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.

The plight of the sand bees on the machair at Port nam Murrach.

From the south channel at the entrance to Loch nan Ceall I thought it would be a good idea to head south along the headland of Rubh Arisaig  towards the Sound of Arisaig. Donald checked his map for suitable landing spots and reefs on the way.

I was able to nip inside the various reefs in my sea kayak but Donald had to take a wider line.

We had arranged to rendezvous at Port nan Murrach on the Arisaig peninsula.

It wasn't long before Donald joined me in this delightful cove...

 ...with white sand and crystal clear waters.

Squalls of wind and rain were blasting down from the north but fortunately this one missed us and plastered Eigg instead.

Donald scrambled up the rocks of the surrounding ridges to see what the wind was doing...

 ...away to the north.

Meanwhile I reaquainted myself with the colony of the  rare northern colletes mining bees. These are a solitary species but they make their single burrows in aggregates in the sandy machair. They are a threatened species and there are only a handful of locations on the Scottish mainland where they can still be found.

I was distressed to discover some recent visitors had built a fire right on top of the colony. I hope it was not a group of sea kayakers, most kayakers know to build fires below the high water mark.

While Donald continued to explore the ridges and other beaches in the area, I was content to sit on the rocks with a cup of coffee, admire the view and...

...the marvellous white shell sand. I am so grateful for sea kayaking. I could not have walked to such a wonderful spot.

It was clear Donald's boat handling skills and confidence had grown, so when he returned, I suggested we move on and cross the mouth of the Sound of Arisaig to another white shell sand beach in the distance. I did warn him it might get a bit bumpy, once we were out of the lee of Rubh Arisaig...

Of corncrakes and cremated potatoes on the machair of Tiree.

The dunes behind the beach where we had landed were covered by the sweetest smelling machair. There are no rabbits on Tiree and this part of the island is only grazed intermittently by cattle. As a result this grassland contains a profusion of  wild flowers.

What a place to pitch a tent!

We had been paddling, breakfasting and luncheoning for 11 hours and were ready for our evening meal.

 We gathered some bone dry, well seasoned wood from the high water mark and soon had the fire going.

It burned long into the night with very little smoke and the Tiree breeze meant there were no midges. Unfortunately the fire burned so hot that our baked potatoes were cremated. David's cries of disappointment were drowned out by the steady rasping calls of the corncrake. This bird is almost extinct from the "corn fields" of Scotland due to modern agricultural practice. Due to traditional farming methods still being practiced and encouraged by financial support to farmers, the machair land of Tiree is now home to nearly a third of the UK population of this once common farmland bird.

Stornoway Grey

Yesterday I sang the praises of the subtle shades of grey that make the landscape of the Outer Hebrides so appealing.

Quote "I loved the contrast of the dazzling white shell sand against the many greys of the rocks, hills, sea and sky. They say the Inuit have a hundred words for snow. Well, the Gaels have a hundred words for grey."

It would appear that one of them is not Stornoway grey, or rather Stornaway (sic) grey, which is a paint shade available on the new and well received LandRover Freelander2


Photo credit LandRover

Councillor Angus Nicolson, writing in his weblog, has been truly insulted and is concerned that the name, Stornoway grey, will give potential visitors the wrong impression of the islands.

Well, although I love the islands' greys, the light changes five minutes later and there is a blaze of colour, especially the machair in the summer.



I do not think Angus should be too concerned about Stornaway Grey Freelander2s cluttering the streets of Chelsea. However, can you imagine the glorious sight of 181 wind turbines, all finished in sparkling Stornoway grey?


Photo montage by Lewis Wind Farm


Map of proposed Lewis Wind Farm showing position of turbines. The M25 round London is overlaid at the same scale.