Little sails in the Sound

We set off on the 10km crossing from Inchmarnock to Garroch Head. A light breeze got up so it was time to hoist sails.

 The early morning sun glistened on the water as we paddle sailed...

 ...towards the misty hills above Garroch Head.

 Slowly but steadily the distinctive sloping outline of St Blane's Hill changed from an outline to...

...a hill with shape, form and detail.

 Soon we were below Dunagoil Hill where the wind dropped and we rounded...

 ...Garroch Head in a flat calm in the company of this yacht.

 Our destination was Glencallum Bay on the south end of Bute.

We enjoyed second breakfast on the wide sweep of the bay and I was even tempted in for a swim though the water was still on the Arctic side of bracing.

Thousands of years in defence of the realm in the Sound of Bute.

When we rounded Garroch Head at the south end of Bute we caught first sight of our destination for our night's camp. Low lying Inchmarnock was still 10km away but already we could make out the light quartzite beach at its south end.

 On the way up the west coast of Bute we passed the Iron Age hill forts at Dunagoil and...

 ...Dunstrone and...

 ...Ardscalpsie. This was clearly a land that was worth defending.

 As we paddled up the Sound of Bute towards Inchmarnock the sun was lowering.....

...when a Type 23 frigate roared down the Sound at her full 28 knots towards the measured mile.Although too far away to identify her number, she is almost certainly HMS St Albans. She was built on the Clyde in 2000 and has just undergone a major refit and is now completing sea trials before re-entering service in the summer of 2014.

Preaching to the converted in Blackwaterfoot Harbour.

 From Corriecravie we came to Aird nan Ron (Seal Point) and true to its name, the point was a haven for common seals.

  At the next headland, Kilpatrick Point we passed the Preaching Cave in the low cliffs behind the shore. The only sermon we heard were a few singing common seals.

Leaving the hamlet of Kilpatrick we set off across...

...Drumadoon Bay towards the...

 ...village of Blackwaterfoot.

The sands of the village beach are backed by The Doon, a dramatic basalt sill which once had an extensive Iron Age settlement perched on its summit.

Nowadays the settlement of Blackwaterfoot is at sea level and clusters round a tiny harbour at the mouth of....

 ...the Clauchan Water. I explored this waterfall which is the limit of navigation as the local bus rumbled over the bridge.

As we paddled round the little harbour, the family in the VW camper from the camp site gave us a big wave. I think they were surprised we had arrived in Blackwaterfoot before them! From the sea it would be all too easy to miss this tiny harbour. It is worth keeping your eyes open, fortunately I did not have to persuade either Ian or Mike to take a detour. Neither of them are headland to headland types either.

Dun paddling at Dunagoil.

 As we approached the Island of Bute...

 ...the wind dropped away to nothing and...

... my injured shoulder was really feeling the strain by the time we arrived under the imposing...

 ...site of the Iron Age hill fort of Dunagoil.

The lovely sands of Dunagoil Bay made a lovely location for a second luncheon. My shoulder was knackered and we still had 22 km to go so it was great to have a break.

Much toing and froing on the crossing to West Loch Tarbert.

We set off across the Sound of Gigha towards the Kintyre mainland in glassy calm conditions but it is not always like this...

...as this photo, taken in the same place 6 yearrs previously (2007), shows all too clearly. Strong tides, shallow sea and wind against tide can soon rustle up some rough conditions.

 Although it was calm, our route lay along the course of the Islay ferries, the ...

 ...MV Flaggan passed on her way out and the...

 ...MV Hebridean Isles passed us on her way in to Kennacraig.  We kept well to the south of the ferries and...

...after a 10km crossing we entered the mouth of West Loch Tarbert.

We made landfall at the head of Dunskeig Bay. Dun Skeig hill towers above the bay and on its summit lie the remains of 3 successive hill forts or duns.

As we unpacked our breakfast things the MV Hebridean Isles made its way back out of the narrow entrance to West Loch Tarbert.

Of vitrified hill forts and vitrified kayakers..

 After a very pleasant luncheon we paddled east...

 ...along the north shore of the sound of Arisaig. The white shell sand had given way to dark rocks and reefs.

 As we approached Eilean a' Ghaill, a steep sided  island just offshore, we could see...

 ..the remains of a vitrified Iron Age hill fort perched on its summit.

 Then we came across another white sand beach...

 Whoa!!! Time for second luncheon.

The kayaks were soon drawn up on the dazzling white shell sand and...

 ...second luncheon was served in the sun.  Never mind vitrified forts, Phil and Mike (who had not swum at our previous stop)  were nearly vitrified in their dry suits. Phil formed a particular attachment to this beach, as we will see later.....

Visiting the spirits of my ancestors.

Rounding Brown Head, we came to a green valley that ran into the hills. The south facing slopes make this one of the most fertile spots on Arran. The village is called Corriecravie.

Until  the 1860's, generations of my mother's family were crofters here. They farmed two fields, which still have the same boundaries today, though all evidence of the croft house has gone. My great, great, grandfather moved to Glasgow to start a new life in 1864.

Corriecravie has a long history of settlement. The mound in the middle of this photo is Torr a' Chaisteal, the remains of an Iron Age dun.

It was time for second luncheon in the land of my ancestors.

There is a story in my family about this beach. Many years ago, about 1800, there was an evening of music in the croft. At  the end of the evening one of my ancestors and a neighbour lit lanterns and escorted several of the older neighbours back to their houses near the shore. It was a stormy night but above the sound of the waves they all heard a slow intermittent tapping noise coming from the shore. Although they were very religious people, they were also very superstitious. Fearing an evil spirit in the darkness, they rushed back to the croft. The next morning when they finally ventured to the shore, they found a drowned sailor lying on the cobbled beach. He still had a rock clutched in his hand. He must have been too exhausted to cry for help and had tried to attract attention by tapping the rock...

On our visit all was calm and quiet and we felt at home.

The Blackwaterfoot womens' militia, dog branch.

 When we left King's Cave we followed the coast of Arran south towards...

 ...the Doon and Drumadoon Point.

The Doon is a remarkable rock formation that was used as a fortified settlement in the Iron Age. Geologically it is a 25 to 30m thick sill, which is a composite of quartz-feldspar porphyry and tholeiitic basalt. It was at this point that we were aware that we had aroused the interest of a number of dog walkers. One was watching us intently through binoculars.

We decided to land on the lovely strand at Drumadoon Bay near the village of Blackwaterfoot to partake of our first luncheon.

However, no sooner had we landed than a 4X4 vehicle drove up and parked on the dunes facing us and the female driver trained her binoculars on us. There were now four female dog walkers surrounding us and another female with binoculars was hiding in the dunes above us.

Finally, one of the women (with two large dogs) plucked up the courage to march up to us. The dogs were friendly enough but stuck their noses in our bags stealing our food.

"You can't camp here again!" she blurted out. "We know it was you who left your tents and a mess up in the dunes." Her strident accent clearly hadn't been honed by a childhood on Arran!

I didn't have my hearing aids in and although I had heard her perfectly well, I feigned deafness and asked her to remove her two dogs from my lunch as I found their behaviour objectionable. In the meantime one of the hounds attempted to pee on my luncheon bag then crapped at my feet. Fortunately, the other hound took a dislike to my finest Arran Blue cheese and bolted. My verbal assailant then ran off after it.

After what was left of our luncheon, we prepared to leave with eyes still watching our every move. We were pretty sure that they would check our lunch spot for any scrap of litter. We debated whether to write a rude message in the sand but decided to leave the beach as we found it, in case an innocent child might come by and be corrupted. We carefully stepped over the dog crap and made our way back to the kayaks.

From 200m out at sea, we turned to see our recent luncheon spot being closely inspected by several women and half a dozen hungry dogs. They found nothing (we had left behind).

Farewell Blackwaterfoot (watch your feet).