Full flood puts feathered friends to flight.

I had originally intended landing at the south end of Ballantrae beach, where it is more sheltered from the surf. The last time Tony and I had surfed in over the bar at the mouth of the River Stinchar but David didn't fancy it and stayed out. So I was quite surprised when David nipped in, but the rising big spring tide meant there was more water over the bar and the swell wasn't breaking. I followed David in with Andrew, leaving Jim to gather Phil in.

Once inside, we were paddling up the River Stinchar but on the map we were on dry ground! The estuary of the Stinchar is very active and a combination of flood and storm causes the mouth to alternately move north then south over time. You can see the amount of erosion caused by our recent winter storms in the top photo. The hill in the distance is Knockdolian 265m. Like Ailsa Craig, it is a volcanic plug and as it was sometimes mistaken for Ailsa Craig in poor visibility, mariners of the time called it "the False Craig". The Clyde Cruising Club Sailing Directions still warn about it.

 As the river meanders beneath the slopes of Knockdolian, it leaves isolated lagoons which...

...flood in spring tides...

...creating a very rich habitat for bird life and is the reason this area is a Nature Reserve.

Despite this protection, the birds still had to take flight as the gravel beds and lagoons flooded with the rising  spring tide. First the whaups (curlews)...

 ...then the geese and finally...

...the peewits (lapwings) took flight and filled the air above us.

Drouthy kayakers give Ballantrae a miss.

 Rounding Bennane Head, we set off across the expanse of Ballantrae Bay.

 Once clear of the head, a little northerly breeze brought the sails to life...

 ...and we made steady progress...

...across the bay towards...

 ...the village of Ballantrae. The name has Gaelic origins from Baile an Traigh, the village of the beach. It does have a very big beach. However, this name only dates back to 1617. Prior to that it was called Kirkcudbright Innertig. Apparently the Laird of Bargany who rebuilt the ancient Kirk of St Cuthbert at the mouth of the River Tig had a penchant for the Gaelic!

The little church has a stained glass window in memory of Elsie Mackay. She was the third daughter of the Earl of Inchcape, whose family lived in nearby Glenapp Castle. Elsie was one of the first women to own and fly her own plane and sadly, in March 1928, she died in an unsuccessful attempt to fly across the Atlantic from east to west.

The stone tower on the skyline is the remains of a windmill which was built in 1684.

 Sadly Ballantrae turn its back to the beach...

...and we didn't much feel like landing in the surf any way. This was a pity as it was time for first luncheon and we had a drouth on us.

Bums on seats round Bennane Head.

We now set off exploring...

...the wonderful coastline...

 ...that leads to Bennane Head.

Despite the shiny newness and lightweight construction of his Taran...

 ...Jim got stuck in as the swells pushed us on through...

 ...the narrowest of gaps...

...on our way to the raised beach rock platform at the foot of the Head. 

Although we rounded the Head with two hours of the flood left to run, it was flat as a pancake because of the lack of wind. It can be a very different place on the ebb tide against a SW wind (see below).

We met two SUP boarders coming the other way, who heading out to explore the Head. Chris Saunders (L) is a well known west coast kayaker and obviously enjoys this new form of paddlesport. Jim and I were not so sure. We kept our bums firmly (out of sight) on our seats.

02/05/2009

On other occasions it is less easy to keep your bum on your seat as the waves steepen into a roller-coaster as you near the Head.

The tides round Bennane Head are rather interesting. As the flood rushes up the Firth of Clyde, through the North Channel, you might expect it to flow north all the way up the Ayrshire coast. However, it hits Bennane head and splits, so south of the Head the flood is south going!

On the ebb the two streams reverse and travelling at 2.5 knots, they collide off the Head.  This disturbed water can get even rougher against a SW wind.

For kayakers, unless you hit the Head at slack water, you will need to paddle against the tide on one side of the Head or the other.

Bennane Head tidal streams:

South of Bennane Head to Finnarts point

SSW going +0425 HW Greenock 

NNE going -0140 HW Greenock 

North of Bennane Head to Lendalfoot

NNE going +0425 HW Greenock

SSW going -0140 HW Greenock

The Cannibal's Cave and Skippy the Bush Kangaroo!

From Whilk Isle, we paddled towards the cliffs of Balcreuchan Head. Almost immediately we came across this blow hole. Unfortunately the swell wasn't quite big enough for real explosions but it still made a satisfying "boom, whoosh!"

We now cut inshore of Balcreuchan Stack...

...on our way towards Sawney Bean's Cave in Balcreuchan Port when, all of a sudden, Phil gave a great shout. Half expecting to see the Great Cannibal himself, we looked up as Phil pointed high on the hill...

..."Look, it's a real, red kangaroo....why it's, it's... I think it's Skippy!". We all nearly fell out our kayaks with laughter, Phil had seen a roe deer leaping up the side of the hill on its rear legs. It seemed to have hurt one of its front legs, which it held close to its chest, while leaping away on the other three.  At first glance it might have looked, a....bit..., like a kangarooo. But...

Clearly Phil has been spending too much time watching "Skippy, the complete collection (vol 1)" DVD, which David had given him for Christmas.

As a somewhat red faced Phil paddled on, a chorus of "Skippy, Skippy,....Skippy the Bush Kangaroo" gently wafted after him. Clearly we were going to have a good day out and we had hardly started!

By the way, the entrance to the Bean's cave is in the middle of the above photo with Skippy. It is entered by traversing the horizontal groove above the sea, lower right, then climbing the slanting curved gully up to the cave.

A solitary perch on Whilk Isle.

There was almost no wind when we finally left the beach at Lendalfoot about 1045 and paddled out round Big Isle.

The visibility was rather poor and we could only just make out the outline of Ailsa Craig on the horizon.

To the SW we couldn't see where the sea ended and the sky began.

The reefs of Whilk Isle were submerging quickly as the flood spring tide flowed round...

...distant Bennane Head and threatened this gull's solitary perch.

A long shuttle to Loch Ryan...

Five of us convened at Lendalfoot (Lendal Paddles were named after this spot) in South Ayrshire at 9am. It was spring low water...

...but we only took the kayaks half way down the beach...

...as we had a long shuttle, to Loch Ryan, to run...

 ...before returning to the kayaks.

In the meantime, the tide had come in conveniently covering the rocks near the car park. We were now ready to paddle one of the west of Scotland's classic sea kayak runs: Ayrshire's Atlantic Coast. It is along a remote, committing, coast characterised by major headlands (one with a meaty tide race), steep surf beaches, a major river mouth, sheer cliffs, geos, caves, blowholes, some of the best rockhopping anywhere, abundant bird life and a population of red kangaroos that hop along cliff ledges...

Dreamtime ends on a cold, hard mainland jetty.

On the third and last day of our trip we rose before dawn and had the kayaks ready by first light. We removed several plastic and glass bottles, a number of dead batteries and a bag of ash from the bothy. The wind had been strong during the night but had been flat calm in the pre-dawn light. As we launched, the breeze had already picked up and out beyond the headland, dark squalls were already appearing on the surface of the sea.

Photo Ian Johnston.

Unfortunately my fingers were so cold that I broke the zip on my waterproof camera bag so I had to put my camera inside the kayak. When we got out beyond the headland the water was a bit lively for taking photographs anyway. However, by the time we were two thirds of the way across, we began to enter the wind shadow of the land and Ian took this atmospheric photo.

It was still early and bitterly cold when we landed on the jetty. As we pulled the kayaks...

...back up to where we had left the cars...

...we looked wistfully back over the sea, to the distant land of the bothy. Our time there had been too short and now it seems like a Dreamtime.

Postscript #1.

If you know where this bothy is, keep smugly quiet. If you don't know, look forward to discovering it for yourself one day! Or in the spirit of the bothy's owner's wishes, Ian or I might even take you there!

Postscript #2.

Ian's photo caught me limping up this beach. My knees were particularly painful on this trip, perhaps due to the cold weather. I would like to say thank you to Ian for his consideration in helping me launch and land and especially for carrying my gear up and down from the bothy.

Quiet as a bothy mouse in a stormy night.

 No sooner had we arrived back at the bothy than the sun began its exit from the day.

We stood and marvelled as the deepening reds of the last of the day's embers slowly faded. We were so grateful that the existence of this bothy allowed us to witness the beauty of this winter sunset on such a remote coast. All too soon, the plummeting temperature hastened us back indoors.

The bothy had warmed up with the stove glowing (and smoking) in the corner.

We prepared another fine feast and sipped Glenfiddich as we listened to the Radio Scotland Outdoor Conditions forecast for the following day: SE F4-5. The wind was to increase overnight to force 6 then ease in the early morning before picking up again. We decided to have an early night and get away first thing in the morning.

The bothy mice came out early and scuttled about in the flickering light of the fire. Unfortunately my knee was so sore I had to get up in the middle of the night for some painkillers that were somewhere at the bottom of one of the Ikea bags. We had hung them from the rafters to keep the mice away from our gear.

I fear I disturbed Ian more than the mice because I certainly wasn't as quiet as one. As I finally drifted off into a fitful sleep, I was dimly aware of the gusts of wind causing the bothy to shudder. The mice scurried round unnoticed for the rest of the night.