Friends reunited in the Sound of Arisaig.

As we were relaxing in the sun on Camas Ghaoidiel, Phil suddenly leapt to his feet. He rushed down to his kayak and searched each hatch. Unfortunately there was no  sign of his dry bag with his car keys and wallet. He last remembered having it on the beach at our last stop, 5 km away! Phil sped off at high speed...

 ...while we did a little light exploration and lying in the sun. After a surprisingly short time, Phil's voice crackled over the VHF, he had recovered his dry bag and was now nearly back at our beach.

 We set out to meet him and there...

 ...on the horizon, Phil appeared, paddling like the Duracell Bunny.

 He was absolutely knackered but a couple of minutes later...

 ...and he was paddling once more.

All together again, our little group...

 ...set off across the Sound of Arisaig as...

...the Sun steadily dipped towards the horizon.

Ian's Inlet

In a recent post I said that we came to a point round which some big swell "stopped play". While this was accurate, I was being rather economical with all the facts of the case. This was because I wanted to let Ian tell his story first.

Ian and I had been rockhopping along the coast, leap frogging past each other and watching out for each other. Ian capsized at the point above, right where that swell is breaking. I had approached the point in the lead but had kept a fairly wide berth as I had seen occasional boomers breaking on the point and I didn't much like the look of the gently shelving rocks.

When Ian approached, all was calm and he decided to nose into the small gully marked X and hold station (his bow pointing SW) in the small swell. He hadn't reckoned on the set of four big ones that were just about to arrive. At 11:27 the first washed him up the wall of the gully. He braced but as it sucked back, there was nothing to brace on and he was dragged head first down the barnacle covered rocks. The second wave bashed him and his kayak back up the rocks and Ian bailed out. The third wave separated Ian from his kayak and his paddle as he struggled to maintain contact with the rocks. The fourth wave was fortunately the biggest. It flung Ian's kayak back up the rock with a real graunching. The bow caught a rock and the force of the wave catapulted the stern right round so the bow was now pointing NE. The wave then carried the kayak and Ian over the rocks into the inlet behind.

I then nipped into the inlet, picking up Ian's paddle and one of his splits on the way. Ian was in the water trying to pump out the kayak but with me alongside, we turned the kayak upside down and drained it. The inlet was barely wide enough for two kayaks and the swell was pushing us back and forwards, crashing into the sides of the inlet. My right elbow took a heavy blow, with the momentum of two kayaks and kayakers  behind it. At this point, we both decided that I would be better out the way and give Ian more room to try a cowboy re-entry. I reversed out a bit and got my contact tow rope ready to pull him and the kayak out of the gully, in case the re-entry failed. Ian managed the cowbow in fine style and we reconvened about 25m offshore. We rafted up and Ian pumped out while I re-secured his splits and recovered his pump. Ian recovered his map case.

There was a freezing cold SE wind blowing about force 4. Despite this we paddled on as if nothing had happened at 11:36, just 9 minutes after Ian had capsized. (When we landed at 11:52 my anemometer was showing 14-15 knots on top of a sand dune with an air temperature of 0C and a wind chill of -6C.)

A major incident had been averted because:

Firstly, Ian was wearing a dry suit. His Lomo Renegade drysuit resisted the abrasion of the barnacles with flying colours. If Ian had being wearing a two piece he would have been frozen and the trip would have had to be abandoned. 

Secondly, Ian had practised cowboy re-entries in rough conditions. If the cowboy had failed, I would have towed him out (I have practised towing backwards.) I could have used either my full tow line or, more probably, my short contact tow line, which I keep on the fore deck. Out in calmer water, I would have rafted his kayak and he would have done an assisted re-entry.

Thirdly, Ian had the benefit of consuming 500ml of my hot, home made French onion soup.    

From this point forward let this inlet be known as Ian's inlet!                

Our approach to Carnage Corner.

As we approached the rocky coastline at the north end of Culzean Bay...

...Jim was really powering the Taran, catching every wave in order to nose ahead of the kayak sailors.

However, as we passed the point, the wind increased and Jim inevitably fell behind the kayak sailors.

One of the dangers in kayak sailing is that a mixed group can become very spread out. David, Phil and Tony were well ahead  so...

...I sprinted on and...

 ...told the others to blast ahead, while I stayed with Jim. Despite being without a spraydeck...

...David seemed quite unperturbed as we approached Carnage Corner.

  A wide angle lens always makes the water look flatter than it really is...

...but this is a notorious piece of coast for kayak carnage. I have written about a previous epic in these very waters: "Attrition on the Clyde" in which a party of 8 was reduced to 3.

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.                                                                                                                                    

Sails on the Shetland Bus

BBC Scotland had an interesting piece on tonight's television news.

Mick Berwick, Patrick Winterton and Olly Hicks have set off from Shetland on an epic unsupported crossing of the North Sea to Norway by sea kayak. The crossing is to highlight the importance of the Shetland Bus: small fishing boats that linked these two communities in the dark days of WW2. They are also raising money for Make a Wish and the RNLI. You can support their fund raising by making a donation here.

I was delighted to see they were using Flat Earth kayak sails. They had been having some problems with the rigging of the sails and I gave Patrick some tips before they departed. I hope that the other's will be able to tighten up Mick's (yellow sail) starboard stay. His sail is sagging to leeward a bit! I hope their energy levels and spirits don't sag on their 4day/3night crossing!

Good luck guys! :o)

19/07/2011
Sadly, it looks like they have had to turn back.

Coll, calm and collected; crossing the Sound

By now my dislocated knee had swollen to the size of a melon and the pain was nearly unbearable. David, Jennifer and Jim carried my kayak to the water's edge and carefully lifted me in. I had a full ten litre water bag on the cockpit floor, which I used to support my knee. The others then carried their own boats through the narrow slot in the rocks of Coll. I am pleased to say that the ringed plovers and their chick were now ignoring us and we left them in to have their beach in peace. We now call this place Plover Beach!


It would take us about 3 hours to make the crossing so our initial vector had to take account of the average about 3km/hr tidal flow to our left (north). We set off towards the Sound of Mull which is some 6km up tide from Ardnamurchan point.


I did not feel like taking many photos on the crossing but I could not resist this shot of the P&H Cetus's fine bow lines. The colour of the boat also matched the conditions perfectly!


As we progressed across the Sound of Coll, the wind dropped and the skies cleared. Our passage was enlivened by flocks of swirling shearwaters that wheeled round and round us.


Despite being distracted by the pain in my knee, I was quite pleased with our ferry angle across the Sound. You can see places where we stopped for a rest and the tide carried us northwards at 3km/hr. We hit a stronger current as we approached Ardnamurchan Point.

15/06/2009

Praise the dawn of a new day on Coll

This had been the second sleepless night since I had dislocated my knee. I had run out of the various supplies of ibuprofen, diclofenac, asprin and paracetamol in our first aid kits. The pain was nearly unbearable and it was a relief to stagger to my feet (using Jim's walking pole) to greet the dawn of a new day.


In the distance Ardnamurchan could just be seen on the horizon. In my present state it seemed such a far way off.


The others were still sound asleep and I was mighty relieved to see that the ringed plovers had managed to move their chick onto the rocks to the side of the beach. The tide goes out a very long way at our destination Portuairk. The sand is very soft so I dreaded walking up to the car. I planned to arrive as close as possible to high tide but this would involve leaving by 08:30 and paddling much of the crossing of 15km at peak tidal flow.


Fortunately the others appreciated the situation and we had had breakfast and loaded the boats by 08:00. Getting into my paddling gear proved a bit of an effort but then I was ready to face the day...

15/06/2009

Better days: knees in the sand

My eye was caught by this old boat which was lying at the high water mark in Scarinish Harbour Tiree. She was lying as she was when she was driven here by a winter storm but her function can still easily be discerned from her near complete form.


In contrast, little remains of this sad relic of former days the Mary Stewart. Only the stumps of her timber knees project from the sand, hinting at the once proud lines, which carried the essential trade of Tiree.


I wonder if she was this masted sailing ship, photographed by Erskine Beveridge in Scarinish harbour in 1898? Note the hotel building in the background, which has since been considerably extended. Old photographs like these make us realise that our lives are very transitory things compared with places and the environment. All the more reason not to leave a mess!

Better days is also a metaphor for my own current situation. It was the 13th of the month. I dislocated my knee on the sands of Gunna at the south end of Coll. It gave way when I turned to take a quick photo. As I lay there crying out for my mummy, I could see my lower leg was at a funny angle and that my knee cap had slipped round the outer side of my leg. Our mobiles didn't work, I had been unable to get the coastguard MSI broadcasts on the VHF, we were on an uninhabited island but I did have a GPS EPIRB....


The thought of the big red and white Coastguard helicopter emerging from the heat haze on the horizon (with a "wump, wump, wump" and March of the Valkyries blaring from the in flight entertainment system) had a certain appeal. I do love the smell of kerosene in the evenings.

However, I was enjoying our little trip, apart from the screaming agony in my knee, and the prospect of being untimely ripped from the bosom of Gunna was rather upsetting. "Oh dear" I thought, "I had better get myself out of this mess." So I waved the helicopter boys away, took a deep breath, dug my heel deep into the sand and levered my leg straight. I couldn't breathe with the excruciating pain but it went back in with a sickening clunk. I then hyper-extended my knee (to take the tension off my quadriceps) and used both hands to lever the tendon and the knee cap back into place. I screamed at the watching seals as the patella scraped its way over the bones. I nearly blacked out but it is was done. "Oh bother! That smarted some!"

I took a handful of Diclofenac and then strapped up my knee, which was now the size of a melon, with duct tape. I wish I had had the foresight to shave my leg before putting the duct tape on... I was really looking forward to the therapeutic effects of some 16 year old Bowmore distillate and poured us all some snifters, as the others were all looking a little white, even David the vet. Unfortunately the Diclofenac had hurt my stomach, so David ended up with my Bowmore!

What now? Well Jim had brought a walking pole, so I used that to hobble about and direct the others to load and carry my boat down the beach. I filled a 10l water bag and put it in the cockpit floor beneath my knee. Jennifer held my kayak steady in the surf and David and Jim lifted me into the cockpit. It was only 56km back to Portuairk and if we left now it would be high water when we got there and that would save a 500m walk back to the car!

13 days later I am still laid up. Yesterday my calf and foot swelled up and became very hot and painful when I was visiting my wife Alison, who was just out of theatre having had a hip replacement (I was supposed to be her gopher, a very serious loss of Brownie points)! When I hobbled into her ward on crutches, the sister said " I'm sorry we were not expecting you." "That's a pity." I replied "My wife and I thought you had a 'two for one' offer on this week!"

My daughter insisted on dropping me off at the local Casuality Department (Glaswegian for A&E or Emergency Room). It was 8:30pm. I could see it was going to be a long night, in fact, I thought she had dropped me off at the local Police station! It was 5 hours before I was seen but the floor show was better than "Big Brother"!

It turns out I have developed a deep vein thrombosis. Untreated, these can be somewhat troublesome little things (but at least 90% of people don't get a big pulmonary embolism and die). I was quite pleased when the young doctor offered an anticoagulant jab. I'll need a few more of those if I don't want to end up like those boats in Scarinish harbour; on my knees in the sand, at the end of my seagoing days....

I'll be back!

13/06/2009

Any port in a storm.

We rounded Portachur Point on the SW of Great Cumbrae and found some very satisfying conditions. We were looking forward to a blast up the far side of the island.


Unfortunately Alan's skeg had now jammed down and he was having real problems with leecocking. The swell began to pick up and even HMS Dreadnought was now hull down. I caught a wave and got up to 15km/hr, unfortunately Alan got caught by the same wave and went for a little swim.


He was soon back in his boat and enjoying himself again, despite the chill conditions, thanks to his dry suit. We got his skeg up and he learned to make progress downwind without it. We then made rapid progress up the far side of Cumbrae with following wind and swell.


Rounding a point we found Fintray Bay to be almost sheltered, so we stopped...


....for a second luncheon.


The staff at seakayakphoto.com have simple tastes. For our little picnic, on the ruby sands of Cumbrae, we enjoyed a rich Stilton cheese with oatcakes and washed it down with a bottle of Cockburn's Special Reserve port. In truth, this was not just any port in a storm, it is truly the finest of ports!


Heading back to Fairlie, on the lee side of Cumbrae, the fresh wind caused carnage amongst fleets of Laser, Laser Radial and Optimist dinghies from the National Sailing Centre. Their attendant RIBs were busy with the frequent capsizes. Unfortunately Alan was troubled by weathercocking, as his skeg had now jammed up. I tried to get my finger round the end of it but in the absence of a little loop of line at its tip, I couldn't get enough leverage. Alan was tiring fast so I put a line on his bow and gave him an assisted tow to keep his bow pointing to Fairlie.

An excellent day out with good company, fine food and drink and some good lessons learned as well!

Health Warning: alcohol and sea water do not mix!

21/02/2009

An unexpected swim.

A force 6 NE wind was blowing down the loch and whipping a frenzy of white horses over its dark cold waters. It is the end of the Scottish winter but the summits of the mountains on Arran and the Galloway hills were still shrouded in a white covering of snow.

Despite the cold we were sweating in our high tech clothing as we battled into the teeth of the wind. All three of us were wearing helmets which shows how seriously we were taking the conditions. We were making slow but steady progress when all of a sudden Tony went over.

He disappeared from sight under the dark water. He had instinctively gone into the roll position but it failed and he was unseated. After what seemed like an age, he eventually surfaced. He was gasping with the cold cold and he couldn't get out of the water. Mike and I manouvered into position on either side of him and we each grabbed a shoulder strap and hauled him out like a fish. Water spewed from his nose, his mouth and his helmet but thank God he was still breathing, though he had completely lost the power of speech.

All the high tech windproof clothing and fleece was completely saturated with icy water. The NE wind chilled him to the marrow. It was a serious situation. Tony was already hypothermic and we were 28km from the nearest shore at Lendalfoot on the Firth of Clyde.

How did we get out of this mess and get ourselves home from this Scottish version of Deep Trouble?

Please scroll down for more....

Adventure begins at home!

At the weekend I got thinking about adventure on the water. In Scotland we have what must be some of the best paddling in the world, mostly within a day's drive/ferry trip from the main cities.

On Sunday we paddled past three ancient castles, old harbours, small coves, wide surf beaches, caves, stacks, headlands and waterfalls plunging off cliffs into the sea. We had great views of an ancient volcanic island rising sheer out of the sea and the western horizon was filled with another island's lofty granite ridges disappearing into the clouds. Seals followed us while the air was filled with flocks of oyster catchers and sandpipers. Curlews, herons, geese, mallard ducks and swans were feeding round the shoreline and rafts of eider duck were forming offshore.

The waters ranged from flat calm (where we were sheltered from the southerly winds of up to force 5) to quite interesting round the headlands. There was even a pub that serves dry suited thirsty paddlers at the half way point! All in all just about a perfect days paddling. Had we driven far? Had we flown to another land? Had we burned large amounts of precious hydrocarbons getting to this exotic location? Well the photo above is just 50km from my front door and our landing spot was 30 minutes drive from home.

I guess the message is that we do not always have to traverse the planet to look for adventure, sometimes its on your own doorstep. The other side of this coin is that you should never become complacent sea kayaking on your home waters. As soon as you leave the beach you enter another world and you should be prepared for adventure. All my unexpected "epics" have been on home waters on the Firth of Clyde.

Cailean and Michael have also written (more timely posts) on environmental themes, I meant to post this yesterday but was up all night preparing documents for work.

Blog Action Day was yesterday!

Timed to perfection but nearly marooned on Luing!

This was 19:03 on 11th May 2006.

We had just successfully executed a remarkable sea kayaking day trip from Glasgow. The night before, I had noticed (as you do) that the tides were right for a trip out through the Grey Dogs to the Garvellachs then back to Scarba, round its south end, through the Corryvreckan and back up the Sound of Luing. The snag was that Mike and I were working the next day and David was meeting an ex vet student friend from South Africa for their 40th year reunion dinner. Her flight got into Glasgow airport at 21:30pm that night. The only way to do this was to drive from the mainland over the Bridge over the Atlantic, onto the Isle of Seil then take the ferry across the Cuan Sound onto Luing and drive to Black Mill Bay and launch there. A quick Google search for the ferry timetable brought up the Calmac website which showed regular sailings into the late evening.

We had aimed to get the 19:35 ferry and I was just congratulating myself on having half an hour to spare when an awful fact gradually invaded the euphoria of an amazing day. If you look closely at the photo above you will note that there is no ferry!



On our drive to the jetty I had noticed something that looked very like a ferry moored in a bay 1.5km to the south. Somehow I had managed to blot this unwelcome observation from my consciousness. Any sea kayaker that can work the tides through the Dogs and the Corry must be able to read a simple ferry timetable! I dug the Calmac printout out of my map case and we should have had another 3 ferries to choose from right up till 22:05. Something was not right and I soon found out it was when I walked over to the small waiting room. The Cuan Ferry is run by Argyll and Bute council and on their timetable (which was nailed to the wall) it was quite clear that the last boat ran at 1805.

David took it very well. Not only had I bashed his car getting off the ferry that morning, now I had got us marooned on Luing for the night and his friend would be stuck at the airport. A more highly strung party would have started arguing and shouting but not us. In the absence of a nearby sea kayaking hostelry, we cracked open three cans of Guinness from our emergency rations. Sitting on a grassy knoll in the spring evening sunshine, we pondered our options. First we found that our mobiles had no reception. Then we wondered if David should paddle across and try and hire a taxi to take him to the airport.



Then suitably refreshed, I decided to check out the waiting room. I noticed a small yellow notice.

"In case of medical emergency, call this number."

Well I'm a doctor. And it was an emergency! So I phoned it from the coin box phone outside. It turned out to be a call centre in Liverpool and the girl knew nothing about Luing or where it was. I asked her for the ferryman's number but she said

"I can't do that but I'll get him to ring you back."

I looked at the ancient rotating dial phone. There was no number.

"There must be a number." she said.

David cracked open another Guinness to assist in the search for the elusive digits but there were none to be found. Then the girl had a brainwave:

"Give me your mobile number..."

"There is no point", I said, "none of our three mobiles are getting a signal."

I could sense I was stretching her incredulity. This city girl had probably never been out of cell phone range since she had been born. Indeed, her developing brain may have been partly modelled by mobile microwaves.

Then I had a brainwave:

"Just tell him to phone the Luing call box"

"What's the point of that? He wont know the number, there must be thousands of call boxes on Luing."

"You don't know Luing! Please, just ask him to ring the call box, I am sure he will know the number."

About 5 minutes later the phone rang, it was the ferryman. I explained our situation and he agreed to come but he said he would need to call his mate who lived some distance away. He would then need to use a dinghy to get down to the ferry and fetch it back up to Seil, pick up his mate then come across and pick us up. (Then he would need to repeat the process to get the ferry back to the mooring.)


MV Grey Dog

We were ever so pleased as when he arrived. He knew all about the mistake in the Calmac timetable and said there would be no charge for the crossing. We had already resigned ourselves to finding bed and breakfast accommodation on Luing, which would have cost us about £20 each so we gave them £60 for their trouble. They were very reluctant to accept it but we insisted. They were obviously prepared (and pleased) to be able to help, for only a thank you in return.

Fortunately the 105 miles on the road to the airport were quiet and we pulled into the airport pickup area just as David's friend was exiting the arrivals hall.

What timing, it's amazing what you can cram into a day!