29th April 2021 #7 Locked in but not locked down by a wild night in Loch Hourn.

Ian and I set to work building a fire on the shore of Loch Hourn. We chose a site below the highest tide level but, as it was just before predicted HW, we expected the tide not reach the fire.

A stiff NE breeze soon had it burning fiercely.

Unfortunately the tide kept rising and we had to rescue the wood and leave the fire to the mercy of the water. We built a new fire further up the shore.

Of course the sun did not stay out long. Yet another squall battered down the loch towards us obliterating the view of the mountains as it came. A brave rainbow framed the scene but lasted only a few seconds till it was lost in a wall of grey. The approaching storm was elemental and truly magnificent. For a while we were transfixed by its beauty but just in time, we abandoned the new fire to its own devices and fled to the tents. The noise as the wind ripped at the flysheet and alternate bands of rain and hail lashed down added to the sense of wildness.

After the storm, we emerged from the tents to find a dusting of fresh snow on the summits but more importantly the wind had dropped.

As the sun began to set on this landlocked arm of the sea...

... its still waters reflected the sunset colours of the clouds, despite the setting sun being hidden below dark enclosing mountain ridges.

As night fell and the fire burned more brightly we swapped tales of kayaking adventures. We might be locked in, in inner Loch Hourn, but we were no longer locked down!

28th April 2021 #2 Sunshine and sleet on the Sound of Sleat.

It has been a cold start to the year and the NE wind brought a series of Arctic squalls to the Sound of Sleat. These brought a bonus of dramatic lighting conditions though trying to erect our tents on the exposed reef took a bit of care in the accompanying wind.

Fortunately the worst of the squalls seemed to pass and we got our camp in order.

As the tide was still low...

...we wasted no time in gathering driftwood for a fire on the sands. We kept our kayaking gear on as the sun did not look like it would last long.

Then the skies darkened with the approach of yet another squall. We rushed to our tents and were deafened by alternate lashings of rain and sleet on the thin tent walls.

As the storm passed, on its way into Loch Hourn, we emerged from our tents into the watery evening sunlight.

Graceful rainbows arched over the still dark mountains, which had a dusting of fresh snow  on their summits.

Hardy primroses seemed undeterred by the weather and neither were we.

We set to and got the fire going as we swapped yarns and...

...finished our meal.

A watery sunset slipped away on the far side of the Sound of Sleat before another squall put an end to our evening by the fire.

Baked Bramley apples at a Shian Bay Sunset.

As the sun in the west sank behind distant Colonsay...

 ...it illuminated the moors of Jura to the east with a warm red light. A full moon rose into a cold blue sky above the misty hills beyond the moor.

We gradually gathered round the fire with our sports recovery drinks. Camp raconteur David kept Sam amused with tales such as how he had rolled more cars than kayaks!

 We were all set for a most convivial evening but...

 ...Ian and I made our temporary excuses as we...

 ...photographed the last of the sunset in the hope of capturing a green flash.

As we made our way back up to the camp, a cold mist began to roll down towards us from the Jura  mountains.

Gradually it spread across the near full moon, which was now high in the sky. Ian and I delighted in telling Maurice that as the full moon meant the tides were at springs, it would be an exciting trip through the great Gulf of Corryvreckan in the morning. As Morris had not been through the Corryvreckan before, his face visibly paled in the moonlight, as we continued to wind him up with tales of giant waves and whirlpools....

 Soon the cold mist wrapped around us making everything wet with condensation.

We were glad of the warmth of the fire. David and Sam had to sit ever closer on their bench seat as Ian and I continued to cut the ends off to keep the fire going to ensure...

...cooking of Ian's new signature dish...baked Bramley apples with clotted cream and sprinkled with cinnamon. 

Life really does not get much better than this. For us it is the essence of sea kayaking. Using a small boat to voyage and navigate yourself to remote, special places gives a real sense of adventure and achievement. Alternatively, we could have signed up for Saga Holidays "thrilling tour and cruise adventure for the over 50's" to Machu Picchu and the Galapagos Islands for £5,000 each (well Sam might not have been eligible as he is in his twenties). :o)

Read Ian's account here.

Hebridean boules on the machair of Jura.

We got our camp set up on Shian Bay on the west coast of Jura in plenty of time before darkness. In the distance, you can just see Oronsay and Colonsay where we had camped the previous night. We swam in the sea (cold) or the river (warm) behind the machair to freshen up after the long crossing.

We had plenty of time to scour the beach for driftwood of which there was an abundance. There was a solitary fire ring on the huge expanse of machair backing the bay. We do not normally have fires on the machair but there was a pre-existing fire ring with some large logs and planks arranged as seating. As the damage had already been done (apparently it was built by a recent party organised by the estate owners) we decided, on this occasion, to use the local facilities.  We were careful not to move the stones in case the damage got larger.

 I used my exceedingly sharp Japanese folding saw to make a  woodpile from the logs and posts we had gathered on the beach. Some of the logs had been bored by some sort of marine worm and they smelled absolutely disgusting. Camp chores completed, it was now...

...recreation time! We gathered some fishing floats from the beach and started our game of Hebridean boules.

 As you see, we are quite good at it!

The sun setting slowly into the haze over Colonsay to the west finally brought the games to a close.

Read Ian's account here.

Two schools of seakayaking campers, a tattie howkin' stick and a Colonsay sunset.

Once we had revived ourselves with some well earned sports recovery drinks we set about getting...

...our tents up and cooking our evening meal...

...before sunset. David had forgotten a bottle of locally distilled elixir, which  was stuffed up the side of his kayak skeg box but...

 ..a shout of glee announced its discovery and...

 ...he returned from the beach with a youthful spring in his step just before sunset.

At this point it is worth mentioning the two schools of kayak campers. The first carry their kayaks right up the beach and deposit them beside their tents. The second pull them up the beach just enough to avoid the tide carrying them away in the night. As you can see, we belong to the second school!

So just as the sun kissed...

 ...the western horizon we left the beach to the kayaks. We were pretty confident that not even the Hag of Colonsay would bother them.

While David had recovered his elixir, Ian, Maurice, Sam and myself had scoured the beach for drift wood. We set our fire on the sand below the high water spring mark so that no trace of our passing would remain. I have never understood why people drag stones from the beach to build a fire ring on the machair then leave a permanently charred hole as a mark of their passage.

Gradually we reconvened with our piles of wood round the fire where...

 ...we spent a most convivial evening recounting stories and setting the world to rights. Note the tattie howkin' stick to the right of this photo.

This is never burned until the baked potatoes (and Ian's recent introduction baked Bramley apples with clotted cream) are ready  and require howkin' from the fire. Only when all consumables have been recovered from the embers may the tattie howkin' stick be sent to its fate.

It was now 10:30 but the full moon was up and...

 ...the sky to the west still glowed red.

Gradually the sky darkened and we got on with the serious business of a comparative tasting of several Islay, Jura and Speyside malt whiskies.

I am sure we reached a consensus but for the life of me I can't remember what we decided. We will just need to reconvene, hopefully with friends who could not join us on this occasion, and repeat our deliberations. Sea kayaking really does not get much better than this.

Read Ian's account here.