The hand of Slartibartfast has touched West Loch Tarbert!

The sun sets over distant Colonsay behind the abandoned township of Ruantallain at the mouth of West Loch Tarbert on the west coast of Jura. Its last residents finally left 60 years ago.


When Tony and I were sea kayaking in the wilderness of West Loch Tarbert, he said you could not design a better sea loch. Indeed, with its raised beaches, islands, tidal narrows, caves, mountains and white sand beaches, one realizes that it is so perfect that it could only have been designed and created by Slartibartfast himself.


Even in the final hour of the ebb at neap tides, the tidal narrows of Cumhainn Beg were running at 5 km/hour


Not only are there raised beaches, there are also raised caves! Several were used to store the bodies of the dead on their way to a final resting place on the holy isle of Iona.


Landfall at the perfect white sands near Ruantallain.


The raised beach at An Sailean is even bigger than the one at nearby Camas nam Meann. This photo was taken at 32 metres above sea level yet even this giant beach is dwarfed by the mighty Paps of Jura.


The end of a perfect day. You should try to seakayak in West Loch Tarbert before you die, it really does not get much better than this.

The mysterious geoglyphic lines of Camas nam Meann, Jura

As you approach Camas nam Meann (beach of the young deer) in West Loch Tarbert from the sea, you are not prepared for its sheer scale.


The sands at the current beach level give way to cobbles.


These are difficult to walk over.


Only when you climb the hills high above the beach and look down, do you see that it is criss-crossed by mysterious straight lines. Despite what some think, these have not been made by by our ancestors, like the geoglyphic Nazca lines in Peru. Neither were they made by aliens who were unable to find suitable fields of crops on Jura.

They have been worn by countless generations of deer over the millenia since the retreat of the ice and the subsequent rise in the land. Camas nam Meann is so large that the deer choose to pick their way carefully across it rather than to walk round the easier ground behind.

Despite its size, Camas nan Meann is not the largest raised beach in West Loch Tarbert....

The tide last went out 10,000 years ago on the raised beaches of Jura.

These patches of vegetation have taken 10,000 years, since the end of the last Ice Age, to grow to this size.


Tony and I are just back from an amazing weekend sea kayaking round the north of Jura. We paddled 86 kilometers.


The crossing of the Sound of Jura was disturbed only by a flight of razorbills.


The trip also involved a 2 km portage from the Sound of Jura to West Loch Tarbert. It involved 37 metres of ascent over a very rough track. Only one of the three different trolleys survived....


If you click on this photo, you will get the full size panorama. This amazing beach is backed by a freshwater loch and the wave worn cobbles look as if they have just dried in the sun and are waiting for the tide to return. As the Scottish ice sheet melted, the lack of its great weight allowed the land to gradually rise, leaving a series of raised beaches.

Ferry gliding #2

Following a recent Seakayakphoto article on ferry gliding, it is fair to say that the mailbox here at Seakayakphoto Towers received a number of complaints from earnest sea kayakers. They were concerned that we were not taking things seriously enough. Some thought we might be confusing new entrants to the sport not to mention leading them astray by condoning unseakayaking practices. Others said bluntly that we were a profound threat to hard won ethical standards of sea kayaking behaviour.

Well staff here at seakayakphoto.com do our best to keep a broad readership happy.



Tony and I found this lovely little channel, just up the west coast from Glasgow. Where better, we thought, to try a little light ferry gliding?

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!

Cuan ferry: passport to the Grey Dogs and Corryvreckan!

MV Belnahua

The tidal Cuan Sound (between the isles of Seil and Luing in the Firth of Lorn) runs at up to 15km/hr. The little ferry, the MV Belnahua, makes the short crossing several times a day. It is very instructive watching her ferry glide. The captain only ever crosses the main flow at right angles to save fuel. He then uses the slacker water and eddies at the sides to make his way back to the jetty.


MV Grey Dog

I have not been able to get out paddling recently so this photo is from last May. When we arrived we found that the Belnahua was off on its holidays, leaving the tiny MV Grey Dog in its place.



It was just big enough for David's car and my trailer and it lurched alarmingly as we drove on. There is no turntable so you need to reverse off. David did not fancy this so I had a go. I did pretty well until the last moment when I clipped the front bumper on the ramp sides.



It did not spoil our day, it allowed us to have a fantastic day trip from Glasgow out through the Grey Dogs tidal channel, round the Garvellachs, back to Scarba then home via the notorious Corryvreckan. We had tidal assistance all the way!

There is one point to note about the Cuan ferry. Although Calmac list the timetable, it is actually operated by Argyll and Bute council. Calmac state "We cannot be held responsible for any errors or omissions".

More about that another day....

Sammy the seagull.

Sammy the seagull likes following ferries
and although his daily diet varies,
he hopes you will throw him a crust,
of a sandwich, you really must.

The ramp of the Loch Ranza.

The MV Loch Ranza ferry serves the Isle of Gigha with ten return trips per day. On the mainland at Tayinloan, there is a large illuminated sign which tells when the next ferry is due.



On a recent trip to Gigha we had to use the ferry to recover my daughter who did not fancy the crossing in a force 5 to 6 wind against tide. As we approached Tayinloan on the return, we could see two cars and a trailer on the jetty and a RIB was in the water being loaded by a large group of campers all wearing camouflage gear. When I say campers, it should be noted that most of their equipment consisted of cases of beer cans.

They showed no signs of hurry or concern at the approach of the ferry. They appeared secure in their knowledge that the jetty was theirs. The ferry captain's response was not to sound his horn but simply to steam quietly and purposefully towards his usual berth on the jetty.

The important task of loading beer continued unabated.



Then the captain unleashed the ramp! It was like something out of Robot Wars! What indignation! What panic! The RIB was moved to the side of the jetty but of course the water was deep there and one of the beer loaders got very wet. Their dogs started barking but the ramp continued its relentless decent. The Loch Ranza took up the full width of the jetty and the RIB disappeared from our sight. The ramp now edged slowly up the jetty towards the still laden car and its trailer. One of the campers leaped in and the car kangarooed its way back up the jetty.

We enjoyed this entertainment very much. I suppose that, since these fellow water users could not read a ferry timetable, they might not be able to understand tide tables either. If they camped on Gigha, their RIB might then float off in the night. If so, they would need to come back by the ferry.

Having left our campsite on Gigha spic and span, I hope they brought their empty cans back.

The mills of Gigha

The old water mill, Port an Duin, Gigha.




The 21st century wind farm to the NE of Leim farm, Gigha.

The building of these mills on Gigha was separated by several centuries. The large watermill was for grinding grain produced by the fertile pastures of the island. It was driven by water from the Mill L0ch which is situated 22 metres above the height of the mill. Gigha was an exporter of grain and the skerries offshore allowed grain boats to land in shelter below the mill. Today the rusting wheel no longer turns and the millstones lie still. Due to its historic importance, the mill is a grade C listed building.

In contrast, the rotors of the "Three Dancing Ladies" of Gigha turn steadily in the breeze that near constantly blows over the isle. They form the only community wind farm in Scotland. 100% of the island's population voted for their installation. Construction was completed in December 2004. Since then they have produced about 2.1 gigawatt hours of electricity per year which is about two thirds of the Isle's annual needs.

The scale, economy and rationale are quite different from the same criteria of the proposed wind farm on Lewis.

The National Life Boat "David Hay".

The Tower, Balcary point.

During gales, the seas off Balcary point in the Solway Firth can be violent due to the strong tides and shallow water. The shelter provided in Auchencairn Bay has been welcomed by generations of Solway seafarers. After the wildness of the cliffs, home to tens of thousands of sea birds, the Tower is the first and most prominent sign of human habitation.


The Boathouse, Balcary Point.

But hidden away in the trees behind a narrow break in the rocks is the Boathouse. Although now a private house it was originally a lifeboat station. In the days before the RNLI, this was where the National Life Boat the "David Hay" was stationed between 1884 and 1914. She was a 35 foot self righting and self draining rowing boat. She was usually manned by a coxswain and 12 oarsmen. Eight rowed at a time while 4 rested. After she was replaced in 1914 the station remained open until 1928 when a motorised lifeboat was stationed at Kirkcudbright and the station finally closed.


The courageous crew of the NLB David Hay.

The David Hay's most notable action took place between the evening of Friday 16th November and the afternoon of Sunday 18th November 1888. A transcript of a contemporary newspaper report is condensed below.

Friday afternoon
A telegraph alarm was received from Kirkbean from where a large ship was spotted flying distress signals out in the middle of the Firth. A gale had been blowing for 24 hours.

Friday evening.
The David Hay was finally launched after nightfall after the tide came in to the slipway. She was manned by Captain Black and 11 men. She left the shelter of Balcary Point in clear moonlight and almost immediately she was nearly engulfed by steep breaking seas in the shallow water. During the night they rowed out into the middle of the Solway towards where the ship had been seen.

Friday 10:00pm
They found the 240 ton Glendalough with her rudder smashed and her sails in tatters. There were 5 men aboard and during the night Captain Black made several attempts to come alongside and get them off. Each time the waves threatened to smash the David Hay into the Glendalough.

Friday midnight
The David Hay stood off until dawn.

Saturday dawn.
In the daylight Captain Black made a further two unsuccessful attempts to come alongside. The gale was not abating and, as the tide was now coming back into the upper Solway ports, Captain Black decided to race downwind to Carsethorn and use the telegraph to summon a steam paddle tug from the docks at Silloth on the English side of the Solway. The crew of the David Hay rested for a few hours.

Saturday afternoon.
The steam tug reached the Glendalough but in huge seas was unable to get a line aboard. The captain decided to steam to Carsethorn and tow the lifeboat out to the Glendalough.

Saturday night.
The tug with the lifeboat in tow finally arrived back at the Glendalough. The tug to windward gave some protection to the David Hay and finally the lifeboat got a line aboard the Glendalogh.

Saturday midnight.
The steam tug with the Glendalough in tow headed back to Silloth. Captain Black and his men started the long row back upwind to the shelter of Balcary. The gale continued throughout the night and in the darkness she was twice rolled onto her beam ends.

Sunday morning.
The men stood by their oars and battled their way over countless Solway rollers until the dawn and long into the day.

Sunday afternoon.
The David Hay finally limped back the shelter of Balcarry. A huge crowd had gathered to recover the lifeboat and carry the exhausted volunteers to the Commercial Inn in Auchencairn.

What a heroic story. What seamanship. What bravery. What service to one's fellow man.

The wreck of the Kartli

The west coast of Gigha is a wild place. Southwesterly storms sweep in from the Atlantic, past the Mull of Oa on Islay, and dash their energy on the rocks of this fair isle.

The Kartli was a huge 240 foot Russian fish factory ship. During a storm on December 18th 1991 her wheelhouse was smashed and her engine room and generator flooded by a giant wave off the south of Islay. Four of her crew were killed and 15 were seriously injured. With no power or steerage, she rolled helplessly at the mercy of the wind and seas. Five helicopters were involved in a dramatic and successful rescue of all her surviving crew.



Her abandoned hulk drifted relentlessly downwind to her ultimate resting place on the rocks of Gigha where her plates were pounded asunder.

Even on a calm and sunny day, her rusting hulk remains as a reminder of the transient nature of man's dominion over the seas and the our fleeting existence on this earth.