Tuesday 21st July: waiting on weather

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

Monday 20th July: Drummore - Portpatrick

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

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



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

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


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








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

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

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

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

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

Sunday 19th July: Port William - Drummore

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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."