A hidden lagoon in the Sound of Jura.

From the Dorus Mor we paddled towards Coiresa with some difficulty.


The current was carrying us inexorably straight towards the Corryvreckan.


Eventually we broke out of the flood and an eddy carried us up the SE of Coiresa towards Reisa Mhic Phaidean and into the lagoon between the two islands.


The lagoon was a magical place, its clear waters were full of little fish and its bottom was studded with starfish. The flood was pouring out its NW entrance. We dallied for some time, ferry gliding back and forwards, breaking in and out of eddies and enjoying the sensation of holding ground against moving water.


Once we had cleared the islands we found ourselves in another flood stream, which carried us NE up the Sound of Jura and away from the Corryvreckan.

Trying to hold a straight course in the Dorus Mor.

We crossed the Sound of Jura towards Eileen na Cille. We had predicted that the flood tide would start at 10:25. Initially the last of the ebb carried us SW...


...but at 10:20, without any perceptible period of slack, the transits showed the flood had started to carry us NE. Because I hadn't been out recently, I quickly fell behind the others but soon hit on an excellent delaying tactic. "Hold it there for a moment! I see an excellent photo, if I was just a little nearer!"


We broke out of the tide and entered a sheltered lagoon between Eilean na Cille and Garbh Reisa and for the first time saw our ultimate destination, the distant Gulf of Corryvreckan. The feeling of space, after being confined to the house for 5 months following my knee operation, was quite overwhelming. So much so, that for a moment, I thought I was going to loose my balance and capsize on this perfectly flat sea. Only for a moment though! I would certainly need my balance later in this paddle!


Despite the apparent calm in the lagoon, the flood tide was already building and the water level on the east side was higher than on the west side.


We now paddled up the west side of Garbh Reisa. At its north end, an eddy carried us north into the Dorus Mor tide race. Once we crossed the eddy line into the main flow, we were ejected out of the Dorus Mor at a most satisfactory 13km/hr. It was only 25 minutes after the turn of the tide. The tidal rule of thirds does not really apply to the races in this constricted part of the Sound of Jura.


Once we had cleared the race, Phil paused to look back through the Dorus Mor.


We were now heading for the little island of Coiresa. Despite being well clear of the narrows, the sea was still full of boils and eddies. It was difficult to hold a straight course. Jennifer and Tony are both trying to get to the same place!

Slack water in the Sound of Jura.

We left Glasgow at 07:00 and it was 09:10 when we finally drove down to the slipway in the little village of Crinan in Argyll. Across the Sound of Jura, the horizon was blocked by Jura to the south and Scarba to the north. Hidden between them lies the great Gulf of Corryvreckan through which surge some of the most powerful tides on Earth.


All was calm as we left Crinan on the last of the ebb tide.


There was no wind to ripple the water and the reflections of yacht's masts lay straight on the calm surface of Crinan's natural harbour.


We past Ardnoe Point and entered the Sound of Jura, backed by that island's eponymous Paps.


It was now slack water and the transit between the distant light of Ruadh Sgeir and Jura behind did not change. However in the upper Sound of Jura, slack never lasts very long!

Kayak sailing, over the horizon.

After a pleasant break at Bracken Bay we were tempted to proceed to Dunure but it was time to return to Seafield as I did not want to stress my knee over acres of sand at low tide! As soon as we rounded the Heads my sail filled in the now light wind...


...but Tony fancied a shot, so we swapped kayaks.


David soon whipped his sail up...


...and he and Tony...


...disappeared over the horizon, leaving me trailing in their wake! It is quite amazing how much extra ground is covered by the combination of paddling and sailing, even in a light wind.

Return to the Heads of Ayr!

Last Sunday was a bit of a milestone, it was the first time I had been back to Ayr since my knee operation four months ago! It was planned with some precision; either side of high tide to avoid a walk, parked on the double yellow lines (which are obscured by sand) at the top of the Seafield slipway. There was a bit of wind so it was an ideal time to resume testing the Flat Earth Kayak Sails, especially as I was not very fit!


The wind was gusting to the top of a 4 and I enjoyed several excellent downwind blasts, averaging 10km/hr and hitting 14.4km/hr.


As I enjoyed paddling and sailing this truly excellent kayak sail, the others got on with some rescue practice...


...till we decided to warm up by paddling to Bracken Bay just beyond...


...the Heads of Ayr.

My goodness it was good to be back to our regular stomping ground after such a painful lay off.

PS You will need to excuse the quality of the photos. I am a bit rusty so did not want to risk dropping the Canon 5D MkII over the side. I made do with the trusty 2mp Sony U60 camera.

A final blaze and the sun was gone.

North of Bracken Bay we enjoyed a bracing paddle in the dying minutes of the day.


Behind us the sun had set behind the Heads of Ayr.


As we came into the shelter of the headland, the conditions moderated.


A final blaze and the sun was gone.


We paddled on into the darkness of a mid winter's night.

Relief in Bracken Bay

After the excitement in leaving Dunure harbour, we found the sea further out had built up a little swell. The shallow rock shelves, that project from each of the headlands, caused some turbulence on our return north to Ayr.


It was with some relief that we landed at Bracken Bay. Soon our flasks were out with some warming soup. Although there was an orange glow in the sky from the setting sun...


...the wind was blowing straight across the Firth of Clyde...


...from the snow covered mountains of Arran. It was bitterly cold.

Nae man can tether Time nor Tide...

The bar in the Dunure Inn was indeed open...


...so we decided to see in the New Year with a glass or so of frothing blackcurrant juice, which is very good for you.


"My, that was awfie tasty for a health drink, I think I'll have another! "


As they say in Ayrshire, "Nae man can tether Time nor Tide" so we left the warmth of the inn in exchange for the cold, grey, dying hours of New Year's Day. From the comfort of the pub, the sea had looked pretty flat...


...but Yikes! The entrance to Dunure harbour is never easy. It was difficult to distinguish the steep, white flecked waves crowding the mouth from the steep, snow covered ridges of the distant mountains. We dug our paddles deep, thankful for the steadying effects of that wonderful blackcurrant juice.

An opportunity too good to miss, in Dunure.

We pressed on in a southerly direction until the great monolith of Ailsa Craig hove into sight.


A few ripples appeared on the water and out towards Ailsa Craig...


...the horizon began to look lumpy.


Time to seek shelter in Dunure harbour...


...where you can see swans and goodness gracious me, what's that? A pub open on New Year's day? Now there's an opportunity!

The pull of snow covered mountains

We proceeded south. Although there was a clear blue sky...


...we were in the deep shade of the cliffs that tumbled into the sea from a frozen landscape above.


We took a break on a frost covered shore. We hopped from one foot to the other to keep warm.


Soon some hot soup and an 18 year old Glenfiddich achieved what the sun had singularly failed to do.


At the time, I had this lovely P&H Cetus out on loan. I must say I appreciated its stability in the months leading up to my knee operation.


The air was very clear and the mountains of Arran were so appealing. In fact, their pull was so strong that Phil and I would go on to paddle there just three days later!