Waiting for the tide on Inch Kenneth.

At spring low water, shallow reefs extend far from the east shore of Inch Kenneth. Some say there is a hidden, submerged path from the mainland of Mull to the island.


Our boats were some distance from the tide. We saw no point in straining our limbs, by carrying such heavy boats, when the exercise of some little patience would bring the tide to us. We decided to explore Inch Kenneth on foot.


The fertile ground of Inch Kenneth contrasts with the rough, thin soil of distant Ulva.


This view, from near the graveyard, is looking southwest from Inch Kenneth to the Wilderness and distant Ross of Mull peninsula (at the end of which lies Iona). In the middle distance is the little rocky islet of Erisgeir. This had just enough pasture for 6 sheep!

In the graveyard we also found the burial place of Lachlan MacQuarrie, the last chieftain of his clan, who died on 14/1/1818 at the age of 103. Johnson and Boswell had been entertained by MacQuarrie when they visited Ulva. They were unimpressed with his mean dwelling but Boswell found their host to be “intelligent, polite and much a man of the world.” Sadly MacQuarrie had to sell his ancestral lands shortly afterwards. Even his dying wish, to be interred among his ancestors on the Holy isle of Iona, was confounded by bad weather. He was laid to rest on this sheltered isle instead. For MacQuarrie the tide came in for the last time on Inch Kenneth. Looking around, we saw that there were much worse places to spend eternity.

We did not have eternity on our side but were able to leave with the flood tide.

The leaning chapel of Inch Kenneth.

The little chapel on Inch Kenneth dates from the 13th century. Its leaning east wall was supported by buttresses added in the 16th or 17th centuries. Inch Kenneth had been an important ecclesiastical site since St Cainnech, who was a friend of St Columba, established a outpost from Iona here in the 6th century.


The chapel must have been a site of some importance. Its 700 year old windows, which face to the east, are really rather fine.


Nowadays the interior of the west wall supports 8 upended mediaeval family grave slabs which are from the Iona school of sculpture which existed in the 13th and 14th centuries.

The chapel was roofless even in Johnson and Boswell’s time and the open interior has long been used as a burial place. On a similar morning to ours, Boswell discovered several human bones within its walls. “I this morning got a spade and dug a little grave in the floor of the chapel, in which I buried what loose bones were there.” He must have done a thorough job as we found none, not even a metatarsal.

The graveyard on Inch Kenneth

As we roved among the isles of Mull's west coast, we found ourselves following in the wake of Johnson and Boswell. Like them, we ended up on the idyllic isle of Inch Kenneth. Unlike the other isles in this area, which have thin poor soils over basalt, Inch Kenneth is fertile as a result of differing geology. The cliffs on its western edge are composed of conglomerate but there is a dip in the land towards the east and the rocks here seem to be limestone (I hope Clark will be able to correct this). Whatever, the result is that the island is covered with deep fertile soil. In the past this island exported food to Iona. It is named after Kenneth who was one of St Columba's followers.


The depth of the soil also meant that it made a suitable burial ground. Like Johnson and Boswell we wandered through the gravestones enjoying a sense of peace and timelessness.


They had admired this beautiful 15th century Celtic cross and our hands felt the warmth of its stone in just the same way as theirs.


Since there time there have been further internments. This is the grave of Margaret Boulton, who died in 1938. She was the widow of Sir Harold Boulton who owned Inch Kenneth and who wrote "The Skye Boat Song"

Inch Kenneth

Regular visitors to this blog have expressed some concern for our livers and our ability to continue to find oases of refreshment in the wilderness. I thought it wise to post about a day in which we did not manage to find such an establishment. Despite this, we still had an enjoyable paddle, though we all felt the effects of a drouth which came upon us as an unexpected Scottish sun beat mercilessly down on us. (There was no thirst the following day due to the truly torrential nature of the precipitation.)

Let me continue with our summer adventure. After paddling the Wilderness coast of Mull we headed across Loch na Keal for Inch Kenneth ,which in great contrast to the Wilderness, is a remarkably fertile island. Indeed, but for the lack of a pub, some might say it is as near to Paradise as you can get to on this Earth.


Nearly there..


Inch Kenneth at last, after a long and fantastic day's paddling.

On Inch Kenneth we met up with Mike again. He had chosen to have an easy day there as his arm was very stiff after having been bitten on the hand by a venomous snake during a South African adventure. Despite an easy day, he caught a 5lb pollock and spent the rest of the day in the hot sun cooking and eating it! It's a tough life when you are on location for seakayakphoto.com!

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.