Walking among the stones of history in the monastery of Hinba.

The monastery on Eileach na Naoimh was founded by St Brendan of Clonfert in AD 542. At that time the Garvellachs were known as Hinba or the Isles of the Sea.



St Brendan was born in County Kerry in Ireland in AD 484. In addition to his Christian faith he was a great seafarer and was also known as Brendan the Navigator. He left on a seven year voyage to discover the fabled Celtic island of Tir nan Og (or Land of Perpetual Youth). Some say he discovered North America but what is certain is that he came here to Hinba and founded a monastery. Some buildings are beehive cells similar to those found at Skellig Michael in Ireland. Even St Columba, came to Hinba for some peace and meditation and to escape from the bustle of his monastery on Iona. St Brendan's influence is also remembered in other local place names such as the Kilbrannan Sound.



The island has been uninhabited for a thousand years since the Vikings sacked the monastery. Today, even in the spring sunshine, wandering among the ancient stones of Hinba, you are surrounded by echos and ghosts of the past.



Ancient grave stones protrude above the encroaching mosses and grass. Their only markings are the patterns of lichens, which grow in abundance in the clean air. The identities of the occupants of the graves below are unknown but they were our ancestors and like us they were attracted to this necklace of islands to escape the everyday world. Unfortunately for them, 500 years of peaceful meditation were ended by a change in the outside world; the arrival of the Vikings.

To this day St Brendan is the patron saint of seafarers and (dare I say it?) sea kayakers.

Clochain (beehive) cells on Eileach an Naoimh

The beehive cells of Eileach an Naoimh



Continuing round the north end of Eileach an Naoimh in the Garvellachs we travelled down the east coast past the natural rock arch of An Clarsach. Not long afterwards we spotted the best preserved beehive cells in Scotland. They were built and used by generations of Celtic Christian monks who followed St Brendan of Clonfert who had arrived on the Garvellachs in AD 524.





The monastery was sacked by the Vikings in the early 10th century and today the only inhabitants of these ancient walls were these tiny ferns.

Faster than the wind

I have been windsurfing since 1977. Like sea kayaking you can do it in a variety of conditions but I find that the two sports are highly complimentary and tend to windsurf when the wind is stronger.

Quite a lot of the time you can do both and a speed comparison is interesting. There was a 12 to 17 knot wind blowing straight down the bay to the sea. Paddling the mile across the bay at right angles to the wind, I averaged 2.9 knots.

Repeating the exercise on a light wind windsurfer with a 7.0m sail I averaged 25.1 knots. It is a great feeling flying along faster than the wind, with only the skeg in the water. I am surprised more sea kayakers do not windsurf.

Ocean Paddler

On July 13th 2007, the UK will get a new seakayaking magazine: Ocean Paddler. It is being launched by two friends of mine, Graeme "Bertie" Beckram and Richard Parkin.



Hopefully you might be able to read articles based on trips like this one.

I wish Bertie and Rich the very best in their exciting new venture.

A quiet weekend.

Alison and I had arranged to spend a week in Skye at the sea kayak symposium. I was due to give some illustrated talks. We had planned to meet up with lots of friends and I was going to paddle with Cailean and Wenley before the start of the Symposium. Things do not always go to plan. Alison has been having a lot of pain recently and we decided to have a quiet weekend at our caravan on the Solway instead. Gordon accepted my apology very graciously. An unexpected pleasure was meeting Kevin at Glasgow airport as he was on his way north to the symposium. Once at the caravan we relaxed and watched the tide come in and go out again.



On the Monday holiday Alison decided she would like to go for a short paddle. I had to help her into the kayak but it was so good to see a smile on her face again. It helped take her mind off more medical tests this week.

Through the Grey Dogs to the Garvellachs.

11th May 2006. Heading out from the Grey Dogs into the Firth of Lorn with Scarba on the port bow.



Crossing to Eileach an Naoimh (Isle of the Saints), the most southerly of the Garvellachs. We followed the great circle route used by trans Atlantic jets. We decided to stop before we got to Newfoundland.



The west side of Eileach an Naoimh under the new Garvellachs light. The light was established in 1904 and this one bas built in 2003. It has a white flash every 6 seconds. My friend Clark Fenton, who is a fully card carrying geologist, informs me that the rocks are composed of a Precambrian age [approx 1 billion years old] tillite (a metamorphosed glacial boulder clay) that contains large blocks of marble. The marble is a dolomite (a magnesium rather than calcium rich limestone) that has been recrystallised by heat and pressure.



Shadow and light under Precambrian cliffs of tillite.

Timed to perfection but nearly marooned on Luing!

This was 19:03 on 11th May 2006.

We had just successfully executed a remarkable sea kayaking day trip from Glasgow. The night before, I had noticed (as you do) that the tides were right for a trip out through the Grey Dogs to the Garvellachs then back to Scarba, round its south end, through the Corryvreckan and back up the Sound of Luing. The snag was that Mike and I were working the next day and David was meeting an ex vet student friend from South Africa for their 40th year reunion dinner. Her flight got into Glasgow airport at 21:30pm that night. The only way to do this was to drive from the mainland over the Bridge over the Atlantic, onto the Isle of Seil then take the ferry across the Cuan Sound onto Luing and drive to Black Mill Bay and launch there. A quick Google search for the ferry timetable brought up the Calmac website which showed regular sailings into the late evening.

We had aimed to get the 19:35 ferry and I was just congratulating myself on having half an hour to spare when an awful fact gradually invaded the euphoria of an amazing day. If you look closely at the photo above you will note that there is no ferry!



On our drive to the jetty I had noticed something that looked very like a ferry moored in a bay 1.5km to the south. Somehow I had managed to blot this unwelcome observation from my consciousness. Any sea kayaker that can work the tides through the Dogs and the Corry must be able to read a simple ferry timetable! I dug the Calmac printout out of my map case and we should have had another 3 ferries to choose from right up till 22:05. Something was not right and I soon found out it was when I walked over to the small waiting room. The Cuan Ferry is run by Argyll and Bute council and on their timetable (which was nailed to the wall) it was quite clear that the last boat ran at 1805.

David took it very well. Not only had I bashed his car getting off the ferry that morning, now I had got us marooned on Luing for the night and his friend would be stuck at the airport. A more highly strung party would have started arguing and shouting but not us. In the absence of a nearby sea kayaking hostelry, we cracked open three cans of Guinness from our emergency rations. Sitting on a grassy knoll in the spring evening sunshine, we pondered our options. First we found that our mobiles had no reception. Then we wondered if David should paddle across and try and hire a taxi to take him to the airport.



Then suitably refreshed, I decided to check out the waiting room. I noticed a small yellow notice.

"In case of medical emergency, call this number."

Well I'm a doctor. And it was an emergency! So I phoned it from the coin box phone outside. It turned out to be a call centre in Liverpool and the girl knew nothing about Luing or where it was. I asked her for the ferryman's number but she said

"I can't do that but I'll get him to ring you back."

I looked at the ancient rotating dial phone. There was no number.

"There must be a number." she said.

David cracked open another Guinness to assist in the search for the elusive digits but there were none to be found. Then the girl had a brainwave:

"Give me your mobile number..."

"There is no point", I said, "none of our three mobiles are getting a signal."

I could sense I was stretching her incredulity. This city girl had probably never been out of cell phone range since she had been born. Indeed, her developing brain may have been partly modelled by mobile microwaves.

Then I had a brainwave:

"Just tell him to phone the Luing call box"

"What's the point of that? He wont know the number, there must be thousands of call boxes on Luing."

"You don't know Luing! Please, just ask him to ring the call box, I am sure he will know the number."

About 5 minutes later the phone rang, it was the ferryman. I explained our situation and he agreed to come but he said he would need to call his mate who lived some distance away. He would then need to use a dinghy to get down to the ferry and fetch it back up to Seil, pick up his mate then come across and pick us up. (Then he would need to repeat the process to get the ferry back to the mooring.)


MV Grey Dog

We were ever so pleased as when he arrived. He knew all about the mistake in the Calmac timetable and said there would be no charge for the crossing. We had already resigned ourselves to finding bed and breakfast accommodation on Luing, which would have cost us about £20 each so we gave them £60 for their trouble. They were very reluctant to accept it but we insisted. They were obviously prepared (and pleased) to be able to help, for only a thank you in return.

Fortunately the 105 miles on the road to the airport were quiet and we pulled into the airport pickup area just as David's friend was exiting the arrivals hall.

What timing, it's amazing what you can cram into a day!