After dallying at the Devil's Bridge, it was now time to retrace our wakes and turn north. We were running with the tide again and were blasted through the narrow gap between Otter Rock and the Mull of Logan.
Incoming swells against the tide made for joyous paddling conditions in the February sunshine.
Once round the Mull, we were grateful for all the tidal assistance we could get. Our destination, Portpatrick, lay beyond the most distant headland. As far as the eye could see, not a single building broke the long line of headlands, bays and cliffs.
Out to sea the horizon was empty and devoid of ships of any size. We four represented the sum of human activity in these parts.
This was a heavy burden to bear and made us feel quite peckish. So we nipped into the shelter of...
...Ardwell Bay for a second luncheon and toast the adventure with the remainder of Phil's Glenlivet malt whisky!
