The correct protocol required when greeting the Brownie of Cara

 From Gigalum we crossed to the south end of Gigha before heading across the Sound of Cara to...

 ...Port an Stoir  at the north end of Cara where we intended to camp.

The east beach was occupied by some resident goats. I immediately thought of goat bhuna but we decided to land on the west beach instead.

 If one lands on Cara (and especially so, if one intends to stay the night) it is a wise sea kayaker who knows the correct protocol for greeting The Brownie. It is vital to do this before doing anything else. One needs to raise one's cap then doff it in a suitably deferential manner while at the same time saying in a clear voice "Good Evening Mr. Brownie". The only acceptable variation to this protocol is to change the greeting to suit the time of day of one's arrival.

Failure to satisfy The Brownie on this matter will result in him interpreting your arrival as a serious diplomatic faux pas. All manner of mischief may then be unleashed upon your party by this unhappy spirit. Campbells need to be particularly careful as The Brownie is the spirit of a MacDonald who was murdered by a Campbell. Best advice would be to never disclose your surname on Cara. If your first name is Campbell then you must use a nickname or visit Gigha instead. The annals of Scottish sea kayaking are full of tales of The Brownie's mischief; kayaks floating away in the night, paddles being hidden in the bramble bushes, full bottles of malt whisky being emptied during the night and much, much worse.

 We found a little driftwood but were glad of the barbecue coals and logs we had brought with us and soon...

 ...had an excellent fire going on the white shell sands of Cara. previous visitors had burned multiple fire rings in the machair.. hope the Brownie got them!

 Anyway we were just thinking that life did not get better than baked sweet potatoes when...

...this amazing moon rose out of the fog on the Sound of Gigha.

A foggy crossing to Gigalum and why I never go to sea without GPS.

Back on the first of October much of Scotland basked under the blue skies of an Indian summer. Ian and I decided on a short notice camping trip of two nights to Gigha and Cara. When I arrived at Tayinloan on the Kintyre mainland there were stunning blue skies but as Ian arrived thick mist rolled in from the sea. The very stuff that Paul McCartney wrote about when he was staying in his farm just down the road. We decided to take tea and cake at the excellent Ferry Farm Cafe which is adjacent to the ferry car park.

Well fortified, we set off into the fog on a 5km crossing of the Sound of Gigha. I regularly paddle in fog on the Solway and Ian and I have paddled together from Rum to Eigg in thick fog so we didn't think twice about it. I had plotted a waypoint into my GPS that would take us on a course that diverged south of the ferry route by 60 degrees. I had set it for the isle of Gigalum at the south end of Gigha as it would cross the Flat Rocks the Wee  Rocks and Gigalum Rocks on the way. This would expose us to the minimum danger of shipping as anyone with a draught of more than a few inches would keep well clear of these rocks in fog. The ferry captain did ask us about our plans as he was concerned in case he ran us down. However, he was reassured when he heard our plans. Of course both the wind and tide would carry us off course but I had set my GPS to give the bearing from our current position to the waypoint on Cara. As we crossed if the bearing dEcreased we went lEft and if it Increased we went rIght.

Half way across, the mist thinned just for a moment and we were lucky to experience this wonderful fogbow.

We caught sight of something in the mist. The fog magnifies everything and Ian thought it was an island with trees but it was just Gigalum rock with some cormorants on it. We were bang on course and Ian called the ferry captain on the VHF and let him know our exact position. We could hear his engine rumbling well to the north.

 Shortly afterwards we arrived at Gigalum and...

...a hazy sun put in a brief appearance as we paddled through the amazing Gigalum skerries. There was no chance of getting run over in the fog here. Many very experienced sea kayakers are disparaging of GPS and never use it. Pn the contrary, I never go to sea without a GPS (actually I have two, my phone is a backup). Of course on this crossing I was also using my compass, map, ears, nose, sense of what the wind was doing (and the smells it carried) and sense of what the tide was doing. I suspect that some of those who chose not to use GPS do so because they have not taken the effort to learn how they work and understand their advantages and disadvantages.

It seemed churlish not to pause and savour this magical moment.

 As we set off from the castle on the east coast of Little Cumbrae, the...

 ...sea fog to the south began to lift and by the time we...

 ...arrived off Gull Point...

 ...the soaring rocky ridges of the Arran mountains emerged into a clear blue sky. It seemed churlish not to pause and savour this magical moment.

Fog, Hercules, porpoise and greylag on the morning run to Inchmarnock.

We paddled round the north coast of  the Cock of Arran until our GPS showed the distance to our next waypoint on the isle of  Inchmarnock had stopped falling. 

We then set off on the second crossing of the day. The south end of Inchmarnock was 9km across the Sound of Bute but although the sky was clearing there was still fog at sea level and...

 ...there was not a sign of Inchmarnock on the horizon.

We set off on a compass bearing but shortly after leaving the coast of Arran the GPS showed the flood tide was drifting us to port so we continued on a ferry angle to starboard.

A roar of turboprop engines while we were mid-crossing announced the arrival of this RAF Hercules transport plane. They must have enjoyed a nice tour of the SW of Scotland as my wife saw it flying over the Solway Firth (125 km distant) a little earlier in the day.

 Just as the mist cleared allowing us to see Inchmarnock a solitary porpoise surfaced ahead of us.

At last the skies cleared revealing the...

 ...bright quartzite beach at the south end of Inchmarnock. The heat of the day was building and we had chosen to wear dry suits for the open crossings as the water temperature was only 7.5 degrees C and the wind had been forecast to get up to F4 southerly.The wind never appeared with the result was that we were boiled in the bag. The air temperature was 18C on the coast (24C inland) and it was the hottest day of the year so far.

As we approached the reefs of Inchmarnock a flight of greylag geese passed by. These large geese are not resident in the Clyde and migrate further north in the summer. It was the 29th of April and the other species of migratory geese had long since gone. The greylags do lag behind the other geese somewhat as they are always the last to leave in the spring.

A cuckoo in every corrie... a cacophony round the castle..

 The peace of our crossing to Loch Ranza in NW Arran was temporarily broken by the rumble of the MV Loch Tarbert's engines. She was running on the route from Lochranza to Claonaig on Kintyre. She soon passed on and silence returned....well not quite. The eerie calls of the divers in mid-channel were replaced by a cacophony of cuckoos calling from the corries..

There seemed to be at least four cuckoos. One in Glen Catacol to the south. One in the Coille Mor corrie, high above Lochranza village,...

...one from a corrie high on the slopes above the NE side of Loch Ranza and...

 ...at least one more, high in one of the corries above Glen Chalmadale. What an aural welcome the cuckoos made as we paddled into misty Loch Ranza as these...

 ...two yachts were preparing to leave. It was with some satisfaction that I told their crew we had been up early and had already crossed from Kintyre!

We continued up Loch Ranza as far as the peninsula upon which...

 ...the ancient walls of...

 Lochranza Castle had stood for centuries..

Like Skipness Castle across the Kilbrannan Sound (which we had passed the previous day), Lochranza Castle had originally been built by the MacSweens to control the north end of the Kilbrannan Sound. With the sound of the Lochranza cuckoos echoing round the hills, we decided to stop and explore....

Forty minutes in the natural theatre of the Kilbrannan Sound.

In the middle of the Kilbrannan Sound  the fog slowly began to clear and we could at last see which way we were going.

This guillemot seemed surprised to see us at it emerged from a thick patch of fog but it not been responsible for the haunting calls that came from an undefinable direction in the mist. Those had come from an unseen diver.

 Slowly the mountains of Arran began no emerge from the fog and we could...

...identify the hills to the south of Catacol.

 We now experienced one of the most wondrous sights we have ever experienced while crossing to Arran.
Slowly the small gap in the fog opened revealing clear blue sky to the south.

  It was as if a celestial zipper was being undone as the fog...

 ...steadily pulled back revealing....

 ...more and more of the...

 ...mountainous west Arran coast.

As we were paddling at about the same speed and direction as the receding edge of the fog, it was like being in a day of two halves and we were on the dividing line.

 At first we continued paddling in the shade but ever so slowly the edge of the fog...

 ...pulled away in front leaving us...

in full sun. We were speechless with wonder and appreciation of this natural show in the theatre of the Kilbrannan Sound. Any applause would have been both unnecessary and would have broken the spell that held us captivated on this unforgettable crossing. From the time that a peak first loomed out of a break in the fog, to when we finally entered full sunshine, this natural performance lasted for forty minutes. Those special forty minutes will last in our memories for ever.

For the full StereoVision experience see Ian's account here.

Disappearing breakfasts, otters, sharks and islands in the Kilbrannan Sound.

We awoke the following morning to low water. A feature of the Firth of Clyde is that spring tides tend to occur at midday and midnight.Arriving at a campsite in the early evening and leaving in early morning is therefore associated with LW and a long carry. Many of the "beaches" you see on Google Earth are only accessible at HW.

This is the long rocky gully we carried our boats up the previous night. It was taken with a telephoto lens so it is foreshortened and is longer than it looks.

A decent number of calories were required for our forthcoming labours. In case any one is concerned about any dietary imbalance, I consumed this lot in a whole meal wrap. Yum Yum!

Although the sun attempted to break through, a thick bank of fog rolled in. I just missed the otter in this photo but with the eye of...

...considerable faith I hope you can see the large basking shark through the fog!. I have never seen them in the Clyde so early.

After considerable humphing we set off from Rubh a na h-Airde Baine which roughly translated means "point of the pale high beach"
.

We set off across the Kilbrannan Sound but of the Isle of Arran, which is...

surprisingly large, there was not a sign!