Lightly peated first night on Jura.

After we left the boathouse at the head of West Loch Tarbert on Jura we...

 ...entered one of the remotest and least inhabited areas of Europe. As darkness fell we negotiated a series of dog legs that connect the inner loch to the outer loch.

Our speed picked up to 10km an hour as dark cliffs and the twilight gathered round us we entered...

 ...the final narrows before we...

...were ejected into the outer loch in a series of swirls and boils that reflected gold from the sky.

In the gathering darkness we scanned the shoreline for Cruib Lodge, part of which is maintained as an open bothy by the Mountain Bothy Association with the permission of Ruantallain Estate. Eventually we spotted the little cottage. There was no light visible but there was a curl of smoke coming from a chimney so someone else was there. Tony knocked on the door but there were just a couple of grunts from two occupants who had decided on an early night. Fortunately this bothy has two rooms accessed by separate doors...

...so we made ourselves at home next door. There is no supply of wood at this bothy but you can cut peat from the hillside above and leave it to dry in front of the bothy for the next person. The peat was pretty damp but I had brought a bag of barbecue charcoal and that got it going. Soon the bothy was filled with the distinctive aromatic reek of burning peat. Indeed we enjoyed lightly peated baked potatoes followed by some lightly peated Jura Superstition malt whisky. We certainly had arrived on Jura.

Savouring the smell of history below the walls of Greenan Castle

 It was getting dark as we approached the...

...dark walls of Greenan Castle...

...which seemed to grow out of the...

  ...rock upon which it has stood for centuries.

 We drifted in the shade of the castle walls for a while, savouring the smell of history*...

 ...before heading back to the present, across the darkening waters of the bay...

...towards the twinkling lights of Ayr beyond.

*maybe it was just rotting seaweed!

A medical emergency and moonlight landing at Port Carrick.

When we approached the roosting gulls on Carnage Corner south of Dunure it was pretty obvious that it would be dark by the time we got to Maidens. So we made a decision to cut across the 7km wide mouth of Culzean Bay direct to  Barwin Point. This was to prove to be a major navigational error.

By the time we were only a third of the way across, each of us was struck by a simultaneous medical emergency. Being gentlemen of a certain age, it became very difficult to maintain control over our bladders. There was a pressing need to land so we pushed on across the bay at high speed (so no distracting photos) and landed at Port Carrick, just before Barwhin Point. Never have three kayakers (in their sixth and seventh decades) exited cramped cockpits so quickly. Relief beyond belief as they say.

It was now a pleasure to set off on a relaxed paddle round Barwhin Point in the silvery moonlight.

On the southern horizon we could just see the dark outline of Turnberry Point below the steady and reassuring...

 flash of Turnberry lighthouse.

High above through a gap in the clouds we could see a trans Atlantic jut flying so high that for it, the sun had not yet set.

We landed on a deserted beach at Maidens. The only sign of life was the the distant flash of Holy Island Outer Lighthouse on the horizon to the north west.

All's well that ends dry!

Nae man can tether time or tide...

While we sit bousing at the nappy,

And getting fou and unco happy,

We think na on the lang Scots miles,

The mosses, waters, slaps, and styles,

That lie between us and our hame,

Where sits our sulky sullen dame.

As we savoured a final taste of The Singleton, the sky was darkening and the cliffs of Carlandcheek were already in near darkness.

Nae man can tether time or tide; 

The hour approaches Tam maun ride; 

 It was time to make our way back down the beach to the kayaks.

Once afloat we left the shade of the cliffs and entered...

 ...a brief but golden glow from the last light of the setting sun.

The temperature dropped rapidly as we started to cross Ayr Bay. At first the only sound was the gentle splash of our paddles but...

Wi' mony an eldritch skriech and hollo.

 ...as we approached Seafield, there was a huge commotion from the mouth of the River Doon (about 1km away). The thirty or so whooper swans (winter visitors from Iceland) were disturbed by something and took off en masse. What a racket! They had barely managed to get into the air before they came in to land round about us. I do not know who was more surprised...us or them. This one kept a little distant from the others. It is a black swan (Cygnus atratus), a native of Australia, it seems to be somewhat lost but settling in.

Auld Ayr, wham ne'er a town surpasses,

For honest men and bonnie lasses

Leaving the commotion of the honking swans behind, we slipped unseen across the calm waters of the bay, hardly even disturbing the reflections of the lights of Ayr.

Another day (and bit of a night) in paradise.

Nightfall and landfall in Loch Ryan.

Night was falling as we came to the end of our three luncheon tour of Ayrshire's Atlantic coast. Away to the NW, Corsewall lighthouse had been flashing for some time...

 ...as work continued on the flood lit deck of OCV North Sea Giant.

Rounding Garry Point we caught sight of...

... the lights of the new Stena Line Cairnryan ferry terminal...

...before making final landfall at Finnarts Bay. We had just completed a paddle along one of the finest pieces of coast in SW Scotland.

Jim said he would have given 10/10 for trip planning but reduced it to 9/10 because this ferry arrived as we were packing up. We then had a long slow drive home in the convoy of HGVs, which disgorged from her vehicle decks before we got on the road.

This Irish Sea ferry goes by the romantic sounding name Stena Superfast VII. She and her identical sister ship, which goes by the no less romantic (or original) name of Stena Superfast VIII, were launched in Kiel in 2000 and 2001. They are 203.3m long, 25.4m wide and weigh 30,285 tonnes. Their cruising speed is 30.4 knots. They served in the Baltic but were refitted in 2011 in Poland and entered service on the Cairnryan Belfast run in November 2011.

P.S. Winter gales have banked up a steep gravel storm beach in Finnarts Bay. I tried to carry a kayak up this with David but felt a sickening tear in my left "good" knee. I had to drop the kayak and am very grateful to the others, especially Phil, who helped get my gear back to the cars. Thanks guys! :o)

Unfortunately my left knee dislocated a couple of days later and prevented me paddling in the idyllic weather the following Sunday, actually it confined me to the house for ten days. So was this trip along Ayrshire's Atlantic coast worth it? You bet it was!

A UFO in the sky at night above Loch Tamnavay.

On arrival at the head of Loch Tamnavay several of us set off for a shakedown paddle on the loch.

Ian quickly entered full smug mode, as he had been allocated Gordon's new Valley Etain. It will be worthwhile following Ian's excellent blog of our trip. Then you will be able to enjoy our voyages in full St Kilda Stereovision (tm)!

Although it was 21:45 hours, the mid summer sun was still shining on the distant hills of Scarp.

The beauty of the still evening was enhanced...

...when the moon rose beyond the rocky  slopes of Aird Beag.

We paddled out of Loch Tamnavay into the open expanse of Braigh Mor...

...then entered little Loch Tealasavay as the sun was setting.

We then paddled back to the Cuma in the moonlight. (Photo of myself and Ian by Gordon.)

Our route was only 10km but it was in the most beautiful and remote of locations.

As the moon rose and began to set again, we spent a very convivial evening excitedly chatting about our adventure to come. Murdani and I stayed up after the others, catching up on old times, but I went below about 02:30 on 12/06/2011. Minutes later, Murdani called me up on deck again. The moon had gone down but Murdani said in a quiet voice "What do you make of that?"

High in the sky (higher than Altair in the SSE or Arcturus in the SSW) a bright white disk of light was traversing the sky from west to east. It was difficult to estimate its height and speed but if it was as high as a passenger jet, it was travelling across the sky about 3-4 times as fast. It was not a satellite, I regularly see them and it was much bigger. It was not the international space station, which I have also seen, as in these latitudes it rarely gets higher than 10 degrees above the horizon. It was a still night and there was no engine noise nor were there navigation lights and strobes that you would expect to see on a jet airliner.

Then, when it was about 20 degrees above the eastern horizon, an amazing thing happened. Until that point its velocity had appeared constant but suddenly it started ricocheting from side to side, as if bouncing off invisible walls on either side of its track. What was it? Neither Murdani nor I had a clue. I had had a small amount to drink but Murdani had taken no alcohol at all. We had seen an unidentified flying object (UFO) above Loch Tamnavay.

Little Cumbrae sunset.

We met at Portencross at 730pm...

...and formulated a quick plan to paddle round Little Cumbrae Island.

 We set the controls...

 ...for the heart of...

 ...the sun.

 As we crossed to Gull Point it slowly sank in the west, turning from orange to red.

On our return, our way was lit by the glow of Hunterston nuclear power station. Fortunately Harvey was with us and as he works there, we assumed it was quite safe.