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.

Bitter sweet memories at Portuairk.

The February sun was still low in the sky as Ian, Mike and myself  left a car at Ardtoe Bay at the east end of the Ardnamurchan Peninsula. You can follow Ian's account of the trip over on his excellent blog here.

The local crofter has fenced off one of his fields as a car park and there is an honesty box for the very reasonable 50p charge.

We then drove to Portuairk at the west end of the Ardnamurchan Peninsula which is the most westerly point on the mainland of Britain. . The shuttle from Glenuig to Ardtoe and on to Portuairk is only 45 minutes but it took 2 hours to set up due to the twisting single track roads.

I arrived at Portuairk with mixed emotions. I was last here on 15/6/2009, after we landed after the trip to Coll and Tiree during which I had an accident on a sand dune and ruptured the ligaments of my right knee. Also on that trip was our good friend Jim Broadfoot. He had celebrated his 50th birthday on Coll with us but sadly and unexpectedly he died of a heart attack less than a year later.

 We were soon in the Portuairk channel (which drains very quickly) and making...

 ...our way down through the rocks of the enclosed channel.

 Mike launched his sail and...

 ...soon we had just a final gap in the rocks to squeeze through before...

 ...we arrived on the open sea with a backdrop of low lying Muck with the mountains of Rum behind.

Soon Portuairk was slipping astern in our wakes but a gusty F3-4 SE wind got up and had too much east in it for Mike to sail to the east.

The offshore wind was holding the surf up as it broke steeply on the reefs. The spray was blowing over the backs of the waves. We realised there was not going to be much chance of landing further on...

...in this trip so we sneaked through a gap in the skerries into the sheltered water inshore and

 ...landed on Sanna Bay.

 It was a truly glorious day...

 ...and we stretched our legs for the last time in preparation for the long paddle to come.

Ian produced a dram of golden steadying liquid (Jura Superstition) and we toasted the voyage yet to come and great memories of our friend Jim.

A singular way to spend a sunny afternoon down south on the Solway.

I was delighted that David and Phil were able to join me for my last paddle of the season down on the Solway. It had been a late night (the previous evening) for them and they had rather rushed packing. David had lost his specs and phone and left his boots behind. So he had to wear his socks on the outside of his trousers, like Superman.

We hadn't been able to get out together since the beginning of the summer so it was great to arrive at the water's edge.

 We set off over a sparkling sea...

...towards the south and...

 ...the Murray's Isles, where we stopped for first luncheon.

Phil had remembered his coffee flask but sadly had forgotten his orange juice. All he could find in his day hatch was a bottle of something called "Singleton of Dufftown", whatever that might be.

While Phil and I enjoyed a cup of coffee in the sunshine, naughty David was determined to discover what the "Singleton" was and took a giant slug of it, behind Phil's back!

Haute Cuisine reviewed at An Cladach.

The grass squelched under our feet as we made our way up to the bothy. We hung our soaking jackets under the eaves and set about lighting a fire to help dry out. I had brought some logs but we left those in the woodpile and lit a couple of peats, which had been cut from the hillside above the bothy.

Brunch was to be interesting. We had wraps, dry cured bacon, tomatoes, Leerdammer cheese slices, eggs, banana and Laphroig. Our plan was to cook the lot, roll it in the wraps and then give the wraps a final toasting in the pan.

As the rain battered off the bothy's tin roof, we slowly dried out by the aromatic peat fire and enjoyed the equally peaty notes of the Laphroig (surely you didn't think I had poured it into the frying pan, did you?) I asked Tony what he thought of brunch: "Well, I don't think the banana quite went with the bacon!"

After brunch and a snooze by the fire, we realised that the rain had stopped battering the roof. An exploration of our surroundings revealed that the sun was now trying to break through the clouds and that the tide had turned and was now heading for Port Askaig...

The intoxicated Giant of Ardbeg.

From the Ardmore Islands, we paddled below the wooded shores of Islay's Kildalton estate. The great house is now a ruin but in the early 20th century it belonged to a wealthy, eccentric, travelling gentleman called Talbot Clifton. Clifton liked to travel the World and shoot things, pretty much anything was fair game; tigers, lions, elephants, and closer to home, grouse, snipe, stags, IRA captains etc.. It was after he shot the latter, that he felt it somewhat prudent to leave Ireland and settle in Islay.

To the SW of Kildalton, we came to the lonely uninhabited isle of Eilean Imersay. Uninhabited that is, except for this great sleeping giant. His head was resting on a stone pillow and his hands were resting on his chest.

He had a strangely smug self satisfied expression and a bad case of megalithic rhinophyma. There was a particularly pleasant ambiance about this place. It was not just the sun. There was something else in the air...

...there was the heady aroma of Ardbeg! The angel's share from the distillery was blowing steadily over our giant friend. No wonder he looked smug. He wasn't sleeping at all, he had been lying there too long and was now well and truly pished!

Beyond Ardbeg we came to the ruins of Dunyvaig Castle. We have been here before and it must be one of the sweetest smelling castles in Scotland! This time the aroma proved to be from the..

...Lagavulin distillery.

At this point I would have shown you a photo of Laphroaig, the third distillery on this coast, however, the offshore wind had increased and violent gusts were blasting off the land and snatching at our paddles. There was no way I could take a photo, so you will just need to wait for another visit. After all, two distilleries are quite intoxicating enough for one day.

The Ardmore Islands and appropriate consumption.

 From Claggain Bay on the SE coast of Islay, the brisk northerly wind blew us...

...out past Trudernish Point. The combination of strong offshore wind and bright sunshine gave fantastic paddling conditions.

Downwind, there was nothing but open sea, which stretched away for nearly 50km to the distant Mull of Kintyre.

When we rounded Ardmore Point under scudding clouds, the sight of the distant Eilean a' Chuirn lighthouse (built 1907) announced our arrival at the beautiful  archipelago of the Ardmore Islands.

The bracing wind had given us good appetites, so a beckoning shingle beach  on Eilean Craobhach proved irresistible for a break for luncheon.

Stepping over the crab shells left by the last diner, the resident otter, we made our way to a delightful bank of heather...

...where tucked into a luncheon of oat cakes and cheese in the sunshine. As it was 12:01, the sun was now over the yardarm and so our victuals were washed down with a snifter of whisky. This fine malt had been distilled into the World, just a short distance away at Ardbeg. The distillery nestles at the foot of the dark slopes of Ben Sholum (347m). How appropriate!

The ground was moving and it was nothing to do with the Laphroig!

I am afraid I have not a single photo of our paddle under the cliffs between Cape Fear and of Ton Mhor at the north end of the wild Rinns of Islay. After closing with the rocks we got out of the worst of the counter tide race but the clapotits proved to be somewhat of a challenge to tiring paddlers. It was like hanging onto a bucking bronco! We felt some relief when we eventually turned the corner into the sheltered waters of the east side of Ton Mhor. We were not the only ones to be tired, this large seal was fast asleep!

We now made for the lovely sands of Port Gillhe Greamhair.

There was hardly a ripple of surf, unlike the time when Phil and I had turned back from here only 6 weeks previously.

I stagerred out of my kayak, I could hardly stand, my knee had seized up after 25 km of some of the most challenging kayaking on the west coast.

After enjoying our sandwiches on the machair at the back of the beach, we decided to have a little celebration. In his recent comment Ian said: "Character building stuff Douglas! I trust a moderate amount of strong drink was taken in order to calm the nerves after this passage? I should have thought it would require an 18 yr old to really do the trick...."

Ian knows me too well! I had some 18 year old Laphroig in my day hatch and Tony kindly went back down the beach for it. As we lay back on the machair for a well deserved rest and snifter of the spirit of Islay, the ground seemed to to be moving beneath us, as if we were still paddling a stormy sea. I can assure you it was it was nothing to do with the Laphroig!