Views from the north of Gigha.

The north end of Gigha is a wonderful wild place. Its highest hill is only 56m high but from its summit this lovely isle can be seen stretching away to the south with the Mull of Kintyre and even Ireland beyond.


To the west, over the peninsula of Eilean Garbh, Islay stretches away to the Mull of Oa.


To the east, the mountains of Arran rise above the Kintyre peninsula and the Sound of Gigha.


Back at sea level, the Paps of Jura...


lie above the enchanting beach of white shell sand...


...which links Eilean Garbh to Gigha.


We hiked back over the rough country of north Gigha to our camp.


As we broke camp and loaded the boats, the MV Isle of Arran...


...was already well on her way back to Islay.

It was time for us to go.

Two sisters of Islay.

The next morning, the 7am ferry from Kennacraig to Islay sailed past Gigha under the magnificent Paps of Jura. She was the MV Hebridean Isles, built in 1985. As her name suggests, she served the Skye, North Uist and Harris triangle until 2001 when she moved south to the Islay run. The white pillars at the rear is a large lifting car ramp which was used until all her ports were fitted with linkspans for a full RORO, roll on roll off, service.


A little later her sister ship the MV Isle of Arran made the early crossing from Islay to Kennacraig. She was built in 1983 for the Arran route but was moved to the Islay run in 1993. We followed the course of her voyage as she rounded the north end of Gigha. At first she was backed by the distant hills of Islay...


...with Gigha's Eilean Garbh in the foreground.


Then she passed below the mountains of Jura...


...before passing Ardpatrick Point...


...on her way into West Loch Tarbert and her home port of Kennacraig.

A sack of logs and a space for the Brownie.

Fortunately when the sun went down, the temperature dropped like a stone and the midges disappeared.


Gradually the light faded until...


...there was only a red glow behind the Paps of Jura.


We sat round a fire of crackling logs, leaving a space for the Brownie. It was just as well we had picked up a sack of logs at a petrol station on the way up as there was little driftwood on the beach.

Phil and I enjoyed a dram of the 18y old Caol Ila whisky and we swapped tales till the sky grew dark and the embers faded.

A feast on Gigha.

Once we had got our tents up it was time to start unloading the boats for our evening meal. We had chicken tikka bhuna, parathas, two mackerel and some beef burgers to prepare.


The evening ferry to Port Ellen was the MV Isle of Arran. I did think of the fish and chips or chicken curry that Phil and I enjoyed on our last trip to Islay as she steamed past Gigha. On that occasion I had pointed out this very beach to Phil.


The sun now began to set...


..and this mayweed (thanks Vince!) looked lovely in the low saturated light. I thought to myself, "how wonderful nature is" until...


..I noticed Phil. To the uninitiated, it may look as though he has pulled a woman's stocking over his head as a disguise, while robbing the island's only shop of a pack of super noodles. However, look more closely...


...and you will see that Phil is a victim of an appallingly ferocious attack by some of nature's most efficient predators... the Scottish midge!

In Scotland, humans are not top of the food chain and a midge hood is a necessity.

Two resting places on Gigha.

It was early evening when we came across the wreck of the Kartli.


It was humbling being so close to the final resting place of the wreck of this great ship and it served as a reminder of the power of the sea.


This quartz, on a rock nearby, seemed to have taken its hue in sympathy from the rusting remains of the Kartli.


The sun was nearly setting...


...by the time we had explored potential camping spots.


We finally found this one, with a view of Islay and Jura over the Sound of Jura. We looked forward to resting our limbs after a long day. (Donald's outboard motor "throttle hand" was quite fatigued!) We anticipated sampling a little of the produce of the fine isle of Islay. Specifically we had in mind an 18 year old Caol Isla malt whisky. According to the label on the box, this rarely available bottling has the spicy, sea-air aromas and smoky-dry, peppery flavours of a mature expressive Islay malt. I was certainly not going to argue with that as we could almost see the distillery! Yum!

Midges at the mill, on Gigha.

We now turned our bows to the north and up the exposed west coast of Gigha. It was a wonderful day with light winds and only a little swell coming in from the Atlantic. I soon had the sail up.


We passed to the inside of the little island of Craro. Though it might appear to give some shelter on this wild coast, it has been the graveyard of many shipwrecks.


As we made our way along the coast...


...the Paps of Jura dominated the horizon to the NW. Donald started trawling for fish in the deeper water...


...and it was not too long until he stopped to reel in a couple of mackerel. On the horizon a couple of fishing boats were also hard at work with their trawls. Islay's Mull of Oa lay on the horizon to the WSW. Many people think the Mull of Cara is the most southerly point in the Hebrides but it is actually the Mull of Oa.


Despite the exposure of the west coast of Gigha, there is a sheltered inlet called Port an Duin, (port of the castle). There is indeed an iron age dun nearby and Donald manoeuvred his inflatable below it to get in position to...


...photograph Phil who had...


...paddled right up to the old water mill. It is nearly 200 years old, dating from the early 19th century. The cast iron water wheel and lade are still complete. Donald and I did not venture close as a huge cloud of voracious midges descended on Phil, leaving only a fuzzy grey outline above his cockpit. By the time Phil had paddled clear, he looked quite anaemic. This trouble at the mill did not bode well for the evening's camp!

Paying our respects to the Brownie on Cara.

On landing on Cara, Phil and I doffed our caps to the resident spirit, the Brownie. We both said "Good afternoon Mr Brownie, I trust you are well." Note a hatless Phil and a hatted Donald!


Phil helped Donald up the beach with his boat and explained Cara diplomatic protocol. Donald said, "I'm not taking my hat off for any wee man in a brown coat!" Phil and I were quite unconcerned about Donald, as he had unwittingly already taken his hat off!


Leaving the boats on the beach...


...we made our way up to the rocks at the top of the beach for lunch where we were undisturbed by any of the Brownie's pranks. In particular, our boats did not drift away in the offshore wind and flooding tide!


Back on the water, we passed Cara House. Legend has it that the Brownie is the spirit of a MacDonald who was murdered by a Campbell and to this day he resides in one of the attic rooms of the house.


It was now time to leave Cara and return to Gigha. A southerly wind had got up and across the sound, the wind turbines on Gigha were busy generating electricity for the community.

Goat bhuna and the Mull of Cara

From the Boathouse on Gigha, we made our way south through a series of skerries. The Mull of Kintyre and the pointed summit of Cara lay beyond the skerries.


We soon picked up a convoy of curious common seals who followed us through the channels. (Thanks to Will for identification.)


Phil and I in the kayaks got through shallow gaps that Donald could not risk with his outboard motor.


After crossing from Gigha to Cara, we made our way down the west coast of Cara. The water became increasingly rough as we approached...


...the south end where the small tide race was flooding northwards at its height, as we were now 3 hours after slack water. There is a gap in photos as for about 400m, both hands were required to be on the paddle to maintain an upright posture. Donald's little boat managed remarkably well, despite the Mull of Kintyre disappearing from sight every so often.


The water flattened off once we had rounded Cara's SW point and we were able to photograph the Mull of Cara which is its most southerly point. It is only 49m high but it is a rather impressive sight from a small boat.


We now made our way up the east coast of Cara in sheltered water to this magnificent shell sand beach. The rocky shore to its south had some pretty smelly goats on it but they are far fewer in number since a Yorkshire gentleman, with a chain of Indian restaurants, brought a refrigerated lorry and some friends with rifles north to Kintyre. When I was in the Punjab, I developed a taste for goat bhuna, though I tended to leave the trotters at the side of the plate. I hope this gentleman returns soon, as there really are too many goats on Cara. After his last visit, the spring flowers were seen in profusion for the first time in many years.