Sea kayaking the Rinns of Islay.

A 37km, day trip round the west and north coasts of the Rinns of Islay. Launch at Portnahaven NR167521 small shop, hotel/pub, limited car parking nearby, toilets/water at top of hill. Recover kayaks at Crois Mor NR297703 in Loch Gruinart or a few hundred metres to the NE at low tide.

Tides: 

Portnahaven: Constant -0110 Oban (+0550 Dover) Tidal streams off Portnahaven run at 8 knots springs. Heavy overfalls occur off Oronsay and Frenchman's Rocks. In the north going stream a counter eddy forms in Lossit Bay, which can cause confused water where it rejoins the main stream at Frenchman's Rocks. Four hours into the north going flood, we met a SW going eddy along the coast from Cape Fear to Ton Mor.

N going flood begins +0530 HW Oban (HW Dover)
S going ebb begins -0040 HW Oban (-0610 Dover)

It is our experience that inshore streams round Islay turn about 45 minutes before the above published times in the pilots.

Don't be deceived by the calm of Portnahaven harbour, as you leave the harbour...

...all hell can be let loose. An unforgiving coast of cliff and surf beach stretches for an unremitting and challenging 26 km...

...until you turn the corner and find a respite

An Islay retrospective.

Dry mouths in the deceptive calm of Portnahaven.

Commitment off the Rinns of Islay.

Flotsam, jetsam and kayaks off the Rinns of Islay.

The ground was moving and it was nothing to do with the Laphroig!

Singing seals of Loch Gruinart at the end of a long day.

The ground was moving and it was nothing to do with the Laphroig!

I am afraid I have not a single photo of our paddle under the cliffs between Cape Fear and of Ton Mhor at the north end of the wild Rinns of Islay. After closing with the rocks we got out of the worst of the counter tide race but the clapotits proved to be somewhat of a challenge to tiring paddlers. It was like hanging onto a bucking bronco! We felt some relief when we eventually turned the corner into the sheltered waters of the east side of Ton Mhor. We were not the only ones to be tired, this large seal was fast asleep!

We now made for the lovely sands of Port Gillhe Greamhair.

There was hardly a ripple of surf, unlike the time when Phil and I had turned back from here only 6 weeks previously.

I stagerred out of my kayak, I could hardly stand, my knee had seized up after 25 km of some of the most challenging kayaking on the west coast.

After enjoying our sandwiches on the machair at the back of the beach, we decided to have a little celebration. In his recent comment Ian said: "Character building stuff Douglas! I trust a moderate amount of strong drink was taken in order to calm the nerves after this passage? I should have thought it would require an 18 yr old to really do the trick...."

Ian knows me too well! I had some 18 year old Laphroig in my day hatch and Tony kindly went back down the beach for it. As we lay back on the machair for a well deserved rest and snifter of the spirit of Islay, the ground seemed to to be moving beneath us, as if we were still paddling a stormy sea. I can assure you it was it was nothing to do with the Laphroig!

Flotsam, jetsam and kayaks off the Rinns of Islay.

From Lossit Bay to Machir Bay the rocky ramparts of of the Rinns stretches for 8km almost unbroken. Kilchiaran Bay is the only breach in this coast's impenetrable armour but it was full of surf so we pressed on to Machir Bay. When I say "we pressed on", I am perhaps implying we had somewhat more choice in the matter than actually existed, given the reality of the building north going tide and force 4 tail wind.

We kept  well out (2km) from Machir Bay and the conditions moderated a little. However, it to be a short lived respite. The west coast of the Rinns has a series of headlands round which the tide races. They have confidence inspiring names like Rhuba na Faing and Cape Fear. We were rapidly approaching the headland at the north end of Machir Bay. It was two and a half hours into the flood and the tide was fair steaming along. This particular headland consists of an offshore island and a channel littered with exceedingly sharp dark rocks. The island acts like a funnel and the tide accelerates through the channel like a venturi, carrying all flotsam, jetsam and kayaks with it. The surging swell, the rushing tide, the broken, white water receding and revealing fangs of black rock... it all led to an involuntary clenching of the jaws not to mention the gluteal muscles.

After all this excitement, the fair weather we had enjoyed thus far deteriorated a little as we passed Saligo Bay. The clouds descended, it started to rain, the temperature dropped and the wind increased. This was after all the first week in August... always a risky time to go paddling in Scotland.  We were now passing "Opera House rocks" which are more properly known as Dun Bheolain, site of an Iron Age hill fort. It is surrounded on three sides by surging surf, I don't think they would ever have expected to have been invaded from the sea.

Ahead lay Cape Fear, where we hoped to turn east rather than be swept away by the tide to the north. It was three and a half hours into the flood and we could see the tide race heaving over the reef that extends far to the north west. We kept well clear of the reef but the wild waters of the race took all our attention as we slowly turned our bows east. We paddled with a new vigour and the water was soon rushing beneath our keels.  It was still rather rough and it was all we could do to keep paddling for the next headland Ton Mor.  It seemed to be a very long way away and it wasn't getting any closer.

Then I was knocked sideways by a particularly big wave and I was amazed to see that we were still beneath Cape Fear! All that paddling had got us nowhere, an uncharted west going eddy was running against us and joining the north going flood! It was time for a quick decision. We moved closer into the cliffs where the clapotis was horrendous but where we hoped the foul tide would be less....  

I must apologise for the lack of decent photographs on this particular trip.                                                                                                                                    

Commitment off the Rinns of Islay.

Leaving the shelter of Portnahaven at slack water, we entered the channel between Islay and the offshore islands of Orsay and Eilean Mhic Coinnich. Despite being "slack", the north going tide was already ripping through the channel at 3 knots.

The islands and the Stevenson lighthouse on Orsay were soon left astern and we were now committed, there could be no turning back.

We were whisked past a curious concrete structure. This is the Islay experimental Limpet wave generator.

We were now  on the open Atlantic. The photographs do not give a true idea of just how rough it was. It was obvious to us that we were not going to be landing on the surf beaches. Lossit Bay was "smoking" as the cross off wind blew the crests off the back of the surf sets.

Gannets, heavily laden with fish, were using the shelter of the cliff line to make their way south towards their hungry chicks on Alisa Craig, which was over 100km away.

Off Lossit Point, the sea was even rougher. The rocks of Beinn Seasaimh, 139m, fell steeply into the sea and it was pretty obvious we were not going to be able to land until we had cleared the west coast of the Rinns of Islay, after paddling for 25km...

Dry mouths in the deceptive calm of Portnahaven.

Tony and I had been trying to complete kayaking round Islay for several years and despite frequent visits, we had been unable to paddle the west coast of the Rinns of Islay. This was to be my third visit of the year and only a few weeks before, had already turned back from the Rhinns after meeting huge swell in otherwise benign conditions. Prior to this trip, a succession of days with SE winds had flattened the Atlantic swell, which is the "Governor" on this coast. Although the weather was to be mixed, the tide times were ideal. It would be one day after neaps and the north going flood would start at about 0900 hours at Portnahaven on the south end of the Rhinns.

It was 0820 as we drove down the steep road into the tiny hamlet of Portnahaven. The hamlet almost impossibly manages to cling to the rocks of this untamed coast. In the shelter of Portnahaven it was difficult to judge the wind strength as it was SE and offshore. The smoke blowing horizontally from the chimneys suggested it was about 3-4. It was time for the Clyde coastguard Marine Safety Information (MSI) broadcast on the VHF marine band.

"This is the inshore forecast for Mull of Kintyre to Ardnamurchan Point, issued by the Met Office at 0500 UTC Friday 6th August and valid until 0500 UTC Saturday 7th August. 24 hour forecast. Wind: SE or S 4 to 5 veering NW 6-7 later. Sea state: moderate or rough becoming very rough. Weather: showers, rain later. Visibility: moderate becoming poor."

"Later" means 12 hours or more by which time we hoped to have cleared the Rhinns. The SE or S would either be cross offshore or cross shore as a tail wind so we decided to go for it...

...and after several visits to the public toilets, we launched in the calm of Portnahaven harbour. We passed the conveniently situated pub, An Tigh Seinsse (house of the singing) but it was shut and our mouths remained dry.

Portnahaven was built as a planned crofting and fishing village during the 19th century...

...and its cluster of whitewashed cottages crowd round a sheltered inlet off one of the roughest pieces of water in the British Isles. None of the local boats showed any sign of leaving their moorings that morning. A combination of Atlantic swell, strong tides, shallow, reef infested waters and high average wind speeds make it an interesting place to kayak...

...these were the conditions which had caused us to turn back a few weeks before.