Little sails in the Sound

We set off on the 10km crossing from Inchmarnock to Garroch Head. A light breeze got up so it was time to hoist sails.

 The early morning sun glistened on the water as we paddle sailed...

 ...towards the misty hills above Garroch Head.

 Slowly but steadily the distinctive sloping outline of St Blane's Hill changed from an outline to...

...a hill with shape, form and detail.

 Soon we were below Dunagoil Hill where the wind dropped and we rounded...

 ...Garroch Head in a flat calm in the company of this yacht.

 Our destination was Glencallum Bay on the south end of Bute.

We enjoyed second breakfast on the wide sweep of the bay and I was even tempted in for a swim though the water was still on the Arctic side of bracing.

The sea was clearer than the air.

We set off from the south of Inchmarnock and explored a little way up the west coast of the island before turning back down...

...the Sound of Bute. The sea fog slowly rolled about the Sound before gradually...

lifting. Above the fog the Arran summits soared through into clearer air.

As we paddled through the skerries at the south end of Inchmarnock we realized that the waters of the Sound were clearer than the air above.

Don't forget your silk stockings on a visit to Inchmarnock!

We woke on Inchmarnock to a thick fog which a light wind was blowing in from the sea.

 The breeze kept the midges away as we busied ourself preparing first breakfast.

Nothing quite smells like frying bacon but unfortunately the wind dropped and the smell of our cooking attracted a cloud of voracious midges.

 It was time for midge jackets and we escaped to the water's edge to eat our victuals.

Despite the return of the light breeze, the midge attack continued as we loaded the boats. Phil had remembered his midge hood but had clean forgot his silk stockings. By the time he...

...got into his boat his legs were more mottled with bites than the bottom of the crystal clear sea. Fortunately wading into the cold sea helped to reduce the irritation of the bites.

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.

Thousands of years in defence of the realm in the Sound of Bute.

When we rounded Garroch Head at the south end of Bute we caught first sight of our destination for our night's camp. Low lying Inchmarnock was still 10km away but already we could make out the light quartzite beach at its south end.

 On the way up the west coast of Bute we passed the Iron Age hill forts at Dunagoil and...

 ...Dunstrone and...

 ...Ardscalpsie. This was clearly a land that was worth defending.

 As we paddled up the Sound of Bute towards Inchmarnock the sun was lowering.....

...when a Type 23 frigate roared down the Sound at her full 28 knots towards the measured mile.Although too far away to identify her number, she is almost certainly HMS St Albans. She was built on the Clyde in 2000 and has just undergone a major refit and is now completing sea trials before re-entering service in the summer of 2014.

Appearances can be deceptive in the Sound of Bute: Clyde bananas and a Cock.

We were not the only ones in the Sound of Bute on that lovely afternoon. MRV Scotia was quartering the area off Garroch Head that was used by boats such as the SS Shieldhall to dump Clyde bananas from 1908 until 1998. For those who think that there is a tropical fruit industry on the Clyde, please follow the SS Shieldhall link to discover the true meaning of the phrase "Clyde bananas". Presumably MRV Scotia  is measuring changes in the chemical composition of the sea bed sediments. It is hard to believe but the sea bed in this...

...beautiful spot has been despoiled by 140 million tons of sewage sludge. From Port Leithne we set off...

...round Garroch Head into the Sound of Bute with...

 ...Arran's rocky ridges soaring into the sky.

The north end of the isle is called the Cock of Arran...

...but for the life of me I cannot think why.

We could always just drink the boats lighter!

 

We set off on our pilgrimage to St Blane's leaving David to mind the kayaks. We last saw David sunbathing in his green underpants on the green sward of Bute. It was quite a sight...

REMOVED PHOTO
Concern for the maintenance of public decency means that the above photo has been removed by the management.

On our return David had fallen asleep and the tide had gone out for miles leaving the heavily laden kayaks high and dry. David still in his green underpants (which matched his deck) was completely unabashed. Clearly David was enjooying the ambience of Port Leithne. He came up with a novel solution...

"We could stay here and enjoy the sun. We could always just drink the boats lighter"...