Grey Dogs tide race

I recently described an intoxicating brew called Grey Dogs strong ale. We felt reasonably justified in its consumption because we had just come through the Grey Dogs tide race (or Bealach a'Choin Ghlais in the Gaelic). There was a force 4 wind from the west and we approached at the end of the second hour of a spring flood which runs towards the west. We felt it prudent to land and inspect the exit.


Gannets and seals were having a feeding frenzy on fish that were being swept through the narrows.


The mist gave the Grey Dogs a foreboding atmosphere. From our seat high on the rocks, the whole place had the appearance of an amphitheatre in which primeval forces were the star act and we perhaps would become part of the entertainment.


Then the spell of the place was broken, a RIB came through at high speed. The tourists looked very damp.


The race runs at about 18km per hour through the narrows between Scarba and Lunga and then extends 4km out into the Atlantic.


Well if the tourists can do it so can we!


It started deceptively calmly.

There now follows a short intermission as no photographs were taken for some reason.

Intermission.


Nearly through, looking back at Tony.


Now through the Dogs, Tony is satisfied but thirsty.


Once we cleared the race, there was a little swell on the Atlantic side of the Grey Dogs but then the sun came out!

Anchorage Bar, Dunure

I have previously written about the Anchorage Bar in Dunure on the Ayrshire coast of the Firth of Clyde. It has recently changed hands and been extensively refurbished, so in our customary thorough manner we chose to pay another visit. Willy decided not to come due to the forecast of 4 to 5 getting up to 6 later. His brother Cameron, who is an oil rig supply boat captain, thought it would get a wee bit rough off the Heads of Ayr later in the afternoon. So just David and I set off from Maidens to use the SW wind and swell to power up to Ayr in the double.


Approaching Dunure ,do not be distracted by the ancient ruins of Dunure Castle on the right. The Anchorage is behind the row of little fishermen's cottages which are built at right angles to the little shingle beach which is partially sheltered by offshore skerries. You can also land at a slipway within the harbour (shown in the link to the previous post).


We approached from the beer garden which is a very short walk from the sea. Your granny could manage it. It had been decidedly thirsty paddling and we were really anticipating the ice cold Guinness. David decided to smarten up by wiping the saliva from his lips.


We walked in across the nice new wooden floor. I noticed some sandy drips trailing behind David as he confidently made his way to the bar. Two pints of Guinness were served with cool efficiency as we listened to the live music. We found ourselves seated on stools beside an upturned barrel. A large guy called Sean asked if we were divers. It turned out he was a prawn boat fisherman who also does lobster pots as a hobby. He commented that it was probably a bit bumpy out there. Chatting away, Cameron then joined us. He also said it looked bumpy and was glad Willie had not come. We began to feel quite comfortable in this company and felt we had earned some small measure of respect. Since we were paddling a double, we thought we could justify a double round. It all seemed to slip down so easily but we realized that nearly an hour had passed!

As we were leaving the beer garden, two bored 13 year olds (playing Gameboys) asked what we were doing in "thae funny suits". Quick as a flash, I told them I was Batman and David was Robin. My wit was completely wasted; neither had a clue about who these costumed crusaders were.


Launching the double in the shore break that had built up (as we were boozin at the nappy and getting fu' and unco happy - from Tam o' Shanter by Robert Burns) was decidedly dodgy. In the front cockpit , I slammed down from what seemed like a considerable height over several breaking waves. Things calmed down a bit in deeper water but Sean and Cameron were right, it was a little bumpy off the Heads of Ayr.


Once round the Heads the steep seas flattened off and we were able to surf the double at up to 16km/hr with both of us doing stern rudders to stop the old girl broaching.


Safely back at Ayr and another review is completed. Its tough work but someone has to do it.

The Oyster Brewery Bar, Seil

Tony and I are just back from a two day trip through the tide races of the Grey Dogs, Sound of Luing and Cuan Sound. It was incredibly thirsty work and our palates were dry as a bone by the time we reached sanctuary in one of the flooded slate quarries of the village of Ellenabeich on the Island of Seil. High above us, we spotted what could be an oasis of refreshment.


We scrambled out of our boats, leaving them moored as there was no beach, and made our way up to street level through a nice old lady's back garden (there are easier ways!). We came across not only a pub but The Oyster Brewery Bar which has an attached brewery; no wonder Tony is licking his lips!


The staff did not bat an eye lid as they took an order from two salty sea dogs dripping brine on the floor. We usually ask for Guinness but given that the brewery was next door, we thought it would be churlish not to order a pint of their finest. Our chosen brew was "Grey Dogs strong ale" in celebration of our recent passage through said tidal race. This race is very accurately depicted on the beer tap label.


We supped this delicious brew on the beer terrace which overlooks the Sound of Luing and brooding Scarba (to the north of which lies the Grey Dogs.) At this point I should issue a sea kayaking health warning. Grey Dogs is a highly intoxicating substance which only just avoids classification under the Dangerous Drugs Act. Our delicate constitutions are used to the mild effects of Guinness and I am not surprised that the establishment displays a safety notice about climbing on the balcony. Tony and I had visions of packs, of those driven barking mad by overindulgence, throwing themselves over the edge.

We decided to forego a hair of the dog and limit ourselves to one pint. So after a most enjoyable visit to this fine sea kayaking pub, we made our way very carefully back to the boats.


The water on the approach to the Cuan Sound was particularly rough and Tony and I were glad that we enjoyed our "Grey Dogs strong ale" in such moderation.

Playing in the tides of Grey Dogs

We are on location, setting the heather alight on Lunga :o)

MacKinnon's Cave

Continuing our voyage of discovery up the Wilderness coast of Mull, we came upon MacKinnon's Cave, the deepest in the whole of the Hebrides.


By happen chance the low summer evening sun was shining directly into the depths of the cave which reach over 180 meters into the heart of the mountain. When Boswell and Johnson visited in 1773 they suffered "a penury of light" provided by a single candle. How would they have written about the wondrous cave light we saw?

Alien shower in the Wilderness of Mull

Paddling NE up the alien features of the Wilderness coast of Mull, it was getting hot and airless. We came upon this refreshing shower complete with mini rainbow.


As the others paddled round the next headland I was left alone. I tarried under the shower and water ran through my hair. I looked up then closed my eyes and let the drips run down my nose into my open mouth. As I felt the boat moving gently beneath me, a sudden vision of slowly swaying, clanking chains and alien jaws dripping saliva started me out of my day dream!

The fossil tree of Mull.

Approaching the Wilderness coast of Mull from Staffa, we landed at a natural recess in the rocks.


The Mull volcanic eruption of 50 million years ago did not just spill out over a barren landscape, it buried a land of verdant forests. At the back of the beach, to the left of distorted basalt columns, you can see the vertical impression of a tree trunk that managed to stay upright after it was engulfed by lava.


When it was first discovered by McCulloch, there was still a charcoal like deposit round the trunk where the bark had been. Despite its inaccessibility on foot, this has been hacked away by souvenir hunters who have since started chipping away the remains of the rocky stump. It has now been capped with concrete.