from the days before equal temperament, but maybe if Trinity House re-engineered the horn into, say, a B flat major chord, it might do something for Beachy Head's macabre reputation. For me, the horn just set up today's earworm - an elaborate improvisation on a simple ground bass, to the rhythm of the paddles. An earworm is a sign of a good paddle: no concerns about navigation, no difficult sea-state to contend with, no undue fatigue or worries about a tricky landing.

The Seven Sisters passed to starboard, if anything even more beetling than Beachy Head itself. This must be one of the best paddles in the South-East, even if I was now fighting a slight easterly-setting tidal stream.
I beached at the western end of Seaford and once again struggled to heave the boat up a steep shingle bank, to camp at the site south of the railway line.

Thursday 2nd April: Dungeness - Pevensey (26 n.mi.)

2009-04-06T15:26:00.003+01:00

NE 3/4 becoming 4/5, occasionally 6 in east; slight, occasionally moderate at first in east; mainly fair.
The whole family turned out to help launch the boat at the old lifeboat station, where the expanse of shingle and sand is easier to cross.
Called the Coastguard, and then Lydd Range Control to find that there was no firing scheduled today. Punched out through a couple of modest surf breaks, pushed the deck cargo back into place, and then turned for the west. It was a long slog past Lydd range with a force 4-6 on the quarter, as this boat has no skeg, and its primary stability is a bit too solid when fully laden[1]. Things got a bit easier when the sandstone cliffs started at Cliff End in a fondant of pinks and ochres.
Met a gent on a sit-on-top at Hastings - only the second paddler of the trip (the first having been a geology student in N.Kent).
Difficult recovery up a steep shingle bank at Pevensey, but worth it for the excellent Bay View campsite behind the gap in the houses at GR TQ 6495 0263, where the wardens greeted me with a mug of tea and the offer of a lift into Eastbourne (gratefully accepted). The marina at Eastbourne is frightfully chic, so I enjoyed sitting by the waterside, wearing headtorch and Chillcheater coverall, munching fish & chips.
I had some alterations done to my drysuit just before setting off, and the overcuffs are starting to chafe badly. On the water, you don't notice what's happening, but when the sores dry out you do!

Notes:
[1] A properly trimmed sea kayak will drift bow to wind, or maybe beam to wind. If you want to travel with the wind on the quarter (i.e. almost in the same direction as the wind), it helps to lower a small fin, called a skeg, near the stern. This helps slow the stern's drift downwind, and therefore has the effect of holding the boat on a downwind course. Trouble is, my boat doesn't have a skeg.
Edging is rotating one's hips so that the hull heels to one side. You do this while keeping your torso more-or-less vertical - otherwise you capsize. The purpose of edging is to induce or maintain a turn away from the lowered side of the boat (imagine a warship turning at speed). Paddling "on edge" can therefore compensate somewhat for the lack of a skeg (and is also used for other purposes). To do this, it helps if the hull rolls easily a few degrees either side of vertical (little "primary stability"), but then stiffens up and becomes more stable beyond that ("secondary stability").

Wednesday 1st April: St.Margarets - Dungeness (20 n.mi.)

2009-04-05T23:34:00.003+01:00

Another 0500 start, to catch the tide. Wind NE 3-4, building a bit during the day. Fair. Good.
Negotiated with Dover Port Control (VHF is essential here), and likewise with Folkestone. Filed trip report with Dover CG, but when I tried to get the weather from them (St.Margarets being in a radio shadow) the tips of my pencils broke. I keep finding more exasperating consequences of the bad business at Sheerness. Over a period of time, one fine-tunes all the kit for a trip like this, but now I find that I've not replaced the knife I usually keep in my buoyancy aid pocket, and that the lanyards on the chinagraph pencils of my (replacement) A4 "chart table" are too short.
Paddled from Folkestone to Dungeness on a bearing, passing to seaward of the Hythe range, which was firing. I wonder whether gunners' dreams are punctuated with slamming doors and clumsy warehousemen dropping heavy parcels...
The increased fetch as I neared Dungeness meant that the seas had built to between 1 and 1.5m, so at high water (henceforth: "HW"), there was danger of dumping surf on the steep shingle bank. I aimed for some people on the beach, thinking that they might warn me of any unseen submerged hazards. They helped carry the (very heavy) boat up the beach and welcomed me into their home, already bursting with visiting relatives and neighbours' children, making tea and feeding me, offering showers and laundry facilities. We discovered much in common: Keith, a former lifeboatman, is an artist and a learned lover of contemporary music (but with taste eclectic enough to encompass Fairfax and Sturton!); son Orton is researching cold water corals, so we were able to chat about the life of academic research. Nothing was too much trouble for this family, and they helped restore my battered faith in human nature.
All along the Kent and Channel coasts, we see evidence of military activity from the Napoleonic period and two world wars. PLUTO came ashore near here.

Tuesday 31st March: Joss Bay - St.Margaret's at Cliffe (15 n.mi.)

2009-04-05T22:55:00.007+01:00

Rose to my alarm at 0500 to catch the tide. As porridge simmered on the stove, the red disc of the sun rose to the east, and the merchant ships riding to anchor offshore one-by-one extinguished their deck lights. Filed the daily trip report with Dover Coastguard on the VHF, and then negotiated with Ramsgate Port Control for a safe crossing of their harbour entrance. I've heard that, to yachtsmen, kayaks are "speed bumps", but to a cross-channel ferry we probably qualify only as "road kill". It was most heartening to see the compass creep past 180 - it feels as though forward progress has now started. Paddled to Deal on a bearing, and enjoyed the start of the famous white cliffs. At 1320 I arrived at St.Margarets, and promptly fell out of the boat most inelegantly, right in front of the coastguard watch officer who had taken my call earlier. He had walked down to the bay in his lunch hour, and we had a pleasant chat about the vagaries of the tidal streams hereabouts.
As I tidied the boat up, a small dinghy pottered about in the bay. It came ashore and I lent a hand to get it up the steep beach, learning, to my utter astonishment, that its agile helmsman was 80 years old. Jim, if you're reading this, thanks for the photo:
Enjoyed an excellent, if rather extravagant, lunch at The Coastguard, but was mistakenly told that the campsite at GR 356443 would take a tent. Ended up back at the beach, having trollied the boat up the hairpin bends and back again.
Performed the evening routine of working out tides and planning the route for tomorrow. Sleep disturbed by cars (this seems to be a local late-night trysting spot) - the bad business at Sheerness has had an effect on me: I wake at the slightest noise, and I'm loth to camp near large settlements. Seeking isolation in this way also makes it hard to keep the blog updated, especially since the technology for doing so remotely got destroyed by salt water (again thanks to the Sheerness incident).

Monday 30th March: Reculver - Joss Bay (10 n.mi.)

2009-04-05T22:05:00.005+01:00

wind SW 3-4, sea state smooth-slight, weather fair, vis good.
Woke to frost and sunshine. A slow start, so not many miles covered. The sandy cliffs of Reculver soon give way to low-lying shore with many small waders. Alas, my knowledge of seabirds is slight - there seem to be four main types: white ones, brown ones, black ones, and odd-uns. However I did recognise oyster-catchers.
To port lay the Kentish Flats wind farm and the gun platforms of World War II. In the pub last night, I had suggested to one of the locals that these would have been an unpopular posting, as they would seem to have been sitting ducks for the attentions of the Luftwaffe, but he assured me to the contrary.
The chalk cliffs start near Birchington, with an appearance deceptively like some fortification of the Napoleonic era. Just before Joss Bay, Kingsgate Castle stands on the cliffs alongside a mock tudor building and an art deco edifice in a defiant statement of architectural inclusiveness.
Landed at Koss Bay and camped on the beach. Dined on lentil-pasta-tuna improvisation...