No evidence of book burning or obsessive compulsive behaviour at Cruib Lodge, Jura.

 From the great raised beach at the head of outer West Loch Tarbert we set off in a brisk wind...

 ...through the narrows at Cumhann Mor which lead into...

 ...the middle loch. We were in the last hour of the flood so in addition to the wind we had some tidal assistance. This required some care as the narrows are riddled with rocks.

 We took the tidal inside passage behind Eilean Dubh before entering the broader expanse of the middle loch proper.

 Cruib Lodge is easy to miss but I had been before and we turned left after the right headland.

 Cruib Lodge was built in Victorian times as the deer larder for...

 ...the Ruantallain Estate. The right third is a store. The middle third is the MBA bothy with a sleeping platform for two. The left third is an airy bright room which is the former deer larder. The former ventilation vents in its three exterior walls have been replaced by large windows making it possibly the brightest and airiest bothy room in Scotland. There is a sleeping platform for three or four. It is left open outwith the deer shooting season but is locked for use by the estate during the season.

It was a joy to arrive at an empty bothy at HW as we did not even need to pull the boats up the beach.

 One by one...

 ...we rounded the headland until...

 ...all three were on the beach.

The sun was setting fast so we left the identical boats lined up on the beach while we dried our things in the last of the sun. Afterwards we hung our identical dry suits on individual pegs in the lodge and got our meal ready.

We chose to dine outdoors on the freshly painted table and sample some Jura Superstition whisky, which had been distilled a mere 16.47km away over the hills. One thing I like about sea kayaking is that the unpredictable and variable nature of the weather, tides etc. tends not to attract people with an obsessive compulsive personality...

 While we arranged our cutlery this is the view we enjoyed with our meal.

After eating we unloaded the boats of the driftwood we had gathered earlier and sawed it into equal sections for the fire. We had enough to leave for others (no driftwood reaches this middle part of the loch) so we felt justified in using some of the neatly stacked peats our friend Tony had cut and left on his recent visit. The fine library of books above the fire had escaped burning since Tony and I had visited exactly a year before. This is a sign of an appreciative and literate clientele.

As the moon rose into the clear sky the temperature plummeted and we were...

 ...glad to be in a cosy bothy. We planned to paddle through the next narrows to the inner loch the next day and portage over the track from its head to the east coast of Jura. At spring tides the ebb runs out at over 8 knots through a clean rocky channel with no eddies. There was nothing for it but to get up early.

After a final check of the moon and stars we went to bed. The only other sign of life was this yacht lying at anchor. Given the forecast F5-6 winds overnight, I knew her crew would get less sleep than us as they would need to keep an anchor watch and keep checking her position.

Ian and Mike used the large room with the windows but my asthma was bothering me a bit so I slept in the middle room beside the remains of the smouldering peat. I thought the air would be drier. I had forgotten about the bothy mice which kept me awake for a good part of the night.

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.

Moonlight over Pladda and Ailsa Craig.

I awoke at 3am to the the sound of lapping as High Water approached. It seemed very close to the tents and I was concerned about the kayaks. There are two groups of sea kayakers. The first carry their kayaks right up to the tents each night and the second (into which we fall) just carry them up above where they expect the night high tide to come.

Fortunately noise carries a long way in a still night and the kayaks were well above the tide. I was glad to have awoken. It was just 4 days after a full moon and there was enough light to see both Pladda and Ailsa Craig. Both the moonlight and the Pladda lighthouse lantern were reflecting on the Pladda Sound as it was calm at slack water. I could just see the lights of a fishing boat off Ailsa Craig and to the right of that (at the edge of the photo) I could see the port navigation light of the Dutch container ship MV Energiser making her way up the Clyde to Greenock.

Satisfied by the beauty of the scene and reassured by the lack of wind, I made my way back to bed. It would be a long paddle to Ailsa Craig in the morning.

Sunset on fire in the Mull of Kintyre.

After we had eaten Tony and I set off to explore the environs of Saddell Bay. We came to the little locked bothy at Port na Gael.

 It was unoccupied but looked sound and dry. We set off from Port na Gael across exceddingly rough ground  to...

...Pluck Point where we soaked up some great views in the sunset.

 The great basalt columns and sill at Drumadoon Point on Arran reflected the rays of the setting sun.

 Further north, the granite ridges of north Arran soared into...

 ...the sky on the far side of the Kilbrannan Sound.

This telephoto photo captures the low sun illuminating the guano splattered cliffs of the bird colonies on Ailsa Craig, now some 39 kilometres to the SE. We hoped to camp there in two days' time.

As the sun set we made our way slowly back over the rough rocks of Pluck Point. The Kintyre peninsula stretched away to the south.

 With the light now fading fast it was...

 ...time to start gathering driftwood from the shore under the grey walls of Saddell Castle. It was built in 1512 for the Bishop of Argyll but belonged to James MacDonald in the 1550's. He had raided English troops in Ireland and the Earl of Sussex retaliated by sacking the castle in 1558. Today the castle can be rented from the Landmark Trust as a holiday home.

If something looks familiar about this beach and Port na Gael cottage, imagine Paul and Linda McCartney and the Campbeltown Pipe Band in the scene. Yes, this is where the video for the Wings hit Mull of Kintyre was shot!

We wasted no time in lighting the fire and soon...

...it was hot enough to put the baked potatoes on and flickering embers went  higher and higher into...

...the darkening sky as the moon rose.

We chatted long into the first night of this great sea kayaking adventure.

Our cups runneth over on Inchmarnock's fair strand.

 We  drew our kayaks up on a cobble beach on Inchmarnock as the sun was going down.

We soon gathered small supply of wood for our fire. There was a surfeit of driftwood along this shore.  Native American people had a somewhat disparaging term for this type of fire, which they called "a white man's fire". However, the wood was so well seasoned that it produced almost no smoke. Being broad minded we would take no offence in how others described our fire. Admittedly it did add to the carbon footprint of our otherwise green trip but we were not burning fossil fuels. Almost all of the wood was from trees that had been carried down the great rivers which feed the Firth of Clyde.

It was now time to pour some excellent 15 year old Dalmore. Note the confident and experienced way in which David poured this fine distillation of the grain of the Earth. "Only three cups?" I hear you say. Then...

...David produced a fourth. Guess which one was his!

As the night wore on we enjoyed many of David's shaggy dog stories but it was thirsty work laughing and fetching more logs.

As the full moon came up the potatoes were baking in the fire and Phil was appointed official tattie howker. Life really does not get much better than this.We were totally content.

Our torches were not the only lights on Canna.

 We erected our tents by torchlight on the machair above the beach.

 For a long time, a reddish afterglow from the sunset lingered in the west.

Then we got busy preparing an evening meal of Aberdeen Angus steak mince (made from one bit of steak, from one cow (and absolutely no added horse, or worse), carrots, onions and new potatoes done in the pressure cooker. Guinness proved a most excellent accompanying beverage.

With a startling suddenness we became aware that our head torches were no longer...

 ...the only source of light on Canna and Sanday.

By the time we went to bed, the Moon had risen high in the cold, clear sky and it was almost as bright as day.

I awoke with a start at the stroke of midnight. I looked out of the tent and noticed that the south wind had picked up and clouds were spilling through the gaps between the summits of the Cuillin of Rum.

But my attention was drawn by a commotion high on the hillside of Canna.

A 4x4 pick up truck was driving over a track and shining a search light round the field. What was going on....?